Page 2 of Mutual Obsessions

The second and third floors over the restaurant were off-limits to staff because that was where we all lived. The shutters over the windows on the first floor were closed at the end of the night and not opened until three in the afternoon when staff began arriving for the evening.

We vampires worked in the restaurant, starting at nine in the morning. Our head chef, Gerard, and the pastry chef, Eugene, were the only two allowed in the kitchen before we retired to our rooms in the afternoon as the remainder of the staff prepared for the dinner service.

Usually, we took to our resting places—in my case, a coffin—during the bright sunny hours, but when it rained, we assisted with restaurant prep. The bright sunlight during the day wouldn’t kill us as lore professed, but it made things uncomfortable for us because our eyesight was extremely sensitive, as was our skin, though we wouldn’t incinerate as had been speculated by Hollywood. Being exposed to the sun’s rays was similar to the sensation of a bad sunburn, but it healed in a few hours.

As I stared at the DeWitt reservation on the tablet before me, I was a bit giddy that I had something to look forward to the next night. It was a rare occasion when anything regarding humans intrigued me—except their blood, but I left that to the beast.

I had been a ball of excitement since I’d spoken to Mr. DeWitt on the phone Thursday evening. Something inside me—not the beast—told me this meeting was important. It was a sensation I’d only experienced once before, but the results of that encounter were less than desirable, thanks to the beast, for which I’d never forgive him.

Friday evening at five-thirty, I excused myself from the restaurant to my quarters on the third floor of the building to change into more appropriate attire. I went to the refrigerator in the bar area, grabbing a bag of B-negative to tide me over until I hunted after the restaurant closed that night.

I retrieved a crystal tumbler from the shelf over the bar built into the wall of my sitting room. I poured half the bag inside and set it in the small microwave to take the chill off. It wasn’t my preferred way to enjoy a drink—fresh from the source was always best—but it took the edge off the beast to get us through the evening.

“Listen to me. Do not make the evening difficult. We are going to behave when DeWitt arrives. His voice is intriguing, I agree, but we can’t do anything to frighten DeWitt or the other guests.”

As you wish, Etienne, but I won’t be denied forever.

The discussion with my beast was essential because if I allowed him any freedom except when hunting, the beast would take over as Killian’s beast had done. I couldn’t allow the carnage, and I wasn’t ready to be destroyed by my coven as I’d destroyed Killian.

There was no response from him, just a low rumble of compliance.

Chapter Two

Ryker DeWitt

“Where are you heading off to so early?” God, it’s too early in the morning for this shit. It’s Friday, for chrissakes.

I stirred a spoonful of creamer into my coffee. “Same place I go every day from eight to five-ish.”

“Why the hell are you still working at Danvert & Rogers? I thought your clerkship ended when school was out.”

I turned from the counter, not thrilled to see Alexandria Moretti standing in the kitchen doorway in her peach-colored silk bathrobe. Fifteen seconds earlier, and I’d have avoided the interrogation.

Alexa had been trying to bed me since we met when I joined the Midnight Marauders Study Group during our first year of law school at Tulane. Because we all had jobs outside of classes, we didn’t meet to study until ten in the evening, two nights a week, thus the name of our group.

Much to Alexa’s dismay, she hadn’t succeeded in her pursuit of me. Even if I was interested in women, I’d run the other way. The woman gave off a high-maintenance vibe that even a blind and deaf possum could recognize.

“We’ve gone over this. I’m working on a large case and have agreed to stay on for the summer while I study for the bar. The job offer I have in Portland is contingent on passing the bar. I wasn’t the one on Tulane Law Review.”

Alexa smirked. She was the one in our group who was on law review, and she loved to rub salt in that wound. I’d be happy for her if she wasn’t so damn smug.

I didn’t make the Dean’s List, but I wasn’t at the bottom of my class. I was in the top fifty percent because I worked damn hard, but with a learning difference, I retained information differently from others.

Being told by my high-school guidance counselor that I’d never be able to hack college, much less law school, had fueled the fire in my belly to succeed, regardless of the sacrifice. I wouldn’t let my childhood dyslexia hold me back.

The workday went by faster than I had anticipated. I spent nearly all my time in the war room stamping oversized exhibits to send for copying for an upcoming document production to opposing counsel. The job was mindless, so I’d let my thoughts wander.

The previous week, I’d been running through the French Quarter around three in the morning. I’d worked at the office until eleven, and when I’d gotten home, I was still wound up from a long day and too much coffee, so I went for a run to burn off some of the caffeine.

I’d made the left at St. Peter Street and run down to Royal. The tourists had been staggering back to their hotels, so the sidewalks had been relatively empty. The Quarter always had an ethereal feel to it at night, or early morning, as it were.

I’d nearly run down a guy carrying trash to the curb from the alley next to The House of Tremblay, where the dumpster was located. The restaurant had been in The Quarter for years, though I’d never eaten or drank there. It was just one of many businesses in The Quarter filled with history, some less than desirable. It was a haven for tourists, which I tried to avoid like the plague.

The man had come out of the alley without warning, and I’d accidentally knocked into him, sending him into the wall of the building. “Oh damn. I’m so sorry.” I’d stopped in my tracks as he settled the bag I’d nearly knocked out of his arms.

He’d been a bit shorter than me with a slender frame. His hair was shoulder length and dark blond, pulled back into a low ponytail with a few strands loose around his face, hinting that he’d been working.

The light had bounced off his hair and formed a halo around his head, which stunned me. I couldn’t make out his features except for a strong jawline and his left eye that was illuminated by the flames of the gas lanterns on the front of the restaurant.

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