VALIANCE WALKED UP behind the Prima as she lounged at her favorite table. Six. There were six ways he could attack her while her back was to the main entrance of the coffee shop.
He looked around. The space hummed, pulsed with life. Even under the coffee's aroma and the espresso-soaked floors, he could smell the life of this place, the life of every person in here. His stomach growled.
This was a test of some sort. Prima Violet was famous for them, pushing everyone the extra step to make them better. Scheduling his monthly meeting here instead of in his own place of business was a test. Her directive to be unarmed was a test. And judging by the uncomfortable nakedness between his shoulder blades and the pressure of the others' energy, he wasn't going to pass this one.
But he could at least teach her something. Make her better.
Finding the ebb and flow of the life around him, he moved toward her, in sync with the others in the cafe. Their heavy steps along the wooden floor covered the sound of his boots as he slid up behind her. He wasn't going to ignore the irony of stalking a were-panther.
Valiance knelt slowly and whispered in her ear. "You could be dead."
The tall woman jumped in her seat and turned around almost as fast as he could blink. Then she laughed as she smiled down at him. "You really shouldn't stalk people like that, Val."
"You really shouldn't sit with your back to the door."
Prima Violet pointed to the amulet above the door. "Most powerful charm in existence. Nothing bad is getting through these doors, Val. You're safe here."
He exhaled. Her faith was going to be her downfall, but he would fall with her for the faith she had put in him. "You still shouldn't make a habit of it."
"Lesson learned, Solider boy. Sit."
Valiance slid into the seat across from her, folding his hands on the table between them. From this vantage point, he could see everything. At least one of them should be on the offensive, no matter how protected the Prima thought she was. Better a thousand times safe than once dead.
The Prima finished a text message and put the phone on the table. She swept her dark hair over her shoulder and settled her content moss green eyes on him. "So how is my favorite vampire this evening?"
His gaze darted to the surrounding tables to see if anyone heard her. The cafe had become the primary haunt of the Wandering community, the magical taking refuge in the haven the Prima had created, but he still wasn't used to the openness. He'd spent a hundred and sixty-seven years trying to hide what he was from everyone, other Wanderers included. Violet was the only one in the pack who had reached out to him, who took a moment to realize that he wasn't the monster from the movies.
"I am fine, Prima."
She rolled her eyes. "You rolled around in ghoul guts with me. You can call me Violet."
He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
She leaned forward on the table. "And you're not fine. You're pale, gaunt even. Have you been feeding?"
He nodded again, keeping his eyes to the table between them. He bounced his leg to relieve some of the pressure down his unprotected back.
"Valiance, look at me."
For a moment, her burnt magnolia scent, laced with pure concern, swirled around him like a warm, spring breeze. He drew his gaze up to clear eyes practically glowing with power and licked his suddenly dry lips.
"What's wrong? And remember my policy on honesty. Are you eating?"
Valiance nodded. "Once a month. Just like we talked about. They don't remember anything."
"Then what is it? You look like a ghost."
Valiance adjusted in the seat, knowing it wasn't the seat that was uncomfortable. "Nothing. Life is very . . . quiet," he finally said.
His Prima smirked. "I don't understand that word. Quiet. What is this quiet that you speak of?"
The smile crawled slowly across his mouth until he was smiling with her. The Prima's infectious humor. Some days it was more powerful than the panther that lived within her.
Prima Jordan was rarely alone, constantly bombarded by her pack mates. If it wasn't the minutiae of their everyday lives, it was the demon last August that had to be beheaded or the invasion of imps that swarmed Dallas until they were netted and sent back through the Veil. She always called him in for the fight, but after all the action, she went home to a full house, and he went back to an empty apartment.
Violet reached across the table and rested her hand over his knotted fingers.
The action startled him, and his entire body tensed. In the connection, he could feel her power and the slow rhythm of her heart. It was strong, steady, and echoed in the vastness of the energy undulating around them.
Violet only tightened her grip with his flinch of protest. "I can't even begin to imagine how hard it was for you after your Clade up and left you. But now, you've got to be brave again."
Valiance looked up. "Another demon?" For a moment, his heart raced with the thought of battle. A purpose for him and his blade. Something to draw him away from the stillness of his life.
Violet laughed. "No, but good one. You've got to start living. Get out of the shop, get an assistant. Take up quilting. Hell, take a vacation and come back to tell me what it's like."
And here it was. This entire evening was a test. He knew it. A test to see if he was capable of rejoining the human race or, at least, walking beside them again.
She leaned back in her chair, her hand and her power retreating. "Do anything new lately that didn't involve sneaking up on people?"
The monotony of his life flashed through his mind in a matter of moments. "Bought some sheets?"
She raised her dark eyebrow sharply. "That was your big adventure? You're killing me, Val. I expected romance, intrigue, danger." She leaned forward again and lowered her voice. "You're a vampire. That's got to get you into some trouble. Hell, being so blasted good-looking should get you into trouble."
"I thought you wanted us to stay out of trouble."
