Kit ran far enough from Quin to stop and take stock of the situation. He didn’t have many options. At least this time, nothing stopped Kit from asking for help.
Decision made, he doubled back on himself to get his car and head towards St Andrews. The massive electric-blue Mercedes-Benz handled the country roads well and was stupidly expensive enough to have made a dent in the money he’d inherited from Lawrence—once he’d reflected and realised that refusing it only hurt himself.
The roads were never busy at night, so the journey didn’t take long. He parked close to the converted old church that the vampires in the territory considered home. Kit had visited it once before, when he’d first arrived on the east coast. A second floor had been added to the building, which Kit had been told was full of bedrooms, but the lower level retained most of the original features, minus the pews and with the addition of plenty of leather furniture. Kit didn’t know why vampires were sodrawn to leather. Perhaps it was easier to clean than any other natural material, but for whatever reason, it seemed the go-to aesthetic of choice. Some vampire must have started the trend, and the rest of them had gone along with it.
The St Andrews vampire community was populated by American vampires getting in touch with their so-called Scottish roots (sick-inducing), English vampires that considered themselves slumming it (also sick-inducing), and Scottish vampires of the sort descended from royalty (especiallysick-inducing). Insufferably posh, each and every one of them. Kit wondered if he should wear a sign on his shirt proclaiming himself as a member of the working class.
He might have been wealthy thanks to his share of Lawrence’s holdings—the portfolio so large that it made millionaires of every one of Lawrence’s dozens of creations—but Kit didn’t delude himself into thinking the nouveau riche would ever be welcomed.
A vampire, whose physical age looked to be around mid-thirties, caught sight of him as he entered the church. Her eyes lit up, and Kit thought she was about to subvert his every expectation.
Instead, she exclaimed, “Oh, aren’t you adorable!”
Kit wassoover being adorable. He sped over to her, stopping right in front of her face. Too close to be considered friendly. “Who taught you to speak to your elders like that?”
Her body may have appeared older than his, but there was no way she’d been a vampire for longer than a couple of years. She still hadn’t shed some clear signs of her youth: a chest that fell and rose with unnecessary breaths, movement just this side of too careful—telegraphing that she wasn’t yet comfortable with her new strength—and the slight smell of something uniquely human. Kit had decades on her.
“Oh!” She took a step back. “I’m sorry.”
“Make sure you are,” Kit said, though he wore his sweetest smile.
She cocked her head, studying his face as if to deduce whether he was insulting her. She concluded he was and flounced off.
A voice sounded from behind him. “Kit, darlin’, don’t you look delectable this fine evenin’.”
Kit pasted on a polite smile before he turned. “Conroy,” he said calmly. Recreated during the American Civil War, Conroy led the St Andrews vampires. Judging by the makeup of his creations, Kit could guess which side he’d been on.
Despite this, Conroy maintained a devoted following in his little corner of the world. It boggled Kit’s mind that Conroy’s collection of young and attractive vampires lusted after someone who thought the height of fashion was a magenta silk cravat. Conroy even matched it to the bow that held back his shoulder-length brown hair.
“Other than to insult my dear Kezia, to what do we owe this visit?” Conroy asked, teeth gleaming. His accent sounded like a poor impression of Colonel Sanders. Kit was convinced it was exaggerated. Another vampire clung to Conroy like a limpet.
“I wasn’t sure if you knew a werewolf has moved into the territory,” Kit said, careful not to sound too accusatory.
The female vampire gasped, her talons growing and digging into Conroy’s arm.
“Hush, Tati,” Conroy said, prying her fingers away before addressing Kit. “A werewolf? Here?”
Kit had no patience for such dramatics. “Yes.”
“Where specifically?”
“Anstruther.”
Conroy pursed his lips. “Ah. Not much I can do if it’s not in my town. Has it caused any bother?”
“He chased me through the woods the other night,” Kit admitted.
“Ooh, kinky.”
“He was a wolf at the time,” Kit said, nonplussed.
“Hence my observation,” Conroy said with a smirk.
Kit bit his tongue, ignoring his instinct to stoop to Conroy’s level. “So, you aren’t going to do anything about it?”
Conroy spread his arms, Tati getting shunted to the side. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Tell him to leave?”
