Page 11 of The Guardian's Curse

Unlike Shoshanna and her arcane pursuits, Elijah had gone into the far more respectable field of medicine. He’d also finished an advanced program last summer and completed his certification as a nurse anesthetist. Six-figure salary, no debt. Though he’d inherited none of their father’s magical talent, Elijah had far surpassed his sister in every other way.

Maybe she’d have been better off without it, too. Right now, the York magical talent wasn’t doing her much good, considering she’d refused a cushy job offer from Eduardo. Judging by what he’d paid her to build the wards, he would be more than generous with a retainer.

But that meant she was theirs. Her father had served the Casteron vampires until he died. Dad had been sparse on the details, but she suspected he wasn’t just making nice little protection sigils. In the York home, no one inquired about Dad’s job, especially when he went to Mass in the middle of the day or when you found a blood-stained shirt in the garbage.

Even if it meant breaking her back to earn a living, her freedom was worth something. But it was hard to reconcile working for ten bucks an hour slinging overpriced coffee when a couple of vampires were willing to pay her four figures a week to be on call.

Shoshanna grabbed the takeout bag and got out of the car, breathing in the balmy night air. “Sushi in my tummy. Yummy yummy yummy,” she sang quietly, adding to her repertoire of stupid songs typically reserved for her cat’s entertainment. Her song dried up in her throat as she climbed the stairs.

Dressed in jeans and a gray t-shirt, a man stood just outside her apartment. His back was to her, revealing only a slender frame and short, dark hair. His posture was relaxed, thumbs hooked in his pockets. There was nothing inherently threatening about his appearance, but an unexpected visitor at eight at night was automatically suspicious.

When her foot scuffed against the concrete, his head whipped around. The bright halogen bulbs cast his features in sharp relief. “Elliott?” she murmured.

The handsome vampire turned toward her, his face lighting with recognition. “Shoshanna!”

The growling hunger in her belly turned to gnawing fear. She forced a smile, hoping he couldn’t hear her heart playing a bongo solo in her chest. “What are you doing here?”

His smile broadened, but it was the toothy white grin of a hungry predator. “I thought we could catch up since you left so quickly the other night.”

She was ten feet from safety. Frozen in place, her mind sheared in two; part of her wanted to walk confidently past him, broadcasting that she was unafraid. And the other part of her wanted to run. A chilling thought prickled over her. Elliott was no longer the skinny college kid who was scared off by a protective father. Undead Elliott could snap her neck like a twig if he didn’t like how she looked at him.

Setting her jaw, she took another step closer. “Showing up at my place is not okay,” she said, her voice shaking. Her eyes swept over the still parking lot of her quiet, cozy complex. Just this once, she wished she was in a boisterous college neighborhood with plenty of witnesses with phones at the ready.

He gave her an incredulous look. “What? I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I’m not happy to see anyone unannounced at my house in the middle of the night. It’s not personal.” It was very personal. To hell with him. She was going to walk away and call...who was she going to call? Atlanta Police, who would never get here in time? It wasn’t like she had a vampire slayer on call. “You need to leave.”

Cold air rushed around her, and he was suddenly in her space. Icy fingers dug into her bicep. His genial tone faded into a sharp-edged command. “Shoshanna, don’t be rude.” His eyes darkened to red. “Let’s just chat.”

“Let go of me,” she demanded, twisting against his strong grip. But he twisted the keys from her hand and dragged her to the door. A scream bubbled on her lips, and then she saw the scene play out in her head.

Her elderly neighbor, Miss Joan, would stick her head out the door like she did every time someone got food delivered or had a nighttime guest or got a package from UPS. And Elliott would twist her head off like he was popping a bottle of old-lady flavored champagne.

“Just talk to me for a few minutes, and then I’ll leave,” Elliott said, still gripping her arm. “I promise.”

He unlocked her door and pushed her inside. She stumbled in and frantically surveyed the cluttered space. She was a witch, not a warrior. The closest thing to weapons she had was a drawer full of mismatched cooking knives.

Elliott stepped over the threshold and wrinkled his nose. “Your house is warded, too?”

“Of course it is,” she said. But her sigils weren’t designed to keep vampires out. They were meant to give a mean case of the heebie-jeebies to would-be burglars and rapists, making them avoid the complex. But such elementary spells wouldn’t do much more than make Undead Elliott’s neck itch. Her top priority after investing in wooden stakes would be upping her security game.

Elliott slammed the door and secured the security latch. His eyes wept around her apartment. “Cute place, though I’d have expected something a little fancier for the pet witch of the Auberon.”

“I’m not—” She froze. He doesn’t know. “My place is just fine.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Speaking of the Auberon, they won’t appreciate you putting your hands on me.”

His lips pursed. “I know you’re not their witch,” he said. “The last time Cristiano reached out to you, you told him that you weren’t taking any contracts for vampires. Casteron or Auberon. Has that changed?”

“How do you know about Cristiano?” she said. Cristiano Moretti ruled over the Casteron vampires here in Atlanta. She’d heard the name from her father when she was younger, and it was always tinged in dread. It was a personal goal to never cross his path if she could help it.

Elliott’s hand drifted to his throat. “One of Cristiano’s Vessels turned me,” he said. “Imagine my surprise when I discovered our connection, Sho. The Casteron protected you until you up and left town. We’re practically family.”

“I didn’t ask for their protection,” she said.

“You would think that kind of loyalty would prompt a bit of gratitude.” He pushed her big armchair in front of the door and plopped onto it. Her throat clenched around a lump of ice.

This was the nightmare she’d feared for years in college, when he kept showing up, kept calling, kept writing. That she’d come home one day and find him there with a knife, finally snapped and ready to punish her. It was bad enough when he was a college kid just growing into his frame. Now he had fangs and a grudge.

Her calculations changed rapidly. Beyond the locked glass door behind her, the balcony overlooked a stone courtyard. If she jumped, she might break her leg, but that was better than Elliott getting his hands on her.

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