"No, I want you to stay out of danger. Living life comes with trouble."
Life was uncomfortable, like a wool sweater he hadn't gotten used to wearing. But there was one softer moment he could remember, where it didn't feel like life was trying to suffocate him.
"There was this girl."
Violet's energy sizzled around them, and she smiled. "Girls are always trouble."
Valiance shook his head. "It was nothing."
"If you mentioned it to me, she was something. Let me guess. Tall and exotic? No, wait. I bet she's a redhead with legs for days." She leaned forward, her chin in her hands. "Tell me a story."
Valiance couldn't believe he was about to tell this to his leader, the one he followed into battle.
But frankly, he didn't have anyone else to talk to about the girl. Maybe if he talked about her, she wouldn't keep circling around in his head. "Complete opposite. The girl who sold me the sheets.
Dark hair. Brown eyes."
"Name?"
"Esme." Saying her name out loud only coalesced all the thoughts of her into something bigger and brighter.
"List three reasons you didn't ask her out right then."
The first one screamed through his brain every time he thought about the petite brunette: she was human, fragile and human. Valiance leaned back in his chair, letting his hands drop to his lap.
He pinched the flesh on his ring finger and watched the near-bloodless skin slowly smooth out.
"This is ridiculous. You're my Prima, for Christ's sake. You shouldn't be worried about my personal problems."
Violet sat up straight in her chair. "Valiance No-Last-Name, my entire job is to make sure you choose your own problems, and they don't come after you. You don't need me like the others do. I still can't figure why you don't have a Clade of your own. So if you need me to be an ear so you can talk about a girl, I'm right here. And if you need Chaz to hunt her down, I can lend him to you for an evening."
His eyes flicked up to his Prima, and she was smiling. In the past six months, he'd learned she meant every word she said, after you got through the Violet-speak. Frankly, she was the closest thing to a friend he had in Dallas since his Clade brothers left him there. Left him because he took a stand for their future in Dallas. Left him because he showed an ounce of spine in a moment of crisis. He looked down at his hands in his lap only to find his fists, white and bloodless.
"Will we see you at the full moon?"
He wriggled his fingers to get the little blood left in him flowing again. "Are you going to hassle me about dating?"
Violet shook her head. "No. Maybe. Do you want to go to the full moon? You can bring your sword. I've been practicing a little. Might give you a run for your money this time."
He actually had to think about the question. Did he want to go? Sitting on a porch being lonely around other Wanderers didn't really seem like a great way to spend a weekend. He knew they saw him as the worst of their kind, something that stole the life they fought for. Alone with his thoughts, he saw himself like that most days.
But if he didn't go to the full moon, he knew Violet would just drag him someplace else. "I need to return Chaz's whetstone."
Violet smiled. Just as he thought she was going to hound him more about his current activities, her phone began to vibrate. She grabbed the dancing device, looked at the screen, and rolled her eyes. As she rose, she answered the line but didn't talk.
Valiance stood with her. He knew his manners were outdated for this century, but there were certain habits he could not break. Stand when a lady enters and exits. Always carry a handkerchief, and be on time.
She almost looked him straight in the eyes. "Don't make me worry about you, Valiance."
"No, ma'am."
Violet just winked at him as she left the coffee shop, taking the next caller in a long line of people who needed her help.
He sighed and sat back down at the table. His Prima had just told him to "Get a life." How pathetic was that? "EXCUSE ME, SIR. I'm looking for Esme?"
Her skin prickled. It started on the back of her head and shimmered down her spine. She'd never heard that before. Ever. She looked up from her work of stocking the pillowcase wall and saw the back of a man talking to her manager. He was a million feet tall, with hair that, under the fluorescent lights, looked like the inside of a down comforter.
"Esme?" her manager asked.
"Yes," the man said. His voice was deep, smooth, and not from around here. "Short, slender, biggest brown eyes you've ever seen."
"Oh, you mean Hannah Jane up in Juniors."
The man sighed. "Why would I shop in Juniors? No, she works in Housewares, and her name is Esme. It's on the receipt."
She dusted her hands off on the apron and put the box cutter in her pocket. Slowly, she made her way around to the back of the register, careful to keep behind the display of AS SEEN ON TV products until she got a look at him.
It only took one glimpse of him running his fingers through his hair before she recognized who it was. Black damask sheets. Seven-hundred-count. Credit card. His hand had trembled as he handed her the card.
As she rounded the display, her manager sighed. "Thank God. Do you know someone named Esme?"
"I'm Esme."
Her manager sighed and walked away, which left her in the very keen sight of the man with the black sheets.
"What can I do for you?" The words didn't feel natural coming out of her mouth. She rarely had to speak at work, let alone help a customer. It's why she worked in Housewares, the only department without a monthly sales quota for its workers.
His broad shoulders relaxed, but he didn't smile. "I was in here a couple of days ago, and you helped me pick out a sheet set."
"Seven-hundred-count Egyptian cotton in black with a damask stripe."
There was a twinge at his mouth. "You've got a great memory."
