Page 78 of Blood and Buttercups

“Continue the family business and become a grocer.”

“You can’t throw away your entire career for a woman you barely know.” A smile toys at my lips. “Even if she is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

He grins. “And they say mental illness only affects vamps in later stages.”

The exchange shouldn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy, but it does. Maybe he’s right, and the virus is affecting my brain.

“Seriously, though,” I say. “You’ve been with NIHA for over ten years.”

“And I was a hunter until last month. Someone is already trying to boot me out.”

“So, you’re just going to let them?”

“No. Finish your smoothie. We’re going shopping.”

I follow him out of the office. “For what?”

“A security system. Don’t argue—I’ll pay for it.”

“Why would you do that?”

He turns back, giving me a wry look. “Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m going to keep you safe.”

And though he’s just flippantly tossing my words back, I falter a little.

What would it be like for someone like Noah to say that to me andmeanit? And how much better would it be if that man was Noah?

Oh no—how cliché.

I have a crush on my bodyguard.

17

The NIHA officelooks like any other business suite. The building is wide and about three stories tall, built from unassuming tan brick and landscaped with a few bushes and empty concrete planters that haven’t been en vogue since the eighties. It’s surrounded by a moat of grass and a few ash trees.

It’s not far from the Department of Motor Vehicles, and there’s a paved walking trail that borders the grass and winds down to the Colorado River.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was an insurance company. You could walk by it a hundred times and never notice it.

The sign out front says, “Nicolau International Hematology Association: Garfield County Administration Office.”

A man holds the door for us as we walk inside. He’s probably in his early thirties and handsome in a dangerous way. His features are sharp, and his slacks and shirt are crisp.

He’s one of those men your eyes cannot help but be drawn to. His skin is light but warm, and his hair and eyes are dark, making him one of the most striking men I’ve ever seen.

“Noah,” he says.

Noah nods, though he doesn’t even glance at the man’s face. “Cassian.”

The exchange is neither hostile nor friendly, but simply…happens. It’s almost like two cats passing each other in the street, caring little that the other is there as long as they stay on their side of the road.

It’s bizarre.

The man’s eyes move to me as I pass, and he lifts his nose just slightly, like he’s scenting the air.

Before I’m through the door, he catches my wrist. “Who bit you?”

His voice is smooth and cultured, and his accent is vaguely European, but muddled.

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