Charley took a moment to bask in the early morning sunlight. Sometimes she forgot how different everything looked outside the imposing steel-and-glass metropolis she called home.
What a difference a day makes.
Twenty-four hours ago, she was sitting in a hotel room prepping for the job, Rudy’s warnings playing on repeat in her head. Believe me when I say there is no room for error on this one, Charlotte…
She’d promised him—promised herself—she wouldn’t screw up.
Last night, when she’d found the stolen goods from her father’s cache, she’d made a second vow—that she’d follow the trail and expose her father’s killer, no matter how long it took, no matter how great the risk.
But how could she keep either promise when the man at the center of it all was an immortal vampire king? One who’d rocked her world, rocked her body, and—with every passing minute—was coming dangerously close to rocking her heart?
Dressed in the leggings and button-down flannel she’d packed in her overnight bag, Charley grabbed her stuff and headed for the kitchen downstairs, ready to call an Uber and say a final goodbye to Dorian Redthorne.
She found him bent over the stove, sprinkling herbs into a pan of scrambled eggs with a concentration that had her biting back a smile and rethinking her plans.
“I hope you’re hungry, love,” he said without turning around, still focused on his culinary creation. Of course he’d known she was there—in addition to his other superpowers, Charley realized he probably had a superior sense of hearing and smell.
“I could eat,” she admitted.
Just a little breakfast, some coffee for the road, and then I’m outta here…
“Have a seat.” He nodded toward a sunny breakfast nook at the other end of the kitchen, the table already set for two.
“No brooding vampire princelings this morning?”
Dorian laughed, finally turning to face her. Gone was the formalwear, the suits she’d gotten so used to, replaced with a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that clung to every muscle, his hair a beautiful mess, his eyes bright.
God, what a thing to wake up to…
“That’s what Aiden calls them too,” he said, still grinning. “They’re up and about—we’re just not the sort of family that crowds around the table for pancakes and Saturday morning cartoons.”
“So I gathered.”
He transferred the eggs to a serving platter, then brought it over to the table, making a few more trips for the rest—Belgian waffles, fresh berries, bacon, roasted potatoes, cinnamon buns, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and coffee. The whole spread looked and smelled even better than her favorite Manhattan diner breakfasts, and when he finally sat down across from her and gestured for her to dig in, she was overwhelmed with the same deep sense of comfort and familiarity she’d felt sharing hot dogs in Central Park—the kind of familiarity typically reserved for couples who knew each other so intimately, words were no longer required.
Total fucking fantasy.
It wasn’t self-pity—just par for the course in her line of work. Don’t get too close, too attached, too hopeful.
It hadn’t been a problem for her before. But now, Dorian Redthorne was giving Charley a taste of what she’d been missing out on… and she wanted more.
She didn’t know whether to smile or cry. So instead, she poured herself a mug of coffee from a silver carafe and said, “I can’t believe you made all this. It smells amazing.”
“And here you thought I was just a pretty face with a huge—”
“Waffle iron, by the looks of things.” Charley reached over and carved off a slice of waffle, then took a bit of everything else, quickly loading up. She eyed the strawberries, but there was no more room on her plate.
“Allow me.” Seeing her predicament, Dorian plucked a strawberry from the bowl and leaned forward, slipping it between Charley’s lips, watching intently as she bit into it. A trickle of sweet, red juice ran down her chin, and Dorian caught it with his thumb, then popped the rest of the berry into his own mouth. “Hmm. I could eat breakfast with you all day, love.”
“Could you?” She glanced down at the plate as more questions bubbled up inside. “Seriously? Because I thought vampires drank blood for breakfast.”
His smile faltered, and he leaned back in his chair, reaching for the coffee. “We drink blood to survive, but eating regular food is part of what allows us to hold onto our humanity.”
“What happens if you skip the O-positive and just eat regular food?”
He met her gaze across the table, his eyes cold and severe. “It’s not a pretty sight, Charlotte.”
“Tell me,” she demanded.
“We’re eating breakfast.”
“I want to know.”
Dorian set down his coffee mug, impatience tightening his jaw. “Without regular ingestion of human blood, a vampire will lose all trace of his humanity, physical and otherwise. He’ll revert to his natural monstrous state—a pale, mindless, physically-deformed nightmare who exists only to hunt, to fuck, and to feed on whatever helpless creatures cross his path. He retreats to caves and tunnels, as sunlight blisters his skin so horribly, it exposes the muscle and bone beneath. Eventually, over many years, he will decompose, alive and conscious till the bitter end.”
The strawberry turned to lead in her stomach, and Charley lowered her eyes.
The awkwardness crept back in between them, a thousand new questions burning through her mind like wildfire. There was so much she wanted to know—about vampires, about his family, about Dorian himself—but every time she opened her mouth to ask another question, her words turned to ash.
It was crazy. All of it. And it wasn’t her world. She shouldn’t have gotten a single glimpse, let alone an up-close-and-personal tour.
But she had.
Charley took a few more bites, but despite her grumbling stomach, she couldn’t eat.
Setting down her fork, she said, “I think it’s probably best if I head out.”
“You want to eat in the gardens? I can bring everything—”
“No, Dorian. I want to go home.”
“Now? But you’d planned to stay the weekend. I haven’t even told you about the art you asked after, and despite my best efforts to scare you off…” He offered a small smile, breaking through some of the tension. “…it’s clear you have questions about other things as well.”
“You mean about mindless vampires and werewolves and bogeymen?” Charley rolled her eyes, waiting for him to tell her she’d seen too many movies.
But Dorian said nothing.
“Are there other supernatural beings?” she asked. “Not just vampires?”
He speared a bite of waffle with his fork and shrugged. “I thought you wanted to go home.”
“I don’t know what I want anymore. That’s the problem.” She rubbed her eyes, her resolve weakening. Curiosity was definitely winning out—not just about the stolen artwork, but about the whole new world Dorian had opened up. With a single glance, he’d smashed through the lid on Pandora’s Box, and now that those demons had escaped, there was no putting them back inside.