by Lea Kirk
“I shall drive us to the guest cottage. It is in the back,” Mikhail said. She suppressed a smile at his formal speech pattern. “I need to get my groceries put away, then I have a special delivery to make at the main house. Are you hungry, Donnie?”
She resisted placing her hand over her stomach. “Starving.” She hadn’t eaten since the granola bar she’d swiped from a news stand last night.
“Then I hope you will allow me to treat you to a welcome lunch at one of the best restaurants in town.”
Her stomach let loose with a loud gurgle, and heat rose in her cheeks. Oh, brother. “It seems like I would appreciate that.”
He grinned as he navigated the truck along a straight driveway that ran along the side of the main house. “Excellent. Here we are.”
Ahead, the garage door of a smaller two-story building was opening.
Wow.
The guest cottage wasn’t a cottage, per se. It was a miniature version of the main house, and its considerable footprint took up only a small section of the vast backyard. A kidney-shaped pool with a waterslide shimmered to the left of the cottage, surrounded by more beautiful desert landscaping.
Mikhail pulled inside the garage, then cut the engine. “Would you be uncomfortable if I close the garage door? When it gets too hot in here, the rest of the house heats up fast.”
Was he really putting her feelings first? This was something new. Not many men had ever done that for her. “I’m fine. Go ahead.”
She unhooked her seatbelt and bent to retrieve her duffle bag. The hum of the garage door closing and Mikhail opening his door seemed so normal. So unvampireish. If that was even a real word. She sat up as her door opened.
Mikhail offered her his hand with a grin that was both impish and apologetic. “Some habits are too engrained to break.”
Her inner historian perked up. “How old are you, Mikhail?”
His smile dimmed. “Older than I would care to admit.”
“Centuries, like Mr. Merrick said?”
“We can go with that.”
So, he didn’t want to talk about it. That was fine, for now. She placed her hand in his. His skin was pliable and warm. Apparently, vampires were not cold as marble like she’d expected. Another stereotype busted. Mikhail’s long fingers wrapped around her hand, and a tingle of excitement danced across her heart.
She held his gaze as she slid out of the truck and touched down close enough to feel his body heat. Close enough that if he dipped his head, their lips would touch.
She swallowed against the desert-like dryness in her throat. “Um, I’ll help you with the groceries.”
“No need.” He stepped back, grinning. How had her duffle ended up on his shoulder? “I shall have them put away faster than you can get settled into your room, and still have time to drop off Charlie’s special order.”
Ah, yes. The vampire speed thing.
A few minutes later, she followed him through the doorway into a small hallway that led to an open kitchen, dining room, and living room. Then up an iron-railed stair case. On the landing, he pushed open the door to the left. “It is the mirror-opposite of my room, identical in every way. Including the master bath and dressing room. I believe Sophie, Charlie’s wife, designed it that way to eliminate rivalries between guests. Some paranormal beings can be competitive, and not showing favoritism is a good way to keep the peace.”
He swung open the door and indicated she should go in first. She stepped into…luxury. The room was huge, open, and airy. At least three times the size of her studio apartment in Chicago. More space than she’d ever need, but she wasn’t about to discount this blessing. Especially since she hadn’t slept in a clean bed since the night she’d stolen the dagger. Or in any bed at all during the nine-day cross-country haul. And the bed—the gorgeous, mission-style, king-size bed centered against the wall to her right—was like a reward for surviving the last three months.
The sitting area inside a set of double French doors was equally as enticing. Two tufted leather recliners, an iron and wood coffee table, and a huge flat-screen T.V. looked like they’d been staged for a swanky, southwest interior design magazine. Then there was the view beyond the balcony, a stunning landscape of sandy desert and rocky plateaus.
“Wow. Just, wow.” She turned back to face Mikhail. “Why are you still in the hallway?”
“This room is yours now. I will not cross your threshold unless you invite me. However, once you invite me in, there is no taking it back. Be sure you mean it before you say those words.” He took a small step back. “Take your time getting settled, Donnie. Take a shower, if you would like. I shall wait for you downstairs.”
