Bite Me (Vampire Wardens Resurrection 1)

Cam keys in a code beside the door and we enter what is a beautiful home with hardwood floors, a fireplace built into the center of one wall, a stylish masculine chef’s kitchen with a gray and brown theme, and low ceilings and inset lighting. Of course, there are windows with views of the city. And yet, it still manages to feel like a hotel room, a bit cold, a lot sterile. There is nothing that attaches this room to one person over another.

“He likes wine,” Cam says. “You’ll find plenty at the bar and there’s always chocolate. Look and you shall find.”

I turn to face him. “You’re leaving?”

“No,” he says. “I’m staying, but I thought you might want to look around.”

“That feels very invasive of me,” I comment.

“He won’t mind,” he assures me, walking to the kitchen where he opens the fridge door and pulls out a bottle of beer. He twists off the lid and guzzles. “His room is upstairs. Get that blood off. You’ll feel better.”

He slugs back a drink while I process what he’s told me.

Eli drinks wine and eats chocolate. He had dinner with me and ate more than I ate. Eli is not a monster. Cam is not a monster. Monsters wouldn’t drink beer and wine. Would they? I walk to the window, the night lights twinkling, dancing a tune as if music led their way. “In the deep of the night, monsters roam.” It’s a quote from one of my books and that world comes to me oh so easily, as if I lived it, as if I understand it.

The air shifts and I can feel Cam in the living area behind me. I turn to face him. “He thinks I’m his wife, doesn’t he?”

“What’s between you and Eli is between you and Eli.”

“That was a werewolf that attacked Jacob, correct? I mean, I’m not crazy, right?”

“You’re not crazy,” he replies. “You are most likely in shock even if you don’t realize it.”

“So I’m talking crazy because I’m in shock?” I ask, and a part of me wants him to say yes, that is why you’re talking about werewolves.

“I didn’t say you were talking crazy.”

“Then there was a werewolf out there tonight?”

“Go shower,” he urges.

I want the shower, but I need answers. “He’s familiar,” I dare to admit. “But so are you.”

There is a shot of emotion that flashes through his eyes before he cuts his stare and then looks at me again, this time without those emotions. “Am I?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “You’re familiar. Have we met before?”

“That’s a trick question and any answer I give you will be a trick answer.” He winks and tips back his beer before setting it on the coffee table, but not before he sets a coaster down. Either he’s a polite monster or he’s not a monster at all. “I’m going to go downstairs and get some food,” he says. “You hungry?”

“No. I’m not hungry. Eli took me to dinner tonight.”

He studies me a thoughtful moment and then asks, “Then why were you with Jacob?”

There’s an accusation in the question, as if I’ve betrayed Eli, betrayed my husband, which is silly. Eli is not my husband. And yet, I want to explain myself. “Eli had to leave and I went to get ice cream. I ran into Jacob while I was there. He offered to walk me home and I accepted after I told him that I wasn’t interested in a relationship beyond friends. I told him Eli and I were, are—” I hesitate, suddenly unsure of what we are.

“Are what?” he asks.

“I like him,” I say, “I told him I am interested in Eli, and that means just Eli. Jacob’s a fan of my books, I write books for a living, and we were talking about the books when”—I swallow hard—“the animal attacked. Now I wish I would have suggested we share an Uber.”

“You didn’t cause this to happen,” he assures me. “And the animal that killed Jacob is being dealt with.” He motions toward me. “Put my number in your phone so you can text me if you change your mind about food.”

I grab my phone from my purse where it rests via my crossbody strap at my hip and he holds out his hand. “Let me give you several numbers.”

I don’t argue. I just saw a man mauled to death. I’m pretty okay with any contact that is local right about now. He punches in several numbers and then offers me my phone. “You have me, Rocco, and Eli in your phone. Rocco is—”

“A brother,” I reply.

His eyes narrow. “Yes,” he confirms. He studies me another moment and then says, “Text me if you want food.” With that, he turns and heads toward the door. Of course, he’s not going for food. He wants space. He’s giving me space, as well. The door opens and closes and I glance toward the stairs, to the location of Eli’s bedroom, with a rush of heat over my skin. That’s the most personal room in this apartment. If I know him, if we are connected, that’s where I’ll feel it the strongest.