Solar powered lights dotted the path from the modest parking lot to the front door. The sidewalk had been scraped free of snow. Had the vampire braved the last rays of sunlight to see the path was clear, or had he sent out the help? Probably the latter, but the idea of Lorcan shuffling out of his cave, bundled from head to toe in jackets, gloves, and scarves to shovel the walkway warmed me somehow. Not that he’d need to be bundled up—as he was a vampire, the weather didn’t much concern him—unless it was overly sunny. But in Oregon, sunshine usually wasn’t a problem.

  A sign in the nearest picture window displayed the office hours and a glowing neon light flashed ‘open’ in vibrant reds and blues. On a Monday, the office was open from six pm to midnight. Who was arriving for dental surgery after sundown? It was probably convenient for the blue-collar workaday mundane who had a nine-to-five schedule, but I didn’t imagine anyone sidling into Lorcan’s practice around midnight, except for the monsters who also lived in Haven Hollow. And even monsters need to make sure their teeth are clean.

  I reached the end of the walkway and hesitated before the front door. I’d never actually been inside Lorcan’s office before, though I’d passed it on my way to and from work often enough, contemplating a drive-by hex more than once. Not an extreme hex, mind you. Just something petty—something like blighting the window boxes so nothing could grow in the spring, or perhaps hexing the front door so it wouldn’t open. Ultimately, I’d decided against it though. Why? Because I needed Lorcan in good spirits if we were going to work together to reverse this wretched half-state I lived in.

  There were only a handful of cars in the parking lot at the moment, and at least one of them belonged to Lorcan’s staff. Would he be free to talk privately, or would I be forced to wait in the lobby, stewing in the knowledge of what I’d just done? And what would Lorcan say when he learned that his duplex now resembled a petri dish? Would he demand double my rent, upfront, or ask for a more... intimate favor as recompense? Hell, would he kick me out?

  One of my hands curled into a tight fist at my side. No, I wasn’t about to let a vampire dictate what would or wouldn’t happen. I’d go in there, with my head held high, and I’d tell him what happened, and then I’d leave, simple as that. If he tried any funny business, I’d go directly to the council.

  I was Wanda Depraysie, and I wasn’t about to let a bloodsucker have the upper hand, even if I had destroyed his rental property. Nodding to myself, I seized the brass doorknob and shoved the door open, striding in with my chin in the air.

  Chapter Seven

  The sharp chemical smell hit me first. It was a distinctive odor that I’d only ever encountered in dentists’ offices. Courtesy of Lorcan, I had a new appreciation for scents, and the interior of the office was almost intolerable.

  The lobby was small but well-furnished. The carpet was a soft off-white, and a line of beige scoop lounge chairs had been pushed to either side of the room, interspaced by gray wash wooden tables here and there. An array of well-worn magazines were piled on top of each.

  A middle-aged blonde was lounging in the chair closest to a wraparound desk, flipping through a copy of Psychology Today with a look of benign disinterest. I got the sense she’d have been much happier flipping through the issue of People Magazine near her elbow.

  Her cool gaze flicked up for just a moment so she could gauge the new arrival before dipping back to the page she’d been reading. Or, not reading as the case may be.

  Another woman, this one a slender twenty-something with softly waving red hair, sat up straighter from behind the front desk as I approached. She was pretty, with high, sweeping cheekbones, a strong chin, and a narrow, aquiline nose. There was something oddly familiar about the deep green of her eyes, but I couldn’t place my finger on what that familiarity might be.

  Her lips curled into a small, professional smile, which faltered as she took me in. I realized belatedly that I must look a fright, with my torn sweater, mussed hair, and stocking-clad feet.

  “Oh! Your lip is bleeding, Miss,” the woman said quietly. “Can I get you something for it? Gauze, or an ibuprofen? It looks like it hurts.”

  I raised a hand and absently dabbed at my lip. My fingers came away with splotches of scarlet, and I cursed. I’d been bleeding all this time and hadn’t noticed. Hexes and hoarfrost! My tongue darted out to touch the wound on my lip, and I tasted the tang of blood.

