The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance (Trisha Telep) (Kitty Norville 0.50)

He cocked his head to the side and damned if she didn’t see a sliver of amusement slide through his one eye. “Nuns usually hang out at singles bars in this neighbourhood?”

“I’m trying to help others find their way. Lost souls and all that.”

“Right. Sure, I believe it. So I guess as a woman of the Lord, you would think of vampires as demons, right? Evil incarnate?”

“Since I only realized that they were real about twenty minutes ago, I’d have to say that I have no defined judgments on vampires yet.”

“What’s it like to not believe something, to think it’s only myth, and then to have it shoved in your face?”

“Jarring,” she admitted. “Not as jarring as being threatened with a big knife, though - by a vampire.”

“I can imagine that.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “So, Sister, what are your defined judgments on me?”

“I don’t even know you.”

“You know I’m a vampire and that I obviously have murderous tendencies.”

“You haven’t killed me yet.”

“Give me time.”

She had no reason to doubt him, but there was something in the set of his mouth, and in the way he wouldn’t look her in her eyes, which made her doubt him.

Why would she doubt him? She didn’t know this guy. He even looked scary, although not as terrifying as he had a few minutes ago. Underneath his less-than-stylish black duster and eyepatch and days-growth of beard, was something that wasn’t unattractive. Normally it was hard to judge somebody’s physical appearance when they were threatening your life. Fear could be blinding.

He’d threatened her with a damn knife. She should be passing out from fear, screaming with terror, not appraising his hotness factor.

And yet. . . she was. Sort of. In fact, the longer their strange conversation continued, the more she didn’t believe he was capable of murder, even though he was a vampire.

He was trying to help his stupid little brother from making a mistake. That was all. This guy wasn’t a murderer. She knew it then. It was a gut thing.

And she’d reached this verdict, why? Because he had nice lips? Good cheekbones? A deep, sexy voice? A tall, muscular body?

No, it was something deeper than that, something she couldn’t put her finger on. Besides, if he was a murderous vampire, then why wouldn’t he bite her? He didn’t even need an actual weapon since he already had sharp fangs. And her neck was as exposed as her cleavage in the tight black dress she’d chosen to wear to the club tonight.

She was going crazy. Possibly slipping into shock. It was the only explanation.

He was a vampire. A monster. And he had a big knife. Anything outside of that shouldn’t have made one damn bit of difference to her.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He stared at her for a long moment, and then said: “Henry.”

She was surprised that he’d actually answered. She was equally surprised that his name was Henry. He didn’t look like a Henry. Maybe a Lucien. Or a Damian. Something dark and dangerous and sexy.

Wait, she thought. Why am I thinking that? No sense. I’m making zero sense.

Her head felt cloudy. She didn’t know what it was about this guy that intrigued her so much. He was a vampire and he wanted to kill her. She had information overload. She must be in shock. That had to be the reason.

“Henry Frost,” she said out loud, figuring he and Evan shared a last name.

“That’s right.”

“Have you always looked after your brother, Henry?”

He looked at her with a frown. “What?”