Page 78 of The Silver Fox Vampire

“Best for whom? For Natalie? For the other missing humans?”

He paused, his jaw working. “What’s safest—for you.”

Clare catapulted back into detective mode. “Sir, if you think I am going to leave this case, even if the results confirm that I do have AOx blood, you are very much mistaken.”

The insistent ring of the doorbell made them both startle.

“That’ll be my lift,” Clare said, jumping up. Oliver stood.

“We’ll take the car to Waldo’s apothecary.”

“How do we explain that to Trent?”

“We don’t. We grab the car, and Trent can take a morning stroll back to the station. I don’t want anyone knowing we’regoing to see Waldo until we can verify your blood type.” He strode out of the room, and she followed him, glaring at the back of his shredded t-shirt, trying not to notice the gleam of his perfect skin below.

Goddess. How easy it was for the intimacy between them to shatter.

Any other time it might have made Clare smile, how they butted heads constantly, but knowing that he was planning to remove her from the case made her scowl instead.

She stood at the front door, arms crossed as Oliver spoke to Trent, who immediately climbed out of the car with a scratch of his head.

Then Oliver opened the passenger door and beckoned her down the steps.

Still fuming, she cast him a sullen look, which was met with nothing more than raised eyebrows.

Gods, how her middle finger itched to gift him the bird!

They barely spoke on the drive to Waldo’s apothecary, the atmosphere in the car brimming with tension.

But seeing the quaint little shop front, her face relaxed a smidge. She’d forgotten how pretty Waldo’s apothecary was. She’d been there once or twice for supplements when she was feeling run down, working her ass off in those early years in the Motham PD. Built out of Malibar stone, like everything around the old quarter of the city, and constructed in Motham’s early days, it stood in a winding narrow street, with its bow windows full of colored potion bottles.

The street was deserted. It was still early morning, and Old Motham tended to get busy later in the day, but as they arrived,a figure strode up the street, tall and bearded, wearing a woven cloak that shimmered with multi-colored threads. The figure stopped at the oak doors of the apothecary and took out a bunch of keys from his pocket.

“Fortuitous,” Oliver muttered. “We’ll get to see him before his appointments start.”

Waldo was so popular it was difficult to get a consult with him, Clare recalled, not only for his medicinal skills but also his couples counselling. The mage was renowned for helping those in mixed species relationships work through their differences.

She cast a glance at Oliver’s stony profile. Yep, he was still pissed at her. If they ever became a couple, they’d need Waldo’s services for sure.

She huffed a sigh.

After the way Oliver had almost devoured her when they kissed, she guessed their feelings for each other were—kind of—acknowledged. But he had a truckload of trauma, and had probably never been in an intimate relationship. As for her, a few miserable attempts with humans had left her convinced she was incapable of finding someone.

Not exactly the perfect love match.

She tightened her lips and followed her boss as he jumped out of the car. He touched Waldo’s arm, just as the mage had the big wooden door open and was about to walk inside.

Waldo turned, and his face broke into a huge smile when he spotted Oliver. The two hugged, as if in kinship.

Finally, Oliver turned, and she stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Detective Clare Doyle,” she introduced herself.

The warlock’s gaze rested on her warmly. “Ah yes, Clare, I remember you.”

“Really? I only came to you maybe twice, some years ago.”

“Certain clients I never forget.” He cocked his head, eyes bright, looking at both of them. “So the time has finally come.”

It was Clare and Oliver’s turn to exchange perplexed glances now. The mage ushered them inside, closed the huge carved wooden door and slid across the bolt. “I’ve been expecting your visit.”