The Hunter's Affection (Bloodwite Book 3) Page 18

  Chapter 24

  “Annabel told him.”

  Laria made this announcement as she burst into Alessandra’s bedroom, where she and Charlotte were putting the finishing touches on their costumes. Alessandra had insisted they get ready together so they could catch up on everything from the week.

  “When?” Alessandra turned from the mirror, her black cape swishing around her feet. Charlotte couldn’t wait to see what Kenton thought of her friend’s choice of costume.

  Laria’s eyes widened as she whistled. “Whoa! You ladies look great.”

  “Did you tell Kenton?” Alessandra asked.

  “I did. But I don’t want to bother my brother with this now—”

  “So what exactly happened?” Charlotte smacked her lips together.

  Alessandra sat on the edge of her bed as Laria launched into the story.

  “I’ve been tailing him—”

  “We know,” Alessandra said. “I’ve seen less of you than Charlotte this week.”

  “Well, this afternoon, he finally asked his grandmother about the journal. I have to say, I’m a bit surprised he listened to Tyler instead of Torr.”

  “What did she say?” Alessandra interrupted.

  “That the journal contains information passed down from generation to generation about a bloodline of people from Scotland with special abilities called the Cheld. She never used the word ‘vampire,’ but she said they were the only defense against ‘the immortals.’”

  “This is really bad.” Alessandra stood and began to pace the room.

  “It’s not good,” Laria agreed. “But she’s kept the information to herself so far. Besides, from the way Zach reacted, he’s less than convinced. If their family was entrusted with the knowledge of vampires, it seems like much of the details have gotten lost in translation.”

  “Think about it.” Alessandra stopped in the middle of the floor. “What would people say if either of them went public with their story without proof?”

  “They’d think they’re crazy,” Charlotte offered.

  “Exactly. And after weeks of digging, we haven’t been able to come up with anything solid to prove what happened here back in the 1800s.”

  “Of course, Zach will likely tell Tyler.” Charlotte put her lipstick into her small black purse.

  “Who will hopefully think the grandmother is as batshit crazy as Zach,” Alessandra concluded.

  “Does this mean you’re off Walsh duty?” she asked Laria.

  Laria fluffed out her blue and white checkered shirt. “This Dorothy is very much off duty. She plans to forget all about the Walsh family for the night. What about you, Charlotte?” she said, looking her up and down. “I’m guessing you have a plan?”

  Remembering that Laria was, in fact, Torr’s sister, Charlotte felt a surge of nerves. She took a deep breath before answering. “The plan is to stay dry. Hopefully, it’ll stop raining. And be warm enough that I don’t freeze to death—”

  “So you can snag a certain wayward vampire?” Alessandra asked.

  She didn’t know if Torr would change his mind, ever, but she’d realized something over the past few days. She didn’t want to live without him.

  She loved him. Fiercely. “Yes . . . if he’ll still have me.”

  Laria let out what could only be described as a squeal and charged toward her, throwing her arms around her shoulders. “You are going to make the most splendid sister-in-law.”

  Laughing, she disentangled herself. “I haven’t actually spoken to him yet, so any talk of weddings is a bit premature.”

  “Just you wait,” Laria said, sounding quite certain. “I know my brother.”

  Alessandra snagged a set of plastic teeth from the top of the dresser and positioned them in her mouth. Laria took one look at her and burst into laughter.

  “You look ridiculous. I mean, stunning, but ridiculous. For the record, I’ve never met a vampire in red fishnet stockings and a cape.”

  “Well,” Alessandra said, waving her long fake fingernails through the air. “You have now.”

  Charlotte laughed so hard that she forgot, for a minute, to be nervous. She didn’t know what terrified her more—that Torr might have changed his mind or that she was actually going out in public like this.

  But with Dorothy and a bloodsucking Alessandra by her side, what could possibly go wrong?

  * * *

  Torr sat at the bar and watched as his sister walked in with Kenton and Alessandra. A few other guests had just begun to arrive, and his brother and Toni stood together behind the bar—he, a cop and she, a jailbird—greeting friends who had snagged a special invitation to tonight’s soft opening.

  The bar was decorated tastefully in black linens and drapery and plenty of cobwebs, the orange and yellow glow of well-placed lanterns and uplighting transforming the space into the perfect backdrop for a costume party.

  But Torr only had eyes for one of the guests.

  And when Charlotte handed her coat to Kenton, Torr sucked in a breath. She didn’t see him yet. Which was a good thing since centuries of composure had abandoned him in an instant.

  Dressed like one of the women from Noir Nights, she wore very little. Black hot pants, a black top that left little to the imagination. Thigh-high black leather boots with a black leather whip completed the outfit.

  Her straight blonde hair had been curled in loose waves, and the red lipstick—

  He swallowed. Hard.

  Which was when she saw him.

  He took a few deep breaths before standing. Damn inconvenient that he’d chosen to wear a kilt tonight, of all nights. At first he thought Charlotte was coming toward him, but she turned instead, disappearing into the small crowd that had gathered at the entrance.

  He took an involuntary step toward her.

  “Oh God, brother, you didn’t.”

