A hot little mouth latched onto my big toe before sharp, needle-like teeth sank in deep. I bolted upright, lashing out with my injured foot, swinging Hellcat around like a furry windsock.

  “Get off, you little demon spawn!”

  He bared his teeth at me and proceeded to climb painfully up my leg and onto my lap.

  At some point last night, I’d changed into the frumpiest nightgown I owned: a floor-length, polka-dotted flannel piece with a Peter Pan collar. In my book it was only a step above a pink bathrobe and cold cream. Satins, silks, bare skin, or bust—it was a good mantra to live by and one I’d clearly broken.

  “What is wrong with you?” I growled, trying to pick up the hideous little creature and deposit him on the floor. That was when I realized I was sitting on one of my newly acquired barstools. “And... why am I slumped over the kitchen island?”

  I strained my memory, but found only a haze. Poppy and her little entourage had trooped out and I’d done... what? One side of my face smarted as blood rushed back into my cheek. The inside of my mouth felt like sandpaper and tasted worse, and the beep of my newly repaired Mr. Coffee sounded like a shrieking alarm. When I glanced down, I found stacks of leather bound journals on and around the wooden stool I was perched on.

  Goddess, I hadn’t indulged like this since Prohibition.

  “If you must know, you made an utter fool of yourself flirting with the middle-aged mundane!”

  The middle-aged mundane… Ah, that must have been Henner. Of course, it also could have been Marty or RJ, but I hadn’t spoken to either of them for long.

  “Then, when everyone had gone, you scoured every journal in Tayir’s collection for mentions of her vampire stalker, not unlike an awkward teen with a romance novel.”

  “Betanya’s journals,” I said and nodded, the night starting to come back to me.

  “You were up all night, drinking libations and penning away in your own journal and now you’ve slept the day away, missed four calls from your mother, and would have continued to snore through the knocking at the front door if I hadn’t sullied my mouth with your bunioned big toe!”

  “I don’t have bunions.” At least... I was pretty sure I didn’t.

  Hellcat shook his head. “You have completely missed my point. Goddess knows how a witch so dim emerged from your mother’s line.”

  “After everything I drank last night, I don’t have the brain cells left to try to translate whatever the spell you’re trying to tell me, you little troll, so Spit. It. Out.”

  “I’ll say the words slowly so they have a chance of penetrating your thick skull. There is someone at the door.”

  Now that he mentioned it, I could hear a rhythmic rapping coming from the general direction of the living room. Until Hellcat pointed it out, I hadn’t heard the sound over the shrill beep of the coffee machine. I slipped off the stool with a groan, rubbing my aching back. I was never drinking again.

  I poured myself a steaming mug of coffee before retreating to my newly furnished bedroom to change. I didn’t care who was on the other side of the locked door. There was no way I was going to answer the door in polka dots and floor-length flannel. It would forever destroy my image. I wasn’t even sure where I’d gotten the wretched thing to begin with, but there was no way I would allow this ghastly item to become public knowledge.

  I pulled on the first things I touched. A navy blue, split-back pullover, a pair of dark gray skinny jeans, and calf-high boots. I’d failed to braid my hair back before passing out on the kitchen island, so it was sticking out in every direction and I was fairly sure it had soaked up some of the sangria. I wouldn’t have time to comb out the snarls, so I threw the entire thing into a tail and tromped to the door.

  The pounding increased.

  “Keep your pants on!” I shouted.

  The knocking stopped just as I reached the front door. A peek out the window confirmed what my awful familiar had said—I’d slept the day away. The sun had dipped beneath the western horizon, and night was almost upon us again. How long had I been laying face down on a pile of books? Twelve hours? More?

  I was still trying to puzzle it out when I swung the door open. The last man I ever wanted to see again stood on the other side, shuffling sheepishly on the welcome mat I hadn’t noticed before.

  If I didn’t already despise him, I would have taken a moment to appreciate how the double-breasted, deep green wool overcoat seemed to make his eyes glow emerald. I might have noted how the waistcoat hugged his broad shoulders and muscular torso, emphasizing every contour of his impressive body. I might have paid attention to his golden hair that fell around his face in tousled waves, rather than pulled back at the nape of his neck as he usually did.

