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“And that sometimes they never do,” I remind her. “Sophie and I have virtually the same DNA and she’s never had any witch power. She doesn’t even smell like a witch.”
Blaire frowns. “I know, but she wasn’t raised in a family of witches. Our mojo has rubbed off on you, I know it has. You’re going to come into your magic any day now. Have faith, dear sister. And have a heart and bring me a cup of coffee. I’m so wiped out. Darcy and I didn’t get to sleep until after three.”
I tease Blaire about being a sex addict as I fetch the coffee, moving around Kitty who’s already hard at work on something delicious smelling for lunch, but inside my head I’m already at the party tonight, winning Baron over with my hot librarian vibes and planning the next step in our happily ever after.
Chapter 6
Baron
I spend the daylight hours tossing and turning on my cot—tormented by visions of Annie making good on her threat to “get naked with every vampire in town”—and emerge at sunset to find that same, something’s-not-right energy vibrating in the air around the cabin.
I step out onto the back porch, glaring at the swamp and the mountain beyond, possessed by the certainty that there’s something out there, watching, something other than the usual host of isolation-seeking creatures and ghosts with whom I’ve shared the marsh for decades. Laura seems agitated, too, so much so that she crawls back into her makeshift cave beneath the porch after breakfast and goes back to sleep instead of insisting on play time with her ball or a roughhouse session by the fire.
Setting my empty mug of blood in the sink, I change into black pants and a black sweater, preparing to investigate the source of the “off” feeling. But before I can fill my canteen with blood for later or warn Laura that I might have to sleep in one of the coastal caves tomorrow if my exploration takes me farther from home than expected, there’s a knock on my door.
I open it to find Edmond on the front stoop with a messenger’s bag slung across his chest and a grin on his ridiculously handsome face.
He is by far the prettiest of the Blackmore brothers. His handsome mug was the reason he was turned, in fact. Priscilla, our maker, discovered him on a World War I battlefield, bleeding to death in the mud as the rest of his platoon fled into the night, and decided his golden-haired beauty must be preserved for all time. She kept him as a favorite pet for nearly a decade before depositing him in Nightfall.
It was different for me.
Priscilla was paid to attack me as I exited a pub after a high-stakes business deal.
It wasn’t personal, she whispered, as she drained me dry. It was simply business, and as the wealthiest man in our village, surely that was something I could understand.
Afterwards, she dumped me in the cellar of an abandoned warehouse by the docks and didn’t trouble herself with my welfare except to warn me that there was a boat leaving for Salem, Massachusetts in a few days, and that I should be on it if I hoped to avoid a stake through the heart by the men who’d hired her. She gave me a card with two names on it—Darcy and Colin Blackmore—and said they would be my brothers in my new life.
I didn’t want brothers—after discovering what remained of Cora and the girls, I didn’t even want to be alive—but Darcy found me in that same cellar and dragged my wretched, weeping self onto the boat and into one of three coffins waiting in the hold. He’s been my closest friend and brother ever since.
Edmond is more like a younger sibling, the one who drives you mad with his antics, but whose charm somehow wins your indulgence in the end.
Now, he throws out his arms and booms, “Baron my boy, there you are! I was worried you’d run off into the woods again and I’d miss you entirely. Turn that frown upside down and give your favorite brother a hug.”
I grunt and cross my arms. “I don’t hug.”
“I realize that,” he says, pushing past me into the cabin. “But I think you should start. Hugs are fantastic and more importantly, necessary. We may be cold-blooded, but we’re still primates. We’re hardwired to spend our days grooming and snuggling one another. To deny that side of oneself is barbaric, not to mention bad for the complexion.” He squints at my face. “When’s the last time you exfoliated? Or trimmed that beard? Wait, don’t answer. It doesn’t matter. I’ll shave the rabid mink pelt you’ve strapped to your chin before we leave for the party. We might even have time for a pore-clearing mask if we hurry. I brought my scissors and bag of skin-preserving tricks. Take a seat on the couch. I’ll have everything prepared before you can say ‘Edmond is an angel sent from heaven to save my sallow skin.’”
“No.” I watch him unpack his bag on the table by the couch but don’t budge from my place by the door. “I like my beard.”
“And what about your dull, crusty skin?” Edmond asks, continuing to pull out small bottles and a roll pouch I assume holds his shaving supplies. “Are you attached to that as well? Because I hate to break it to you, brother, but these days women expect more of a man than a pair of strong shoulders to work the land and a husband who keeps the beatings to a minimum.”
My lips part to inform him that I have no interest in women or husbandry, but he pushes on before I can speak, “You actually have to make an effort these days—with your manners, your conversation, and your appearance. But since the surly, swamp grump is deeply engrained with you, we’ll have to settle for what we can fix from the outside.” He waves a breezy hand. “Which should be fine. I’m assuming this poor woman must actually enjoy your personality or she wouldn’t have spent the night. Perhaps she’s touched in the head? Not that I would judge her if she were, we’re all mad in our own way. But even a mad woman might come to her senses after a close encounter with the blood flakes in your beard.”
Ignoring the jab—I shower more often than this pretty boy with his worries about stripping his skin of its essential oils—I growl, “Who told you?”
“Who do you think?” Edmond nods toward the back door, where Laura has appeared, looking both sheepish and pleased with herself.
I curse beneath my breath.
I should have known. Edmond’s ability to communicate with animals is how I discovered Laura could understand me in the first place. Without his gift, I wouldn’t have known that cub Laura had a painful fish bone stuck at the back of her teeth that was making it impossible for her to put on weight. She’s had a soft spot for him—and he for her—ever since.
I try to remember how much they care about each other—and, presumably, me—as I level a steely gaze Laura’s way. “You were told to keep what happened that night to yourself.”
Laura moan-rumbles as she lumbers into the library to lean heavily against Edmond’s side.
He gives her thick shoulder a deep, affectionate scratch. “That’s right. She didn’t tell me who it was, not even when I begged and pleaded and bribed her with a gallon of strawberries. All she would say is that there was a woman here and that you’re perfect for each other.” He shrugs. “But she’s worried you’re going to fuck it up.”
Laura lifts her snout to Edmond’s face as she bellows in protest.
