Lorcan rapped on the counter to get the woman’s attention. He had to do it three times before she grudgingly tore her eyes away from a nude satyr. I wasn’t into big, hairy men, but I had to admit that this satyr’s... ahem... asset was very impressive. Like the biggest I’d ever seen, and I’d snuck a few peeks at naked men on HBO.

  “Egad, it’s that horrid periodical again, is it?” Lorcan commented as he leaned over the counter and got an eyeful of the satyr who was laying on a silken bed, holding his… rod and offering the viewer a sexy wink.

  The witch snubbed out the remnants of her cigar in a crystal ashtray and gave us an unfriendly look. When she straightened, I saw that her nametag read ‘Antha.’

  “Can I help you?” she drawled.

  “I called two days ago to reserve adjoining rooms for myself and my daughter,” Lorcan said, drawing me under his arm. Despite myself, I felt comfortable there. “The reservation should be under the name ‘Dwimmer.’”

  Antha didn’t even bother to hide it when she rolled her eyes. Then she turned on one high heel, disappearing around the corner for a moment before she returned with a pair of card keys. She held them out gingerly to Lorcan, as though he might smear something foul on her if she got too close.

  “Enjoy your stay at the Outlaw Hotel,” she said without any warmth. Then she slumped over the counter once more, eyes returning to magazine as she flipped the page and we were met with the unfortunate image of what I thought was a naked werewolf, half in his human form and half not.

  “Was that a werewolf?” I asked Lorcan as he tugged me toward the stairs. And he didn’t release me until we reached our rooms on the second floor and he had my door open for me.

  “I refused to look as I did not wish to lose the contents of my stomach.”

  “Ah, come on, Lorcan, it’s just a naked were dude.”

  “Please… stop,” he continued as I walked into my room and neither of us said a word until the door clicked shut behind us. Then he pointed imperiously at the queen-sized bed which was made from logs and featured a comforter picturing horses.

  “Maybe it wasn’t a naked wolf man at all. It might have been a sasquatch, actually.”

  “Astrid,” he started and then closed his eyes as he shook his head and I laughed as I realized I’d gotten under his skin. When he opened his eyes, he pointed at the bed again. “Sit.”

  I’d been actively trying to avoid a deep conversation with him for hours, while he subtly (and not so subtly) dropped probing questions designed to make me open up. And I really didn’t feel like opening up now, but one look at his face made me reconsider. I had the feeling he’d tie me to a chair if I tried to flee. So, I sat, arms folded over my chest, ready for the inquisition.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Why do you think anything’s wrong?”

  “Because I know enough Depraysie women to tell when you’re in a mood.” He paused and quirked a brow. “And you are most certainly in a mood.”

  “So?”

  “So, come then: open up, Astrid. Talking about it will make you feel better.”

  No, I was pretty sure talking about it was going to make me feel worse. It wasn’t like Lorcan could do much to solve the issue. He sighed and crossed over to the bed when I said nothing, taking a seat beside me. His weight made the mattress dip, and when he inched a little closer to me, I flinched when he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. All of a sudden, I found myself blinking back the urge to cry at the paternal gesture. I hated this. Hated feeling so unstable. I was a Depraysie, damn it. I was supposed to be better than this. Stronger. I was supposed to laugh in the face of emotion.

  “Did you see how they looked at me?” I whispered as I shook my head and the unshed tears stung my eyes.

  “How who looked at you?”

  “All those witches? They just...”

  “Looked at you like you were a slug on the sidewalk?” he guessed, frowning.

  “Right.”

  He nodded and then sighed. “Yes, witches tend to do that where vampires are concerned. There’s a reason we keep our clans separate from your covens.” Then he paused and sighed. “And, it’s quite unfortunate, but it will only get worse before it gets any better.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because word about what happened at Blood Rose has spread and is spreading, so tensions between our species will continue to run high for the next decade or so.”

  I groaned, burying my face in my hands. A decade of hostile stares and silence if I was lucky. Ten years of dodging spiteful magical attacks if I wasn’t. It was a nightmare.

