Page 65 of Bleed

“Dr. Elliott Faulkner.”

His eyebrows shoot up, then knit together. “Faulkner,” he repeats, almost to himself.

“He's claimed me as his source,” I add, remembering what James said about vampire law.

If I’m a claimed source, nobody else can touch me.

For a long moment, Vincent just stares at me. The smile fades, his jaw working. Then, just as quickly as it vanished, the smile returns.

“I see,” he says softly. “I wasn’t aware.”

“Well, you are now,” I bite out, refusing to break eye contact. “So again, I think you should leave.”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “What if I’m a customer?” His attention wanders to the artwork covering the walls, then returns to me. “Maybe I want a tattoo.”

My pulse pounds so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. “Like I said, we’re closed.”

His eyes stay on mine long enough that every tiny sound in the shop seems to disappear.

The refrigerator hum.

The music.

Even my own breathing.

It’s just him watching me, like he’s trying to decide whether Elliott Faulkner’s claim is enough to make him walk away… or whether I’m worth the risk.

The silence stretches, every instinct in my body screaming at me to move, my fight or flight response kicking hard.

“Is there a problem here?”

Ronnie’s voice slices clean through the tension, and I glance over to find him emerging from the back room, his eyes flickering between Vincent and me. One hand rests casually atop the handle of the trusty baseball bat he keeps behind the counter to fend off trouble.

Not that it’ll do much against a vampire.

Still, the knot cinched tight around my lungs loosens just enough that I can breathe again.

“No problem,” I say quickly, turning back to the vampire intruder. “Vincent was just leaving.”

For a second, I wonder if he’ll push it. Instead, Vincent’s eyes linger on mine for another long moment before he inclines his head and turns for the door.

“I’ll see you around, Tiffany,” he drawls, the promise wrapped in the same smooth tone he’d greeted me with. He strolls toward the door at an unhurried pace, tossing me a wink over his shoulder as he pushes it open.

The bell chimes softly, and I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until the door swings shut and he disappears into the night.

“Tiffany?” Ronnie asks.

I groan, dragging a hand down my face as I cross to the front door, flipping the lock and turning the sign from open to closed. “Don’t ask,” I mutter.

“Normally I wouldn’t,” Ronnie grumbles. “But if vampires are showing up in my shop, I kinda have to.”

I roll my eyes as I pivot back around. “They're part of society. They're gonna wander in from time to time.”

“But that one knew you. Called you by a name that isn’t yours.” He studies me for a beat, eyes narrowing. “What have you gotten mixed up in, Bex?”

“Nothing.” The lie comes automatically, and I turn away before he can see anything on my face, stalking back toward my station.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Ronnie mutters, still watching me. Then he lets out a long sigh, scrubbing a hand over his beard. “Maybe you should take a little more time off. Figure your shit out.”