“If I hadn’t interfered?”

  I nodded. “Your kind’s magic is an anathema to her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because vampires defy the natural order of things—you are the undead and, technically, there should be no undead. There should exist only life and death. Thus, the Goddess will never accept me again. Whenever my time comes and I die, I’ll be gone for good. This is my last life.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Roy Osbourne flatly denied Lorcan’s request for one of the private tables on the pergola patio, claiming Lorcan needed supervision. Specifically, his supervision, and he added that if I looked anywhere close to tears, he’d take Lorcan outside and stomp him into the pavement.

  So we were seated at the bar, waiting for my porterhouse steak, lobster, side salad, tomato soup and sweet potato fries to emerge from the kitchen.

  “My goodness, you have quite the appetite,” Lorcan commented after I’d ordered.

  I shrugged. “I’ve been subsisting on boxed macaroni and cheese and Top Ramen for the last week.”

  Lorcan shook his head. “Your stubbornness will be the death of you.”

  “No, you will be the death of me.”

  Lorcan was already sipping his meal. I was a little curious who the blood came from, but not curious enough to ask. Meanwhile, Roy walked past and looking at Lorcan, made the hand gesture of two fingers to his eyes before pointing at Lorcan, letting him know he was being watched.

  “Arsehole,” Lorcan grumbled over the rim of his glass, his eyes on the bigger man who lumbered into the kitchen, behind the bar.

  “Roy’s just a big, yeti bear,” I said with a grin, loving every instance of the glower on Lorcan’s face.

  Roy returned from the kitchen with a plate of something and trundled down to the end of the bar where he handed it to the inebriated old man sitting there. Roy glanced down at us and gave me a look that asked how I was doing, to which I quickly nodded to let him know I was fine. Then he resumed glowering at Lorcan from the opposite end of the bar.

  “Besides,” I continued, facing the vampire again. “You deserved everything Roy said to you.”

  Lorcan surprised me by inclining his head in acknowledgement. He’d struck me as the sort of man who never admitted he was wrong. Just the fact that he was going to all this trouble lifted him a little in my estimation… a very little. Granted, my opinion of him had been resting around the bedrock. Now he was hovering somewhere around topsoil.

  “I didn’t mean to destroy your potions. I...” he frowned and took another sip of the blood as he considered his next words. “It’s… everything is so difficult when I’m around you… it becomes hard to even think, let alone control my urges and emotions. It’s not just lust, though that’s certainly there. But, it’s more than just that. It’s...”

  “Obsession,” I finished for him, remembering Henner’s and my talk.

  He pursed his lips. “I suppose. Regardless, I should have better control than this.”

  I took a deep breath and decided to ease my own guilty burden. “As much as I’d love to let you take all the blame, I’m not sure it’s entirely your fault.”

  He turned slightly on his stool to consider me. “What does that mean?”

  I dug into my purse until I found my pocket-sized journal. Usually, I used the journal when I was on the go—to scribble down ideas for spells, or concept art for a new piece of clothing. But the most recent pages were full of quotations I’d pulled from Betanya’s journals.

  Lorcan peered over my shoulder. “What’s that?”

  His cool breath feathered over my throat, raising the hairs at the back of my neck. My skin tingled, fear and anticipation stealing through me. It would be easy for him to latch onto my neck, driving his fangs deep into my jugular vein. If he imbibed even a pint of my blood, it would be over. His kiss would return to him, asserting his position as my sire, and the dominant in the relationship. He didn’t have to drain me. I’d die within hours after the connection was made. At least, that’s what I’d learned from Grandma Tayir’s diary.

  My shoulders were stiff, my heart thundering in my chest.

  “Your heart is pounding,” Lorcan said as he drew back, settling on his stool and looking at me with concern. “Did I frighten you?”

  I didn’t bother denying it. “Having a vampire in proximity of your neck is enough to make any girl nervous.”

  “You really think I’d bite you? Here? In front of everyone?”

  My cheeks warmed. “I don’t know you well enough to say.”

