“You want her to be your anchor.” It wasn’t a question, and neither was the statement that followed. “You want to beheranchor.”
His throat felt like it was closing in on itself, but he managed to choke out, “Yeah, I think I do.”
“There’s noI thinkin that scenario. You’ve got to figure that shit out and be one hundred percent sure,” Harlan commanded, just as serious as he was when he held a life in his hands. “When you do, then you treat her like you would any other potential anchor.”
Atticus’s heart lurched. “How do I make sure she wants me back? Really wants me?”
“I don’t know,” Harlan replied, eyes gleaming with dark humor, “maybe date and shit.”
A startled laugh burst out of him. That was the exact piece of advice he gave Harlan when he was attempting to woo Zia, his employee at the time, and it was about as helpful for him as it was for Atticus — which wasn’t very helpful at all.
“Are you enjoying this?”
“A little.” He paused before blandly adding, “Have you considered buying her a car?”
“I don’t think she has a driver’s license. If she did, I’m pretty sure she would have stolen the RV.”
“That would’ve been smart.”
“Carmine’s super smart,” he replied, smiling like the besotted idiot he was. “Did she tell you she’s a mortician?”
“She mentioned something about needing to find a morgue. Glad to know it was for strictly professional reasons.”
A squeal of child’s laughter echoed down the hall. The house was a warren of short doorways and interconnected rooms, meaning sound didn’t carry very well. For Serafina’s laughter to have reached them all the way by the front door, it had to have been explosive — and par the course for the little vampire.
Like bees to honey, both men were drawn toward the joyous sound. The closer they got to the kitchen, the easier it was for Atticus to pick up on the scent of cherries buried beneath the comforting smells of the home and its occupants.
His heart thudded unevenly against his ribs as he stepped into the kitchen and took in the scene.
Carmine sat in a wooden chair in the middle of the room, her back to him. She was dressed in some clothing he vaguely recognized as Adriana’s, with Serafina perched on her lap, her back arched over one of Carmine’s arms so that her little head dangled upside down.
Adriana, her wavy auburn hair pulled up into a bun and dressed in her usual sweater and jeans combination, was wiping what appeared to be splatters of Serafina’s synth from a cabinet. Buzzing around them was Zia, her extravagant curls gleaming in the low light and a pair of slim silver scissors in her hand.
On the floor, coiled like a winding river of ink, was Carmine’s hair.
Adriana noticed him first. She looked up from her task and locked eyes with him. For a moment, the world went still. Atticus braced for her judgment, her disgust that he’d preyed on a vulnerable blood bride, but it didn’t come. She took one look at the bites on his neck, pointed, and instantly began to guffaw.
“I knew it,” she wheezed, slapping the tips of her fingers against the counter. “Iknewit! Zia, you owe me a girl’s night!”
“What? How can you possibly— Oh!” Zia turned, as did every other head in the room. She took a long look at his neck. A wide, mischievous grin dimpled her cheeks. “Welcome home, Atty! It looks like your vacation agreed with you. Look at him, Adriana, he’s practicallyglowing.”
His cheeks were hot and he couldn’t tell if he was relieved by their reaction or annoyed, but none of that mattered when Carmine craned her neck to look at him.
Zia’d cut most of her hair off, leaving it a glossy, shoulder-length fall of blue-black. He couldn’t say it was skillfully done, but he liked the way the ends curled around her neck and jaw, framing the delicate features of her face rather than hiding them.
And it was a thing of profound beauty, watching the way her eyes went huge and dark when they fixed on him. Almost like she didn’t mean to say it, Carmine whispered, “You came back.”
He was moving, but he didn’t make the decision to do it. His body acted on its own, forcing him to cross the short distance between them at a pace that was by no means casual.
“’Course I did,” he replied, laying one palm on Serafina’s head while his other hand sought out the shorn ends of Carmine’s hair. “You look so fuckin’ pretty, doll.”
“Language, Mr. Caldwell!” Zia snipped her scissors at him. The rose-shaped marriage sigil between her brows, the very same one Harlan sported, crinkled with displeasure. “There are impressionable young minds in the room.”
He tossed the witch an apologetic smile.To think there was a time when she was scared of me.
“My bad, Mrs. Bounds. It won’t happen again.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, it will.”
