Page 37 of Love, Rekindled

“Levet,” Chiron snapped. “Where the hell have you been?” The vampire’s icy gaze turned toward Bertha as she halted next to Levet. “And who is this?”

Levet slammed his hands on his hips. He was filthy, hungry, and in a M.O.O.D. “I have been buried beneath a ton of rubbish, thanks to you,” he snapped. “And this is my Aunt Bertha.”

Chiron stilled, whether shocked by Levet’s tone or his explanation was impossible to guess. “Are you joking?”

Levet clicked his tongue. “I was following Jayla’s trail when Aunt Bertha appeared?—”

“She’s related to you?” Chiron interrupted.

“Of course. She is my mother’s sister.” Levet glanced toward the delicate woman standing next to him. “Can you not see the resemblance?”

“No.”

Bertha sent Chiron a sour glare. “Rude.”

“Right?” Levet demanded. “Vampires.”

Chiron clenched his hands into tight fists as if struggling to keep from strangling Levet. “What about Jayla?”

“I was about to tell you when you interrupted,” Levet complained.

Ice coated the marble floor. “Levet.”

Levet wisely stepped back, sensing he’d pressed the vampire far enough. Leeches were notoriously short-tempered.

“We halted at the spot where Jayla was kidnapped.”

Chiron stared down at him, his face tight with impatience. “Kidnapped? Who kidnapped her?”

“Some vampire with blond hair,” Levet repeated the words he’d overheard. “Not a local.”

“In a black limo,” Bertha helpfully added.

Chiron glanced down at the tips of his polished shoes as if wishing he was a million miles away. Finally, he returned his attention to Levet.

“Did you see her being kidnapped?”

“Non, we followed the vampire who witnessed it.”

“Where is he?”

“Dead. Killed by the same vampire who collapsed a ceiling on our heads.” Levet held up his hands to reveal his cracked claws. “It took hours to dig out and totally ruined my manicure. You owe me.”

Chiron rolled his eyes. “You give me a headache.”

Levet flapped his wings. “The feeling is entirely mutual.”

“I…” The vampire’s words trailed away as his gaze moved toward the double glass doors at the front of the lobby. “Jayla.”

Without warning, a roar ripped from the male’s throat, and he raced across the marble floor, moving so fast he was a blur of darkness. Unaware of what was happening, the clusters of guests still sensed the violence throbbing in the frigid air, their screams echoing through the lobby as they fled in terror.

* * *

Jayla was lovesick.

There was no other explanation for the goofy smile that refused to leave her face, or the way she kept reaching out to touch Azrael as they walked through the doors of the Dreamscape Resort. As if she were afraid that he might be a figment of her fevered imagination and would disappear without warning. It would take a century or ten to accept that the glorious male was truly her mate.

It also explained why she failed to notice the very large vampire barreling across the lobby, headed directly for them.

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