Page 7

I want to stride in there, grab her arms, hold them behind her back and tell her to never, ever disrespect her body in that way again. Not in my presence.

I want to taste every inch of her, and let the noises that vibrate on my lips convince her she is a goddess.

Before I can turn my attention to the swell of her breasts beneath her pale blue knitted sweater, movement at the end of the alleyway makes me draw back further against the wall.

Human. Male. Floppy hair, a suit jacket that screams ‘professor’, and brown shoes that have been shined to within an inch of their life.

He ignores the ‘closed’ sign and pushes the door open.

I feel her heartbeat quicken.

“Good evening, my love.” He leans in and kisses her.

As she turns to return the kiss, once again her sweater rides up. He notices immediately, glances down, then tugs at it and says, “Did you shrink this? It used to be bigger on you.”

Flames of red lick her cheeks. She blushes so hard, I can almost feel her body cracking and crumbling on the inside.

“I…”

“Leave it by the door tonight, I’ll take it to the clothes bank in the morning. No point keeping it when it doesn’t flatter you.” He hesitates, and cups her face. But it is not gentle or loving. It is the performance of a gentle, loving moment. Hiding something darker. “You’re so beautiful, Luna. Remember that.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but she nods at him and says, “Thank you.”

“Speaking of clothes…” He leans back against a bookshelf that shivers when he touches it. “We have the dinner at Patterson’s tomorrow. Have you chosen something suitable?”

Luna swallows hard. She returns to the counter and sifts some papers, moving them back and forth. “I thought I’d wear the black,” she says. “You liked it when I wore it to the Christmas party.”

He thinks for a moment, chewing his lower lip, while Luna avoids looking at him. “No,” he says. “Something new. You should wear something new.”

Now, she does look up. She blushes again, picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. “Steven, I can’t really afford⁠—”

He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. With a flourish, he takes out his wallet and tugs free a gold credit card. He hands it to her, but holds onto it when she tries to take the other end. Meeting her eyes, he says, “Keep it under one-hundred. And don’t ask again, Luna. Supporting you is becoming rather tedious.”

Without thinking, I stride forward and push the door open with such force it sounds like it might crack in two.

Luna’s eyes widen. Her fingers flex on the strap of her purse. Steven frowns at me. “I’m afraid she’s closed,” he says, gesturing to the sign.

Turning slowly to face him, it takes every ounce of willpower in my centuries-old vampire body not to rip this snivelling cunt’s eyes out for daring not to see what I see when I look at her.

For daring to make her feel like she’s not worthy of his stunted, narcissistic gaze.

I close the gap between us, aware that every muscle in my body is coiled, ready to spring open.

Steven doesn’t flinch. The vein in his neck pulses loudly, but not because he is scared of me; he’s simply impatient.

I hold his gaze for a long, simmering moment, then I smile. I give him my best, most flattering smile, and extend my hand. “I’m so sorry, Professor, I’ve forgotten your name. We met at a dinner at St. John’s last year. Patterson introduced us.”

Steven’s entire demeanor changes. Instantly, he is a picture of charm and charisma. He shakes my hand. “I’m terribly sorry, old chap. I don’t recall yours either.”

“Thornfield.” I tighten my grip. “Head of Occult Studies at St Catherine’s.”

And that’s the moment.

The moment when he questions what I am. For they have all heard the rumors about my department.

His eyes flicker with fear. He notices the sense of unease that hangs in the air.

“Oh, ah, yes. Fascinating stuff you’re doing at the museum. I’ve heard fantastic things.”