  Laria looked down at him, promptly burst into laughter, and then stopped short when she spotted the sgian-dubh tucked into the top of his kilt hose.

  “Is that?”

  “It is.”

  “I had no idea you kept it.”

  The small knife had been their mother’s.

  “You look quite dapper.” Laria smiled, clearly waiting for a compliment in return. Instead of giving it, he looked her up and down. And waited.

  He was rewarded with a swat on the shoulder. “You are such an arse,” she said before moving away.

  “And you’re one fine-looking Dorothy,” he called after her, Laria shaking her head as if to say “too late.”

  He’d lost Charlotte by now, but it wasn’t crowded enough that it would be difficult to find her. Not in that outfit.

  But a quick glance around the room yielded no blonde bombshells wearing black leather, so he honed in on the conversations instead. Toni and Lawrence at the bar. Kenton and Alessandra not far from them, ordering drinks from a new staff member. But he didn’t hear Charlotte’s voice, nor did he see her anywhere.

  Closing his eyes, Torr breathed in deeply and concentrated. Then he opened his eyes and started walking.

  Dressing like that, then deliberately eluding him . . . was she sending some kind of message? After seven hundred years, one would think he’d have had plenty of practice at deciphering the intentions of the fairer sex, but Charlotte was different. She was complicated and lovely and he was so unsure of himself around her.

  His tracking skills, at least, had not abandoned him.

  Not trusting his voice, Torr stood at the opening of the vault, looking inside at the woman who sat facing him, her legs prettily crossed. The leather whip? Oh so casually propped on her shoulder.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  “That was quick.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I have . . . skills.”

  Even he, dense as he was, could decipher the meaning behind her smile.

  “Yes. You do.”

  Charlotte would surely be the death of him, not an aspen dagger or the blade of a rogue Cheld’s sword.

&nb
sp; “Waiting for someone?”

  She uncrossed her legs, parting them ever so slightly, then recrossed them under the small table. Charlotte then swung the whip around until it lay across her lap.

  Yes, she would drive him mad.

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  For a sickening moment, he thought she meant someone else. Then she gave him an ever-so-slight nod of invitation. A relief, for he would have challenged any man who thought to win her favor.

  “Wait.”

  She stopped him just before he sat. The only light inside the vault came from a single small candlelit lantern at the center of the table. It was meant to be an intimate setting, the low murmur of voices in the bar an indistinguishable—for most people—backdrop to the most private space in the bar.

  “I’d like one last look at you before you sit.”

  He tried not to smile. After all, he’d worn this for her, hadn’t he? Of course, he hadn’t admitted as much to himself at the time.

  “Had your fill?” he said finally as she looked him up and down.

  Sitting, he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms, not quite sure what to make of this particular version of Charlotte.

  “I suppose,” she said.

  “I can stand again if you’d like—”

  “I’d prefer to do more than that, but this hardly seems like an appropriate setting.”

  Yes, she surely would be the death of him.

  “I didn’t think you wore kilts in your time.”

  “We didn’t.”

  “Then why—”

  “I overheard you telling Toni once that you would . . . let me see if I can remember this correctly . . . ‘very much like to see that ass in a kilt.’”

  “Oh heavens.” She leaned down to place the whip on the floor. “You heard that?”

  He grinned. “Indeed.”

  “I always forget—”

  “And with luck, will continue to do so.”

  An allusion to a future, the future he hoped they’d still have together, and she didn’t let it pass.

  “That won’t be easy if we continue to avoid each other.”

  “Can I get you a drink?” asked a woman dressed like Cleopatra. The college student was one of the employees Lawrence had trained just the other day, but she must have worked in a bar before. She balanced a tray of drinks in her hand like a pro.

  “Tell Lawrence to send out drinks for his brother and his girlfriend. He’ll know what to give you.”

  She flitted away as quickly as she had appeared.

  “Girlfriend?”

  Time to play hardball.

  He licked his lips then, letting his tongue linger on his full bottom lip. Deliberately. Her eyes lingered on it.

  “Girlfriend. Wife. Life companion.” He leaned forward. “It doesn’t much matter to me what you’re called as long as you never, ever leave me again. I’m madly in love with you, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte blinked. Torr had never wanted anything more than he wanted to pull her onto his lap and convince her not to leave . . . and yet he respected her too much to do that to her. It felt important to do this right, all the way.

  They watched each other, not breaking eye contact. Torr could hear every beat of her racing heart. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell her what he’d decided, but she beat him to it.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said.

  Her lips stayed parted, and Torr could not take it any longer. He shifted his seat back, needing some space for the conversation that had to happen.

  “Your drinks. On the house,” Cleopatra said as she placed them on the table.

  “How kind of him,” Torr said under his breath. He meant every word. Lawrence had always been there for him, for all these many years, despite the fact that he had so frequently acted like an arse. Torr handed the woman a hefty tip, and she left them with the drinks.

  “You’ll go with me?” he asked Charlotte.

  “Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever you leave Stone Haven. I’ll accept your terms, if you insist, because honestly, I don’t ever want to be apart from you, Torr. Because I’m madly in love with you too.”

  He grinned, more ridiculously happy than he’d been in a long time. Knowing and hearing the words were two different things.

