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Sophie presses a hand to her chest, making the silky bow on her white blouse flutter as she sighs. “Oh good. Very good. And bad, but in a good way. Or so I hear from the women he’s dated.”
“Huh,” I say, crossing my arms. “So, he has a reputation with the ladies?”
“Well, of course,” Sophie says. “Just look at him.”
“I’d rather not,” I say, making Annie roll her eyes as I do my best not to think about Darcy’s broad shoulders, sleepy blue eyes, or the way his full lips tempt me—when they’re not pruned in disapproval of my “goblin” ways of course.
“Blaire isn’t a fan of vampires,” she explains, shooting me a stern look, “but she’s working on being more open-minded, aren’t you, sister dearest?”
I’m actually working on ignoring how obnoxiously pretty Darcy is and the way my blood rushed over his sexy self in his kitchen this morning, but Annie doesn’t need to know that. “Sure,” I say, backing toward the door. “Nice to meet you, Sophie. I’ll see you at the harvest festival?”
“You will,” Sophie chirps. “And I’ll see you at the library?” Again, there’s an oddly pointed edge in her tone, making me wonder if someone ratted me out about stealing that book. I would have just checked it out along with the rest of my research materials, but I didn’t want to leave a trail that might connect me to the vampire poisoning last night.
But since the poisoning didn’t go down as planned, there’s no reason to hang on to the volume now.
“Sure thing,” I tell Sophie, forcing a smile. I’ll get that book back in the collection as soon as possible, but first I have a wedding to foil and a sister to introduce to the delights of mutual attraction.
Crossing my fingers that one of the shifter elders Darcy has in mind will be a good fit for Annie—and that I’ll be able to get her alone with him tonight if so—I charge up the stairs and into the shower. Like most things in our new home, the third-floor bath is a not-at-all-delightful mixture of odd and dysfunctional. The toilet is so close to the shower that I have to straddle the bowl while I open the door, and the drain cover is an antique carved from whalebone, screwed into the shower floor that I swear I hear singing when the water’s running.
Or maybe there’s something living down there in the pipes that enjoys singing in the shower…
The thought is disturbing—I don’t want anyone or anything under me while I’m buck naked and vulnerable, not even a sassy cockroach—but I add it to my rapidly growing list of “Shit to Do Once this Marriage is Canceled” and ignore the faint soprano warbling emerging from the drain as I wash my hair.
I dress in a plain long-sleeved brown sweater dress, knee-high white socks, and my brown boots, and head for my bedroom door. At the last moment, however, I reverse course and reach for my small makeup bag. Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the room—the one so heavy I haven’t tried to move it from its original position—I brush on a quick dash of blush, sweep mascara onto my lashes, and smooth on a coat of deep berry lip stain.
Setting the makeup on the bureau, I step back, taking in my reflection. I will never be a beauty, but I look pretty good tonight.
Not that I care, of course. Or that it matters.
My job is to vet suitors for Annie, not engage in flirtation myself. And if I were going to flirt, it wouldn’t be with a tall, dark, and infuriating vampire.
I still can’t stand Darcy, I remind myself as I grab my purse and head downstairs, calling out a goodbye to Annie who’s now taking her turn in her private, not-quite-as-creepy shower. (She hasn’t heard any singing from her drain, but she swears the nightlight turns on at three a.m. every morning—even though she unplugged it and it’s currently sitting on the window ledge by her toilet.)
Darcy’s cat is adorable, and I believe her claims that he’s not all bad, but that doesn’t mean he’s good for me. As a potential friend—yes, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine, if he can manage to stop calling me a goblin for five minutes. As anything more than a friend—hell to the fuck no.
After the disaster with Leon seven years ago, I’ve learned my lesson about gorgeous, enigmatic men. They’re trouble and as soon as the chips are down, they’re out the door, leaving you alone to grieve the loss of the guy you thought was The One.
Shaking thoughts of my ex from my head, I hurry down the front porch steps and out the gate, turning right to head toward downtown. As I pass the overgrown hydrangea in the corner of the yard, I think I see something move behind the drooping blossoms.
I pause, squinting into the bush, not wanting to leave Annie alone if there’s something lurking in our yard. Now that I know my sister also smells like a tasty morsel to the bloodsuckers and other predators in this town, I intend to be even more careful about leaving her alone after dusk, even for short periods of time.
But after a closer inspection of the bush—squatting to peek up into the branches from below—I don’t see anything to worry about. Just a few webs and a fat mama spider who looks big enough to do some damage if you intruded on her lair. But when it comes to creepy crawlies, I believe in live and let live, as long as they aren’t in my bedroom or yodeling in my shower.
“I should ask Darcy about that,” I mutter as I stand, hitching my purse strap back on my shoulder. He’s been here since the 1800s. I’m sure he knows just about everything about Nightfall and then some.
It could be good to have a friend like him, assuming the truce between us lasts.
But it probably won’t.
Sure, he was a decent monster this morning and kept his ex from slurping up my yummy witch blood, but he’s still a stuffy, snotty old vampire who finds me boorish and repulsive. And despite the tingle situation last night and this morning, I feel the same way about him.
My body might want to climb Darcy like a tree and make out with his cranky face, but my brain is not on board. And as a reasonable woman who has always put family and work first, my brain calls the shots.
But as I cross the lawn in front of the refurbished barn downtown, lifting a hand to the catering staff carrying the tables for the feast through the wide, open doors, my pulse spikes as I spot Darcy. He’s leaning against the wood planks at the back of the structure. It’s just after dusk and the pink light lingering in the air gives his skin a warm glow while setting off the elegant lines of his body in his three-piece suit.
It’s a dark gray tweed with a wine-colored vest and a matching tie that looks expensive but charming. Like something from another age that’s been lovingly cared for and only pulled from his closet for special occasions.
Basically, he looks like an eighteenth-century snack and mama skipped lunch today.
