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“Well, to be fair, he wasn’t wrong,” he admitted. “I was turned about two years ago.”
“Show me some ID,” I said, holding out my hand imperiously. I would think about exactly how stupid it was to order vampires around at a later date.
The corners of his lips quirked. “What?”
“How do I know you’re not just some crazy who wandered into the house? All vampires are required by Council to register after they’re turned and file for their vampire identification card.”
“Congratulations, you’ve read USA Today.”
“Show me the card, Mr. Clemson.”
“Sam, please. Mr. Clemson was my father.”
“Are you sure about that?” I retorted.
“Haha, I’m a bastard, clever.” He grumbled as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and handed me the little green card. He was indeed Sam Clemson, and this was his address. And contrary to all laws of DMV logic, Sam took a damn fine ID picture.
“So, you’ve been here this whole time? How? Where have you been sleeping—” I gasped. “Is that why I can’t get into the basement? You’re locked in there during the day?”
“I don’t think I should tell you where I sleep during the day,” he said, lifting an eyebrow.
My lips wanted to twitch into a smile, but I clamped them tightly together. I supposed I couldn’t blame him for being cautious. Some paranoid humans spent the first year “postvampire” finding any reason possible to drag vampires out into the daylight or push them onto handy pointy wooden objects. The Council formed to “formally interact with human governments and facilitate open, cordial communication.” In other words, they busted their way into the homes of presidents, prime ministers, and dictators around the world and told them, “Quit killing us off for your twisted amusement, or we will FedEx you pieces of your beloved Robert Pattinson.”
And then a thought occurred to me.
“Wait, did Lindy know you were still staying here?” I demanded. He nodded, stepping away from me and my kitchen implements. “She rented this house to me knowing there was a vampire sleeping in the basement? That bitch!”
“Hey,” he objected. “That’s my—well, my ex-wife you’re talkin’ about. Do you always cuss so much?”
“Aren’t you the least bit upset about this?” I yelled.
“Of course I’m upset about it,” he shouted back. “Do you think I’m happy that my wi—Lindy thought it was OK to open our home up to some stranger, without tellin’ me? I didn’t even realize you were here until yesterday, when I tripped over your stupid box of kitchen stuff. How early have you been goin’ to sleep, woman?”
“Beside the point.”
“I was still tryin’ to figure out how to get you out of the house without talking to you, when you came in here swingin’ that wok. Who travels with a wok?”
“You, don’t talk anymore,” I snapped at him. I snatched up my purse from the hallway and grabbed my phone. I didn’t feel bad about calling, despite the fact that it was after 11:00 P.M. Even if Lindy was in bed, I thought she owed me an explanation. She didn’t pick up, and the call went to voice mail. I hissed out very specific instructions to call me as soon as she got my message, no matter what the time.
I slammed my phone onto the counter and let out a vicious stream of anatomically detailed curses.
He pulled those full, pale lips into a sneer. “You are just a big ol’ ball of sunshine, aren’t you?”
“The better to melt your face with, my dear,” I snapped. I took a deep breath and tried to remember that even if this guy was being a bit of a dick, it wasn’t his fault that his ex-wife had taken the last of my cash reserves under false pretenses. I was ashamed that I’d been conned by that little bumpkin bimbo. Clearly, a perky blond ponytail and a great big Jesus fish on one’s car didn’t make a person trustworthy.
I sighed. “OK, calling the cops is out, because you apparently live here. And I really need to take full advantage of my lease. I’m only here for a month.”
“I will not leave my house for some random stranger.”
“So, I guess we’re at an impasse,” I said.
“Yeah, if ‘impasse’ means ‘the foul-mouthed human moves out as soon as possible.’”
I crossed my arms under my chest… and realized that sort of pushed my boobs up into this weird cleavage popover. I dropped my arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Fine, you don’t have to leave,” he said silkily as moved toward me. His body language suddenly shifted into a predatory lean, his tall frame looming over me, trapping me against the counter. “By all means, please stay. It gets so lonely out here when I’m on my own. I could use some… companionship.” He dropped his fangs and bared them dramatically.
And because the bad-decision-making lobes of my brain were in charge, I giggled instead of cowering against the counter. I stepped forward, into the cage of his arms.
