Not with Blackwood free to come and go in Amber's home.
Not with Amber called, seduced, and fed from--in daylight.
"You don't get to be as old as Stefan is without being able to take care of yourself." "You're right," I said, "but he's been cut adrift, and I'd be happier if he weren't making himself so scarce." "He'd not be much help in a ghost hunt--don't ghosts avoid vampires?" "Ghosts and cats, Bran says," I told him.
"But my cat likes Stefan." "Your cat likes anyone she can convince to pet her." Something about the way he said it--a caress in his voice--made me suspicious.
I listened carefully and heard it, a faint purr.
"She likes you, anyway," I said.
"How'd she talk you into letting her into your house again?" "She yowled at the back door." He sounded sheepish.
I'd never seen or heard of a cat that would associate with werewolves or coyotes until Medea announced her presence at the door of my shop.
Dogs will--and so will most livestock--but not cats.
Medea loves anyone who will pet her ...
or has the potential to pet her.
Not unlike some people I know.
"She's playing you and Samuel off each other," I informed him.
"And you, my dear sir, have just succumbed to her wiles." "My mother warned me about succumbing," he said meekly.
"You'll have to save me from myself.
When I have you to pet, I won't need her." Faintly, through his phone, I heard the doorbell ring.
"It's pretty late for visitors," I said.
Adam started to laugh.
"What?" "It's Samuel.
He just asked Jesse if we've seen your cat." I sighed.
"Men are so easy.
You'd better go confess your sins." When I disconnected, I stared into the dark wishing I were home.
If I were sleeping with Adam next to me, no stupid vampire would be chewing on my neck.
Finally, I got up, turned on the light, and brought out the fairy book to read.
After a few pages, I quit worrying about vampires, pulled the comforter closer around my shoulders- Amber must like her AC down at werewolf levels--and lost myself in the story of the Roaring Bull of Bagbury and other fae who haunt bridges.
I woke up shivering sometime later, clutching the fairy staff, which I'd last seen leaning against the wall next to the door.
The wood under my fingers was hot--a contrast to the rest of the room.
The cold was so intense my nose was numb and my breath fogged.
A moment after I woke up, a high-pitched, atonal wail rang through the walls of the house, abruptly cutting off.
I dumped my covers on the floor.