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“I try to avoid direct interaction with clients whenever possible, particularly when I’m alone,” I griped, yanking my arm out of his grip. “And I’ve never interacted with a client who shows fang as much as you do.”
“You have this way of sneaking up on me. My reflexes are generally better.”
“Well, it would appear that you’re not at your best right now,” I conceded. “I think we’ve gotten off to a bad start, what with the violence and the destroyed cell-phone hardware. Can we start over?”
His face slipped into a shrewd expression. “Does that mean a renegotiation of our financial arrangement?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m willing to try it anyway,” he drawled.
“Iris Scanlon, pleased to make your acquaintance,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand. A pulse of warmth buzzed along my palm. He squeezed my fingertips in a way that had the nerves along my skin singing and sizzling. It felt like part tickling sexual energy, part organic emergency flare; like my sensible superego was screaming at the dumber, hornier regions of my brain that whatever the id was planning could lead to no good. I pulled my hand away abruptly. His lips twitched, and his eyes narrowed, like a hawk circling a clueless little mouse.
“Cletus Calix, pleased not to be sprawled out on the floor.”
I laughed at an indecent decibel level and clapped my hand over my mouth. “Cletus? As in the slack-jawed yokel?”
“In my language, it meant ‘illustrious,’ ” he said grumpily.
I snickered. “Or that you shared a drinkin’ gourd with your eleven brothers, also named Cletus.”
He arched one sable eyebrow. “I’m going to assume I would have to originate from this lovely hamlet before I’d find the humor in that.”
“Hey, I live in Half-Moon Hollow,” I protested. “And no one in my family is named Cletus. No wonder you insisted on having only your initials on the contracts.”
“As opposed to Scanlon, which means ‘scandal’ in the old Irish tongue? There’s a proud lineage.”
“Regardless of etymology, I’m calling you Cal. I can’t call you Cletus with a straight face,” I told him, pushing dark, errant hair out of my face. “OK. Now that my panic high seems to be fading, can you explain how we’ve found ourselves in this situation? I had quite a few things on my to-do list this morning. ‘Take in stray, cranky vampire boarder’ was not on that list.”
“Cranky? Is my manner not suited to your delicate human sensibilities?”
“Oh, no, I’ve always wanted an abrasive, sullen creature of the night to call my very own. My self-esteem was getting too high.” He scowled at me. I gave him the shallow, sugary smile I gave Diandra on the rare occasion our paths crossed. “I have enough of my own sarcasm, Cal. I don’t need yours.”
He eyed me for one long, speculative moment. I felt weighed and measured by those deep, dark eyes. And I got the distinct impression that he didn’t like what he saw. Well, screw him and his “illustrious” lineage. I was a Scanlon, damn it. And my lineage was just as noble. I came from a long line of people … who were probably household servants to some very important people.
I opened my mouth to tell him that he was welcome to leave anytime he could drag his undead butt out the door, but he finally said, “Someone interfered with my blood supply. There was some substance in the blood that made me weak and sick. I knew something was wrong after consuming a relatively small amount. But by that time, I couldn’t stay on my feet. I lay there on the kitchen floor, drifting in and out of consciousness, for most of the day. I didn’t even feel it when you fell on top of me.”
“I didn’t fall on top of you, I fell over you.”
His lips twitched. And I had this bizarre urge to slap the smirk right off of his face, which wasn’t exactly the best way to establish an amicable business relationship. What was it about this vampire that had me swinging on the mood pendulum so violently? I’d never had trouble behaving professionally around the undead. But something about my new charge made me want to kiss his mouth one minute and punch it the next. Neither of which was a good idea, because either would end up in my being bitten and/or maimed.
Drawing me out of the internal smacking/kissing debate, Cal said, “You’re very concerned about semantics. Fine, when you fell over me, I didn’t feel it. I only sensed you after you so foolishly stretched your arm over my face. I could feel your pulse beating that delicious tattoo right over my nose. You have a very nice natural aroma. Are you aware of that? Lavender with a hint of iron-rich earth.”
“Am I going to have to get a rolled-up newspaper?” I demanded.
A little dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth. I was amusing him, like a petulant little pet. Fantastic. I rolled my eyes. “Are you sure it was the blood that made you weak? Did you do anything else last night that could have made you sick? Blood eventually expires, right? Do vampires have allergies beyond silver and sunlight? Could you have had a reaction to something in your new house, like a cleaning product or new carpet?”
Cal seemed mildly annoyed with all the questions. He yawned, something I’d never seen vampires do, and blinked as if he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. “I am sure it was the blood, perhaps something injected into the plastic packet. I wouldn’t have noticed the tampering. And as for allergies, I’m not sure I should reveal my weaknesses to you.”
“You think I’m going to attack you with Windex?”
He blinked again. “At the moment, I trust you more than the average human. But you might question your decision to let me into your home at some point tomorrow while I’m resting.”
“You make a relevant but frustrating point. I’m actually questioning my decision as we speak.” When he tensed, I added, “I figure if I tell you the truth now, you’ll have no reason to drain me over a minor misunderstanding later. I have to ask: Why would someone interfere with your blood, in particular? Why would someone want to hurt you? I mean, some other reason beyond your lack of personal charm or regard for communicative technology.”
His cheek barely twitched with the effort to frown at me. “That’s classified information, Council business,” he said, slurring the S’s slightly. “I can’t discuss it with you.”
“Oh, well, I’ll just go right ahead risking my neck without the full picture, then,” I muttered, crossing my arms.