  I might have noticed all of those things if I didn’t... you know... hate him.

  Only two words sprung to mind when I laid eyes on his oddly contrite expression. “Ugh. You.”

  And with that, I slammed the door in his face.

  Or at least, I tried to.

  Lorcan managed to jam one Oxford leather shoe into the gap between the door and the frame. I expected him to shoulder his way through and demand entry, after all, this was his building. Vampires didn’t need invitations into buildings they owned. Telling him he wasn’t welcome in my side of the duplex would accomplish jack all.

  “I deserve that,” he said, surprising me.

  “Damn right,” I managed.

  Lorcan sighed and pressed his weight lightly against the door, but didn’t otherwise try to muscle his way into my house. Progress. Maybe I should rustle up a bigfoot to scare him more often.

  “I know you’d probably rather eat a toad than listen to what I have to say, but... I’d really appreciate it if you would give me a few minutes of your time.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “Because I’ve realized I’ve gone about this all the wrong way.”

  “Gone about what the wrong way?”

  He shrugged. “You. Us. Everything.”

  “Apology not accepted,” I answered and started to try to close the door again, but that damned foot was still in the way. “And there is no ‘us’.”

  “I’ve come with a proposition for you.”

  “Another proposition?” I said a bit waspishly.

  Another sigh. “I deserve that too.”

  I stewed for a solid half minute, debating whether getting rid of him was worth letting him run his mouth for a few minutes.

  “Fine. You have sixty seconds. Make them count.”

  “I only need a sentence, Wanda.”

  Lorcan’s hand appeared in the gap, extending a slim plastic square toward me. A luxury credit card. My mother had around a dozen of them, and she’d frozen the six I used to have access to.

  I shoved his hand back through the gap with a sound of disgust. “I don’t want your money, Rowe! How about an apology? Or better yet, get the spell out of my life!”

  “I... that’s not what I...” He paused for a good few heartbeats. “I’m not trying to bribe you. This is an apology. I’ve been an arse, and I want to make up for it. I heard you still haven’t found your fabrics. I thought perhaps I could help. The nearest fabric store is an hour away, and I doubt you’d want to spend that much time in my company. But there are clothing stores in town and I thought perhaps you could find some quality items and enchant them for your own store?”

  I was silent for a moment, considering the offer. It wasn’t ideal, but... it could work. The question was, could I accept it? From him? No matter how he framed it, it still felt like charity and I’d taken enough handouts. Furthermore, I was fairly convinced the gifts from Poppy and her friends were without strings. I couldn’t say the same for Lorcan.

  “I’d be happy to take you to dinner and then we could visit a few shops, or I can leave my credit card. Up to you.”

  “Then you’ve found your car keys, I take it.”

  He appeared surprised for a moment or two. “I did. They were hidden beneath one of the rugs in my living room.”

  “Imagine that.” I’d have to school my little abomination, Acmonides, on how to properly hide things. Well, if I ever saw the little dear again.

  Lorcan cleared his throat and gave me a knowing look. “Regardless, I want you and your shop to succeed and I’d like to help.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, I take care of my heirs.” I started to shake my head and he held up a hand. “I know you don’t count yourself as one, and maybe that’s what’s been eating at me. I’ve never met anyone as headstrong as you, Wanda. And… no one as compelling or as… ah, bloody hell, beautiful.”

  The way he said the last sentence reminded me of my conversation with Henner, and the passages from Betanya’s journals I’d studied last night. What I’d read had been troubling, to say the least. The truth of the matter was that Lorcan wasn’t the only one who needed to explain himself. I had things to bring to the table, as well.

  “Please, just give me the chance to talk to you over dinner,” he continued and the way he seemed so… humbled surprised me.

  “This isn’t just another game you’re playing? Another way to try to persuade me to join the dark side?”

  He shook his head. “You make it sound so Darth Vader.”

