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Chapter 4

He smelled ginger and cardamom wafting from her direction and ordered the same drink she was cradling. Like food, drinks had the ability to bind people together, a common interest that he would exploit. Approaching the couch, aware of her eyes on him, Kenton lifted his cup in greeting.

“And so we do,” he said.

She drew her brows together in confusion.

“Meet again.”

He could tell she wanted him to sit. And because of her blood, her ancestry, he wished to be close to her. Part of the danger of the Cheld was the draw vampires felt to them. Like a moth to a flame.

“Ahh, right,” she said, smiling now. She put her book down on the table in front of her. “Would you like to sit?”

The armchairs on either side of her were taken, but the two-person loveseat would do just fine for his purposes.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

If he’d thought her appealing the night before, she was even more so this morning. Though he himself had donned a sport coat, she looked very much the part of a teacher on break—and it suited her.

“A sweatshirt in June?” he asked.

Alessandra looked down at herself, the purple “New Orleans” bright enough to be seen across the room even without better-than-average eyesight.

“It’s always cold in here,” she said, picking up her drink.

“New Orleans. An . . . interesting place.” He didn’t much care for it himself. Kenton preferred cooler climates, likely because he’d spent his formative years along the English-Scottish border.

She shrugged. “My brother’s friends decided it would be a good place to go for senior week.”

“I see.”

“My mother begged me to go along. She trusted Garrett, mostly, but his friends were a different story. To be honest, it wasn’t the worst sisterly duty in the world, though Garrett wasn’t exactly happy his older sister and her friend decided to tag along.”

“What was the worst?”

Curling her foot around her other calf, Alessandra appeared to give the matter some thought. Like he had the night before, he caught himself staring at her lips. They were made to be kissed, although not by him. Again, he felt a pang of regret.

“The day he was old enough to discover our father was dead.”

She said it so matter-of-factly that Kenton had to take a moment to process her words. It struck him that it was a surprising thing for someone to say to a near stranger. Then again, she was clearly very direct, and he couldn’t complain—her family was the very subject he wished to discuss.

“I’m sorry to hear of it,” he said. “He died when you were young?”

She nodded. “After leaving us without explanation. Or even a note.”

When she didn’t appear inclined to elaborate, he helped her along.

“That must have been quite difficult.”

Alessandra smiled again. She likely didn’t intend for her smile to be so sensual, but those pillowy lips ensured it was so. That smile was a part of her nature, part of what made her her.

So is the ability to kill your kind. You’d do best to remember that.

“It was. So anyway—”

“My father died when I was young too.”

He could almost hear Lawrence snickering. Kenton could still sense his presence just outside the shop, which meant he was listening to every word of their conversation. They could hone their hearing, concentrating on the conversation in front of them or, as Lawrence was likely doing, the conversation of others.