Anne Rice, eat your heart out.
At twenty-five past six, I sent Vonnie a text letting her know I was about to meet my date, because telling her I was about to meet the man who broke into my house yesterday would have been too weird—even for me. She wished me well. I took a deep breath, threw my bag over my shoulder, and headed across the street.
Every nerve inside me was taut. My hands were shaking.
I stared at the glass doors leading into to Studio 88. Were the damned butterflies doing cartwheels in my stomach just due to nerves over what kind of answers I might be about to get to my questions... or was I walking into a trap I’d never come out of?
Maybe my imagination was running away with me again. If this guy had wanted to kill me or kidnap me, he could have done it yesterday at my house with nobody around. But he hadn’t. He’d even reassured me that he wasn’t going to hurt me—though I intended to have a word with him about how shitty I’d felt afterward.
If he was supposed to be a terrifying creature of the night, he wasn’t a very good fit for the role. And why the hell did he leave me a hundred-dollar tip? Who does that?
I blew out a breath. Vampires, apparently. Next time, I’d make a point of offering him a second glass of Clos du Bois.
“Stop it,” I admonished myself. I could do this. I’d said so a hundred times today, and that meant it had to be true. Right?
I inhaled slowly, taking in the mix of scents floating around the Landing. The Mississippi was behind me, a cobblestone street was beneath my feet, and a vampire lay before me, assuming he’d showed up as promised.
One step at a time. Shaking off my nerves, I reached for the glass door of the lounge and pulled it open. The second I crossed the threshold, I saw him. He sat alone at a small table in the back corner. Sipping a glass of red wine, just like earlier.
The lounge was dimly lit, giving it a cozy atmosphere. Candles in holders burned on several tables, and soft jazz emanated from speakers inset into the vaulted ceiling.
As though he’d somehow heard my restlessly circling thoughts, he turned his head and looked right at me. I stood tall under that cool blue gaze—or as tall as I could at five-foot-four, anyway. I kept my shoulders square and my chin up, refusing to show anything other than confidence.
Even if I didn’t feel very confident, I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him see it. With my lips turned down in a scowl and my head held high, I strode through the bar toward the dark, handsome stranger.
Rans stood as I approached, nodded a silent greeting, and pulled out a chair for me. That threw me off, but I was determined to keep my cool. I let him seat me, unused to being on the receiving end of that sort of effortless chivalry.
“You came,” Rans said. “I’m glad.”
I settled my backpack on the floor at my feet, not ready to give ground. “You should know that my friend is on standby, as promised. She’s going to call the cops if I don’t check in every ten minutes.”
Rans let out a faint huff of what might have been amusement.
“I consider myself warned,” he said, tilting his head as he studied me. “Now, can I get you a drink?”
“Sure. Something sweet, with a kick.” I had a feeling I was going to need it.
He nodded. “Sweet and with a kick it is.”
I kept my gaze on him as he walked up to the bar, ordered me a drink, then came back and set down a glass of something green on the rocks before seating himself across from me.
I sipped the melon-flavored liqueur, hoping some liquid courage would push me along. The Midori sour was, indeed, very sweet. And it definitely had a kick. I hadn’t had a drink in weeks, and I hadn’t eaten much since breakfast, so the alcohol went straight to the filter between my brain and my mouth.
Inhaling, I squared my shoulders and pushed back the half-finished drink.
“So, you’re a vampire.” Though it was meant to be a question, it came out more as a statement.
“And you’re an enigma,” Rans retorted, not bothering to deny the allegation. “Nice to meet you properly.”
“You drank my blood yesterday,” I said, keeping my voice level, like his penchant for guzzling other people’s hemoglobin was no big deal.
“Yes.” His answer was as simple as my question.
“But there’s no wound on my neck,” I pointed out—quite reasonably, I thought.
“No, there wouldn’t be,” he said. “My blood and saliva have strong healing properties. Your throat healed in moments.”
I swallowed hard. “Am I going to turn into a vampire now?”
He laughed—a single bark, with a noticeably jagged edge to it. “No, luv. Not hardly.”
“But now you’re stalking me,” I accused.
He shrugged. “A bit, yes. I did mention you’re an enigma.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked in bewilderment. “What about me is remotely enigmatic? I’m a broke-ass waitress working at a bar and grill.”
“Your blood,” he said, his eyes studying me carefully. “It’s unusually... what’s the word I’m looking for? Stimulating.”
I shivered a bit, unable to stop myself. Then I promptly changed the subject.
“Who shot you yesterday?” I asked.
Rans looked amused at that. “A man with a shotgun.”
My frown appeared to have no effect on him. “Why did he shoot you?”
“Someone told him to, I expect.”
“So someone’s trying to kill you?” I pressed.
“Kill me?” He snorted. “With a gun? No, that was more of a love-tap, really.” His expression sobered. “Or a message, I suppose you could
