Page 20 of Ophelia's Vampire

“It has,” he agrees. “I hope you’ve been well. Marcus and Philippe, too. I’ve been meaning to catch up with them, as long as we’re all strolling down memory lane this fall with Ophelia back in town.”

He gives me another long, tender look, squeezing my shoulder.

My stomach rolls. Not only at that look, but with the casual mention of two of Boston’s most powerful vampires, one of whom I happen to have casually dated. My jaw aches with the effort it takes not to let my smile drop.

To her credit, Cassandra doesn’t flinch, but her next words are the surrender I didn’t expect her to give so easily.

“Thank you, and they have. I’m sure they’d love to tell you that themselves if you’d be interested in stopping by the Raven sometime.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow should be perfect. I’ll let them know to expect you.”

Well, that was… easy. Even though I’m not going to complain about the invite, that doesn’t mean I’m not alsoincredibly irritated at just how damn effortless it was for him to swoop in and get her to fold immediately.

Whatever kind of clout he’s got, apparently it’s enough to bring the leaders of one of Boston’s oldest covens to heal.

Looking down at her watch, Cassandra shoots us one last breezy smile.

“I’ve got another appointment. Let’s plan on ten tomorrow night. Ask for Marcus at the door.”

Without waiting for any further negotiation, she stands and hurries out of the shop, leaving Casimir and I sitting in absolute silence. We stay that way for ten seconds, thirty, a minute, both of us no doubt more than aware we need to give it a little time, keep playing whatever game we’re playing in case Cassandra hung around to see what we do when she’s not in earshot.

It would be smart to keep talking to him, keep acting, but as the silent seconds tick by, it becomes harder and harder to tolerate being this close to him.

I shrug off his arm and stand.

Legs shaky, chest tight, the need for fresh air burning in my lungs, I don’t spare him a single glance as I weave through the tightly packed tables and out the front door. I only make it a half-dozen steps before Casimir calls out from behind me.

“Ophelia. Wait.”

I spin to face him, mouth falling open, but no words come out when I catch the expression on his face.

All that teasing tenderness from inside the shop is gone.

In its place, a fierce scowl, a darkening of his crimson eyes that makes my heart leap into my throat.

“Not here,” he says, voice low, before his hand settles on my upper arm and he leads me further down the street to the alleyway between the building the coffee shop is in and the bank beside it.

Ducking down the alley, he pulls me a few more steps forward before I wrench out of his grasp.

“This is far enough. What do you want? And what the hell was that back there?”

“You’ve drawn notice. From Marcus. And worse, from Philippe.”

Philippe. Like it did when he first said it in the coffee shop, the name sends a shiver down my spine. Another of the shadowed, powerful vampires who hold court over Boston. Just like with Casimir, I always made it a point not to ask too many questions or know too much about him, but I know enough to be aware it’s very, very bad if he’s got his eye on me.

I suck in a breath. “I’ve been careful. I’ve—”

“Not careful enough.” Casimir’s tone is hard and flat, his gaze uncompromising as he sizes me up. “I don’t know the extent of what he knows, or suspects, but the time for you working this case on your own has come to its end.”

“I’m not about to quit now,” I immediately snap back at him. “You gave Blair and Cleo your word, and so did I. I’m not going to—”

“I don’t expect you to.” Some of that hardness melts out of his expression as he takes a step closer. “You’re done working this case alone. But we’ve just started working it together.”

8

Casimir

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