some of his own blood, he licked his lips. The bruises and wounds the werewolves had inflicted would be gone in minutes. But resist an invite into a pretty woman’s home?
He looked around, shuffled his feet, and shoved his hands into his front jeans pockets.
He was a monster, and a hungry one at that. The pretty lady had best beware.
OLIVIA ADORATA SHRUGGED off her winter coat, wool mittens and hat, and tossed them over the back of the worn leather easy chair in the tiny apartment she rented throughout the year, but only got to visit about five out of the fifty-two weeks. Her hair was a mess and she wore yoga pants and a bleach-stained shirt. She hadn’t expected to encounter a handsome man on her way home, or to so boldly invite him in—make that a handsome vampire.
Behind her, the vampire stood in the open doorway, snowflakes whipping in around his tall, lean frame and onto the carpet. A vampire.
She’d met plenty of actors who played vampires and even a nonactor who had completely believed himself a denizen of the dark. But she’d never met a real vampire. Thanks to her mother’s penchant for all things spiritual and otherworldly, Olivia believed they existed, or at least, wouldn’t discount them just because she hadn’t met one before.
She prided herself on being open-minded, but hadn’t expected to ever come face-to-face with one—and come so close to his fangs. That had freaked her, but she possessed the incredible ability to remain calm on the outside while inside she was screaming. Attribute that to her profession. Never let them see you sweat.
And how to be frightened by a man who looked like he belonged in a men’s fitness magazine? The muscles were apparent through his thin leather jacket, and that solid jaw and sharply buzzed dark hair added to his appeal. Freckles on his nose granted him a bit of a boy-next-door look—with fangs. She loved freckles.
Too intrigued not to invite him in, Olivia hoped she wasn’t doing the last thing she’d ever do. On the other hand, the horned devil sitting on her shoulder prodded her with its pitchfork and whispered, “Risk,” and she jumped at the opportunity.
“Come in,” she coaxed, and offered the man a warm smile. She tugged down her shirt, hoping to hide the bleach stain at her hip. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s home. Wish I had time to get a tree, but I’d never be able to lug it up the outside stairs. Maybe a small one.” Oh, how she tended to babble when she was nervous. Deep breath, Olivia. Chill. “Come in.”
As if released from an invisible barrier, the vampire stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He stomped his boots on the mat.
“So you really need an invite to enter a place? That’s so cool.”
“Personal property, yes. Not so much on the public property. What are you?”
“I don’t understand the question.” She strode toward the bathroom. “I’m going to get some medical supplies.”
“What I mean is,” he called after her, “what kind of monster are you that you know what I am, and don’t seem the least bit frightened by me?”
She glanced in the bathroom mirror. Monster? If he only knew she was an even bigger monster. Did he know? He hadn’t said anything to clue her that he was aware who she was. Interesting.
On the other hand, she wasn’t exactly playing up the glamorous mode right now. She reached for the medical supplies and forced herself not to dash on some blush and eyeliner. That would look too obvious.
Returning to the living room with alcohol, cotton balls and Band-Aids, she set them on the glass coffee table and gestured for him to sit on the leather couch. “Do you want me to be frightened of you?”
He shrugged, which only drew attention to his broad shoulders. The man was not shockingly pretty, but a good, solid stretch of sex appeal and confidence—mercy, those melting snowflakes in his hair twinkled under the lights. Olivia was so tired of models and hangers-on. This guy was a bright gift of normality, aside from the fact he sported fangs, which added an irresistibly dangerous twist to this encounter. He was everything she should avoid—hell, run from and never look back.
“Sit down,” she said, with another gesture to the couch. “What’s your name?”
“What’s yours?” He stalked to the couch and made himself at home, slamming his wet boots up on the coffee table.
Olivia shoved his feet off and