Page 81 of The Silver Fox Vampire

“Did you?” She raised her brows.

Oliver thinned his lips. “We can’t risk you being abducted.”

“We have to.” She set her stubborn little chin, eyes sparking gray and gold and green. Oliver sighed in exasperation. It made sense now—she had magick running through her veins, and necromancy at that. Gods, she would shock the dead out of their graves with her argumentative nature. “We’ll talk in the car,” he growled.

“Don’t be a bastard about this—sir,” she said, so sweetly he almost thought he’d misheard. And then she smiled at him in away that made him want to put her over his knee and spank her pert little ass.

The image was so delectable he strode round to the passenger door and ripped it open to stop himself from acting on it. “Damn it, Clare, just get in the car will you?”

She looked like she was about to argue some more, then changed her mind and folded into the passenger seat.

When he got in and belted up, she asked, “Are we going to the station?”

“Not immediately.”

She raised her brows. “Surely you’re not planning to withhold information from the team?”

“I can’t think from whom I learned that trick.” When he glanced at her, he saw the smile still hovering on her pretty mouth.

She’s a match for you.

She is more than your match.

She is your mate.

“Are you worried what they will think—about us?” she asked as he started the car.

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. “Obviously there was a level ofintimacylast night that crossed professional boundaries, and I would not want that to reflect badly?—”

“On you?”

“For fuck’s sake Clare, no. I have nothing to lose. I’m trying to protect your career.”

She gave a huffy little grunt and sank low in her seat.

“I need to reflect on this more and come up with a plan,” he muttered, scraping the gears as they took off into the early morning traffic.

She coughed. He glanced at her, and she raised her brows. “Just you, sir?”

He sighed. “We. As partners. You and me.” He couldn’t ignore the other implication of that word:partners. Their shared intimacy hung in the air between them.

She muttered something he couldn’t quite hear, and they fell silent.

Finally, Clare said, “Waldo greeted you like a long-lost brother.”

He was grateful she’d changed the subject to something less emotive, if only for a brief respite. “After Emerson took me back to his home when he found me wandering the wastelands, Waldo was just a baby. It was a huge act of trust on Emerson’s part to take a depraved vampire into his family home. Waldo grew up alongside me there.”

“Gosh, how old is Waldo now?”

“He’d be at least ninety-five years old. Warlocks can live to be over two hundred years—Emerson only died a few years ago. I grieved his loss deeply. So yeah, I guess Waldo was like a little brother to me. Then I went away to train in the police academy, up over the mountains, and worked in other PDs. We met again when I finally came back to Motham to work as a DC. We haven’t seen each other that much since, but our deep bond is always there.” He hesitated. “I don’t mention it, and I doubt he does either—it’s the distant past—but I am indebted to his father, and their family, for all they did for me.”

“So you trust his judgment.”

“Implicitly.”

“Then trust him on this, Oliver.” Her voice had softened, and he relaxed hearing his name on her lips. They drove on through the central district and she suddenly said, excitedly, “Oh my goddess, a shakta stall.”

“A what?”