Page 61 of Your Coffin or Mine
“YouTube obviously, and you let me worry about Hilda. You worry about finding the sunblock Frank concocted, so I don’t blister tomorrow.” There is no way in hell I’m letting one insignificant—albeit exquisite—woman discover the supernatural exists.
His chair scrapes the wooden floor of the kitchen as he moves to find the lotion.
A thought occurs to me. “How did he ever figure out how to allow vampires to walk in the sun, I wonder?”
“The same way he can mask his scent from everyone. Remove your shirt. You’re going to need to stand with your arms out and I’ll spray you down. What is the plan with Aubrey?”
“Prove to her I’m not a vampire?”
“And you plan on doing that how?”
I finish off my drink in one swallow and walk to the table. “I’m adaptable, Doyle. I no longer feed from humans. I’m walking in the sun, and soon, Frank will come up with something more permanent. She doesn’t need to know. She must never know.”
She’s a delightful ray of sunshine and I am the damned. Humans are fearful creatures. They fear what they do not understand and attempt to eradicate it. Learning that the supernatural exists is a death sentence.If she ever looked at me like a monster... My stomach sinks.I wouldn’t recover.
He opens the box under his arm and grins. “Remember Celeste? Oh, and Angelique, wasn’t she burned for being a witch?”
My gaze slips away, and I glance at the light hitting the pots and pans before landing on the small spray tanning machine he has acquired from somewhere. I hang my shirt over the back of Doyle’s chair. “Aubrey isn’t Angelique, and times are different now, or I wouldn’t be subjecting myself to this humiliating bullshit.”
He grins. “Good. Now stop acting like an infant and hold your arms out.”
A mist sprays across my chest and I stiffen, the smell invading my senses. “Why in the fuck does it smell like cookies, Doyle?”
“Well, this definitely isn’t what I expected.” The low sound of a female voice has us both turning toward the door.
A brown-haired woman is standing in the kitchen with her hands on her wide hips and an incredulous expression on her face.
“Who are you?” I ask.
She pauses, and her heart rate increases. Her dark eyes flick to Doyle and she smiles warmly. “Whitley. The office sent me around for the chef position. This is Tepesh Castle, right?”
“The chef,” Doyle says stiffly.
“Yeah, can’t say that I’m sorry I’m arriving so late at the night, though.” She breaks into a cheeky grin as she saunters closer and plops down into a chair.
I arch a brow as she crosses her legs and bites her lip while she eyes Doyle like he’s a snack. Doyle’s face darkens, and he snaps out a curse about sunscreen, and I realize the issue. The sunscreen was coating the air, making it harder for him to smell. The poor chap cannot stand being caught off-guard.
Doyle clears his throat and bows, looking ridiculous with his sleeves rolled up like a handyman. “I am Doyle, the proprietor. If you wait in the dining hall, I will meet you shortly.”
“You look ridiculous,” I whisper, enjoying his discomfort.
The woman’s smile spreads. “Oh, you mean I can’t stay and watch? I’ve seen less interesting porn than this. I’ll stay if it’s all the same to you.”
What is it about this era where spirited women seem to be around every corner?
I laugh, but Doyle’s face reddens, and I can see the hairs rise on his arms the closer he gets to her. I grab my shirt and pull it on, uncaring that it will be ruined.
“How did you get onto the grounds, madam?” Doyle asks, obviously agitated. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“The gate was open and a layout of the castle was provided with the post. Umm, did I do something wrong?”
Doyle stops and crosses his arms over his chest. “You should have let someone know of your arrival.”
She raises a brow. “Well, no one was at the door when I knocked, and it’s dark and cold outside. Since I couldn’t find you, I wanted to get acquainted with the kitchen. I didn’t know what to expect, what with the ad stipulations of being in good health and the location. Trust me when I say, you’re lucky I’m here. Not many chefs qualify.”
Doyle frowns. “Is that so?”
Her eyes narrow. “It is. Which is what I’m doing here. First, I want to be assured I won’t get murdered in this creepy place.”
