Page 13 of Vampires and Violas

“Is Cassian around a lot?” Noah turns back to his skillet, his tone slightly too casual.

“We’re not dating, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Right…” he draws out the word. “Because final stage vampires are ‘gross.’”

Apparently, he’s slightly bitter about the opinions I shared before I knew he was a vampire. And I meant them at the time. Now…

Well, now my brain is at odds with itself. Vampires are bad, right? They’re unstable, blood-thirsty monsters. But Noah isn’t like Ethan. And neither is Cassian, for that matter.

I open the front door for my conservator, taking in his outfit and smiling. “I see you went shopping.”

He’s in gray pants, a tan T-shirt, and hiking boots, and he has a hydration pack slung over his shoulder. He looks like he stepped out of the pages of a hiking enthusiast magazine.

“And I see you and Noah made up.” He gives Noah’s silver SUV a pointed look, raising his brows.

“It’s not what you’re insinuating. Noah’s moving back to town, and he needs a place to stay while he’s selling his house in Denver. He’s renting a room from me again.”

“If you say so,” he says dismissively. “Do you want to see something cool?”

I eye him as he fusses with his pants. “This feels like a man in a trench coat situation.”

Snorting, he pulls up a small strip of fabric that circles his left knee, revealing a zipper. He then unzips the calf portion of his pants. Proud of himself even though the removed fabric now bunches around the ankle of his boot and looks quite ridiculous, he says, “They were pants…and now they are shorts.”

“A modern marvel,” I agree with a laugh, deciding I won’t tell him Max has owned half a dozen pairs of hiking pants that do the same thing over the years. No reason to burst his bubble.

“I think I might be entering my outdoorsy era,” Cassian muses.

“I thought you were entering your hipster era?”

“That was so 2016.”

If I’ve learned anything over the last month, it’s that the vampire is eccentric. But that doesn’t take away from his charm.

I step out of the doorway. “Come on in.”

“I smell pork,” Cassian says. “Noah’s cooking?”

“He ran to his family’s grocery store this morning. He took one look at the contents of my fridge and fled.”

Cassian chuckles as we step into the kitchen. “Good morning, Noah. It appears you stayed the night.”

Noah spares my conservator a look. “Good morning, Cassian. It appears you robbed a sporting goods store.”

Cassian sets his hydration pack on the island. “Max and I are going hiking. Care to join us?”

“Some of us have to work.”

“Shame.” He opens the pack and pulls out the hydration bladder. “I’ve washed this twice, and it still tastes like plastic. Is there a way to fix that?”

“Why are you asking me?” I frown at the water reservoir. “Do I look like a hiker?”

He studies me like the question wasn’t rhetorical. “You don’t really, no.”

“That’s just the way those packs taste,” Noah says. “You can fill it with some vinegar, let it sit for a few hours, and then rinse it out. That helps.”

“I’m not sure I want to risk my water tasting like plastic-steeped vinegar.”

Noah shoots him an annoyed look. “Then buy a regular water bottle and shut up about it.”

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