Corey nodded, trying to imagine what life in the Middle Ages must have been like for Flynn. He looked so modern now…didn’t he? Perhaps there was a bit of wildness in that hair and a hint of battle in his amber eyes. “And what happened? Did you win the fight?”
“The Pictish people won, yes. They went on to invade Alt Clut and Northumbria, and were the first to make peace treaties with the English, which as you probably do know, were rewritten over and over with more bloody battles ensuing.”
She nodded.
“I didn’t survive the battle. It was an ambush by the lake, a clever move on our behalf, but I was killed eight minutes in by an arrow.” He tapped his chest. “Straight through my lung and taking out a few major vessels with it.”
“Ouch.”
“Aye, it hurt, I remember that all right, despite the passing time. A fatal shot does that.”
“So who…who bit you and turned you into…a vampire?” The word still seemed strange used in normal conversation—heck, this wasn’t a normal conversation.
“A vampire whose name I’ll never know but a face I’ll never forget.”
“You haven’t tried to find him?”
“He was decapitated by my cousin moments after he drained me dry and set me on this path.”
“Why?”
“He was fighting for the other team. He was the enemy.”
“I see.” She paused. “So why did he save you?”
“I don’t think save is the right word, existing this way isn’t easy.” He took off his cap, set it on his lap. His hair tumbled free. In truth, it was way too long for a sergeant, but that was the least of her concerns.
“And your cousin,” she asked, “he saw what had happened to you?”
“He saw me bleeding and being attacked, yes, but in the chaos of battle he had no idea it was a vampire taking my blood, all of my blood. He thought he’d saved me when my eyes pinged open and I groaned. I was in agony, from turning, not from my injury—my punctured lung healed the instant the last drop of blood left my body.” He rubbed his chin and stared out of the window; the curtains were still open. “It’s weird talking about it, I haven’t for a long time.”
“I’m glad you are, it’s helping me understand.”
“It is?”
“Yes, it hasn’t been the easiest of days to get my head around.” Once again, she sipped her wine.
He watched her intently, then swallowed, as if imagining the oaky taste of the chardonnay. “I didn’t age,” he said. “I never got sick, I was taller, stronger, quicker, much quicker, than everyone else in my tribe. And my thirst, for blood…” He shook his head. “It was hard to control, but I did, somehow. Many new vampires can’t, but these were my clan people. So I sated it with animals—deer, bears, wolves—until eventually I had to move on. Friends I’d grown up with, my cousin, they were dying in old age; I was still a young man of twenty-five, and I looked it, like this.”
“Yes, you would pass as about twenty-five.” She made the most of being able to study him intently for a few moments. He really was a very beautiful man…or rather, vampire.
“When I left I had a few decades out of control, a feeding frenzy, roaming wherever I fancied in the Highlands, down to the Borders, the Lakes, as far as London, too,” he said. “I’m not proud of the lives I took to sate my thirst.”
“So how did you stop?”
“I met Master Benedict himself, in the then new city of Dublin.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Aye, okay, he was…”
Hiss!
“Dolly!” Corey set down her wine and stood. “What are you doing, bad cat.”
Dolly continued to hiss so loud she was practically spitting. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Flynn, her back arched, hackles raised, and her puffed-up tail an arrow pointing at the ceiling. A vampire clearly hadn’t been what she’d been expecting when she’d strolled into the living room for her usual evening cuddle.
“I’ll go,” Flynn said, standing, “I tend not to be popular with wee pets like this one.”
“I’m really sorry.” She went to pick Dolly up, but she was a bubbling mass of hate, and Corey feared for her fingers.
Flynn slapped his hat on and straightened his neat black shirt. Light from the table lamp glinted off his handcuffs.
“Would those,” she pointed at them, “be any use on the shifter?”
“No, he’ll be strong.” He stepped past Dolly, who scooted, still hissing, to the opposite side of the room. “But don’t worry, we have plans.”
“What plans?”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll talk again tomorrow.” He stepped from the room. “Ben will walk you to work.”
“What? No. I don’t need him to walk me to—”
The front door slammed.
Chapter Four
Corey had strange, Technicolor dreams full of Highland battles, wolves, swords, and hissing cats. When she woke, the sun was stretching golden fingers of light around the curtains and her radio alarm was playing Chopin.
She stood, Dolly jumping down from the bed with a bump, as was her usual habit—next in her world was a sachet of Sheba.
Corey pulled on a silky black gown, ran her fingers through her hair, and tugged the curtain to one side.
“What the…?”
Her dead-end street, one back from the main road, was quiet and still. It was only six-thirty after all. But this morning there was one addition to the urban dawn scene.
A tall, wide-shouldered, uniformed policeman standing by her gate with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Seriously?” She frowned. It had annoyed her when Flynn had announced Ben would be walking her to work; it would have made her bloody furious if she’d known she was going to be guarded all night like she was in damn witness protection.
She flicked the curtain back into place. Stomped down the stairs and into the kitchen.
These guys were going to have to lighten up. They had work to do, and that didn’t include keeping watch over her.
She filled the kettle, banged it back into place, and emptied Sheba into a bowl.
After tea and wholegrain toast, she showered, put on a plain navy trouser suit, brushed her hair into a high ponytail, and added a hint of makeup. That was her ready.
Scooping up her phone, purse, and keys, she opened the front door. “Behave, Dolly, see you later.”
Ben turned around. “Good morning, ma’am.”
“Why are you here?” She locked up.
He raised his dark eyebrows, just a fraction. “Why are you surprised? Flynn told you I would be.”
“Okay, try this one: How long have you been standing outside my house?”
“Since Flynn left.”
“And you had nothing else to do?” She walked past him, heading right toward the main road. “I thought you would be out all night sniffing for shifters, you know, before the sun came up and melted you or whatever it does.”
“The other three officers were busy all night.” He fell into line with her. “And for the record, the sun doesn’t melt us, we just don’t like it much. The midday sun makes our skin itch and our eyes sting.”