Page 34 of Bewitched By a Vampire

So far, she had checked the larders to make sure they had enough food for the next week, had put away all the cutlery that someone had just left in a pile on the table after it had been washed and dried, and she had nibbled on some crackers and cheese, because she still hadn’t eaten dinner.

She had missed it thanks to Night’s visitors.

She looked up at the ceiling, part of her wondering what they were discussing and tempted to eavesdrop even when she knew it was a bad idea because vampires had acute senses. She couldn’t stop within hearing distance of them, and she couldn’t use a spell either, because there was a chance they would sense it. The rest of her had steadily grown fixated on the fact it was Grave Van der Garde upstairs. The leader of the Preux Chevaliers. She knew all about the vampire mercenary corps of Hell.

Only vampires of the pureblood families could serve in it, and each son was required to give up four centuries of his life to it. Grave was older than Night but he was still serving. Did that mean Night had never served or had he done his years of service?

Or was her gut right and he was still serving as a mercenary?

She leaned forwards and rested her elbow on the table, propping her chin up on her hand as she thought about that, and warmed her backside on the Aga.

If Night was a mercenary, it was something they had in common.

She frowned at her own thoughts. What was she doing? Looking for things they had in common? It wasn’t as if they were going to be dating and she needed to find topics of conversation, ways to make him see they were perfect for each other. He was the brother of her mark, and a man who was probably going to want her head once she carried out her mission.

If she carried out her mission.

“And that’s another thing,” she muttered to herself. “It’swhen, not if.”

She had to do this. Her coven was counting on her. She couldn’t let them down. She owed them so much for the way they had accepted her when she had feared she would be cast out. They hadn’t treated her any differently after discovering her ability to read memories in blood. If anything, they had drawn her deeper into their collective embrace. They were her family. Her everything. If she could help them with something, then she would—no matter how dangerous the task was.

Lilian pushed away from the table and rounded it to the two large silver refrigerators. She opened the doors and pulled a face at the metal canisters one of them contained. She closed the door of the one with human food in it and took the canisters out of the other one. Gross. She set them down on the table and began sorting them, checking the dates someone had marked on them using little yellow stickers.

She set aside the ones that were out of date or close to it, and put the rest back in the fridge, arranging them so the oldest ones were at the front.

Lilian turned and stared at the canisters she had left out, her stomach twisting at just the thought of opening them and pouring the blood they contained down the drain. Maybe she should eat something first. She pressed her hand to her stomach as it gurgled. Or maybe not. She would probably throw up anything she ate.

Footsteps echoed along the corridor to her left and she muttered the incantation, putting her spell back in place, and busied herself with putting the plates away in the cupboard. She opened the wooden doors and grabbed several plates from the first stack and turned with them, crouching at the same time so she could put them on the low shelves without accidentally bashing them.

Or exposing her panties.

It hadn’t taken her long to notice how some of the male servants in the house liked to stare whenever the females were present, gawping at their legs in a focused way that made Lilian feel they were willing the women to bend over in their short dresses.

Also gross.

She glanced to her left as the footsteps ceased and froze halfway through sliding the plates on top of the growing pile in the cupboard.

“Night,” she said, shock sweeping through her. “What are you doing down here?”

He arched an eyebrow at her and she lowered her gaze, unsure whether he was irritated by how familiar she was being with him, the fact she was questioning him, or the fact she wasn’t behaving in a mannerbefittingof a servant.

She hadn’t called him on his oh-so-antiquated way of speaking when he had been issuing his string of warnings upstairs, but she had wanted to.

“Is it a crime for a vampire to enter this kitchen?” He leaned against the counter near the sink and folded his arms across his chest, and she wanted to curse him for frowning at her.

A man shouldn’t look as good as he did when frowning.

It roused wicked heat inside her.

She liked how his blue eyes narrowed, and how a little crease formed between his dark eyebrows, and that slight downwards turn of his profane lips, and the rigid set of his square jaw. His displeasure was her pleasure.

Lilian shook herself out of it when his left eyebrow quirked and reminded herself that he wasn’t a man. He was a vampire. Meaning he could sense when she was getting turned on. She was supposed to be keeping her distance from him, wasn’t she? She was sure she had decided to act professional and focus on her mission, and that feeling anything for Night was a very bad idea given the fact she was intending to harm his brother.

“No, but… Bastian would never come down here.” She grabbed another stack of plates and hated the way her hands shook, betraying her nerves.

Night noticed it of course, his gaze narrowing on her hands. He unfurled to his full height, coming to stand next to her, and she really wanted to curse him, because he only flustered her more.

A man—correction, vampire—shouldn’t look so good in a suit either.

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