Page 1 of How to Stake a Vampire

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DEAD-SERIOUS BUSINESS

Dear Diary,

It’s been three weeks since I became a werewolf. I’m about to attend my first meeting with the Amberford Alliance. Victoria has briefed me seventeen times on proper etiquette, Pearl has critiqued my outfit choices until my ears bleed, and Samuel keeps giving me looks that suggest he’s already planning my funeral.

Apparently, the last time someone “disrupted” an Alliance meeting, half of downtown ended up on fire. So, no pressure.

FYI, I resent the fact that everyone assumes I’m going to cause some kind of incident.

…Okay, they’re probably right…

Abigail West

(99% confident I’m about to put my foot in my supernatural mouth.)

“Remember,”Victoria said for the eighteenth time as we headed for the Chamber of Commerce, “you are here to observe and learn. Don’t look anyone in the eye and don’t speak unless directly addressed.”

“And if youareaddressed,” Pearl instructed curtly from Victoria’s arms, “try not to insult anyone’s ancestry, dietary habits, or personal hygiene.”

“That was one time,” I muttered.

“It was three times,” Samuel corrected. He adjusted his tie with a stiff movement that did little to calm my nerves. “And one of them was literally yesterday.”

I shot him a narrow-eyed look and did my best to ignore how hot he looked in his suit.

“How was I supposed to know asking the banshee at the dry cleaners about her vocal cord maintenance routine was considered rude?”

Samuel sighed. “Because normal people don’t ask banshees about their vocal cords.”

I decided not to point out that no one in our group was normal.

“Well, excuse me for being curious about supernatural anatomy,” I grumbled instead, smoothing down my dress. It was one of Claudette’s creations and had cost more money than I cared to know about. “Besides, I thought you liked my curiosity.”

The heated look Samuel gave me made my face grow warm and reminded me exactly how much he appreciated certain aspects of my curiosity. Unfortunately, it also reminded me of this morning’s argument about our living arrangements.

“You’re being unreasonable,” he’d said, pacing around the Hawthorne mansion kitchen like a bear who’d woken up early from his hibernation. “We’re mated. Tradition dictates you live with me.”

“Tradition can kiss my ass,” I’d shot back irritably where I was eating toast at the breakfast bar. “I’m not giving up my independence just because some cosmic wolf magic decided we’re compatible.”

The fact was we were more than compatible. The mate bond made every touch electric and every night together feel like the world was ending in the best possible way. But that wasn’t the point. The point was I’d spent my entire adult life being self-reliant and I wasn’t about to hand over the keys to Samuel Hawthorne, no matter how ridiculously gorgeous he looked in and out of a suit or how he made my toes curl when he?—

Victoria cleared her throat. “Perhaps we could save the mating displays for after the meeting?”

“We weren’t—” I started.

“You were.” Pearl curled a lip. “Your pheromones are practically nauseating.”

“Also, you both smell like you want to do that thing with the handcuffs again,” Bo added with his usual lack of tact.

Samuel choked on air. Victoria went pale. Pearl looked like she was considering becoming a vegetarian just to avoid being associated with carnivores.

“Bo!” I hissed, heat crawling up my neck.

“What?” The Husky side-eyed me and wagged his tail innocently. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

“No one was thinking that,” Samuel muttered, his face red behind his glasses.