"It was my only sale this month." She finally saw a white plastic bag hanging around his wrist.
"Did you need to return them?"
"No. Actually, I'd like another."
"Oh. Um. This way."
She walked him over to the exact same spot they had stood last week. She felt stalked, like a dark cloud just before a storm was following her. It only intensified when she turned to him at the display and found that the storm was in his dark blue eyes.
She really wasn't sure what happened next. She didn't really do the customer thing, except at Christmastime when everyone was looking for the electric blankets, and that was mostly pointing like a game-show host, like she was doing now. "Ta-da."
God, she had actually said that out loud. She was pathetic. She tucked her hair behind her ear and waited, staring down at his unusually shiny black shoes. Come to notice it, he was a little dressed up for sheet shopping.
"Thank you," he said as he took another set, exactly the same.
In his smooth movement, she was flooded with the smell of him, a musky cologne with undernotes of Downy, but there was a darker twang to it. Something familiar tickled her nose.
As he inspected the plastic package, she looked up at him. His tired blue eyes, his pale skin. But even her caramel skin looked peaked under these lights. It was probably nothing.
"Did you need the matching comforter? It's on sale." Wow, maybe she was cut out for this sales thing.
"Sure." He chuckled. "Lead the way."
She walked him over to the wall of comforters. "The store brand is pretty nice. Comes with a bed skirt."
"Never really understood the need for a bed skirt."
"My abuelita believes it keeps the dust bunnies from nesting."
He laughed. It was a deep laugh, short but honest. "Good to know."
"We have pillows, too."
"I think I'm good on pillows. I have to walk home."
"Walk? No one walks in Dallas."
"I enjoy the exercise."
And it showed. Even under his black trench, she could see the broad expanse of his chest and how his buttons strained when he'd reached for the sheets. Given the wrinkled shirt under her dusty apron, she looked like she didn't shower. But then again, until him, no one had noticed her.
Ever.
"Can I help you find anything else?"
He opened his mouth but closed it again and shook his head.
"Then the cash register is this way."
As she walked him back to the register, she felt it, that pressure in the back of her head. She wondered if all girls got this when they were being followed, like she could feel him looking at her, watching her messy ponytail bob back and forth.
And he just kept looking at her, and she just kept smiling like an idiot as she rang up the bed set. "Total is seventy-three ninety six."
"That is a good sale." He handed her the credit card again, and again, his hand trembled. This time she paid attention to the name. Val Lance. Very knightly.
She ran the card and handed it back to him. Their fingers brushed for a second, and his fingers were cold, like touching an ice cube. She snapped her hand back.
"Sorry about that," he apologized as he put his card back in his wallet and his wallet in his coat pocket, not in the back pocket like most boys these days. "I really should start wearing gloves."
"We have gloves in men's wear." She blushed when she realized that she hadn't talked so much in ages. She was like a babbling brook under his intense gaze.
Esme pulled her hair behind her ear and slipped his purchases into the handled paper bag.
"I came to get your number." The statement spilled out of his mouth like a gangly kid in a foot race.
Her jaw dropped as her brain contemplated the possible answers to "Why?"
His blond brow furrowed. "To ask you out for coffee?"
Excited goose bumps trickled down her arm. "Why do you need my number to do that? Just do it now."
He laughed that one short laugh and let out a long breath. "Would you do me the honor of having coffee with me?"
She looked up at him and into those tired blue eyes. They were old. Older than her abuelita's, but she felt seen. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was a normal girl. That should be something, right? Even if it was just a cup of coffee before he realized how completely boring she was, and he forgot her like everyone else did. "Yeah. Yes."
He smiled, and something glowed within him. It was a wide smile that completely changed the dynamic of his features. It lit up his eyes and chased away the storm clouds. "Wonderful. May I have your number so we can set up a time?"
"Actually, I don't have a phone."
"Why not?"
"No one remembers to call me."
She wanted to giggle but fought the light, fluttering feelings in her stomach. She knew exactly where to meet. One of her favorite places in Dallas, where the baristas never forgot her order.
"There's this coffee shop off Oaklawn. Big black cat in the window?"
She watched as what little blood colored his cheeks faded, and his Adam's apple bobbed slowly.
"Do you know it?"
He licked his lips. "I sort of know the owner."
"Really? I love that place." She let one excited smile slip.
"Thursday night?"
She nodded.
"So Thursday. Coffee shop. Eight?"
"Sounds good. I'm Esme, by the way." She stuck out her hand.
"Val," he said.
As his cool hand slipped into hers, she shivered again, this time with excitement as the hair prickled on the back of her neck.
He squeezed gently, then pulled away. "See you on Thursday, Esme."
She stayed behind the counter for at least fifteen minutes after watching him walk away. What had gotten into her? Did someone seriously just ask her out on a date? And not just a someone. A tall, Viking-looking thing who should be wielding a sword and not sipping coffee.
Esme smiled. Her first date. Her abuelita was going to be so proud. And she might just go upstairs and visit Hannah Jane in Juniors to find something to wear.
