Page 17 of Sincerely, Secretary of Doom

Violet’s jaw dropped. He was some kind of pervert.

She slapped a hand over her racing heart.

“You have a scent from exactly a decade ago that shouldn’t be on you,” the guy said matter-of-factly by her ear, and Violet’s wild heart seemed to stop.

She might have been dead on the spot for how still she was. How every muscle inside of her had tightened in an instant.A decade ago.

“What did you just say?”

The guy pulled away, stood, and refolded his arms. The room felt colder all of a sudden. He looked at Violet strangely. “Who are you?” he asked. “Why do you smell like that? You absolutely reek of something.”

Violet’s palms were sweaty, but her bewilderment at his rudeness was what stole her ability to respond. She couldn’t have told him if she wanted to—and she most certainly did not want to. She needed to run before he did something. Before he asked more invasive questions. She tossed the sheets aside and climbed from the bed to leave, hoping with every ounce of her being that he’d miraculously let her walk out without seizing her. She was unsure if she was more perturbed about his brief mention of her past, that he thought she stunk, or at how he’d looked at her like he wanted to take a large bite out of her neck with gross, elongated teeth he was probably hiding past his shapely lips.

But as soon as she stood, dizziness pooled at the sides of her brain and she put her arms out to catch her balance. After staring longingly at the door for a second, she sank back down to sit on the bed again.

The vampire lord didn’t move. He just watched. He also didn’t try to help her sit when she was clearly struggling—not that she wanted him anywhere near her. As her eyes went in and out of focus, Violet took another look at the red marks on his hands, trying to sort out what his problem was and why he was such an arse on wheels.

“What happened to your hands?” she asked, imagining him murdering people in his creepy cathedral basement and getting irritated skin from all the grabbing and holding and destroying.

The guy took a deep breath and huffed it out. “Sometimes it hurts to touch you,” he said.

Violet glanced up at his face. He didn’t seem like he was the joking sort. Creepy and deadly, maybe, but definitely not the jokester she thought he was when she’d read the inscription on the wooden doors out front warning trespassers that there were monsters in this building.

“This has to be a joke.” She rubbed her forehead viciously. The front doors had basically told her to stay out for her own good and she’d still waltzed up to the windows to snoop like a fresh platter of easy-to-murder young woman.

“Why would touching me hurt you?” she asked. “And who gave you permission to touch me in the first place?”

“It hurt the first time we met on the roof. But it doesn’t hurt today,” he informed her like this conversation was totally normal. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know! Don’t you think after all your evil deeds this might be some kind of deserved punishment?” she snapped.

“All of my evil…” He blinked. “Queensbane, what sort of faeborn evil mischief do you think I did?” he asked, and Violet released a grunt from the back of her throat.

“Are you joking? How many women are you going to kill before you stop terrorizing the streets?! In case you haven’t heard, I’m not afraid of you!” She pointed at him when she said it. Though, she was totally lying. Most of her was afraid, just a small, teensy tiny part of her wasn’t. The idiot part of her that was going to get her killed today.

The guy stared, his mouth gaping for several seconds. He released a huff-laugh of disbelief and put his hands on his hips as he seemed to let that sink in. Seemed to realize that she’d figured him out like the brilliant reporter she was. Then he laughed, more to himself. “Queensbane,” he murmured again as he rubbed his temple.

“How many?” Violet asked again. “How many more of us must suffer—”

“I’ll ask the questions, Human,” he cut her off, and Violet felt the blood drain from her face at the word.

“Human?” Every cuss word she knew went off in her mind like a potty-mouth grenade. “Oh my gosh, youarea vampire!” She scooted back on the bed and grabbed the sheets, pulling them high up to her neck.

The guy almost rolled his eyes. “Vampires don’t exist. Be realistic.”

Violet pointed at him. “You have to let me leave your creepy dungeon. Holding me here is acrime.”

“I haven’t tried to stop you from leaving. And you seem to be under the impression that I want you to stay, which I don’t. But I doubt you’re able to leave on your own two weak, wobbly human feet in your condition,” he said. “You need my help.”

“I’m going to have you arrested,” Violet promised. “You’re crazy, and I’ll make sure the whole world knows it.”

He stifled an eye roll. “If you’re finished with your outrageous threats, I’ll ask my questions now. Who.Are.You?” he tried again. “Explain why you’re painted with such a dreadful scent from—” He thought for a moment. He sniffed. “—at least ten faeborn years ago?”

Violet’s mouth hung open in disbelief. Not only was this guy a woman-snatcher, he was also totally bat-spit crazy.

When she didn’t answer, he said, “Fine. Play stupid. But at least tell me why you broke in here yestermorning.”

Her day yesterday returned in flashes. She had no idea how or why her memories had suddenly come back. But she remembered every detail; her atrocious exit from The Sprinkled Scoop, the bus ride phone call, getting ready for an interview for The Fairy Post, coming to the cathedral… “The job posting,” she realized, then grunted.

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