in her lap, is a very sweet-looking old woman, with short gray curls and colorful reading glasses. She’s dressed in a silk caftan in swirling shades of blue, and her light-brown skin glows in the candlelight as she closes her book and deposits it on the glass table.
“Four visits in as many months,” she says, looking up at us with a soft smile. “Careful, Jaxon, or I’m going to start getting spoiled.”
Her voice sounds like she looks—sweet, cultured, calm—and I feel a little like I’m being punked. This is the most dangerous vampire in existence? This is the woman Jaxon refers to as the Bloodletter? She looks like she’d be more at home knitting and playing with her grandchildren than she ever would hanging people upside down from the ceiling to drain their blood.
But Jaxon is moving us toward her, his head angled down in the most submissive gesture I have ever seen from him, so this has to be her, fuzzy slippers and all.
“You could never be spoiled,” he answers as we come to a stop right in front of her. Or rather, Jaxon comes to a stop in front of her. I come to a stop several feet back, as Jaxon has deliberately angled his body between us. “I like the new color scheme.”
“I was overdue for a change. Spring is a time for renewal, after all.” She smiles ruefully. “Unless you’re an old vampire like myself.”
“Ancient isn’t the same as old,” Jaxon says to her, and I can tell from his voice that he means it. And also that he admires her a great deal, even if he doesn’t trust her completely.
“Always such a charmer.” She stands up, her gaze meeting mine for the first time. “But I’m guessing you already know that.”
I nod, more cognizant than ever of Jaxon’s warning to let him do the talking. Because while the Bloodletter might look like the sweetest grandma ever, her green eyes gleam with shrewdness—and more than a little bit of avarice—as she looks me over. Add in the fact that I can see the tips of her fangs glowing against her bottom lip in the firelight, and I’m beginning to feel a little bit like a fly to the proverbial spider.
“You brought your mate,” she tells him with an arch look, one that speaks volumes I don’t begin to understand.
“I did,” he replies.
“Well, let me get a look at her, then.” She walks forward, pressing a hand to the side of Jaxon’s biceps in an effort to guide him over a few steps.
Jaxon doesn’t budge, which makes the Bloodletter laugh, a bright, colorful sound that echoes off the vaulted ceilings and ice-hard walls. “That’s my boy,” she says. “Always the overprotective one. But I can assure you this time, there’s no need.”
Again, she presses on his biceps in a very obvious “scoot over a little” gesture. Again, he doesn’t move so much as an inch.
Annoyance replaces amusement in her bright-green eyes, and she sends him a look that, not going to lie, has me shaking a little in my shoes. Certain that she can smell it, I tamp down the small quiver of fear and meet her curious gaze with one of my own.
I can tell she likes that, just as I can tell how unhappy she is with Jaxon’s refusal to bend to her will. Deciding to take it out of both their hands, I step forward and smile at her. “I’m Grace,” I say, and though convention suggests that I offer my hand, Jaxon’s earlier warning still rings in my ears. “It’s really nice to meet you.”
She gives me a delighted smile in response but makes no move to touch me, either—even before Jaxon lets out an obvious sound of displeasure.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, too. I’m glad everything has…worked itself out with you.”
Surprised by her words, I glance at Jaxon. He doesn’t take his eyes off the woman who raised him, but he does answer my silent question. “She knows you’re a gargoyle. I came to see her twice when you were locked in stone.”
“He left no stone unturned, as it were, when he was looking for a way to set you free. But alas, gargoyles haven’t been my specialty in quite a long while.” Her gaze seems to go far away as she continues. “I did hope to change that once, but it was not to be.”
Even though I already know that Jaxon did anything and everything he could to help me when