Page 76 of The Silver Fox Vampire

It required AOx positive blood, didn’t it?

As he strode toward Clare’s apartment, Oliver’s mind pieced together the pieces in the jigsaw. In the town of Tween there were a cluster of humans with AOx positive blood. Whatever was in it, that blood possessed superpowers, powers that the Kominskys wanted, and were using to build a sinister dimension parallel to the valley lands.

Fear tightened his chest. Had Matteus scented Clare? Had he already worked out her blood type? If so, she was in grave danger.

If Clare shared the same blood group as the victims, she could be abducted without him or anyone else having a clue how to get her back.

They had to test her blood, urgently. And that wasn’t going to happen at Tween fucking clinic, was it?

There was just one person in Motham who had that level of expertise.

Waldo the warlock.

There was no time to lose. He would do whatever it took to keep his beloved safe.

Beloved.

Oliver halted in his tracks for a bare second, his breath catching in his throat.

Beloved—the vampiric word for one’s mate.

It was so much more than Clare’s blood that he yearned for, wasn’t it?

He couldn’t begin to face up to the implications of that right now.

Instead, Oliver did the only thing he could in human form. He broke into a run.

CHAPTER 23

The sharp chime on the doorbell told Clare that Trent had arrived to drive her into work, but when she opened the door, her eyes widened. Oliver stood there, looking handsome and disheveled in casual workout gear, tracksuit pants covered in grime and a t-shirt that was ripped to shreds.

“Sir! What happened to you?”

“Something exceedingly strange.” His voice was hoarse. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, but the car’s about to arrive to take me to work.”

“You’re not going to work,” he said tersely “We have to talk, urgently.”

Her heart bottomed out. Was he about to reject her again? “If it’s about me kissing you?—”

He shook his head. “It’s not. Can I come in?”

“Sure,” she led the way toward the kitchen—no way would she suggest the bedroom—barely hearing his footsteps follow. But as they reached the kitchen, she turned to find he was only inches behind her. “Are you leaving again?” she blurted up at him.

His eyes widened in genuine surprise. “What?”

“Last time…” She stood her ground, hands furled to resist the urge to touch him. “Last time there was an incident between us… you left and went to Selig.”

“An incident, eh? I’d call it more than that. And no, I’m not leaving you, Clare.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, almost a smile, and she wanted to throw her arms round his neck, kiss him from sheer relief. But gently, he took her by the arms and pressed her down onto a chair, then drew up another and sat opposite her. Her eyes strayed to the tee he was wearing, noticing how it showed off the line of his shoulders, the clean, taut symmetry of his biceps and forearms. A firm pec was visible through a tear in the material. “Your shirt is in shreds.” She gulped, trying to ignore the thrum between her thighs. “You look like you’ve been attacked… did that thing follow you?”

“No.”

“So how did you end up in such a mess?”

“Crash landing.”

“W—what?”