  Lorcan reached forward and brushed a lock of stray hair behind my ear. The brief contact sent a fresh jolt over my skin, though it was more anticipation than fear when he trailed his fingers down my throat.

  “Not in public,” he said in an undertone. “No, I would want to take my time.”

  Now I wasn’t sure if we were even talking about the same thing.

  My face was positively burning. Damn him for making me blush. I’d heard and said things more suggestive over the course of almost a century and a half, so why did that one statement make me tingle in all the wrong places?

  He moved closer and took my hand, bringing it to his lips. He might have done more, if Roy hadn’t given him a low, warning growl. The vampire smirked and sat a little straighter on his stool, releasing my hand as he steepled his fingers on the bartop.

  “Alright, Blood Witch, spill it,” he said as he downed the remnants of his glass.

  “Right,” I said, but my dinner arrived before I could reply, and I tucked in, shoving the journal over to him in explanation. He squinted at it and then flipped it open, taking a few seconds to study it. Then he looked up at me.

  “Egads, your handwriting is worse than mine. And that is saying something, since I’m technically a surgeon.”

  Right. I’d almost forgotten he had a day... or rather, night job in Haven Hollow.

  I shoved a fry into my mouth and chewed. “Order another O-positive and stop your whining.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not human blood,” he said.

  “Then what is it?”

  “Supernatural.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “Usually it’s from whoever is willing to donate. Fifi’s been working shifts here, so I suppose it was her turn.”

  “Fifi?” I repeated.

  “Seraphina.”

  “From the Realty Office?”

  He nodded and looked at his empty glass again. “Succubus blood… now I’m going to be randy all night.”

  “Sucks to be you… literally.”

  He chuckled again. “It’s potent stuff. I suppose Roy thinks it’s a fitting punishment.” Then he looked at me. “Fancy a shag?”

  I almost inhaled my bite of steak. Lorcan thumped me on the back idly as he continued peering at the page. “Don’t say things like that while I’m eating!”

  “Like what? Shag?”

  “Yes, that!”

  “Well, it’s an honest question. Do you want to shag? Because, I most certainly do. I mean… with you.”

  “No, I do not want to shag!”

  Which was technically a lie.

  He was intoxicatingly handsome and even more sexy. Somehow, I got a sense he would know what he was doing as far as sex was concerned. If he hadn’t been a vampire, we’d have been necking in his Escalade by now.

  Lorcan shrugged. “Worth a shot.” Then he looked at my journal again, before looking back up at me. “Do you mind translating this for me, sweetling? I can’t make heads or tails of it. What is it, anyway?”

  “Excerpts from the journals of Betanya Tayir, Henner’s…”

  “The witch of Haven Hollow?”

  I nodded. “The Blood Witch of Haven Hollow.”

  He frowned. “That can’t be possible. There hasn’t been a Blood Witch in centuries.” Then he looked at me. “Disregarding you, of course.”

  “There, you’re wrong.” I took a breath and a bite of salad, followed with a bite of lobster and my entire mouth wanted to sing. Once I was finished chewing, I downed the bites with a few swallows of Sprite and then faced him again. “Henner donated Betanya’s journals to me...”

  “And?”

  “Oh my Goddess, will you stop interrupting me and let me explain? You’re so annoying!”

  He chuckled. “My apologies. Pray, carry on.”

  I frowned at him. “Henner’s grandmother was formerly a member of Crescent Circle, my old coven...”

  “And?”

  “And I’m going to hex you into oblivion.”

  He chuckled again. “That was just a joke. I promise I shall stop interrupting now.”

  “Promise?”

  “Swear,” he said and even crossed his heart.

  “Everyone in the coven thought Betanya was trying to usurp Mother and take the High Witch position, but that wasn’t it at all. She was a Blood Witch, just like me, and so Mother sent her away to save her life.”

  Lorcan paused with his glass halfway to his lips, gaping at me. I hadn’t even realized Roy had brought him another. I waited for him to say ‘and?’ but he kept quiet, only offering me a wickedly flirtatious smile. The bastard.

