Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Always love? Bull crap. Damien watched as Sky’s form vanished like a wisp of steam. “Sky…”
“Sky says we can fake your death in public,” Pet relayed. “You just have to lie low until Amelia and Miguel are free.”
So she didn’t want him dead-dead? Why the hell didn’t she say so in the first place? “Fine. I’ll do it, Sky. But first I must track down Cimil in Dallas.” At least, he hoped she’d be there.
“She says thank you.” Pet dove for his glass of scotch again and began rubbing her tiny hairy pits. “Also, Sky says we’re going with you to Texas.”
“No, you’re not. I work alone.”
“We can’t let anything happen to you—”
“Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine,” he grumbled.
Pet added, “We don’t care if you die, but it has to be public. Won’t help Sky if some dragon gobbles you up and no one sees.”
Damien drew a long breath. “You are true friends.”
“Yes, I am,” said Pet. “But mostly I’m coming along for the free jizz.”
Damien pulled up behind his tailor shop and parked his black convertible Jaguar, giving his hair a quick finger comb before going inside. He would have to ensure his temporary assistant manager, MF, could handle things while he was away.
MF, short for Mountain Flower, was another unwelcome fixture in his life, mostly because she’d recently decided to use his shop as a launchpad for her line of Victorian gowns. The original designs had been his—something he enjoyed doing for stress relief—but then MF took over and began selling different versions. Now she had dozens of orders each week for weddings, costume parties, and the occasional movie set.
Honestly, I just don’t understand why she doesn’t get her own shop. MF knew he was a solitary man who did not like sharing. The only positive side was that she was an excellent seamstress and took good care of his clients.
Damien entered through the empty workshop in back and headed out front to the shop, finding only Bonbon and Gorgonzolina snoozing in their tuxedo-shirt dog beds by the window. Both looked like your average Chihuahuas—one white, the other tan. Of course, they were anything but cute and cuddly canines. One stroke of their furry bodies and most humans became sleepy. Too much petting led to coma or even death since love-sucking demons fed off physical affection. It was fortunate that most of his human clientele didn’t linger long. Men tended to come in knowing exactly what they wanted and left quickly.
My kind of customer. No awkward small talk or exchange of insincere niceties. Sometimes, they’d just grunt at each other. Like real men.
“Hey, where’s MF?” Damien asked, quickly rearranging the rack of new seersucker suits by size. A thirty-two long after a forty? He didn’t see the dresses on the opposite wall with tens before size sevens. MF is slipping.
Bonbon barely lifted his head, his big white belly inflated. “How the hell should I know?” he groaned. “Gods, I’m so full. We got a bus of Japanese tourists in yesterday, and I haven’t been able to move since.”
“I told you not to overeat,” Damien scolded. “And use the alley to do your business this time.” Damien was tired of finding little demon “presents” in the dressing room. “I have to head to the airport on business, so please let MF know I might be gone a few days.”
“Sure, boss.” Bonbon drifted back to sleep.
Just as a precaution, Damien grabbed a pen and paper from behind the register to leave a note. Suddenly, he heard a rustle in the workshop.
Dammit. Pet must’ve caught up with me. Yes, he’d ditched her at the house. He did not need help on this job.
He heard another loud clank.
“Pet?” Damien went in the back just as MF came out of the storage room, tucking in her black fishnet shirt. No bra.
“MF, what did I say about free nipples in the store?”
MF looked up, her big brown eyes wide. “Boss? What are you—”
“Hello, tailor.” Maxton popped out of the storage room behind her, zipping up his pants.
Damien felt his anger percolate. “Maxton.”
Maxton wore a stylish dark green suit with a black paisley tie and maroon silk scarf. It was a solid look. Maxton was also a vampire and, until recently, the very last. Now there were two vampires in the world. Him and his new mate, MF.
MF’s pale cheeks flushed. “Sorry, we were just looking for some fabric.”
No, they’d been fucking. Again. “I understand that you are both still in your bloodymoon phase, and MF, I know your new vampire libido is, well, strong as a randy ox, but how many times must I tell you to leave it at home.”
Something wet nudged the back of his neck. He turned his head, but there was nothing. Nothing that could be seen with the naked eye.