Page 28 of Livewire Witch

Unfortunately... or maybe fortunately, depending how you look at it, Dante’s apartment’s front door lock turned out to be a noisy, old-fashioned brass affair that took a while for Roscoe to work. By the time he got it open, there was a pissed off vampire standing on the other side, his hair a disheveled mess, since we just woke him up.

I’ve never seen Dante looking anything less than polished and put together. I kind of had him down as the kind of guy that wears a suit to bed, but that was just my fantasist mind going nuts.

I don’t know why I didn’t fight Roscoe more on coming here like this. Maybe I just like testing my luck with this particularvampire. He’s so smooth, unruffled. I kind of want to see if I can muss up his edges a little.

An urge that Roscoe and I seem to have in common.

Although sitting on Dante’s supremely comfortable couch while he hands out cups of tea with honey is making me feel weird. His feet are bare and the way he moves around his own space with absolute confidence, like he’s taking this whole thing in his stride, is making me regret this entire course of action.

It doesn’t help that I’m still sweating like mad and my head is pounding. Pretty sure that despite waking Dante from sleep, I’m going to be the only one here displaying pit stains.

I try to tamp down my mounting discomfort by inspecting his space. It’s not as dramatic or ornate as I might have expected. I was picturing something with red and gold everywhere, hard and uncomfortable furniture that would fit into a French chateau with ease, that kind of thing. But it’s pretty standard for a bachelor with expensive taste.

The floors are heated. His TV is one of those fancy ones that appears from out of nowhere at the click of a button. And there’s not a coffin in sight. He even has cushions and throw blankets neatly folded across the arms of both of his sofas.

I suddenly realize that I’ve never really asked him about his personal life. Not on any of the previous occasions when we’ve bumped into each other or I’ve encroached on his private space.

Shit. I don’t know anything about this guy at all.

I can’t just sit on my hands and keep my mouth shut, not when he might have a wife or a husband in the other room.

“Is there a Mrs. Dante?” The question blurts out entirely out of the blue and I immediately regret opening my mouth, especially when Dante shoots me a confused frown instead of answering.

I wave a hand around. “I mean, this place is nice. I was just wondering if you had help designing it. Most guys I knowwouldn’t choose to pick up soft stuff that makes it more homely, you know?”

I’m talking absolute shit and I think we both know it. Another bead of sweat rolls down my back.

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying I couldn’t pick out cushions without the help of a wife, Silver?”

The way my name rolls off his tongue has me shivering slightly.

Although... nope, I’m suddenly freezing. Like someone has switched the air-con to full blast.

Shit. I think I might have a fever.

“The guy’s like two hundred years old, babe. I’m sure he picked up enough interior design tips on his own in that time.”

Dante’s tone is dry as he replies, “Just over a century, actually. I’m not as ancient as you seem to think, Mr. Hawkshead. But over that time, I’ve seen more than one magazine or article online about how to make my home comfortable.”

“Right. Of course.” I feel like a dick. Swallowing another mouthful of tea down my stinging throat, I snuggle deeper into the couch cushions and pull the throw blanket over me.

“I’m single,” Dante says, his velvety voice smooth as liquid chocolate. “If that was the question you were trying to ask.”

“Cool, cool, cool.” I nod a few times like it means nothing to me.

Something about Dante makes me entirely lose any chill I might have ever had. Too bad the sudden motion of acting like a nodding dog has me feeling both a stabbing pain in my headanda wave of nausea, so I wind up wincing and shutting my eyes.

Not cool.

Not cool at all.

Dante glances down at the file Roscoe thrust at his chest and skims through it as I try to tamp down the nausea.

“You don’t want to do this yourself?” He eyes Roscoe over the top of the page he’s reading. “Don’t you want to send your spies in amongst my people and see what you can dig up?”

Roscoe shrugs, lolling back on Dante’s couch like he hasn’t got a care in the world. “We thought at the same time, we might dig up some more information on the vamp that gave Fabian the cursed blood. That thing in the file is just a job for Felix. He’s not exactly in any of our good books right at the moment. Not since he tried to kill Fabian’s little brother and has apparently been blackmailing Silver.”

Dante leans forward in his seat. “He did what?” he snaps.

---