Misha’s gray eyes flickered with stirring mischief. “If I had, should I expect to find one here?”
“Nope. We’re all out, too.”
“Hmm.” Although it sounded more like yum.
Misha lived in Tahoe City, a ridiculously wealthy area packed with multigazillion-dollar properties. I doubted he’d driven the six short miles to our home in Dollar Point just to borrow a cup of virgin. A few moments passed, enough time for that cocky expression to slowly dissolve and shadow with foreboding torment. “I need your help, Celia. I fear it is rather urgent.”
My human side warned me to run far and fast. Whatever scared Misha would surely scare me. My tigress held us in place. She thought we should hear out the reigning Prince of Darkness. I refused to invite him in, though. Inviting one vampire meant only he or she could enter. Inviting a master allowed him and everyone in his keep access to our home, so we agreed to meet at a nearby café. I reasoned that he wouldn’t have sent flowers and gifts just to kill me later. And while he didn’t make my insides flutter like that wolf I’d met, Misha wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes.
After making my waves as presentable as the laws of big hair would allow, I traded my pathetic ensemble for workout clothes. My plan was to go for a run after our chat. I was running more—a lot more—hoping for another glimpse of that sexy wolf.
I drove to the Kings Beach Cafe and slipped into the booth where Misha waited. Two waitresses rushed to our table. I thought they were going to fistfight to see who would wait on us—or should I say, wait on Misha. The waitress with the most robust figure won.
“Good afternoon. I’m Tiffany. Would you like to hear the specials?” That’s what she said. Judging by the way Tiffany’s breast casually brushed against Misha’s arm when she handed him a menu, she really meant, “I’m not wearing any panties.”
Misha gestured to me with a subtle wave of his hand. “Perhaps you should start with my lovely companion.”
Perhaps she shouldn’t have. Tiffany did a double take and huffed. In her preoccupation with Misha, she’d failed to notice me. I smiled and gave her a pinky wave. “Just a chai tea latte, please.”
Misha kept his eyes on me. “The same for me as well.”
Tiffany returned in record time…and braless.
Hello. I’m still here, Tiff.
Misha smiled at my scowl. “Would you like anything else, my darling?”
“No.”
I’d meant to sound annoyed. I blamed Misha for taking away our anonymity. And yet, as Tiffany flounced away, I found it increasingly difficult to feel anything but curiosity. Misha sported yet another designer suit. This time he’d tied his long blond hair back from his shoulders. He may have dressed for the corporate world, but there was nothing nine-to-five about him. Misha was model perfect. And Misha knew it.
So then what was he doing with me? Hell, I didn’t even wear makeup.
He’d selected a corner booth where the sun peeked through the shades. I couldn’t help but smile. Bram Stoker had it all wrong. Sunlight had no effect on preternatural beings. Only sunshine created through magic could do them harm. Crucifixes didn’t work either: Many vampires were devout Catholics, although they usually snacked on the priest following confession. Vampires did, however, drink human blood. That much was true. Blood preserved their youth, enhanced their beauty, and kept their organs functioning. And while vamps took their fair share, it was less than humans donated to blood banks. Unbeknownst to humans, though, vampires ran most blood drives. Guess that explained all the shortages.
“So what do you want?” I finally asked.
Misha’s face turned grim as he quietly explained. “The morning following vampire court, I killed my second in command. He had been a member of my keep for the past hundred years.”
Suddenly, tea with Misha sounded like a very bad idea. My claws crept out, digging into the underside of the wooden table. “Why did you do that?” I asked, hoping he had a damn good reason.
“My family and I woke to the screams of my maid. It took us mere moments to reach her, yet we were too late. Andres had drained her completely.”
Oh, God. “Bloodlust?”
He nodded.
“Misha, how is this possible?”
Misha shook his head. He reached for his tea, but changed his mind. “It shouldn’t be. I manage my family carefully. They feed well.”
If it wasn’t a lack of feeding, then it had to be magic. “Then some whack-job witch obviously cursed him.”
“I believe you mean cursed them.”
My eyes widened. His menacing tone told me he meant more than Andres and Taran’s hell date. “How many are we talking about, Misha?” He gave me a hard stare. “Misha! How many?”