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Though his father’s death had happened a long time ago, and he hadn’t exactly been a child, but there was no preparing for that kind of loss. His father had kept their family strong after they went through the transition. After they’d turned into what they would later describe as vampires. Then suddenly, he was gone, and Kenton now an earl and vampire both.

“I’m so sorry. You said you lived in London . . . is that where you’re from? Did your father—”

“I grew up in Northumberland.”

He’d almost said Northumbria. Talking to humans could be confusing. Their life span was so short in comparison to his own, and he had to remember not to reveal anything that might indicate his age. Surely they wouldn’t guess he’d witnessed history rather than read about it, but it was best not to encourage uncomfortable questions. For that reason, he preferred not to associate with humans. Unlike his siblings, Kenton mostly kept to the only company he knew was safe—his own. If only he could convince his brothers to do the same.

“Yet you have no accent,” she said.

He could, if he so chose. When he chose. Even after all these years, it came back to him as easily as the muscle memories of learning how to fight with a wooden sword, and later, a metal one that had taken too many lives to count. Though not nearly as many lives as the retractable fangs that were his curse. That he could control which of his victims lived or died was no consolation that, for some, the deed must be done.

“I’ve traveled far and wide since my youth,” he said, allowing his accent free rein.

Alessandra leaned forward, grinning.

“Say something else!”

He was aware the historian was also an Anglophile and planned to use that fact to his advantage. It would help him charm her.

“What are you reading? I’ve wondered since I sat down.”

He placed his cup on the table and pulled the open book toward him glancing back at the cover. Sinner. A beautiful white-haired woman, arms outstretched, looked ready to kick some serious ass.

Dropping the accent, he looked up, surprised. “You’re a fantasy girl, then?” Kenton could typically read others fairly well. But Alessandra was a bit of a mystery. He wouldn’t have expected the sensible historian to have a fanciful side.

“Always,” she said. “Though not usually urban fantasy until this series. I’ve given myself permission for one fiction book before I start digging into the material for my fall classes.”

“Are you always so disciplined?”

He already knew the answer, but he’d like to see how she’d respond.

“Usually, but I do like to reward myself.”

“And how exactly do you reward yourself, Alessandra?” he asked, giving in to temptation.

She inched toward him on the sofa, and he did the same. Their thighs pressed together ever so slightly.

“With books. And chocolate,” she said, meeting his eyes, “and sometimes massages.”

A vision of her naked, his hands moving over the contours of her back, was as disturbing as it was unwelcome, especially since it was far from the first time he’d thought of her naked.

“Professional ones?” he pressed.

His meaning was clear to them both, but to her credit, Alessandra did not shy away. Just the opposite. She cocked her head to the side and looked at him for a long moment, saying nothing. Then, raising one eyebrow, she asked, “Are you a masseuse?”

He’d never wished to be so, until now.

Kenton smiled. “Unfortunately, no.”

When his bold companion looked him up and down, not even attempting to hide her perusal, he didn’t move a muscle. At least, not voluntarily. Kenton couldn’t remember the last time his pulse had quickened because of the overtures of a human.

“A business owner, then. No, not that. You would have to stay in one place, and you don’t seem the type. Hmm.” She brought her finger to her chin. “Too . . . too ‘something’ for a banker.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Something? What exactly does that mean?”

She ignored his question and asked another of her own. “A lawyer?”

“God no.”