  She took a sip of her drink, her eyes widening at the taste.

  “How did your brother know?”

  “I may have mentioned the particulars of our night at Stage West to my brother. But kudos to him for remembering.”

  “Death in the Afternoon.” She took another sip. “It’s still a good drink.”

  “I’ve been thinking too, Charlotte. I was wrong. I’ll turn you . . . if you’re sure it’s what you want.”

  She looked just as he’d suspected she might.

  Utterly stunned.

  Finishing the drink in one large gulp, much as she’d done that first night, Charlotte waved down the waitress. “Another, please?”

  Cleopatra didn’t flinch. He’d have to make sure Lawrence and Toni knew this one was a keeper.

  “I . . . I hardly know what to say. Why did you change your mind?”

  Certainly he wouldn’t admit Kenton had a hand in his decision. Not aloud, anyway. So instead, he shrugged. “It’s complicated. Something we’ll have plenty of time to talk about.”

  He smirked. Indeed, one might even say an eternity.

  She nodded, eager. “Yes. Yes, I still want you to do it. Absolutely.” She paused, then looked up at him through her thick eyelashes. “Just promise me one thing—don’t warn me before you do it.”

  If that wasn’t the oddest request . . .

  “Promise me.”

  “But won’t that be worse?”

  “Nope. Trust me on this. It’s like a shot. The worst part is knowing it’s coming, watching the needle—”

  “Charlotte, this is nothing like a shot. It’s permanent, and it will change everything. Besides, you’ll know it’s coming at some point—”

  “I don’t care. That’s my only request.”

  He cocked his head to the side.

  “Well, you know,” she amended. “Aside from the whole ‘turning’ thing itself.”

  “Here you go, Death in the Afternoon number two. Also on the house. Although I’m not sure how they plan to make any money—”

  “Thank you.” Torr handed her another tip without looking away from Charlotte.

  “Come with me,” he said. He stood, taking his glass with him, and Charlotte grabbed her own drink and followed him from the vault.

  “Are we—”

  “No, not now,” he said as they walked toward the bar. “But if you really don’t want to know, I’m not sure it’s to your benefit to keep asking.”

  He reached down and grabbed her hand as they approached the bar.

  “Then what are you—”

  “I just wanted to see you in all your glory.” He glanced down. “It’s been far too long.”

  “It’s been a few days.” She laughed, placing her drink on the bar.

  “Like I said, far too long.”

  “What does a guy need to do for service around here,” he called, forcing Lawrence to turn toward them.

  His brother looked positively giddy. Torr had expected the reaction The Vault seemed to be getting. The laid-back vibe combined with the joy that came from its two owners had everyone abuzz.

  Good for him.

  “We don’t serve Highlanders here—”

  “But—” Charlotte began. Torr wrapped his arm around her waist. He couldn’t resist touching her any longer. She shivered beneath his hand. “—but I thought you were a Highlander,” she said to his brother.

  As he poured another whiskey, Lawrence corrected her.

  “Borderer . . . big difference.”

  He slid the refill toward Torr. “Tell me. What do you think?”

  Torr deliberately misunderstood. “I think this minx on my arm has made me the happiest Scotsman, Highlander, Lowlander, bor
derer, or whatever you’d like to call me, in the world.”

  Lawrence grinned at Charlotte. “How was your drink?”

  She raised it into the air. “Number two. It was perfect.”

  “You know, maybe we should have a Noir Night here,” Lawrence muttered, wandering off.

  “I think it’s a great idea.” Torr squeezed her waist. Lowering his voice to a wicked whisper, he added, “But only if you promise to dress like this every time.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “You’re jesting, lassie,” he said, falling into his ancestral accent. “’Tis the finest article of clothing, or lack of it, this Scotsman has e’er seen.”

  “I love it,” she said. “Will you talk like that for the rest of the night?”

  “Yer wish is my command,” he said. “But I’ll be needing a boon in return.”

  “Anything.”

  A dangerous proposition.

  “Can we leave. Now?” he pressed, looking her in the eyes. Wanting to do so much more than that.

  “But your brother’s bar—”

  “Will be here tomorrow. And the following day. And the day after—”

  “Okay, okay, I get it. Just let me finish my drink.”

  Torr let his hand trail from her waist down to the top of her hot pants, slipping just one errant finger inside.

  “Or not.”

  Chapter 25

  “So much for the sexy costume.” Charlotte opened her apartment door and tried not to touch anything. She’d taken a spill from the sidewalk directly into a muddy puddle from that afternoon’s heavy rainstorm. Mud caked her side, her leg, her hands. Too bad Torr and his super-quick reflexes had still been at the door talking to Laria when it happened.

  “As if a bit of dirt and mud could ruin that.” Torr winked at her.

  Charlotte followed his gaze downward. “I should have taken off the high-heeled boots—”

  “I should have carried you.”

  “Oh, yes. Exactly how I’d like to start this new phase of my life. Being carried around by some big, rugged Highlander wannabe. Carted off like a damsel in distress . . .”

  She stopped talking, looking down at the muddy mess of her outfit.

  “I’ll be right back. Give me like five minutes.”