  “Well, you’re basically one and the same in my book.”

  “One dinner, Wanda. That’s all I’m asking of you.”

  With a grumbled curse, I moved away from the door. I was already halfway to the kitchen when Lorcan stepped into the living room.

  “Fine,” I said, relenting with poor grace. “But I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”

  ***

  “You’re sure you want... this?” Lorcan asked, plucking the thick, houndstooth plaid curtains from the shopping cart. Half of them had busted out of the plastic packaging and were dangling out of the bottom, looking like they’d been run over by more than one shopping cart. Lorcan examined them with incredulity, before flicking his questioning gaze over to me.

  I had to admit, the pattern was a little… blah. I’d found the curtains crumpled like a fallen soldier at the bottom of the discount bin at the vintage themed, Oddballs and End Tables, crushed beneath the weight of their fellows. If I hadn’t been so determined to turn this place inside out, looking for useable material, they would have remained buried for another who knew how long.

  “I’ll have the curtains dry cleaned and they’ll be good as new,” I answered with a grin—I had to admit, it was fun to be out and shopping again. I’d sorely missed it—even if Oddballs and End Tables wasn’t exactly my first choice when it came to retail therapy. But, Haven Hollow was limited where couture was concerned so I’d have to take what I could get. We hadn’t yet gone to dinner, but that would happen after this little trip. I looked up at Lorcan. “You’re footing the bill for the curtains, as well,” I said, giving him a warning look, daring him to argue. To my disappointment, he didn’t even bat an eyelash.

  “Of course.”

  I frowned at him. “Stop being so agreeable. It’s creepy.”

  He chuckled and laid the drapes back in the cart. “Duly noted, Scarlett O’Hara.”

  “Scarlett O’Hara?”

  “She turns her green, velvet curtains into a gown, if you recall?” he answered and eyed me with a smirk.

  “Oh, right,” I answered, embarrassed I hadn’t remembered it for myself. “One of the original queens of upcycling.”

  I examined the contents of the shopping cart. It was around half-full already, and we’d only gotten through part of the store. So far, I’d found quite a few quality pieces—not exactly designer brands, but department store ones that would do for now. As long as I didn’t have to keep raiding my own closet, I’d be happy. And I was excited about the curtains. I could use the houndstooth plaid to make just about anything. I was torn between going professional aka a pencil skirt and blazer with plaid inlay, or designing something fun and flirty such as a skater skirt and halter top. Maybe even a halter mini-dress. The possibilities were endless.

  We rounded another corner, and squeezed the cart through the narrow corridor between a rack of shoes, coming upon yet another discount bin. I dove for it like a bridesmaid at a wedding reception. I half disappeared into the bin, as I sifted through the myriad Christmas items to find something useful. I was hoping to find some fall pieces or patterns caked to the bottom of the bin. I could fashion a few witchy pieces to play into the name and business of my store, Wanda’s Witchery.

  I could practically feel Lorcan’s gaze on my ass. At least he didn’t try to cop a feel. And that thought brought me back around to the more distressing matter I’d have to discuss over dinner tonight. I really ought to have told him straight out of the gate, but I was actually having a good time with the vampire… for the first time ever.

  When all was said and done, I’d filled the cart and then some. The entire haul came out to ninety-nine dollars and sixty cents, a staggeringly low figure. One yard of mulberry silk, my preferred material when designing couture, was more expensive than the eight sacks of used clothing we’d come away with.

  Not bad. Not bad at all.

  The tight, uneasy knot in my stomach eased as I realized this could work. If I worked my fingers to the bone, I could potentially fill all the racks in the store in a week or so.

  It had begun to spit snow by the time we emerged from Oddballs and End Tables. The moon was all but hidden behind heavy clouds, edging them with faint silver. Between the pale traces of moonlight and the amber glow of the streetlamps, the night was laid bare. Even the patches of shadows weren’t capable of hiding from my keen eyesight.