  “I’ll be fine,” I muttered. “Is Lorcan... I mean, is Dr. Rowe available? I need to speak with him as soon as possible.” I cleared my throat. “It’s an emergency.”

  “He’s almost finished with his last patient,” she answered, nodding like she believed it was an emergency, owing to my wretched state, no doubt. “I can duck in the back to check?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She nodded and stood, brushing wrinkles out of her pastel pink skirt before bustling into the back area. I leaned my elbows on the desk, noting idly that someone had buffed the oak surface to a shining patina. A dull throb was beginning at my temples, probably a migraine. It was a bad sign. Witch Tayir reported hellish headaches after using blood bolts, which confirmed my worst fear.

  My powers were growing more potent.

  If I was capable of magic this dark after only a handful of months in this wretched Blood Witch state, what would happen in a year? I could be raising armies of the undead. And what if all those undead were as slavishly devoted as Libby? Goddess, that thought was enough to make the hairs stand up at the nape of my neck. The last thing I needed was to be leading a conga line of zombies everywhere I went.

  I needed to try Betanya’s reversal spell again, somewhere far away from the graveyard.

  If my powers kept increasing, the coven would have little choice—they’d have to kill me before the taint spread further. Or... I would have to complete what Lorcan had started outside his dental practice in Portland, and transition fully into a bloodsucking creature of the night. Which wasn’t any better than death, in my opinion…

  Cool fear traced a finger up my spine at the thought of becoming an undead! I’d sworn I’d never let him sink fangs into me, that I’d die first. Which was easy to say when the prospect of burning at the stake wasn’t staring me in the face. Could I really bare my throat and sink into oblivion? Certainly it was the least painful option but...

  No.

  The thought made my stomach clench with instinctive revulsion. I couldn’t do it. There had to be another way.

  The sound of footsteps and a child’s voice reached my ears, though I couldn’t quite make out what was being said. Lorcan’s familiar smooth baritone replied, and then he let out a hearty laugh. The door opened a minute later, and a boy of around eight bounded out, clutching a plastic sack in one hand. The blonde set her magazine aside and gave Lorcan an indulgent smile.

  “So what’s the damage this time?” she asked.

  “Only one cavity!” the little boy answered with a broad smile.

  “Next time, let’s make that no cavities,” Lorcan responded.

  The woman nodded and seemed incapable of tearing her gaze away from the vampire, something which vexed me though I couldn’t say why. Maybe it was just because Lorcan was an unapologetic flirt and given his good looks, I imagined women flaunted themselves at him wherever he went.

  The door clicked shut behind me, and I took a deep, steadying breath before turning to face him. He was standing just behind me, close enough to touch, and the sight of him momentarily knocked the breath from me.

  He was undeniably good-looking—it was true. He’d have been handsome wearing a garbage sack, but in his work uniform, he looked... dashing. The scrubs were a deep green that emphasized the jewel-tones of his eyes, making them seem larger and even more luminous than usual. The shirt stretched tight over his well-muscled torso, and the white lab coat emphasized his broad shoulders. He’d tied his golden hair back at the nape of his neck, with only a few wisps escaping.

  My mouth went suddenly dry, and I itched to push the wayward hairs away from his face. My stomach clenched with a fierce and utterly alien sense of want. Goddess, but he was pretty. It was unfair, really. The bloodsucker was the bane of my existence and, as such, had no right to look so scrumptious. I needed to find a nice mundane to cavort with for a while, before I did something incredibly stupid, like have sex with Lorcan.

  That will never happen! I promised myself. Get a hold of yourself, Wanda!

  Lorcan’s smile evaporated as he took me in.

  His gaze settled on my mouth, and the bead of blood welling from my split lip. A flicker of desire made his eyes shine a little brighter before he wrenched his gaze away. His swallow was audible, even over the secretary’s idle chatter. My stomach performed an anxious roll, and I suddenly wished I’d taken the offer of gauze. Bleeding in front of a vampire, especially this vampire, was a very bad idea.