  “Anyway,” I continued. “Betanya came to the Hollow hoping to escape the man who’d blooded her. She called him Roscoe in her journals. But, she wasn’t able to escape him. He followed her, and eventually she disappeared. No one knows what happened to her, but you can probably guess.”

  Lorcan waited in somber silence while I took another bite of my dinner. Even Roy seemed to be leaning our way, trying to catch what I was saying. When I was through eating, I wiped my hands off on my cloth napkin where it sat on my lap, before reading the transcribed portions of Betanya’s journal. “March 25th, 1920. Roscoe has purchased a home up the street and knocks ceaselessly at the door, seeking entry. I fear the threshold will not stop him for long if he can swindle an invitation from my boys.” I flipped the page and read the next passage. “July 21st, 1923. I do not know what inflames Roscoe’s passions, but nothing I say can dissuade him from his constant attentions. My wards only vex him. He is frightfully strong, and too cunning by half. He will have to be dealt with.”

  I read the next dozen instances of Roscoe’s name in the journal, each more grim than the last. Over the course of numerous years, he went from being mildly annoying to becoming a true terror. By the end, Betanya was jumping at shadows. The last entry simply read: “Dec 21st, 1930. He is in the house.”

  Roy and Lorcan jumped when I snapped the journal shut. Lorcan had been precariously balanced on his barstool during the reading and slid completely off with a loud curse. Roy had given up all pretense of bartending, pretending to furiously scrub the section of the bar nearest my elbow rather than serve the drunk further down the bar.

  Lorcan climbed unsteadily onto his stool and glared at me. “Read the rest.”

  “That’s just it—there is no ‘rest’. The journals end there.”

  “That makes no sense! Why would a woman be in the midst of writing if she believed a homicidal vampire was in her house!”

  “Why indeed? That’s the exact question I want to know.”

  He tipped his glass up and finished the rest of the blood in three long pulls, grimacing when he reached the dregs.

  “What’d you put in this, you hairy beast?” he asked with a frown as he faced Roy.

  Roy shrugged. “The foulest rotgut I could find. You deserve a stomachache.”

  Lorcan didn’t seem very fazed and rounded on me again. “What’s this got to do with you and me?”

  “If Betanya’s conjecture is right?” I started as I nodded. “Then I think it’s a preview of what’s to come.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Irritation kindled in the depths of his eyes, and his skin began to glow with soft alabaster light. It wouldn’t be immediately recognizable under the fluorescent lights in the bar, but I could see it.

  “Shut it down, Lorcan, before I toss you out,” Roy said. He shifted his gaze to me and added. “I think the council would be very interested in hearing why one of their own... disappeared. We all figured she’d…”

  “Frozen in the lake?” I finished for him and he merely nodded.

  “Going back to this ‘preview’ you mentioned,” Lorcan prodded me.

  I took a steadying breath and recited what I could remember of Betanya’s theory, keeping my voice low so we wouldn’t be overheard. “Betanya had a lot of theories about Blood Witches, but never got a chance to confirm them. We’re just too rare, and those in the past, barely survived even a week after blooding. In an earlier century, Mother and the others would have burned me, just to be sure the taint was gone from our line. Betanya couldn’t say with a hundred percent certainty that her theory was true, but if so, it would explain a lot.”

  “What’s the theory?” Roy asked.

  “Well, vampires can only perform one spell, colloquially known as ‘the Kiss’. Because vampires usually turn humans, they end up with ordinary fledglings, heirs they can control. Humans don’t pose a threat, because the power of the vampire’s kiss returns to the vampire once the transition from human to vampire is complete. And having that power returned to the vampire is essential to the vampire’s makeup. Betanya was probably the first witch in history to survive as half-witch, half-vampire and yet, still be in contact with the vampire who blooded her.”

  I hesitated as I looked up at Lorcan, who was still towering over me, fists clenched at his sides, but a creeping uncertainty showed in his eyes. “Just spit it out,” he said quietly.

