Page 32 of The Vampire and the Case of the Baleful Banshee

In Portlock and the other magical towns around the world, supernaturals walked around openly but elsewhere the magical world remained hidden. For me, it would seem utterly bizarre to stroll around a non-magical town.

There was a knock at the door and, after one last check in the mirror, I went to open it. My stomach filled with butterflies and my lazy heart gave a solid beat.

Fluffy and Shadow had been let out and fed, so they were good to cosy up together. I’d warned them I might be home late. I turned on the TV for them. Shadow was busy playing with a stuffed mouse and flipping it around. Fluffy watched him indulgently from the sofa.

When I opened the door, Connor nearly took my breath away. His dark curls were unruly, which seemed to be their normal state, but he’d clearly tried to do something with them. His eyes were ice blue but they darkened as they raked my body. I could almost feel the caress of his gaze.

He was wearing new jeans and no flannel, for once. Instead he wore a blue shirt that showed off his broad shoulders and slim waist. ‘Hi,’ he murmured.

‘Hi,’ I breathed back. He held out a hand and, as I took it, there was that damned zing. We’d have to talk about it – but not now, not yet.

Connor helped me down the two steps and into his truck. That was a hard climb in a short dress and I was glad I’d matched my underwear in case I’d accidentally given him an early peep show.

I shivered with nervous anticipation. He’d said he would ‘bring the city to me’ but I had no idea what that entailed. Whatever he meant, I was game for it. This date had been a long time coming and I was more than ready for it.

Chapter 19

Connor drove down the road past town and at first I thought he was taking me to Kamluck Logging. Instead, he turned about halfway there and took us up the hill through the residential part of town. The houses petered out and we pulled onto a long drive that ended at a gated estate. His home, I’d bet money on it.

He clicked a remote and the gate slid quietly open. I was expecting to see a brooding gothic mansion—something dark and mysterious that belonged on a gated estate deep in the woods owned by a sexy vampire leader.

Instead it was an elegant log home that looked almost new. It had a steeply pitched roof and two large balconies that wrapped around most of the walls. There were stone chimneys at both ends of the house, and the glass front looked over Portlock and out to the bay. That was a brag; he was a vampire that wasn’t afraid of the sun. Like me, Connor had a charm at his throat that protected him from its rays.

He pulled the truck into a big garage and parked it next to a flashy red Mustang. He helped me out. ‘This way,’ he said, as he ushered me into his home.

When he led me into the front room, I gasped at the view. ‘It’s beautiful!’

I looked around. He’d set up the area like a fancy restaurant. There was only one table covered with a black cloth and lit by candles, set with expensive looking silverware and crystal.

He pulled out a chair for me then sat opposite me. ‘What do you think?’ he asked – did I detect a hint of nerves?

‘It’s amazing. Your home is lovely.’

‘Thank you. I do love it,’ he admitted.

A man dressed as a waiter cleared his throat before entering. He carried two bottles of wine. ‘Red or white, madam?’

‘Red, please.’

‘The perfect choice,’ he replied smoothly. He opened the bottle and poured the tiniest amount for me to sample. I sipped and then confirmed that I was happy with it – more than happy. It was so long since I’d had a good, full-bodied red. The waiter poured me a full glass. ‘And for you, sir?’ he asked Connor.

‘The same, thank you.’

I liked that. Connor may have hired the guy and set up the whole scene, but he still treated the waiter with respect. In the circles I used to frequent, the patrons considered the staff below their notice. That was probably one of the reasons I’d become a waitress: it was the biggest rebellion I could come up with at the time.

Connor chuckled as he watched me take another sip. ‘Better than blood?’ he asked.

‘Much,’ I said emphatically, pulling a face.

He shook his head with amusement. ‘Do you have a favourite blood vintage?’

I was confused. ‘What do you mean? Can you get it in different years?’

He laughed. ‘No, I meant types. I prefer AB. Do you have a favourite blood type?’

‘No, it’s all the same to me. Except deer blood, which is absolutely vile.’

‘I was hoping to offer you your favourite blood but my research failed.’

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