Page 5 of Protecting His Vampire Mate

There was an edge to the question that a normal person probably wouldn’t have heard, but which my vampiric hearing picked up perfectly well. I translated it loud and clear: you’d better not be staying long.

“I’ll be here a few days at most,” I assured her, slipping my ID back into my wallet. The name on it read Wallace Clementine, which wasn’t even remotely close to my real name. But beggars of fake IDs couldn’t be choosers, though I’d have liked to be.

She let out a breath that sounded almost like a sigh of relief. “Glad to hear it. Folks around here are wound up tight.”

I took my sunglasses off and gave her a dazzling smile.

She blinked back at me in surprise.

My eyes don’t look especially inhuman or anything, but they’re a much more vivid green than an ordinary mortal’s eyes would be, like my transformation had turned up the saturation on every part of me in some subtle but unmistakable way.

“And why is that?” I asked, as innocently as I could manage.

Of course, I already knew exactly why everyone was wound up. She had probably been fishing to see if I’d slip up and tell her that’s why I was here.

“Are you a reporter?” she asked, point-blank. “Because this is all strictly off the record, if you are.”

“I’m not a reporter,” I replied. This time, I didn’t need to feign innocence, and I’m certain we both heard the truth in my words. “And you haven’t said anything worth putting on the record, even if I were.”

She frowned back at me, still seeming unsettled by my presence. Meanwhile, the sun crept ever closer to me. If it had still been possible for me to sweat, my brow would have been soaked.

It would have been so very easy to catch her gaze, lull her into a hypnotic trance, and just force her to give me the room key—free of charge and for as long as I wanted. I’d already done way worse, hadn’t I? Hell, she would have set the place on fire, with her still inside it, if I had caught her eye and told her to with enough conviction in my words.

But the thought of using my powers to manipulate someone else’s mind turned my stomach. Between that and the sun inching still closer, I almost—but not quite—felt like I might be sick.

How long had it been since I had fed?

Almost a week. And it had been the animal blood I’d obtained from the specialty butcher I’d gone to back in Portland, who had given me a knowing look and hadn’t asked me any questions.

But how long had I gone without living blood from a mortal?

Much, much longer than that. Months, in fact. Since waking up from the compulsive spells, I hadn’t trusted myself to feed on anyone.

“You’re not here to report on the murder?”

“What murder?” I countered.

“This is a good town,” she said quietly. “We’re all decent, quiet, hardworking people here. We don’t need reporters poking around, saying things about us that aren’t true.”

“I’m not a reporter!” I snapped, at my wit’s end. “I’m here to get a clean, safe place to sleep. Are you going to give me a room or not?”

Strangely, my outburst seemed to calm her.

“So what is it, then? People don’t just wind up here for no reason, Mr. Clementine,” she said, enunciating the last name on the driver’s license I’d handed her. “And they don’t show up with fancy fake IDs, either.”

My surprise—and guilt—must have been evident on my face.

She clearly noticed because she flashed me a grim smile. “It’s a good fake, sure. But it’s a fake.” But her smile vanished as she studied me for several moments longer — which gave me plenty of time to swear at myself silently for thinking I was so clever, showing up here with the forged ID that had cost me a small fortune to obtain.

But then she surprised me when her expression dissolved into sympathy. Another explanation for my presence had clearly snapped into place for her.

“It was a breakup, then,” she said flatly, leaning back in her chair. “That’s it, isn’t it? You just got in the car and drove until you couldn’t anymore. Given the fact that you’re using a fake name, I’m guessing this guy is a real creep.”

That was actually almost a direct hit—except, of course, for the creep part. Tobias Hawthorne was the opposite of the type of person most people would ever need to run away from. He was good, kind, patient, and annoyingly right about absolutely everything, all of the time.

But I was, in fact, fleeing a breakup. In part, at least.

After all, I had left him behind, hadn’t I? Physically, at least. Mentally and emotionally, he was a constant presence. Just knowing he was out there somewhere made it possible to get through my worst days, even if I had no desire to call him and wreck him all over again.

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