  “Roscoe claimed to love Betanya. He changed jobs, addresses, vehicles, and phone numbers to stay close to her. He tried to woo her. And when that didn’t work, things took a turn for the worse… for the violent.” I fixed Lorcan with a cold stare. “Sound familiar?”

  Lorcan’s swallow was audible, even over the low hum of laughter and conversation in the bar.

  “I’m not... I’m not like that.”

  I frowned at him. “Roscoe terrorized Betanya and her sons, almost driving her mad because he had to have her. She was all he could think about. Sound familiar?”

  Lorcan shook his head. “Wanda…”

  “Without the power of their Kiss returned to them, vampires lose it. They go completely nuts.”

  “Then that was Betanya’s theory?” Roy asked. “That a vampire who doesn’t have the Kiss returned to him will go insane?”

  I looked at him and nodded. Then I looked back at Lorcan. “And I think she’s probably right.”

  “You believe I will lose my mind unless…”

  “Unless your Kiss is returned to you, yes. And that’s what I’m afraid of—that one of these days, you’ll force the change on me, or you’ll end up tearing my throat out.”

  “Never,” Lorcan whispered, shaking his head vehemently. “I’d never do that to you.”

  I gave him a sad half smile, and flipped to a passage I’d copied from the journal, watching him pale as he read the passage. “Roscoe said the same thing December 20th, 1930. The night before he killed her.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Roy pulled Lorcan into the back after he’d paid our bill, under the pretense of settling his tab. As if anyone with a lick of sense wouldn’t be able to guess what they were really talking about. I took the offer of Lorcan’s car keys anyway, briefly contemplating a joyride.

  But then I worried stealing his car might prompt a bad reaction from the vampire. As far as I was concerned, Lorcan was a walking time bomb, waiting to go off. And I was basing this information completely on what I’d learned in Betanya’s journals.

  Retaliation hadn’t worked against Roscoe. Nothing had worked against Roscoe. He’d shrugged off threats and magic. He’d ignored polite entreaties. By the end, he was a lunatic with only a few moments of lucidity.

  And now knowing what I did, there was a part of me that wanted to take Lorcan’s car and drive as far as I could, sell the hunk of expensive metal to the first sucker who’d buy it, and hitchhike to the next Hollow. Lorcan couldn’t buy land everywhere. One Sanctum Spell and I’d be in a position to better fend for myself. Betanya had kept Roscoe at bay for almost a decade with the strength of her wards alone.

  Only one thing kept me from sliding into the driver’s seat and tearing away from this miserable little town. And that was the single beacon of hope I’d found in the dark past of Betanya Tayir. So I remained perched in the passenger’s side, reviewing the passage I hadn’t read aloud. The details were more on the… intimate side and I didn’t feel like revealing them in a bar full of strangers.

  When something soft and small alighted on my shoulder, I almost shrieked. I was set to hurl it through the back window with a bolt of concentrated magic when it came into focus. It was a doll. My doll! My little abomination! His patchwork face seemed to brighten up at the sight of me, and his stitched mouth curved up into a truly unnerving smile. He’d acquired a rusty nail at some point, and tied it around the swell of his pudgy lower body with a scrunchie.

  “Sorry, Acmonides, you scared me. What are you doing in Lorcan’s car?”

  Acmonides withdrew his rusty nail and danced forward on my shoulder, waving it through the air like an energetic fencer.

  “For Lorcan. Right...” I nodded as my voice faded and feelings close to guilt welled up within me.

  I’d instructed the doll to terrorize the vampire, hadn’t I? Would it be petty to allow that to continue? I wasn’t sure. I mean, on the one hand, it did seem Lorcan was trying to make some sort of peace with me and from Betanya’s journals, it also appeared that this crazy state he was in wasn’t all his fault. And, yet, on the other hand, he was still the bastard who’d turned me and he was still cocky and easily the most irritating person I’d ever met.