Page 9 of The Silver Fox Vampire

Effective immediately.

CHAPTER 3

Three years earlier.

“No, no way, I look terrible in red.”

“Not this shade of red. This is cherry, it complements your complexion.”

“Easy for you to say, you’d look good in a sack,” Clare grumbled.

It was true. Harriet, a beautiful fae with skin like peaches and cream, could wear just about any color. And any shape dress, however figure-hugging.

Talk about figure-hugging… As Harriet held the garment up, Clare’s eyes widened with horror.

“There’s a slit right up the side. And that neckline is way too low.”

“Just humor me.” Harriet laughed. “Try it on.”

Clare grabbed another dress off the rack, a pastel blue high-necked shift that would surely make her look even more dowdy than she did normally.

Harriet groaned.

“This one will suit me better,” Clare countered. It wouldn’t. But choosing garments that made her fade into the background was a knee jerk reaction after years of being bullied at school.

Clare Doyle is a zombiehad been scrawled across her locker more times than she could remember.

And then there were the constant taunts.“Your parents didn’t give birth to you. They just robbed a grave.”

“You’re so pale, guess not much light gets into your coffin.”

She closed her eyes momentarily to drown out the memories. All through school she’d hidden behind a gruff exterior, a flat unsmiling expression that hid a tidal wave of hurt. She’d kept her head down, worked hard and confided in her one and only friend, Natalie.

When she’d entered the police force, she’d loved that no one cared if she was pretty or not. She played into being unremarkable, diligent, good at her job. Tugged her thick, honey-colored hair into a bun. Pulled her full lips into a tight hard line and never accentuated her haunting hazel eyes with liner or mascara.

And when she’d made detective, she chose dark suits and plain blouses, buttoned right up to the neck.

Oh yeah, she’d played her part so well, she’d becomethatClare Doyle.

And now Harriet was encouraging her to go to the Motham police department’s annual dinner dance in a fucking red satin dress with a slit up the side so high it would almost show off her toosh.

Goddess above. She’d die of embarrassment.

Inside the changing cubicle, she pulled the blue dress over her head, tugging at the three-quarter sleeves, to hide the way her hands looked big and dangly, and her wrists bony.

She stared at the loose waist, the hem hanging unflatteringly halfway down her calves, and had to admit she looked like a prize frump.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Harriet stepped inside the cubicle and shook her head vigorously.

“Nope. I will not let you wear that sack!” She held out the red dress.

Dear, kind Harriet. Clare’s first job with Saul as her work partner had ended with a mess of blood on the street after a gang war. Clare had been in shock, and Saul had taken her home to eat with his family. She’d been in awe of his wife, Harriet, so beautiful and elegant, and such an excellent cook, when Clare could barely boil an egg.

Since then, Harriet had taken Clare under her wing. Become—almost—a friend, Clare guessed. To be honest, it was hard to trust again after Natalie had dropped her. But she counted Harriet as a friend now, even if the friendship was out of kindness on the fae’s part.