Finally, he spoke, and his voice was low and rich and absurdly composed. “You enter an ancient chamber uninvitedand speak first? In my day, that was considered rude.” His head tilted slightly. “Which century is this? And who dares disturb Lord Cristian D’Archeval?”
He said it like a threat wrapped in perfect grammar.
My mouth acted before my brain caught up. “Oh, hell no.”
Then I remembered he was naked. Completely, confidently,biblicallynaked.
“Oh my god,” I squeaked, dropping back behind the chair and covering my eyes. “Why are you naked? Why are you here?”
He made a small sound—half sigh, half confusion—and said, “You are the one trespassing in my resting place, madam.”
“Madam?” I repeated, still shielding my eyes. “Okay, we’re in a period drama now. Great.”
I decided running was the move. I popped up, made for the door, and immediately slammed straight into a wall.
“Ah!” I stumbled, stars bursting behind my eyes. Before I could hit the floor, a strong hand caught my elbow.
It wasn’t rough. It was careful—light pressure, no pain. He steadied me, then let go as if my skin had burned him. His hand was surprisingly warm, unlike the fictional vampires I had read about. Well, I assumed he was a vampire, given the paleness, ungodly body, and the fact that he’d emerged from a freaking coffin.
“You’re bleeding,” he said. His nostrils flared slightly, but his voice stayed calm. Too calm.
Of course I was bleeding. In front of a vampire. Why wouldn’t that happen to me? Classic Nadia: human disaster, now conveniently prepped for consumption.
I screamed again. Apparently, my brain had enteredloop panic mode.
He blinked once, expression unreadable. “There is no need for that.”
“No need? You came out of a coffin! You’renaked!”
He tilted his head. “You disturbed my rest.”
“Oh, I’mso sorryyour nap got interrupted by me discovering your crypt!”
My heart hammered, but something was off. The longer he stood there with his hand on my elbow, the less panicked I felt. Which made no sense. My brain should’ve been setting off fireworks labeledFight or Flight,but instead, it was like someone had turned down my internal volume. My pulse slowed. My breathing steadied.
The closer he stepped, the calmer I became.
Weird. Really fucking weird.
He frowned slightly, studying me as thoughIwere the ghost. “Who are you?”
“Nadia,” I said, my voice shaking despite myself. “Nadia Yates.”
The second it left my mouth, my brain screamed:Why would you tell the scary coffin man your real name?I should’ve said something fake. Like Tiffany. Or Mildred. No one murders a Mildred.
“Nadia.” He repeated it quietly, tasting the syllables as if trying to decide if they meant something.
Oh great. He wasmemorizing it.Probably to etch it onto a tombstone later.
I swallowed hard. “You?”
“Cristian D’Archeval. Where… am I?”
“Boston.”
His brow furrowed. “Boston. I do not know that realm.”
I blinked. “Realm? It’s… Massachusetts?”
