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“Are you laughing at me? I can be in New Jersey in a few hours and beat whatever life you have left out of you.” It’s an empty threat, but a little aggression makes me feel slightly better.
“First, I am as much alive as you are, despite the myths that surround our kind of monsters. Second, I’m not laughing at you. I’m intrigued by how one short visit from this woman has affected you. Is she beautiful?”
“The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” My heart actually beats, and for a vampire, that’s pretty rare. “By now, she’ll think I’m a monster.”
Declan lets out a long breath. “Go tell her yourself then.”
“What?”
He must have lost his mind in New Jersey.
“She’ll either run away or not believe you. What’s the harm?”
I must force my grip on the phone to ease before I crush the thing. “I don’t want either of those options. I invited her to come for brunch tomorrow. Morris is already preparing human food to impress her. I’ve clearly lost my mind.”
The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. When he speaks, Declan’s voice is extremely soft and gentle, as if he’s talking to one of the people he helps during their transition into death. “Go for a long hunt, Oliver. Perhaps she’ll surprise you and you’ll need to have fed to truly enjoy her company.”
I disconnect the line and go to my room to change into hunting clothes before the beast in me ruins my favorite jeans.
ChapterThree
Britta
Iwalked around town talking to locals, but most didn’t want to discuss the school. I thought people would be dying to gossip about whatever goes on in those woods. Some people seemed afraid to tell me anything.
The kid at the gas station told me a crazy story about demons and vampires. It made no sense, and I’m pretty sure he was high on something.
By morning, I’m frustrated and desperately need coffee. My sleep was plagued by sexy blue eyes and a tight-fitting T-shirt.
Thank goodness this town has a diner. Mable’s is one of those old diners that serves everything from filet mignon to sloppy joes.
Three women in their sixties sit shoulder to shoulder at the long chrome-wrapped counter. The pale-blue paint and white tile are all new and clean.
A similarly aged woman in a matching blue uniform with a white apron is holding a pot of black gold while chatting with the trio. “He said it was the least they could do and handed over the money.”
I leave a seat empty between me and the ladies.
“Coffee, hun?” the waitress asks.
“Please.” It sounds more desperate than I’d hoped.
All four ladies chuckle.
“I’m Mable. Are you new in town?” She turns over the cup sitting upside down on the saucer in front of me and pours. “Cream and sugar?”
“Please.”
She takes a small white porcelain creamer out of a counter-height refrigerator and places it in front of me, along with a little rack of sweeteners and sugar packets.
Two sugars and cream later, I take a long sip. When I look up, the ladies are watching. “I didn’t sleep well. I’m only visiting. My name is Britta Daniels. I’m a reporter.”
“What’s to report in Havendoor?” The woman closest to me at the counter has salt-and-pepper hair and a kind smile.
“I’m curious about Scrim Hall, but no one seems to know much about the goings-on there.” I practically guzzle my coffee.
Mable refills me. “It was a boarding school of sorts. Now it’s home to some of the former students.”
“The thing is, my research tells me that six boys disappeared from various orphanages twenty-five years ago and somehow Scrim Hall is connected with those children.” I watch for some shock or outrage.
