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“He’s beyond massive. His authority is so thick I can taste it. Plus I now know he survived eight gunshot wounds sometime in his past. So I probably wouldn’t be able to kill him if I had to.” She gave another shudder. “Gosh, I hate talking like this. They’re my neighbors. I don’t want to wonder if I could kill them to defend myself. I want to be at peace with them.”

“That’s admirable,” Ryker said.

Leslie rolled her eyes.

“No, I mean it, Leslie. I’d like to be more of a peacemaker, but I’m not. It’s a profound trait to have. Profoundly good, I mean.”

“Well…thanks,” she said quietly.

“So, tour guide…anywhere else you want me to see while the humans are sleeping?”

Nine

Leslie probably shouldn’t have ended their second date around five that morning. It had seemed sensible, going home to shower and slake and recharge for a few hours. They’d agreed to meet again at nine, and Ryker hadn’t seemed to mind. But they had one day left together and no need to sleep, and after he flew home tonight, they didn’t have a plan for the next time they saw each other.

By seven, she was showered and ready for the day. Her aqua-blue trail pants and long-sleeved purple-print athletic shirt gave her a special sort of energy boost, as if her body knew that in these clothes, she would exert herself, unleash herself. When her thick, silver hair was finally dry, she texted Ryker.

Forget 9:00. If you want, I’ll meet you in town as soon as you can get there. All I need to do is slake.

His reply pinged back almost instantly.

Ryker:7:30?

Perfect. Do you have any athletic clothes with you?

Ryker:Sure.

Wear them.

He sent a thumbs-up, and Leslie went to the kitchen. Her bungalow had a lot to recommend it to a single country girl—two bedrooms upstairs, a bonus room she’d turned into her art room, and a cozy living room with a sliding door onto the patio. The kitchen was snug, only four upper cabinets and four below the modest counter space. Perfect for someone who’d rather grab a burger on her way home from work than plan and execute elaborate meals for one. Not that she needed either.

She grabbed a blood bag from the fridge, broke the seal, and poured it into her favorite extra-large coffee mug—a souvenir from the Nashville Museum of Arts, its design a wraparound replication of Monet’sLilies. She drained the mug in a few seconds, rinsed it out, and set it in the sink. She leaned against the counter and stared at the mug.

Did all vampires slake from a coffee mug? Did some prefer a wine glass or slake directly from the bag?

Ryker didn’t mean to make her question her own habits. She knew this after spending almost the entirety of the last forty-eight hours with him. Still. He’d made her curious. Questions she’d never thought to ask before now seemed very important.

To give Ryker time to arrive in town, Leslie wandered over to her newest diorama, which was still in the unrecognizable stage of creation but would soon be a sand dune and a section of beach. Tiny details would make this one special: dune grass, wildflower tufts, a shell or two. Leslie studied it and tried todecide… Maybe she should include a few beachgoers and a boardwalk. Or maybe not. Some buyers connected most with the little figures and their poses in the scene; some preferred people-free nature-scapes.

Ah, well. She’d do what she usually did: choose what felt right for the individual model. This one was too new to know.

A few minutes later, she drove to town and parked in front of the diner. Then she followed her nose. Ryker smelled so good, familiar yet distinct from herself. She found him looking like a gym model in all black—trail pants and a long-sleeved athletic shirt with a white racing stripe down each arm—and peering into the front windows of the library.

“And here you’d convinced me you weren’t creepy after all,” she said.

Ryker chuckled, and a pleasant dance of icicles ran along her shoulders. “I was going to browse for a minute, but the door was locked. Then I remembered it’s Sunday in a small Southern town.”

They began walking along Main Street, and Leslie said, “So obviously, after two days touring Harmony Ridge, we’ve left no sight unseen. We’ve walked every street, checked out every store, eaten twice at the diner, met the wolf pack.”

He nodded, matching her deadpan with his own earnest look.

“On one of your longer match-test responses, you mentioned you’re comfortable in trail gear.”

His eyes glittered silver in blue. “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s an invitation.”

“I’m listening.”