She blinked and he was gone, but his cryptic words echoed in her ears. How weird was that? Slowly, she pushed the door closed and faced her new room.
“This is the nicest place we’ve stayed so far, don’t you think?” Not that there was much competition. The tiny hovel of a room she’d rented in New York could never hope to compare. There had been clear signs the door had been jacked more than once. Keeping Carnwennan in a locker had been a safer choice than leaving her alone in the room during working hours.
But here was different. Not even her cottage mate could enter her space without her permission.
A feeling of agreement came from Carnwennan, followed by an image of Donnie hiding it under the T.V. cabinet. That seemed like an obvious hiding place. What if Mr. Merrick showed up and tried to break in and take the dagger back? Carnwennan’s reassurance flowed through her. This place was a safe haven for them, at least for now.
An image of Mikhail wrinkling his elegant nose rose in Donnie’s mind, followed by a nudge toward the bathroom. She looked up at the ceiling and huffed. “Are you telling me all the fast sponge baths I’ve had since leaving New York aren’t keeping me sweet smelling enough?”
That was definite amusement coming from her otherwise-silent travel companion. “Fine. Let me get you hidden, then I’ll take a shower.”
It’d be nice to have real towels again.
~*~
The towels were five-star, hotel quality…soft as down. There was also French milled soap, and homemade shampoo that smelled like peaches. But, and most importantly, hot water. Donnie stuck her face into the gentle spray. Getting out was going to be difficult. If not for the towels and the fact that Mikhail was waiting, she’d stay in until the hot water was gone.
Mikhail, the vampire. Who’d come to her defense in New York. Rescued her from the roadside in the middle of god-awful nowhere. Made sure she was safe, even from him. And, was responsible for providing her with a bed and this shower. And soon, a real meal.
“Donnie, you paranoid jerk.” She reached down and twisted the faucet. After all he’d done for her, it was time to cut the guy a little slack.
Ten minutes later, she shoved her dirty clothing into her duffle, cast one last look in the direction of Carnwennan’s hiding place under the T.V. cabinet, then emerged from her room. It would suck if Mikhail had allergies. She smelled like a florist’s shop. But, that beat how she must have smelled before taking a shower. Later, she was going to take a long soak in the whirlpool bathtub.
Downstairs, Mikhail sat at one end of a giant leather sofa in the living room. She caught his sheepish look as he set the half-empty ice-cream container on the stone and glass coffee table and stood. “Do you feel better?”
“I do.” She fiddled with the handle of her bag. “Is there a washing machine here that I can use?”
“Of course. Come with me.”
She followed him past the dining room, through the kitchen, and into a spacious laundry room.
“Place your bag in front of the washing machine,” he told her. “When we get back it will be done.”
She frowned. “How?”
“You remember those little fairies I told you about, the one’s from the fire elemental’s garden?” He paused until she nodded. “Some of them like to keep their hands busy.”
“Oh.”
Well, then. Okay.
She dropped her bag where Mikhail pointed, then met his dark gaze. “So, where are we going?”
“A local favorite. The Krazy Kettles.”
Chapter Six
Mikhail savored the warm glow in his chest. There was something comfortable about strolling down the main street of Magic with Donnie McAllister. Something right. Maybe it was the familiarity of the Old West charm that all but oozed from the pre-Victorian store-fronts lining the street. Or possibly the light mood exuding from the few hardy tourists who dared to brave the afternoon heat. They certainly had stamina, because not even the birds were out and about right now. Most likely, though, it was the simple touch of Donnie’s small hand tucked into the crook of his arm. Simple, yes, but also a feeling that had been missing for his entire long life. How had he had not realized its absence until now?
“What was the special order you gave to Charlie?” Donnie peered up at him over the tops of her practical tortoiseshell sunglasses.
