She left, leaving him glaring at me.
“I don’t want a milkshake.”
I waved away his objection. “Nonsense. You can’t come to a diner and not get something. You’ll stand out.”
He gave me a dry look. “Somehow I doubt that was your motivation for ordering me one of those things.”
“So your applicants need to be able to sire a vampire. That doesn’t seem too hard.”
“It’s not. Once a vampire hits a certain age and obtains a certain level of discipline.”
I sucked down another sip of the creamy goodness. Somehow I didn’t think he’d brought this topic up for no reason. I was betting it had something to do with what he wanted from me.
“What’s that have to do with me?” I asked, hoping to speed things along. My milkshake was melting and I wanted to be done with this conversation sometime in the next century.
“I think one of the applicants was hexed over a century ago to prevent him from siring other vampires.”
“Again, what does that have to do with me?”
“I need you to either find the witch who placed the hex or one of the vampire’s descendants.”
Wait. Hold on.
“The hexed vampire’s descendants?”
I received a nod.
“What makes you think I can do something like that? I know almost zero about investigating.”
His lips quirked. “Your encounter with the draugr say otherwise.”
I waved his comment away. “That was mostly luck and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
That and relying on an old friend to do most of the researching. I didn’t plan on telling him about her. He didn’t need any more ammo to take out my vulnerable spots.
“You also seem to have an established relationship with several witches. Because of your job you have access to people from all parts of the city.”
In other words, people wouldn’t talk to him because he was a big, bad vampire, the bogey man of this shadow world.
I smirked at him. “So I guess my being clanless has some use after all.”
“In very rare instances.”
Heh.
The bell over the diner door rang and a dark haired man in a light coat stepped inside, looking around before spotting us. He walked our way.
My gaze landed on his silver gray eyes. I couldn’t look away, the moment feeling like it was happening at a distance. I felt lightheaded, then hot and sweaty. In the next second, I was ice cold, my teeth damn near chattering.
This couldn’t be happening.
How did Liam find him?
I never thought I’d see him again.
I reached slowly into my messenger bag, my hand closing on the grip of my gun. It was a revolver called the Judge, a .45 caliber long colt with a 410 round. It might stop him, but then again it might not.
“Thomas,” Liam said, standing. “You’re late.”
