“Very funny.”
“No, but seriously, it’s hard to find a service guy who’s willing to work after dark. So let him in. And Sterling? Don’t eat the electrician.”
“I fucking won’t.” I glared at the phone. The absolute gall of him. “I have self-control, okay?”
“Sure, just like you had self-control last night. Okay.”
I sighed. “You’re going to have to let go of this eventually.”
“Whatever. We’ll be back later. Just let him in, and be sure to get dressed before we show up. We’re going to scope out Everett’s grave later.”
He hung up without waiting for me to answer. I dumped my phone on the table, annoyed, then looked down at myself. Damn it, I hated when Gil was right about me, even when we were fighting. I’d totally forgotten to change out of my ripped-up clothes from last night. My tank still had a gash across the belly, and my jeans were hopelessly scuffed.
There was a knock at the door.
13
That couldn’t be the electrician already, could it? I dragged the back of my hand against my mouth, pushing my hair up into a serviceable spot and smoothing down the creases in my tank top. Did that even change things? There was still that big, gaping hole over my abdominals with the blood crusted around it. Fuck it. I shoved my phone in my pocket and stumbled for the door.
In the groggy fog of my garlic-addled mind I fancied the possibility that it could be someone else out on the doorstep. A delicious chaser for my breakfast. Dessert. Something delicate, sweet, and nectary, like Olivia Everett.
Shit, I hadn’t even visited her place like I’d promised. What was it called again? The name of the shop was alliterative, that much I remembered. Was it – Everett’s Erotica? Wishful thinking. The autocomplete function in my brain liked to make shit up sometimes. Everett’s Exotica, that was it, what I imagined was a fine purveyor of sweet, rare, and delectable morsels.
Oh, and they had fresh produce, too.
I reached for the doorknob, my heart pounding. Olivia Everett, my honeyed peach, my juicy California clementine. The thought of warm skin and blood had me hungry – no, thirsty all over again. I swung the door open, risking mild skin blistering from the last rays of a dying late afternoon sun.
The thing on the porch was not, in any shape or form, Olivia Everett. The person standing there was, in a word, majestic. He was a couple of inches taller than me, which was tall, indeed, the curled tips of his straw-blond hair just brushing against his clavicles. Oh, his clavicles. The top half of his hair was tied neatly into a bun at the back of his head, exposing a strong brow and a strong nose, and a beard as blond as the rest of him, as the fine down running along his thick forearms. His eyes were piercing blue, dare I say it, electric.
“Damn,” I muttered, entirely by accident.
The man cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me? I’m the guy you called for. I’m here to check on the electrical problem.”
He motioned at the utility belt around his waist, then lifted the toolbox he was carrying. Despite the cold of the early evening, he was mostly wearing denim, along with a shirt with the sleeves ripped off. The gesture made his muscles bulge. My attention and my gaze snapped magnetically towards the vein running from his bicep down all the way to his forearm. A weak, whimpering noise fluttered in the back of my throat. Asher’s garlic fried rice settled like a cold, congealed mass in the pit of my stomach, forgotten, thoroughly undelicious compared to the prospect of warm, virile blood.
The man was gorgeous, but that’s beside the point. You don’t understand. This was like if a pizza delivered itself to your doorstep, then threw open its own box, showing off its glistening, gooey layers of mozzarella and zesty tomato sauce, its stupidly handsome and perfectly blond crust. What the hell were they putting in the Silveropolis water? Why was everyone who lived here basically a supermodel in early retirement?
I took one wobbly step away from the man, hardly trusting myself not to go straight for his throat. Wanna know a vampire’s real weakness? Not garlic, not silver. It’s exposed skin. All that flesh, all those arteries? It’s a good thing we can’t go to the beach.
I was staring too hard. I knew it. The man knew it. The lone owl hooting from atop a nearby tree knew it. He scratched the back of his neck, reddening, his lips parting as he struggled to find something to say.
“My bad,” I said, discovering my voice at last. “Come in. We need all the help we can get.”
He nodded, tipping an invisible hat as he passed the threshold. I snorted softly to myself at the oddness of the situation, a vampire inviting a human into his home. He didn’t seem to notice, already assessing what little he could see of the cabin’s interiors.
“You boys caught me just in time,” he said, one hand at his hip as he surveyed the disaster that was the kitchen. “Was about to head home. Figured I’d get called in to service you at some point.”
I let the front door swing shut on its own, the hairs on my arms bristling. “Uh. Service me?”
The man smiled, pointing up at the ceiling. “Yeah, as the new owners of the Everett House. The place is ancient, and terribly maintained. Notoriously so.”
“Oh,” I said, at a rare loss for words, trying to disguise my disappointment. Cheeky fucker. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Hopefully he knew what he was doing in terms of his work as well, because what the hell was I supposed to know about electricity? He’d placed his toolbox on the kitchen counter, peering into it with a flashlight, sifting. The beam flashed my way. I almost hissed out of instinct.
“The name’s Roth, by the way,” he said, giving me another of his generous smiles. The veins in his neck bulged when he did that. It was all far, far too distracting.
“Sterling,” I said, nodding. I watched the pool of light track quickly down my torso, flashing momentarily over the tear in my shirt.