  “It’s not fair,” I whispered, voice barely audible through my fingers. “I didn’t ask for this, but I can’t even tell them that!” Right, I had to pretend I was a vamp and always had been.

  “It would only get worse if they knew who you really are, my dear.”

  “A witch turned vampire,” I said as I nodded, because I already knew. “They’d rather I were a corpse than a vampire. It’s... just… so messed up!”

  Lorcan’s hand came up to stroke my hair gently. A tear squeezed past my careful control, and I wiped it away before he could spot it. No, I didn’t want Lorcan catching me crying, because he’d probably do something ridiculous, like tracking down blood gelato and a chick flick to make me feel better. Did blood desserts even exist? I wasn’t sure, but the only thing I did know was that if they did exist, Lorcan would find one.

  “It is messed up,” he said. “And anyone who would think such a thing can go to hell for it. I’m beyond grateful that you’re still here, dearest.” He pondered that for a moment and then nodded. “In fact, my world would be a far colder place without you in it. And Wanda would be absolutely beside herself.”

  “We don’t have to do this, Lorcan,” I groaned.

  He cocked the other eyebrow at me. “The point is: you’re loved, Astrid. Keep that in mind and don’t give a toss what these arseholes think of you. You’re better than the whole lot of them.” Then he shrugged. “Besides, they’ll change their tune when you’re Queen one day. Even a half-vampire faerie noble commands respect.”

  “If I live that long,” I whispered.

  “Is that what’s bothering you? You’re worried you won’t live a long life… or that you will?”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I weighed my options—just come out with it, or sit here and keep going back and forth with Lorcan until he eventually broke me down and I told him the truth. Hmm, path of least resistance…

  “Rook and I had a fight before I left.”

  “And?”

  I frowned at him. “And... Goddess, Lorcan, what if he decides I’m not worth sticking around for?”

  He breathed in deeply and I could tell he was trying not to let his inward smile show. “Why would you assume he believes you aren’t worth it?”

  I shook my head. “Because he keeps treating me like I’m this fragile doll, and it got to be so annoying that I snapped at him for it. And I’m pretty sure he’s mad at me, but come on! I want to see things, do things, you know?”

  “I do.”

  “But I can’t do that—you know, seeing and doing things—and be with him at the same time, because he’s like… he’s treating me like I’ve taken vows of chastity or something!”

  “Oh, goodness, are we embarking on a birds and bees discussion then?” Lorcan asked, and looked like he’d just bitten into something gross.

  “No, I know what sex is, jeez, Lorcan. I’m nineteen, not nine.”

  He frowned. “Can you please not say that word?”

  “Is it so wrong that I want more with my freaking boyfriend than he’s willing to give me?” I asked, deciding to ignore his last comment. “I mean—it’s getting to be ridiculous!” I shook my head and tried to calm the tears that were getting ready to stream down my face. “Rook hasn’t called for days, so I’m pretty sure he’s angry. And he’s been the only thing keeping me grounded since Valserak mauled me.” Lorcan visibly winced at that. “I don’t think I can lose him, Lorcan. I need my sire.”

  “You’ll always have a sire,” Lorcan said, stroking a finger down my cheek. “If Rook turns out to be a real gobshite, then he wasn’t fit to be your surrogate sire anyway, dearest mine. And please do keep in mind that you are stronger than you realize. Not to mention that there’s an entire clan waiting to pick you up if you should fall. You’d have your pick of sires if you wanted.”

  I let my shaking hands fall to my lap and peered up at him through my lashes. Heat prickled through my cheeks, a pale echo of the furious blush I should have been experiencing. The question was just so embarrassing.

  “Would you?”

  “Would I what?”

  I cleared my throat, not really sure why I was having such a hard time getting this out. “Be my sire. If Rook and I don’t work out? Would you...?”

  My voice failed me. I couldn’t believe what I was asking. It felt too... intimate, like asking Lorcan to put on a promise ring or something equally as antiquated. But I needed the answer. I felt like I was perched on a narrow ledge, pinwheeling my arms to stay balanced, like I was half an inch from plunging to my doom if one more thing went wrong. I needed some kind of tether to hold onto.

