Page 14 of Vampires and Violas

Cassian turns to me. “Has he had his blood yet?”

“I don’t think so.”

Noah flips the pork chops, ignoring us.

“What are your plans for today?” Cassian asks me.

“I also have to work. I have half a dozen subscription bouquets to deliver and a few drops to make at local stores.”

Cassian nods, eyeing my toast like he can’t decide if he’s intrigued or disgusted.

I take another bite. “Marilyn said NIHA scientists are working on a medicine to help vampires process plant-based foods. Is that true?”

“They have one that’s looking promising.”

Noah glances back at us. “The problem is, it interferes with one of the commonly prescribed anxiety drugs.”

“That seems like a pretty serious downside,” I say.

Cassian makes a noise of agreement as he unscrews his pack’s lid. He gives the water bladder a sniff and then scowls.

Finished with my toast, I head for the living room. “I’m leaving to make deliveries. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye, Piper,” Cassian says cheerily. “Have fun.”

“Try not to kill each other while I’m gone,” I call back.

Noah says something I don’t quite hear. But it sounds a lot like, “No promises.”

I stop in the cellar to gather the arrangements I put together early this morning and then head out to the truck. It’s already blazing hot, though the temperature says it hasn’t hit eighty yet.Maybe it’s affecting me because my body temperature is so low. The chilly spring didn’t feel too bad, but I’m not acclimating to the heat as well this summer. At least I live in the mountains.

Before I leave, I check the mailbox at the end of my drive to make sure the mail carrier didn’t stop early today.

Last week, Marissa from next door came by to let me know she’s seen someone loitering around the box. And, of course, I’m expecting a check from Tea Rose Floral. It’s at least a week late, and I’m getting nervous.

But the box is empty.

With a sigh, I close it and head to my truck.

The morning goes slowly.Because it’s hot, I have the subscription bouquets resting on the passenger seat of my truck, staying cool in the AC.

Unfortunately, the deliveries take longer than usual because customers want to chat. Normally, I don’t mind, but I have a lot to get through today.

It’s just after noon, and I’m finally on my last morning stop.

I follow my GPS to my newest subscriber’s house. He signed up last Friday for weekly bouquets, and he picked the largest option. Three hundred a month seems a little crazy for flowers, but I’m not going to tell him that.

The house is easy to find since it’s in Marilyn’s subdivision, only one street down from her place. His home is stucco and faux rock, with dark wood accents. The lawn looks like it was mowed this morning, and a large, pink plastic basket on the porch holds balls and an assortment of other outdoor toys.

I ring the doorbell, expecting to find the man’s wife. It’ll be a nice surprise for her if she doesn’t know I’m coming.

But a man answers the door—and not the kind of man you’d expect to order flowers.

Questioning that I’m at the correct address, I say, “Are you Sam Porter?”

“Yes, I’m Sam.” The man’s eyes move to the flowers. “And you must be Piper?”

He’s muscular like a street fighter, with a dark goatee, tattoos fully encasing both of his arms, and a boy-next-door smile. If I were to guess, I’d say he’s in his early thirties, maybe a little older.

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