  “You’re hurt,” he whispered, voice gone rough with need.

  Lorcan had lived in America long enough that his Irish brogue had softened to something faint and vaguely pleasant. But when he forgot himself, the brogue grew thicker, just as it was now. Again, my stomach clenched, and my knees wobbled, just a little.

  “I’m aware,” I snapped, forcing myself into the usual role I played with him—that of perpetually pissed off.

  He seemed to remember himself and took a step back. The blood lust he always experienced around me wasn’t an easy thing to ignore, but he did his best. And, lately, I had to admit he was doing pretty well with it.

  “Why have you come, sweetling?” he asked, as his mouth broke into a broad grin. “Have you split a tooth? Perhaps you need a crown?”

  I glared at him. “I need to speak with you.” Then I looked at his secretary and cleared my throat. “Alone.”

  Again, his gaze darted to my mouth. “I’m not sure that’s wise, my dear.”

  I glanced pointedly at the waiting room where other nondescript people waited. Then I turned to face him again. “I can’t talk about the... situation in public.”

  Lorcan’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he swallowed convulsively. I could tell he was fighting the bloodlust, trying to keep it together. Eventually, he nodded.

  “Come along, then. We can talk in room one.” Then he turned to face his secretary. “Cara, could you inform the Carsons there may be a slight delay?”

  Cara nodded. “Sure thing, Uncle.”

  I raised an eyebrow at that. Uncle Lorcan?

  Were they really blood related or was ‘uncle’ just some sort of weird pet name? Lorcan had never mentioned having a sibling. Yet, the secretary did have the same slight accent, and her eyes were the same jeweled emerald tone. Even so, the relation had to be distant at best. Lorcan was over two hundred years old. Did Cara know what her Great Uncle (to however many degrees) was?

  Not that it mattered. We had much bigger fish to fry.

  Lorcan opened the door and gestured for me to step through first. When I was a few paces in the hall, he followed, and the door shut behind us with a soft click. The sound was enough to make my pulse skitter. We were alone, and he’d put himself at my back. He could jump me, push me against the wall, and go for my jugular, and no one would be the wiser.

  I glanced down, realizing I was leaving damp footprints on the tile as I padded forward. Lorcan moved as silently as a ghost, and I fought the urge to crane my neck to look at him.

  “You certainly look the sight, my dear,” he said in a low voice.

  “I’ve had a crappy night.”

  The hallway was short and deposited us before a pair of rooms. Both doors were ajar, and a trickle of light spilled into the hallway. I ducked into the first door and found myself staring at an upholstered dentist’s chair, a set of overhead lights, a few trays of equipment, a sink, and a row of cabinets. It looked... like any other dentist’s office, really.

  Lorcan pushed past me and strode purposefully toward the row of cabinets at the far end of the room, opening one with a businesslike flick of his wrist. He rummaged through the interior for a moment, and then pulled out a pack of gauze, freeing a few squares before running them under a spray of what smelled like rubbing alcohol. Then he rounded on me, jabbed one long, pale finger at the chair and said, “Sit.”

  I was tempted to cross my arms and lean against the wall, just to be contrary. But my head was aching, my lip stung, and I didn’t have the energy to bicker with him. So I shut the door, and then crossed to the seat, and slumped into the well-worn surface.

  “Is that going to hurt?” I asked as I eyed the gauze with suspicion.

  “Probably.”

  He stepped forward and reached out, gently grasping my chin. Then he tilted my head up so he could look me in the eyes. There was something hideously intimate about the gesture, and I dropped my gaze, rather than continuing to glare at him. Lorcan leaned forward, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me. And my heart started hammering in response.

  But, he didn’t kiss me. Instead, he ran the gauze over my chin, clearing away the drying streak of blood before dabbing gently at my lip.

  I lifted my gaze to meet his, brow puckering. “Ouch.”

  “Stop fussing like a babe.”

  “It stings!”

  “It’s alcohol.”