  No, I wasn’t asking him to become my lover or anything gross like that. Not that I didn’t think Lorcan was hot—I mean, he was crazy hot, but of course I didn’t think about him that way. What I was asking him was… well, in some ways it was even more intimate. I was asking him to essentially be my dad.

  Lorcan smiled warmly before kissing the top of my head, ruffling my hair when he pulled away. “Is that even a question, silly? Of course, I’d look after you, Astrid—I would consider you my own daughter, such as I do now.”

  “Thank you, Lorcan,” I managed, my lips pulling into a wobbly smile.

  “But as to your earlier concerns about...” he cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “You and Rook and your… well, lack of intimacy, I suppose it is?”

  “Right.”

  “Right… well, I suspect that has more to do with him than with you.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”

  “You said he was celibate for centuries when you told us about your misadventures?”

  “Right, so shouldn’t that make him all the more eager?”

  He cocked his head to the side as he pondered it. “Well, perhaps not. That lack of practice might make him feel... self-conscious.”

  “A self-conscious vampire? That sounds like the opening to a bad joke.”

  He shrugged. “Witches have high standards for male performance, do they not? I know Wanda certainly enjoys putting me through my paces.”

  “Ack! If I’m not allowed to say the word ‘sex’ then you definitely aren’t allowed to talk about yours and Wanda’s sex life!”

  He chuckled at that. “Deal.”

  “It’s bad enough I had to hear it through the walls!”

  “Did you?” He seemed amused at that.

  “Yeah, and your dirty talk was enough to make the hair on my eyebrows singe. Like literally, the magical backwash you guys put off was terrible.”

  “Well, I will admit that cousin of yours is rather… unruly.”

  “Do you want me to bring up that naked sasquatch you saw in Aura?”

  “No, certainly I do not.” Then he paused. “Perhaps it was a blessing you moved out when you did.”

  “Yeah, I’d say.”

  He chuckled and then got that faraway look in his eyes again as he, no doubt, started thinking about his sex life with Wanda. Then he seemed to remember where he was and whom he was with and cleared his throat. Then he gave me a weird tap on the head like what you might do to a well-behaved golden retriever. “I believe you just need to be patient with your beau, Astrid. In many ways, he’s as new at this as you are. Spare his virtue for a little longer if you can. He’s rusty, I believe. Out of practice. Just... allow him to warm up first.”

  “You really think that’s the problem?”

  He nodded. “What else could the problem be?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck and felt a little shy about admitting what was in my head. “Well, I thought that… maybe… he doesn’t... want me anymore… now that I’m a vampire?”

  “He’d be certifiable to refuse someone as lovely as you, my dear.”

  “You’re just saying that, because it’s what Wanda would want you to say.”

  “No, I’m not,” he answered immediately. “I am not a man who is given to falsehoods, Astrid.”

  “Okay, I take it back then,” I said when it appeared I’d offended him. Lorcan was certainly the strangest of men, but I loved him.

  “It is quite an intense situation when you’re newly turned,” He continued. “Allow Rook to be careful with you—to worry for and about you. It’s a good sign, truly, as it simply means he isn’t a cad who is interested in his own physical release.”

  “Physical release?” I echoed, shaking my head. “I might have preferred it when you called it ‘sex’.”

  Lorcan chuckled. “I truly believe Rook values you—that is my point. Furthermore, I believe he shall be a good sire. And if he isn’t...” Lorcan cracked his knuckles for emphasis. I smiled.

  “Don’t beat up my boyfriend.”

  “It’s my duty as your father figure, dear.”

  My grin widened. “I guess it is.”

  Lorcan jerked a thumb toward the door. “I’m going to take a shower now, love, and then I must phone Wanda and she will, no doubt, expect a bedtime story from me.”

  “Egad.”

  He chuckled. “Perhaps you might like to take a tour of the town?”

