She squinted against the sun, holding the coffee mug with both hands. “Yeah… me neither.”
I watched her take a sip, her lips wrapping around the rim of the cup, and I tried not to think about how damn good she looked standing there in my shirt, barefoot and flushed. She caught me staring, of course she did, and rolled her eyes.
“What?” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Nothing,” I lied, smirking. “Just thinking that shirt suits you.”
She looked down at herself and scoffed. “Please. I look like I’m drowning in it.”
“You look perfect,” I said before I could stop myself.
That blush hit her cheeks, quick and pink, and she tried to hide it by taking another sip of coffee. She glanced away, pretending to look at the bike.
For a few quiet moments, it almost felt normal. Just a man fixing his bike, a woman drinking coffee on the porch. No demons. No nightmares. Just us.
Then her phone rang.
She frowned at the screen before answering. “Hey, Seraphine.”
I glanced up at the name. Seraphine Laveaux. I knew the family. Every Royal Bastard in New Orleans knew that name. The Laveaux women were born with power in their blood, descended from the one and only Madame Laveaux, the Voodoo Queen herself and Jameson’s most coveted council.
Seraphine was her youngest niece, maybe thirty at best. Beautiful, wild, and reckless, just like Grace. I’d known her just as long as I had known Grace.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Grace said into the phone, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. “The shop got hit last night… yeah, the Scorpions.”
Her eyes flicked to me. I could hear Seraphine’s voice through the tiny speaker, fast and worried, asking a thousand questions. Grace nodded, murmured small answers, and then said, “We need to talk. Lunch? At the usual place.”
She glanced at me again, her gaze steady this time, something unreadable passing between us.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
She ended the call and tucked the phone into her pocket. I crossed my arms over my chest, watching her.
“I’m meeting with Seraphine this afternoon,” she said, matter of fact.
“Nope,” I replied flatly. “No way in hell.”
She sighed, already irritated. “Oh, come on, Hellsing. Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything. You’re not goin’ anywhere. Not after last night.”
She planted a hand on her hip, and the hem of my shirt lifted just enough to test my control. “She’s a Voodoo priestess, Peter. If a demon calls, I’ll be with someone who actually knows how to handle it.”
“Cute,” I said, giving her a look. “But that ain’t gonna fly with me. You’re stayin’ put.”
She huffed, tossing her head. “Don’t you have better things to do than babysit me?”
I stared at her, jaw tight. “Probably. But I gave your old man and my Prez my word, and that means somethin’.”
She stepped closer, the steam from her coffee curling between us. “You can keep your word without locking me in your damn house.”
“Grace,” I said, voice dropping. “You nearly got torn apart by who knows what last night, because you won’t tell me. And that’s fine, you keep whatever you want to yourself. But do you really think I’m going to risk you goin’ out there alone?”
“I won’t be alone,” she shot back, stubborn as hell. “And I already told you; I’m not some damsel you need to save, I’m not your good deed for the year, nor am I just some project you need to fix, Hellsing. I can handle myself.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, fighting a retort. “You know you sound just like your daddy when he gets pissed at me.”
“Good,” she said with a smirk. “Means I’m doing something right.”
