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“Spaghetti and meatballs,” he said, frowning at Westvane. “That’s how it’s going.”

“Awesome,” she said, seeing drops of sauce splattered across white countertops. “I’m starved.”

“And I’m a great cook.”

“You’re hired.”

Earl smiled so wide the gaps between his teeth showed.

“You shouldn’t encourage him, princess.”

“Not your call.”

Westvane sighed, the sound full of aggravation.

Throwing him an annoyed look, Truly grabbed a chair, pulled it from beneath the table, and sat down. Elaborate table setting complete with three-headed candelabrum Earl had been busy — cooking, organizing… unearthing the fancy stuff from the back of the China cabinet. Like jewelry, expensive cutlery sat next to antique plates, accompanied by fine-cut crystal tumblers.

Doing her part, she picked up the Waterford water pitcher, filled all three glasses, then glanced at Westvane. “Waiting for an invitation?”

His dark gaze roamed over the set-up.

She pointed to the chair on her right. “Sit. First, we eat, then —”

“We hunt,” he said, his expression clearing. A new one took its place, the hard gleam in his eyes promising the kind of violence most people never saw.

The quick shift in his mood should’ve given her the shivers. Truly shoved the thought — along with her reaction to it — into a lockbox at the back of her brain. She and her unwanted house guest had a plan. Stupid or not, she was sticking to it. Only thing left for her to do now was pray Westvane remained loyal long enough for her to get some answers — while hoping like hell being on his side meant he’d stay on hers a little bit longer.

14

IT’S EVEN WORSE INSIDE

In his usual position — breathing down her neck — Westvane followed her onto the after-porch (Earl’s word for it) attached to the back of the house. After years spent studying fine art, Truly didn’t think “after-porches” were a thing, but given she’d never lived in a Victorian — and arguing with Earl about anything never ended well for her — she took the sane route, avoiding a head-on collision with the Mantipede by refusing to contradict him.

She didn’t need the added aggravation… or another lecture.

Her new cook liked rules. During supper, Earl had lectured her about the mansion. The ins. The outs. The dos and don’ts. In less than an hour, she’d learned more than she ever wanted to about the house she called home. Which made her current escape from said place timely — even with Westvane hot on her heels.

Ignoring the jumbled mess of greenery in her backyard (along with the detached garage listing to one side like a drunken sailor), she hopped off the after-porch onto the driveway. Gravel crunching beneath her boot soles, she rounded the front of her ’Cuda. Sleek body. Aggressive lines painted flat-black and accented by spit-shined chrome. Her baby was second to none, the epitome of muscle-car beauty.

A tug on the handle, and the door swung wide on silent hinges. Dipping her head, Truly slid inside. The smell of leather and a well-contoured interior greeted her. The sense of relief hit her first. Pure joy rolled in on its wake. No matter how many times she fired up her ’Cuda, it always felt like coming home.

With a murmured greeting to her car, Truly closed the door and settled in. The key went into the ignition, the jangle of metal reassuring as she reached for her seatbelt and…

Realized she was missing something.

Peering out the windshield, she searched for her wing-man. Motionless, Westvane stood in the driveway staring her car, a look of consternation on his face. Her lips twitched. No need to guess what he was thinking. He didn’t believe he would fit. Truly didn’t blame him. Her ’Cuda hadn’t been built for a guy his size.

Trying not to laugh, she met his gaze through the glass and tapped her wrist. Her finger landed on the face of her watch.Tap-tap-tap. Tick-tock, time’s a-wasting.The gesture came off as impatient. She was nothing of the kind. Might be a little mean-spirited, but his uncertainty struck her as funny. His hesitation bolstered her spirits. She wasn’t the only one struggling to adapt to a new normal. Westvane was maneuvering through a field of firsts too, and besides…

He deserved the discomfort. God knew he didn’t mind hers.

The big bad Slayer loved watching her squirm. She’d lived through an example of it an hour ago. She hadn’t wanted him in her bedroom. Westvane knew it. He simply didn’t care, entering uninvited, invading the only space in the house she claimed as her own. Worse, he planted himself on her bed. No sense of civility. All personal boundaries ignored. No apology on the horizon. Supreme arrogance on display, as though he’d gone out and retained exclusive rights to boss her around.

His attitude irritated her.

Everyone needed alone time along with a little privacy. The idea he didn’t agree shouldn’t bother her. He was who he was — a grown, well…Slayer… already set in his ways. No changing him. Somehow, though, the lack of respect he showed made her itch to put him in his place.

Where that place was exactly, Truly hadn’t yet figured out. Time seemed to be moving at the warp speed. Westvane’s ability to dodge important questions didn’t help. She needed more information from him. She wanted to understand how she fit into the fractured puzzle that was her mother’s life. The small pieces Westvane gave her provided the broad strokes. The larger picture, however, remained out of focus.