  I squirmed insomuch as his grip allowed and felt heat rise to my cheeks as I considered my next words. It was a stupid question to ask, but the words tumbled out anyway.

  “Are you… feeling in control of yourself?”

  Hunger sharpened his features for just an instant, and his eyes grew a shade darker. The heat in his gaze was unmistakable and intoxicating.

  “I am, sweetling,” he whispered. “The bond between us may compel me to stay near you, but as I’ve told you already, I won’t take your choice away from you, much though I am certainly driven to finish the job I started.”

  “Well, my choice still remains the same,” I answered but there didn’t seem to be much strength behind my words.

  “Very good. Now, why have you come?”

  I cleared my throat and shifted in the chair as he tossed the bloodied gauze into a bin.

  “I might need to move out of the duplex for the time being...”

  He appeared surprised. “And why is that? You are tired of your roommate, I assume?”

  “Well, yeah, of course, but that’s not the reason why.”

  “Then?”

  I cleared my throat again. “I may have... lost control of my powers and blighted the place.”

  “Blighted the place?”

  I nodded. “It’s crawling with mold… at least, I think it’s mold. It’s this weird bubbling yet furry stuff that actually talks.”

  I risked a glance up to gauge his expression and found him staring at me. “Mold that bubbles and talks?”

  I nodded. “Maybe it’s more like yeast? Hmm, I think I gave the duplex a major yeast infection.”

  “What in the bloody hell are you going on about?”

  I shrugged and took a deep breath. “That’s just the point—I don’t know. Whatever I did to the duplex, though, it’s spreading and I’m fairly sure it has something to do with my death magic.”

  “What were you doing before the yeast arrived?”

  “Hexing Hellcat,” I answered, sounding guilty but there it was.

  “Ah, I cannot say I blame you on that account.” He shook his head as he studied me for a few seconds. “Please explain.”

  “I had an argument with Hellcat and the blighting… just happened. That’s why I came here—because I needed to tell you what happened.”

  “As regards the blighting or the argument with Hellcat?”

  “About the fact that my powers are growing exponentially! Witch Tayir didn’t gain the ability to do the things I’ve done until years after her blooding, and she had a larger dose of Roscoe’s blood. She had almost a pint of his blood, and you barely gave me a mouthful.”

  “Hmm, curious.”

  “Right! I don’t understand why this is happening! Or how! And… what if it only gets worse? What if I raise the entire cemetery, or start causing storms, or accidentally meddle with time? The coven will kill me, Lorcan! Literally!”

  I didn’t realize I’d set my teeth on my bottom lip again, worrying the torn flesh, until pain lanced through me. Fresh blood welled up, dewing on my lip. A soft groan built in Lorcan’s chest and he took a step nearer.

  “Wanda...”

  Chapter Eight

  I should have run, or lunged for the open packet of gauze, stemming the flow before it could bubble out and roll down my chin, but I couldn’t get myself to move. Our eyes locked, and I froze in place, a hare in the sights of a hawk.

  The way Lorcan looked at me… it was hunger certainly—a hunger for my blood, but also a hunger for my flesh—the same type of hunger that has dominated men and women since time began.

  “Lorcan, please...” I whispered. I wasn’t sure what I was asking for—a chance to get away or for him to come closer.

  He chose the latter and leaned in, his cool breath feathering over my face. My breath hitched, and my heart threw itself against my ribs.

  He was going to kiss me, and I wasn’t sure what I could do to stop him. Or, Goddess help me, if I even wanted to stop him. I knew vampire saliva had properties that encouraged healing, a necessary adaptation if you went around tearing into people’s necks and wrists. So, maybe this was a good thing?

  “Lorcan,” I whispered again.

  “Tell me to stop,” he responded, mere inches away now.

  I could count his lashes and spy the flecks of gold near his pupils. “Lorcan… st…”

  “Tell me to leave the room.”

  I couldn’t breathe, let alone form the words I needed to say. My traitorous body leaned forward, my hands snaking around his shoulders and tugging him towards me, erasing the last few inches of space between us.