Page 15 of Rescued By the Vexed Vampire

Drake glanced up from where he was arranging the food on the plates. “What…You think vampires don’t cook?”

“I just didn’t peg you for the ‘chef’ type,” I admitted, sliding into a chair at the small dining table.

“I find it relaxing,” he said simply, pouring us each a glass of wine. “It’s one of the few things in life where I can control the outcome.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Control freak, huh?”

He flashed me a grin as he sat down across from me. “You could say that.”

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the sound of clinking silverware and soft music playing in the background. The food was incredible—tender, flavorful, and cooked to perfection. I had to admit, I was impressed.

“This is really good,” I said, taking another bite. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so amazing in the kitchen.”

Drake leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine in the glass. “I’ve had a lot of time to perfect my skills—and in more places than the kitchen, I might add.”

I took a gulp of wine in response as I felt heat rising in my cheeks.

He chuckled, and I spied that familiar gleam in his eye. He was usually so guarded, only offering pieces of himself when he wanted to. It was part of what made him so infuriating—and so intriguing.

“So,” I said after a few more bites, “are you ready for this?”

“Ready for what?” Drake asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For the spellcasting,” I replied, trying to keep the smile out of my voice. “I’ve got everything we need. I even made a trip to a metaphysical shop in the next town over. And let me tell you, it was an experience.”

Drake chuckled, setting down his wine glass. “Now you’ve got me curious. What exactly did you pick up?”

I grinned, pushing away from the table and heading over to the living room, where I had a stack of library books and a large bag of supplies. “Oh, just the essentials,” I said, pulling out a bundle of smudge sticks, a few crystals, and—drumroll—a plastic wand that I was pretty sure had been part of a child’s costume at some point.

Drake raised an eyebrow as I laid out the assortment of items on the coffee table. “I’m not sure if I should be concerned or impressed.”

“Go with impressed,” I said, plopping down on the couch and flipping open one of the books. “I checked out everything I could find on reversing spells, breaking curses, and undoing dark magic. I’m not saying any of it will work, but it’s better than nothing.”

Drake sat down beside me, glancing at the pile of books with a bemused expression. “You really went all out, didn’t you?”

“Well, I figure if we’re going to be cursed for all eternity, we might as well give it our best shot,” I said, handing him one of the books.

We spent the next hour flipping through the books, lighting smudge sticks (one of which nearly set my hair on fire), waving the plastic wand around like a couple of kids, and mixing up some concoction with hair of toad and other questionable ingredients. I wasn’t holding out much hope for any of it, but I would have given us an A for effort.

At one point, Drake leaned over the coffee table, squinting at the bubbling mixture in a small cauldron I’d found at the metaphysical store. “Are you sure this is supposed to smell like... burnt socks?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No idea. The book said to add hair of toad, but I’m pretty sure that’s just some weird grass they sold me.”

Drake wrinkled his nose, poking at the mixture with a spoon. “Remind me to never let you cook.”

“Hey!” I protested, swatting at his arm. “I told you, cooking is not my forte. But I definitely appreciate a good meal.”

He chuckled, leaning back on the couch and stretching his arm across the backrest. “Fair enough.”

Despite our best efforts, nothing worked. The spells were a complete bust. No matter how many crystals we waved around or how many questionable herbs we mixed into potions, nothing seemed to do a thing to undo the curse. By the time we finally gave up, the apartment was filled with the smoky scent of smudge sticks, and the coffee table was littered with half-burnt candles, open books, and remnants of soggy herbs.

“Well,” I said with a sigh, flopping back onto the couch beside Drake. “That was a waste.”

He leaned back, his eyes watching me closely, the playful expression fading into something more serious. “We’ll figure it out.”

I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You sound confident.”

He shrugged, his gaze still locked on mine. “Because I know you. And I know you’re not the type to give up.”

---