All the “rightness” dissipated like mist in the wind. That was a question he had hoped to avoid. Still, this could be a step forward in earning her trust. And with trust being a two-way street, he must give in order to receive.
He cleared his throat. “Charlie’s daughter, Tory, has an unusual condition.”
“The same one you have?”
He glanced down at her. The top of her head was even with his shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“Being a vampire.”
“Being a vampire is not a condition. Not in the context I believe you mean.” Best clear up that misconception now. How was he able to keep his gait smooth and steady after that comment? “Some are born vampires, and others are made.” In some cases, without the victim’s permission. The familiar flat metallic taste of regret and loss rose in the back of his throat.
She gave him a nod of concession. “Fair point. And, it’s probably none of my business.”
“I do not believe Tory would object if you knew.” In fact, that would be the least of the poor woman’s worries. Her twin sons’ antics consumed most of her time and energy. “She has an allergy. To certain blood types.”
The corners of Donnie’s mouth turn down in a perplexed frown. “But, she’s a vampire, right?”
“Vampire and witch.”
“How does she survive if she can’t drink blood?”
“But she can drink blood, as long as it is A positive.” He gave his shoulders a shrug. “Hence the cooler. I brought back blood from Roswell for her.”
Donnie’s eyes widened, and she pulled to a dead stop. “Mikhail, you didn’t rob a blood bank, did you?”
“Rob a…?”
Her expression was a mix of consternation and borderline panic. She was concerned for him. Laughter rose in his chest and he let it rumble free.
“This isn’t funny,” she said.
He turned to face her, a mere foot of space separating them. “No. No, it is not, yet at the same time it is.” He took one of her hands between his and pressed it to his heart. “I appreciate your concern, Donnie, but I did not steal the blood. Tory has a handful of ‘host donors,’ humans who volunteer to donate their blood for her. They are not under a spell or any form of coercion to do this. All of them are family friends of the Carsons, and they want to help.”
“Oh.” She breathed out a relieved sigh. “That’s really nice of them.”
“It is, indeed.” He gestured behind her to a red door with diamond pane windows. “We have arrived at the Krazy Kettles, but I must warn you, there are a number of paranormal beings inside. The first one you shall meet is the maître d’, Dev.”
“Should I be worried?” She eyed the door.
He grinned. “Not at all.”
“What is Dev?”
He depressed the latch, pulled the door open, and bent close to her ear as she stepped over the threshold. “A genie.”
~*~
Donnie shivered as Mikhail’s breath caressed her ear. The desire for him she’d experienced in the coffee shop flared again.
Control your urges, girl.
She moved into the cool dimness of the restaurant’s empty reception area and stopped in front of the hostess podium. “There’s no one here.”
The scroll-work of the carved stone podium was beautiful, though. She leaned closer to the piece of artwork. Hand-carved. It had to be. No machine could duplicate the chisel marks so naturally.
“Wait for it,” Mikhail murmured from directly behind her.
Poof!
A cloud of purple smoke erupted straight up from behind the podium, and touched the twelve-foot ceiling. A yelp escaped her and she took a step backward, right into the solid reassurance of Mikhail’s chest. That hiss of air being sucked through teeth behind her was confirmation that the uneven lump under her shoe must be his foot. But she couldn’t form words of apology. The smoke had settled into a six-foot tall, bronze-skinned, turbaned man, for crying out loud. And, wow, he single-handedly redefined “washboard abs.” Eight-packs were a real thing after all.
“Greetings!” the man boomed, waving a large hand in a vain attempt to dissipate the smoke. “Welcome to the Krazy Kettles. I am your host, Dev.”
Everything he wore—which wasn’t much—was purple and gold. His gold turban adorned with a huge purple gemstone, his purple velvet vest trimmed with gold lace, and even the swath of purple cloth slung low around his trim hips. Everything below his hips was pale golden vapor. She leaned forward to peek over the podium. The mist was rising from an old-fashion golden lantern at the base of the stone podium.
