Page 46 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
The stake at my thigh will keep me safer than he ever could.
“I will,” he says, without hesitation. “Though a strong werecat like you should have no trouble feeling safe here. You’ll fit right in.”
Right. Werecat.
“Is everyone here a vampire?” My smile is more of a grimace as he takes my hand and pulls me through the crowd.
“Anyone from our world is welcome… and you’ll find a few human companions as well.”
“Ah…” Like me.
Like Poppy before she was killed?
“Let us start with a drink,” he says, stopping near a makeshift bar. “Any requests?”
I scan the area with curiosity, my shoulders lifting. “What about an… old fashioned? That seems to fit the theme.”
He leans in closer, his half-smile appearing once more. “Are you mocking the age of the vampires?” He clicks his tongue. “Or perhaps the demons? That is very bold of you.”
“No!” But I am, and it shows in the way I laugh.
“Don’t let them hear you,” he says, “or I may actually have something to protect you from tonight.”
“How am I supposed to control that? They heareverything!”
“You enjoy pushing your luck, don’t you?”
I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.
I won’t dignify the question with an answer, narrowing my eyes. “Where is my drink, Caldwell?”
“Ah, yes. Your streak of impatience continues.” He leans across the bar, speaking to the tall, lean demoness working behind it.
I’ve never seen a demon in this form—her horns are pink points poking out of her hair. Is it rude to stare?
“Two old fashioneds.” Caldwell holds up two fingers.
“Is that your drink of choice?” I ask.
“Am I that predictable?” He turns to face me.
“You are.” I scoff.
Everything about him is predictable. Stupid, brooding vampire. He’s uninteresting, without a unique bone in his body. It’s the same drink every other rotten vampire here is drinking, I’m sure—assuming they aren’t sipping on blood instead.
I press my lips together to keep the insults from flying free.
“So… you ordered it to impress me?” he asks.
The accusation makes my jaw drop.
“No!” Except, in a sick way, I did.
I’m impressing him for the wrong reasons; not from attraction, as he might hope, but from a need to get closer.
How close can I get before it’s game over?
“Good,” he says smoothly, taking the drinks from the bartender. He holds one out to me, eyes locked onto mine. “You don’t need to go to such lengths for me. I already find you very impressive.”