  “Anything to avoid overhearing whatever you two are going to talk about.” And that was the truth.

  He nodded. “Clear your head, but be certain to return before dawn. You’ve got a big week ahead of you.”

  I leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for the pep talk, Uncle Lorcan. It means a lot.”

  “Anytime, dear. Anytime.”

  Chapter Three

  “His Highness, Prince Reynard, has commanded me to accompany you this evening,” Moschata said, pushing his glasses further up his nose in a fussy way that reminded me unpleasantly of my Aunt Celestine.

  The Autumn faerie had ambushed me only a few yards away from the entrance to the Outlaw Hotel, bobbing beside me like a leaf on the wind as I strolled the rickety boardwalk that stretched through town. I hadn’t actually noticed him hovering near my ear at first—and that wasn’t because I was that lost in my thoughts about Rook. Moschata was small—as in not much bigger than my palm. His skin was a rusty color, mottled here and there with darker patches of brown. If the weather hadn’t been all wrong for it, I’d have mistaken him for a fallen oak leaf and kept on walking. It was only when he’d lit up, exuding a flaxen glow like a firefly, that I’d turned my attention to him.

  And recognized him. I’d first met Moschata (or ‘Mocha’, as I called him) in the realm of Faerie and I’d pretty much thought he was just another Prince Reynard brown-noser. Now, after having spent a little time with him, I didn’t think he was a brown-noser, I was convinced of it.

  Mocha looked a little like Mother’s actuary dressed in stiff, formal clothing, albeit in the shades the Autumn court favored. I doubted he actually needed the glasses to see and was just wearing them to look and feel important. Regardless, he buzzed like a cicada when he moved, adding another level of irritation to his presence.

  So much for a peaceful walk to clear my head.

  “Buzz off,” I repeated, as though saying it for a third time would somehow drive the message through his minuscule skull.

  “I can’t. I’ve got orders from the big guy.”

  “And I’m a big, undead girl, Mocha, which means I can tour the town by myself.”

  He pulled himself up to his full height (which really wasn’t impressive), wings buzzing furiously in response to the perceived insult. The sound made my ears ache, and I walked faster, trying to outpace him. Kind of a bust when the thing that’s chasing you can fly. I’d have stepped into Faerie to escape him if I thought I could get away with it, but in this town, with so many witches, I might as well whip out a megaphone and announce to the whole town just who and what I was, which was exactly what Uncle Fox wanted to avoid. He’d thought it best to keep my existence under wraps until I was fully trained and ready to ascend the throne. Assuming I survived that long—and with Janara out there somewhere and presently unaccounted for, that was a big ‘if’.

  “It’s Moschata, not Mocha! What do I look like, some kind of trendy coffee beverage?”

  “I’d like to drown you in a trendy coffee beverage,” I muttered.

  “What was that?” he demanded.

  “Nothing,” I said with a sigh. “Forget I said it.”

  Mocha’s chest puffed out like an indignant bird’s and he cleared his throat with an unnecessary amount of pomp. “I’ll have you know that my family are a group of loyal agricultural specialists working beneath his highness for centuries! Our Crookneck Pumpkins are routinely voted the best in the entire cornucopia. And I, a lowly farmer’s son ,was sent to his court when I was just a boy to–”

  “—yeah, yeah,” I said, waving away his lecture. His voice was so squeaky, I could barely make out the finer points, anyway. “I’m sure your rags to riches story is fascinating and all, but I’m serious. I don’t need the chaperone.”

  “That’s not what Prince Reynard said.”

  I stopped and turned to look at him. “Don’t you think it’s going to be blatantly obvious who and what I am if you keep blathering on about ‘His Highness this’ and ‘His Highess that?’ I’m supposed to be incognito, might I remind you?”

  “You don’t need to remind me.”

  “Apparently, I do.” I breathed out a sigh and started walking again. “So, could you act as my guardian angel somewhere else, please? Maybe about a mile up?”

  “You need an angel, given how much trouble you’ve proven to be to my Lord,” Mocha grumbled, but did as I asked.