“Holy cow, you are a genie.” Were genies supposed to look like young, hot body builders?
Dev pressed his palms against his vest and looked down at the vapor where his legs should be. “Mercy sakes, you are right. Do I get three wishes now?”
That wasn’t the way it was supposed to work. She opened her mouth to say so, then shut it again. That grin he gave her was too roguish. He was teasing her, and she’d almost fallen for it.
Donnie tipped back her head and laughed. “Aren’t I supposed to get the wishes?”
“Alas, my mistress has placed a moratorium on all wish granting,” the genie said. “Too many people wished for free meals. Hello again, Master Mikhail.”
“Hello, Dev. Table for two, please.”
“Right away. Please follow me, Mistress…?”
“Donnie.”
“Mistress Donnie.” Dev turned and walked into the dining area.
Now he had legs? What had happened to the lantern? It seemed to have been replaced with curl-toed shoes embroidered with gold thread.
The restaurant wasn’t very crowded, being that it was almost two in the afternoon. The interior was magical, though. The walls were painted a delicate shade of mint-green, and blooming purple wisteria hung from the ceiling. Occasionally, tiny white lights appeared to float through the flowers.
“I hope this booth is secluded enough for you?” Dev said.
Wow.
“This is fine,” Mikhail replied.
Thank goodness he did, because all she could do was gape. The wooden base of the table seemed to grow right out of the floor as naturally as a tree. Its branches supported a smooth, round, cast iron bistro-style tabletop powder-coated in white. Two neat place settings and two goblets of ice-water rested on the tabletop. A white cast iron bench covered with a butter-yellow cushion fit around the back side in a semi-circle. Yards and yards of lavender tulle formed a hanging canopy decorated with white and pale pink baby roses and ribbon.
“Mistress Donnie likes it?” Dev sounded hopeful.
“It’s like stepping into a fairytale.” She lowered herself to sit on the cushions and scooted over to make room for Mikhail.
“Mistress Susanna will be happy to hear,” Dev said, handing them each a piece of parchment. “Your menus, Mistress, Master. Enjoy your meal.”
She couldn’t help but stare at the genie as he walked away. “Where’s his lantern?”
“He could not very well float in here,” Mikhail murmured. “There are humans at the table in front of the window. As you can see, the reception area is not visible from the restaurant, so the town’s little secret remains safe.”
That made sense. “So, if that couple is human, then everyone else in here is some sort of….” What should she call them? “Paranormal?”
Mikhail’s dark eyes glittered with humor. “That is precisely what I mean.”
Wow.
That word seemed to be popping up in her thoughts a lot recently. But, who could blame her. A whole new world had opened up to her, and it didn’t seem as terrifying as she’d first thought.
“Can you tell what the others are?” Why was she whispering?
“I can,” he whispered back.
That was a pretty cool talent. “Wait a minute. I’m human. Why did Dev appear as a genie in front of me?”
“Because you are with me.”
Which must mean she was part of the inner circle, so to speak. She leaned closer to Mikhail. “Can you tell me what they are? The paranormals, I mean.”
“Of course. Who should I start with?”
“Um.” She nodded her head in the direction of two small, sturdy women seated near the middle of the room. That table was lower than theirs, almost as if it had been made to accommodate the shorter stature of the pair. “How about them?”
“Garden trolls.”
She gave him a sharp look. “There’s such a thing?”
“Most certainly. And the gentleman seated next to them is a lion shifter.”
That one she could believe. With his mop of shaggy golden hair and tawny eyes, the man did resemble a lion. As much a person could, at any rate.
“The two males near the kitchen door are werewolves.” He glanced in the direction of the two men. “I advise you to not do or say anything that they might construe as encouragement. They are single-minded creatures when it comes to the opposite sex. If they perceive even a hint of interest, you will never be rid of them.”
“Oh.” That was good to know. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Mikhail’s warm hand covered hers where it rested on the table. “As long as you are with me, they will not bother you.”
