Page 80 of Blood and Buttercups

Noah makes a face. “How many paranormal romance books have you read?”

“So many.”

“You cannot be compelled by the vampires who preceded you; there is no special connection. I don’t know how the older vampires are able to recognize the lineage, but it’s limited to that.”

“Butcanthey recognize one of their own?”

“They can—and there’s a scientific reason for it. We just haven’t found it yet.”

“So, it’s…magic?”

“It’s not magic.”

“But it’s basically magic.”

He shoots me a look, and I laugh.

Lowering my voice, I tease, “What I’m hearing is I’m actually a mythical being. Tell me, do you find me distracting? Have I enraptured you with my unexplainable charm?”

“You’re a regular siren,” he deadpans.

I smile, tempted to loop my arm through his to see what he does. “Why is it bad if I’m connected to Cassian Chevrolet?—”

“Chevalier—”

“—that vampire guy’s line?”

“Because it doesn’t look good when vampires show up bearing his mark. It undermines his goal.”

“I don’t have a mark.”

“You do, and he can sense it. Other older vampires will be able to sense it as well.”

“Okay…”

“Every once in a while, when someone from his line shows up…they tend to disappear.”

I think about that for a minute, and then I balk. “Hekillsthem?”

“We don’t know, and no one asks questions.”

“Why?”

Noah gives me a dark look. “Because he donates a lot of money.”

“Montgomery,” a man with a smoothly shaven head says from the threshold of one of the office doors. In his mid-forties, he’s in good shape, but judging from his clothing, he’s not overly proud of it. He wears a slightly wrinkled button-up shirt, a tie with penguins on it, and he holds a foam cup of bitter coffee. It worries me that I can smell it from over here.

“Come on in,” he says, motioning us into the office. “Pardon the mess.” The man moves the chair in the corner next to the one opposite his and then stacks several papers. “I’m just borrowing this office.”

“It’s fine,” Noah assures him.

The man looks up, raising his eyebrows. “Either of you want coffee?”

I glance toward the stale-looking black liquid languishing in his white foam cup. “No thanks.”

He jerks his hand toward it with a look of disgust. “It’s terrible anyway.”

Noah clears his throat, apparently ready to get the meeting started. “Piper, this is Reid, my boss. He usually works in Denver, but he drove in to speak with us. Reid, this is Piper.”

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