Page 17

Her eyes were heavy as she smiled a sleep-deprived greeting. “Getting home from a hot date?”

“Um, no.” He shrugged lightly. “Work.”

“What a coincidence.” Her grin lifted until it reached her eyes.

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Busy night?”

“Not terrible, actually. Nobody died on my watch, so that’s a plus. How about yours?”

A laugh vibrated in his throat. “Same. Sort of.” No humans, anyway.

Best laugh he’d heard in… forever, straight from her belly and slap-happy at the odd hour, she tipped her head and grinned at him. “I have no idea what you do for a living.”

“Are you always this perky at four in the morning?”

“Hard to say. Sure, sometimes. Hungry?”

“Um…” His shoes were filled with lead, his belly with butterflies, and his brain swam with interest. Best damn idea he’d heard in ages. Watching her smile at him like that all morning?

He backed up another step. Cost him a lot, but he downshifted to his poker face.

“Vann?”

“Eryn?”

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up while I whip up some breakfast? I make a mean omelet. And, I suspect you could use a hot meal.”

Shit, she had good night vision. He tilted a look at her and backed up another step, deeper into the shadow of his house.

“Then, over breakfast, you can explain why you’re covered in blood.”

Demon blood varied widely, but the ones that bled like humans were the most disturbing. Some spirted sticky or acidic bodily fluids. Others oozed a tar-like goo. Those did not wash off easily. That shit got everywhere. Scrubbing his balls with sandy orange cleansers was as comfortable as sex on a sandy beach before going for a run.

He poured industrial enzymatic detergent into the washer and turned it on heavy duty. Like a serial killer after a productive night, he traipsed across the house and into his bathroom. He was going to have to attach a mudroom to the laundry room. Maybe with a utility shower.

He cranked the spray to battering-ram pressure and washed off the first layer with water alone. Once the water ran clear, he sudsed from head-to-toe and scrubbed so hard his skin flushed and tingled. After every damn spot was out, he scrubbed again, until he smelled fresher than a misty, Pacific Northwest morning.

Vann flicked off the water and dried with a luxury he refused to live without—kick-ass towels. Big enough to be called a sheet and made for high-end spas. He patted his face dry and smoothed the soft fabric over his raw skin.

Tonight had been an easy fight, but his stomach didn’t seem to care and rumbled with a craving for a hearty refuel. He pushed his hand on his noisy abdomen and laughed at himself. If Eryn had any idea how much he could put away—especially after a night of hunting—she would never have offered.

He padded across the cool floor to his closet and grabbed a t-shirt, then tugged his jeans up over his hips. Buttery-soft denim was another necessary indulgence. He crossed the long expanse of bare hardwood across the bedroom.

The moment he opened the door, noises from the kitchen hit him smack-dab on the funny bone. At the end of the hall, he turned toward the kitchen and found his breakfast date had brought supplies and was beginning her prep work on his empty island.

A shock of a laugh rumbled in his throat. Before that mudroom, before even furniture, he needed a decent security system. Not that he minded Eryn wandering in, but fuck, if that banshee had friends with an appetite for vengeance, he’d be fucked.

She cracked another egg into the bowl and dumped the shell. And another. She glanced over her shoulder. “After a long night, I go for a three-egg omelet. You?”

“I will eat as much as you make.”

“I have a dozen eggs.”

“Fill her up.” He folded his arms across his chest, and his lips curled into an easy smile.

“You have one of those metabolisms, don’t you? Lexi’s like that. Bottomless pit, and she never gains an ounce.”

Yeah, he had a hell of a metabolism, inhumanly so. “Don’t you like your kitchen?”