  I tracked the progress of a barn owl as it swept down from the sky, seizing a mouse and hoisting it aloft. It flew a ways down the street, before settling on top of the Nooks and Crannies Cleaning van to enjoy its prize.

  The night was alive, and I was struck again by how little of it I’d noticed in the past, before I’d become a Blood Witch. Lorcan seemed to catch the tenor of my thoughts because he spoke softly, as though not to disturb the ambiance.

  “Night really is beautiful. I took it for granted when I was young. Thought I knew everything…”

  I raised a brow at him, curiosity kindling to life. After my accident, Mother had researched the vampire dentist, but she’d only been able to dig up his recent history. He’d come on the scene around 1970, so far as her records could tell, but I was sure he was much older. Much, much older.

  “And just how long ago were you young?”

  He ran his hand thoughtfully over his chin, as if he half expected to find stubble there. His face scrunched in thought. “Oh... my youth would have been two hundred and twenty-two years ago, I think.” Then he shrugged as surprise flowed through me. “I died in Wicklow during the Rebellion in 1789.”

  “Who turned you?”

  “Some English bastard who thought it’d be funny to drain me and leave my body in the streets. My family buried me, and I almost gave my mother a heart attack when I came staggering into the house a few days later.”

  I blinked, unable to immediately come up with a witty retort. When he’d told me he hadn’t had a sire, I imagined the person had died, or he’d driven them off with his thoroughly irritating demeanor. I hadn’t expected the story to be so... sad.

  “I thought vampires turned others for love or friendship or something equally… useless. This man killed you for spite?”

  Lorcan’s smile was bitter. “Spite is a good word for it. He thought he was teaching one of the upstarts a lesson, I suspect. If Mum hadn’t guessed what happened to me, I’d have gotten myself killed not long after I woke.” Then he looked at me. “You’d have preferred that, I suspect.”

  I took a deep breath. “I would have preferred to die that day you turned me, but that doesn’t mean I want you dead, or more dead than you already are. Maimed, certainly, but not dead.”

  He chuckled, and I smiled, all the while wondering how it was possible that I was actually enjoying myself with the jerk.

  We reached his Escalade and began to load the bags into the backseat. The silence was pensive. Lorcan opened the passenger door for me, saw to it that I was seated and belted, and then returned to his side of the vehicle. He opened his door and piled into the front seat, turning on the engine as Christmas music filled the space.

  “I didn’t figure you for the Christmas celebrating type?” I asked, thoroughly surprised.

  “Ah, I can be a bit… sentimental sometimes,” he answered with a shrug, but it seemed his mind was elsewhere. He was quiet for another few seconds before he turned to look at me. “Is it really that awful for you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  “What?”

  “Being… what you are?”

  I swallowed hard. “I lost everything I’ve ever known.”

  “You said you wish you’d died that night,” he continued, shaking his head. “I know this situation isn’t ideal, but life has to be better than death?”

  “That’s just it… It’s not.”

  “Because it’s so revolting to be part vampire?” he asked, tone frosty. We came to a stop before the traffic signal, and red light washed over his face, making him seem almost sinister.

  “No, because I wanted to have another shot at life!”

  “I gave you that!” he said, thumping the wheel in frustration. “My blood saved you, restored you.”

  “You didn’t give me a chance at life. You tethered me to this one.”

  The light turned green, and he started forward slowly. The Half-Moon Bar and Grill wasn’t far, but at the speed we were going, it would take an eternity to reach it.

  “I don’t understand,” he said finally.

  I chewed my lip for a moment, wondering how much I should reveal. Sharing this information wasn’t technically against the rules, but explaining anything about our ways with a vampire made me uncomfortable. Our species had been at odds for centuries.

  “Will you explain to me?” he asked.

  And there was something in his eyes. Something that looked like sincerity. Before I knew what I was doing, I found myself taking in a deep breath. “The Goddess grants us not one life, but many. The universe is vast, and we have such a brief amount of time to explore it. If I had died that night, like I was meant to, my soul would have flown apart and been reborn as something or someone else. It’s probably happened hundreds of times before now, and it would have happened again, if…”