One Immortal - Tia Louise Page 0,81

search my face. “You’re saying there’s absolutely no chance you’ll bring a plus one?”

“Mom,” I laugh, fake disapproval in my tone. “Are you implying I’m not good enough for you on my own?”

“Never in a million years would I imply such a thing.” She winks, taking a sip of Burgundy. “I only fear I’ll never have a grandchild. There’s not a single interesting male in all these cities you visit?”

Biting my lip, I look down, trying to decide how to frame this.

“I did meet someone I… care about.” Her excited face almost makes me roll my eyes. “He’s dealing with some personal problems at the moment, though.”

“Oh, no.” She frowns dramatically. “He’s married?”

I almost choke on my sip of wine. “Lord, no—Mom! I’m not that stupid.”

“Then what in the world do you mean by personal problems?”

Good question. “He’s got some… health issues.” This is not getting better.

“He has cancer?”

“No.”

“HIV? Oh, Melissa.”

“MOM. It’s nothing like that.” I take a deep inhale to clear my head. “I don’t know why I framed it that way. It’s not health issues. He just has some work-related business that has him… detained elsewhere.”

Mom leans back on the couch arms crossed. “I don’t know why you’re being so cagey with me. You could just tell me what’s going on. I’m not that hard to talk to, am I?”

Oh, good grief, now she’s pissed. “Of course not!” I backtrack. “It’s more that I’m not sure how much he wants to keep private. And truthfully, I only know a little about his work.”

Her mouth twitches as she turns over this information in her mind. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. It all sounds suspicious to me. I’d hate for him to turn up with a whole separate identity somewhere.”

She has no idea. “I’m sure he won’t. And once you meet him, I’m pretty sure you’ll like him as much as I do.”

I can only dream of the day when Derek meets my mother. That seems to satisfy her, and we return to holiday planning, gossiping about which family member will cause the biggest scandal this year, and remembering when Dad was with us.

Eventually, she decides it’s time to head home, and as much as I try to persuade her to stay with me, she insists. “I have to work tomorrow. It’s easier if I’m in my own house.”

I walk her through the kitchen, out my back door, watching as she makes her way to her car and waving as she heads off into the night.

For a little while, I lean against the doorjamb allowing the salty night air to wash over me. It’s a cool night, moving into November. If it weren’t so dark, I’d grab my flashlight and walk down to the water’s edge. As it is, I’ll lock up and get some rest. Funny how not so long ago, I’d stopped sleeping through the night.

My brief tenure as an undead creature is on my mind as I switch off the kitchen light, pass through the living room, and make my way to my master suite.

I’m just taking off my jewelry when I hear a strange banging sound from the kitchen, like either a picture has fallen off the wall or a bird flew into a window. Hurrying back to investigate, I mentally note that birds don’t fly at night.

I’m halfway through the living room when I freeze. I’m not alone. Something is in the room with me.

My blood runs cold, and I take a small step backwards. It’s in the shadow of lamplight on the opposite side of the living room. A woman.

I stare at her, and she stares right back at me. Her skin is deadly pale, but she has sparkling emerald-green eyes. Long red hair hangs over her shoulders in ripples, and she’s wearing a fitted green dress.

She would be beautiful if it weren’t for the cruel lines of her face. As she continues gazing at me, her expression melts into something like hatred.

“Who are you?” I say, cringing at how small and nervous I sound.

She’s not much bigger than me. If it came to a fight, I could probably hold my own. The problem is, I’m pretty sure this intruder isn’t human. In fact, I’m pretty positive she’s not.

“My name is of no importance.” Her voice is like the eerie tinkling of wind chimes on a stormy night, and I involuntarily shudder.

“What do you want?”

“My motives will have little value to you.”

For whatever reason, her answers make me angry. Squaring my