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“It turned out to be a false alarm,” I barked. “Nothing but a repressed witch.”
“With that much power?” Vix sounded doubtful.
“Very repressed,” I added. “I don’t want to look over my shoulder for Sebastian. Find him, take care of him. This is getting out of control.”
“We’re on it, sir. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I gave a huff, then hung up. Nicola Vixen was the head of the security company I owned. I owned a lot of things. Like this entire apartment complex. A security company. I dabbled in a few Silicon Valley tech companies as an angel investor—hardy har, the irony of being an angel investor was not lost on this vampire.
I even owned a production company in Hollywood because one of my previous girlfriends had wanted to star in a movie and had insisted I buy the whole damn thing. A vampire who’d been around as long as I had accumulated things like money, companies, properties. Ex-girlfriends.
I massaged my forehead as I stared out the windows over the twinkling lights of New York. There was a special kind of magic sitting this high above a city brimming with millions of people.
If I wanted, I could throw my window open and hear everything—every little detail within a several block radius. But after a century of listening to everyone’s private problems a guy learned how to block things out, to dull the sounds until it was a soft cacophony in the background.
The only thing sharp in my mind right now, besides the biting anger I felt toward the most dangerous vampire in the country wreaking havoc on my town, was the image of the witch I’d met tonight.
Trixie Gardens. Even her name fit her.
Bubbly, stubborn, sweet.
But that didn’t explain the powers she was keeping locked up inside of her. A magic like that locked up inside a woman’s body for decades couldn’t be healthy. That woman needed a release.
I licked my lower lip, thinking that I needed a release of a whole different sort. It’d been a long time since I’d had a woman in my bed, and it showed. The way I’d reacted to her tonight had been ridiculous.
I’d craved her in an almost feral way, like I was a days-old monster instead of centuries-old vampire. The way I’d wanted to sink my teeth into her neck, draw my finger down that pale, moonlit skin, feel the warmth of her tempting, warm body against my cold, hard one.
It was a sensation different than anything I’d ever felt before, different than bloodlust. It didn’t frighten me; it terrified me. The need I’d felt for her was a sign that I was slipping.
I was a man of control, a man who valued caution and knowledge. I didn’t do emotional outbursts except for the occasional rise of anger. I didn’t do want, desire, need. When I saw a woman I wanted, there was nothing more to it. Nothing beyond basic need, basic instinct. Not this deep, primal sort of craving that wouldn’t be satisfied with one night together.
I cursed again as I caught a whiff of Trixie through the open window. I stepped out onto my balcony, following my nose like a hopeful golden retriever. I couldn’t help it; she pulled at me like a siren. I could hear her on the seventh floor, chatting with her roommate. I kept the details blocked out, not wanting to intrude on her privacy for some reason. Respect? Hell if I knew.
I could just barely detect Trixie’s scent, but it was enough to drive me wild with curiosity. New York was a city of scents—hot dog vendors, garbage—oh, the garbage— petroleum, fresh rain and muddy puddles...and Trixie.
Sure, there was the cabernet on her breath that had smelled rich and flavorful and, yes, cheap. There was also something else, something underneath the crayons and pretzel scent that didn’t seem to fit her, like she’d picked it up from somewhere else. The thought pissed me off for no reason at all. Who’d been so close to her that their strange odor had rubbed off on her?
I shook my head, thinking if I didn’t pull myself together, I was in danger of sounding like a stalker. I took one more breath, savoring the true smell of her—those sugary, champagne-sweet notes with a side of a summer garden. She reminded me of pretty rosebushes, gorgeous, a bit prickly if not handled with care. A touch of dew-fresh grass, sunshine kissing her hair.
I stormed back into my apartment and slammed the balcony door shut.
I didn’t have time for this. I didn’t have time for an infatuation I’d never be able to do anything about. I turned, glanced around my gleaming penthouse, all black and sleek and minimal, and headed for my bedroom where I knew I’d spend the rest of the night tossing and turning and wondering about the witch on the seventh floor.
Chapter 3
Trixie
My apartment greeted me like a warm, familiar hug as I stepped inside.
“Hello, Gertrude,” I said, greeting the string of pearls plant hanging by the front door, its long strands of round green beads dangling from a macrame hanger. “How’s it hanging?”
The apartment building was actually very old, and most of the spaces in it had been renovated over time. Most apartments now had things like air conditioning and new stoves and working refrigerators.
Mine had not been renovated as such. Mine had what I liked to call vintage charm. Big radiators chugged along all winter long to keep this place toasty, giving off that uniquely radiator-heat smell. In summer, I employed an army of fans flanked by a few ice packs to keep cool.
However, the place was spacious, open, and bright. On one wall was a custom bookshelf as old as the apartment itself. It had a sliding ladder across the front of it because the ceiling in the main room was so tall it was impossible to reach the highest shelves without it.
There were two bedrooms and two bathrooms in this place, which made it an absolute gem by New York standards. Most people would wonder how I afforded it.
