Accidental Sire (Half-Moon Hollow #6)

All of the stress and worry of the last few hours seemed to drain out of me. I relaxed against the seat, from my toes to the top of my head. My eyes strained to keep up with the moving shapes in the distance.

Dark shapes. Dark shapes moving in front of my eyelids. I am lying in a small, dark box, with the hum of an engine nearby. I can’t move, but that doesn’t seem wrong. I’m not scared. Just tired. A familiar voice. I can hear someone talking and laughing, but that voice is muffled. It is nice, though, to hear something I recognize nearby as I bump along through black emptiness.

And suddenly, cold hands were shaking my shoulders. Screaming, I swung my fist and felt my knuckles collide with a cool, soft surface.

“Ow!”

My vision shifted into focus, and I was back in Miranda’s car. Jane was hovering over me, one hand shaking my shoulder and the other cradling her nose.

“You punched me. In my face.” She groaned, backing out through the car door. “In terms of trying to get into my good graces, that’s an interesting strategy.”

“I’m so sorry!” I cried.

“Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve been punched in the face,” she said, yanking her nose to the left with a crack, setting the cartilage. She shuddered. “It is the first time I’ve been punched by an unconscious person, which is more humiliating than I thought it would be.”

“I wasn’t unconscious,” I told her. “I wasn’t asleep. That was some sort of weird road hypnosis, like a creepy daydream I couldn’t escape. I’ve never done that before. Also, I don’t usually punch people in the face.”

“Are you someone who is easily hypnotized?” she asked, eyebrow arched. “Because I’ve run into that before, and no good comes of it. Only crying werewolf brides and visits to Precious Moments hell.”

“Was I supposed to understand that?” I asked.

“Not really. Well, we’re here,” she said, sweeping her hand to the house looming behind her in the purpling light of predawn. “Let’s get inside before the sun makes us burst into flames, shall we? That would be a bad way to start off.”

Jane’s house had a name, River Oaks. How fancy was that? It was one of those old houses that wasn’t quite movie-ready but looked cozy enough with its fieldstone walls and wide front porch. Even through the brightly lit windows, I could see that the inside was fully modern. Jane and her husband, Gabriel, had clearly sunk some serious money into renovations.

“Gabriel and Dick took Georgie to a gaming tournament in Murphy,” Jane said as Miranda opened the back hatch of the SUV. “It amuses her to see the smirks melt off the faces of college students when a girl who looks to be eight years old beats their asses at ‘Call of Duty.’ Also, she enjoys counting the cash prize in front of them. For that extra touch of demoralization.”

Miranda handed me my luggage while Jane opened the hidey-hole and lifted Ben’s limp body into her arms with very little effort. Ben looked so still and pale with his head resting against Jane’s shoulder. He could have been sleeping.

How angry was he going to be with me when he woke up? I’d known the guy for less than two days, but somehow the idea of him waking up pissed off at me made my chest constrict. Boys definitely didn’t date girls who bit them. Hell, I knew some guys who wouldn’t tolerate girls with funny-looking pinkie toes.

So yeah, I’d taken that sweet baby beginning of a possible relationship with Ben, bitten it, and killed it. I forced myself to look away.

“Jane!” Miranda called. “I’ve got to get going. Collin gets all grumpy if I don’t tuck him in.”

“Gross!” Jane yelled back. I somehow expected that to wake Ben up. But it didn’t. “Come into the shop for coffee this week!”

“Will do!” Miranda slammed the car door and sped down the tree-lined driveway.

“?‘Tucking in’ doesn’t really mean tucking in, does it?”

“No, it does not,” Jane assured me.

“So who’s Dick? Does he live here, too?”

“Sometimes I think so.” Jane snorted as she entered a pass code into the keypad by the door. The massive oak door swung open and revealed an airy, brightly lit foyer flanked by a wide varnished-oak staircase. A large vase of sunflowers took up most of the space on a little round table under a small chandelier. I could see a large dining room off to the left with a huge antique table. That struck me as a little odd, since vampires didn’t eat, but I supposed there were creepier options in terms of vampire décor. The parlor to the right was cozier and done in warmer gold tones. The blue denim couches on either side of the fireplace looked well used. Despite being fancier than any place I’d ever lived, this house had definitely been lived in.

I heard the scratching of claws over wood and tensed. I whirled toward the noise, fangs dropped, just in time to see a muddy-brown blur streak around the corner.

“Meagan, don’t.”

All I could make out were big brown eyes, fur, and a lolling tongue. And slobber. So much slobber. The shape crashed into me, almost knocking me to the ground, while I scrambled under its weight.

And then the slobber was on my face.

“Aw, what the hell?” I exclaimed while the huge dog-type creature in my arms licked my face. It was the ugliest animal I’d ever seen, with fur the color of shower mold and these weird flaps that covered its eyes. “What is this?”

“That is my dog, Fitz,” Jane said.

“No, dogs are cute and sweet and do what you tell them to,” I told her. “That’s why people like them better than cats, right?”

“Have you ever had a dog?” she asked.

I shook my head. Very few of my foster homes had dogs, and in those that did, it was very clear that the dog belonged to the family, not me.

Jane said, “Well, just put him down and tell him no. If you do it often enough, he might figure it out.”

I plopped Fitz carefully on the floor. “You smell, and I don’t like tongue baths,” I told him. Fitz tilted his head up, letting his eye folds fall back so he could stare at me. Then he threw his tongue out again and licked my face.

“Ahhh!” I yelped, making gagging noises as I wiped my face.

Jane led the way upstairs, again carrying Ben like he weighed nothing. Fitz followed us, sniffing at my heels. “No, Dick’s more of a best friend–colleague hybrid. He and his wife, Andrea, work at my shop, and Dick and I both serve on the local Council. Dick works more behind the scenes, because that’s where he’s most comfortable. And less prosecutable.”

“That sounds . . . enmeshed.”

“You’re not wrong.”