Page 1 of Hot Vampire Next Door: Season Four

Episode 54

That Monster Is Me

Your Royal Highness.

I just gape at Stanley bent low on his knees on the wide front porch of Duval House and struggle with the urge not to laugh or cry or vomit.

Your Royal Highness?

What complete and utter bullshit.

It can’t be true.

No fucking way.

Right?

Right?

“Get off your knees, old man,” Bran says and surges ahead, hooking his hand beneath Stanley’s arm. Stanley comes easily and follows Bran into the house. “You.” Bran points a finger at me. “Come.”

I scurry after him, ever the dutiful little mouse, as he leads Stanley through the foyer, then down the hall and into Damien’s office.

When we’re all inside, Bran shuts the door and goes to the wet bar. The cork top lets out a loud fwop as Bran pulls it out of the crystal decanter and fills a glass with liquor. He slings it back. All of it. All in one gulp.

He bows his head, sets the glass back down.

Stanley and I share a look. It’s odd seeing him outside of the diner. Like a deer that has wandered into the milk aisle at the grocery store. Not that Stanley doesn’t deserve to have a life outside of The Greasy Spoon. I’ve just literally never seen him beyond the four walls of the place.

He spins his hat in his hands, working at the brim with gnarled fingertips.

He seems nervous. I don’t blame him. Bran is on edge and Stanley just dropped a bomb.

“This is a mistake,” I say, trying to ease the tension from Bran’s shoulders.

Stanley takes a deep breath, pushes it back out, and says, “I assure you, Your Royal—”

“Stop that.” I shake my head. “You’ve been making me grilled cheeses for years. Now you’re trying to tell me you’re a brownie and I’m some…what, royal fae?”

He blinks. “Yes. That’s precisely what I’m saying.”

“But I’m not a royal fae.”

“Jessie—”

“Stanley—”

“Enough!” Bran’s voice cuts across the room even though his back is still to us.

Stanley clamps his mouth shut, curling the brim of his hat like an ocean wave.

Bran refills his glass and captures it in a white-knuckle grip before coming over to us. His energy is different than mine—less jittery, more raw chaos like a tornado about to touch ground.

He points a finger at Stanley. “You can’t just barge into my house and start bowing in front of the whole fucking place!”

Stanley’s bushy gray brow furrows over his brown eyes. “It’s customary to bow before a—”

“I don’t fucking care what’s customary! You expose us all and risk far too much by getting on your fucking knees.” A vein pulses down Bran’s forehead. He turns away again, takes another sip of the alcohol, and paces the length of the room.

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