Where Winter Finds You Read online

  But that was hardly the kind of opener he wanted to lead with. For one, as a vampire, Therese wouldn’t have been stupid like him and taken a car through the storm. She would have dematerialized here. For another, she was not his responsibility. Really. No, really, she was not.

  And likewise he was not her curse.

  Just because this female and his beloved Selena looked so completely similar did not give him the right to be behave as if Therese was his beloved shellan. So whether she was late to work on a snowy night, or if she didn’t come in at all, or if she were early or on time, none of this was his problem, his fault, or his concern. And for crissakes, this paranoia he was rocking with regard to her safety was annoying.

  Come on, not every female he met or came into contact with was going to die on him.

  If that were true, the Black Dagger Brotherhood would all be widowers by now.

  Trez cursed and looked away. Looked back. Tried not to re-memorize that which had never left his mind.

  “Yes, I’m here,” he heard himself say.

  “Are you okay?”

  Nope. Not even close. “I was just worried about you.”

  Yeah, wow. That pep talk he’d given himself had really stuck, hadn’t it.

  “That’s really kind of you.”

  “The weather’s bad out tonight.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Tense and low. “Because of the snow.”

  Plus, there’s that disaster zone you’re living in, he tacked on in his head. And God, he really had to shut up here. He was just digging a hole he wasn’t going to be able to climb out of.

  “Oh, I’m fine.” She made a dismissive motion with her hand. “I’m self-sufficient.”

  Next up: strained silence.

  As the quiet persisted, Trez was aware he was staring, but his eyes refused to go anywhere else. Every time he saw this female, he found himself compulsively checking to see if he was right about what she looked like. To see if he had somehow misinterpreted something about her. And the fucked-up thing was that he couldn’t decide whether he wanted his perception to be right or wrong—although it wasn’t like he got a vote on that.

  The likeness was stunning, and it reconnected him with everything he had lost, better than a photograph because there was movement, better than a memory because there was conversation, better than a fantasy because it was real. Therese’s long, dark, curly hair, which was raked back and twisted into a tight bun per uniform requirements, was the precise color and texture of his Chosen’s. And the female’s pale eyes, perfectly set in her perfect face, were so like Selena’s he had to force himself not to weep. And her lips…

  Well, they were like his female’s, too, and not just in terms of shape. And goddamn it, he shouldn’t know what they felt like.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her on impulse that one time, and he shouldn’t have made this drive to see her, and he shouldn’t have come here tonight on a pretense just so he could stand in front of her and get caught in this net again. She was not his dead shellan come back to life. She was a young female, hired by his brother, to work here in this restaurant. A stranger. Who just happened to look something like the love of his life.

  “Sooooo, yes,” she said slowly. “I’m fine.”

  Her eyebrows lifted and she leaned forward, as if she were trying to help him with the conversation. Or maybe was wondering if he’d stroked out.

  “Good.” Trez nodded. “I’m glad.”

  When she looked around him, as if she had to get to work, he knew he was going to lose his chance.

  “Listen, have you given any more thought about that house I can get for you? The rental we talked about?”

  Her eyes swung back up to his. When she didn’t immediately answer him, he could feel his protective instinct come out, and he tried to reason with it. He didn’t get far at all. His need to ensure her safety was like a charging bull, and come on, like he expected something with four clamoring hooves and anger-management issues to speak English? Listen to reason? He’d have better luck trying to convince himself she didn’t look like Selena—and how far had he gotten with that one?

  This whole thing was a mess. And he couldn’t leave it well enough alone.

  “I thought it was an apartment,” she said with a frown.

  “No, it was a house.”

  “You’re really kind. But I told you last week that I’ve reconsidered and I’m going to stay put for now.”

  “I know.” Okay, he was keeping his voice level. This was awesome. “But it’s a good deal. An even better deal. Just like I said, you can pay what you’re able now, and when you earn more, you can even it out later.”

  “I really appreciate it…” She smoothed the hair she had pulled back flat. “But I don’t want to rely on you.”

  He put out his hand, all Stop! In the naaaame of loooove. Or, from her point of view, Stop! For the love, please frickin’ stop with this rental malarkey.

  “I don’t expect anything in return,” he said. “Just so we’re clear. This is not something shady.”

  As her eyes dipped to his mouth, he knew exactly what she was thinking of, and dear God, he tried to hold the line with his libido. He shouldn’t have engineered it so they’d been alone together, and not only because she worked for iAm. He was in no position to be taking any female out. He was chest-deep in grief, as steady as a two-legged chair, and just as likely to end up in the Hudson River as to make it home safely at the end of any given night.

  Put like that? He was worse than a booby prize. He was a lit stick of dynamite, sure to cause damage and destruction in her life.

  And that was before anyone got to the part about him feeling disloyal to a dead female for even thinking like this. With Selena gone, he should be a monk for the rest of his nights. No doubt the fact that they looked the same was the only reason he was able to think sexually at all. But still.

  “You said you would move,” he pressed. “When we were at the diner together. You said you would—”

  “I know I did.” Her expression turned anxious. “And I didn’t mean to jerk you around. It was just, the more I thought about it, the more I felt uneasy about taking advantage of your connections.”

  “I can take you after work to see the place. You can do a walk-through—”

  Trez sensed a presence out in the hall, and he looked in its direction. That blond human man was back again, leaning around the corner. Checking on Therese.

  Trez’s fangs tingled as they descended.

  “She’ll be right there,” he clipped out.

  When the guy backed off like someone was pointing a gun at his head, Trez was disappointed for all the wrong reasons. He wanted to bare his fangs and hiss at the nosy bastard. Then maybe peel a carving knife out of the kitchen’s collection and give the fucker a haircut. Starting with the feet and ankles, then working his way up.

  Like any of that was going to help this situation, though? Dead bodies were inconvenient when they were created in public.

  Plus, hello, body parts on the carpet were not going to help his case with Therese.

  “I have to go.” She offered an apologetic smile. “I was late tonight, and everyone took care of me.”

  Everyone? Trez thought to himself. Or one particular guy.

  As his heart dropped and his stomach churned, he shook his head. At himself. “Look, if you’re worried about… you know, privacy. It’s fine. It’s… whatever. I’m not going to intrude on your life.”

  The fuck it was whatever. But like he was in any position to criticize her choices? If she wanted to bang that human until the sonofabitch walked with a limp and needed an IV bag for fluids, then there was not a damn thing he could do about it.

  Well, except go to work with that knife. Although chances were, if she actually liked that motherfucker with the flaxen fucking hair, she was going to get a little offended if a headstone was brought into the equation.

  Oh, God, he needed to get out of this—

  Therese put her
hand on his arm, and swear to God, he felt the contact go through his entire body.

  “I know this doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I really want to do this on my own,” she said. “I’ve thought about your kind offer, I really have, and I shouldn’t have jumped at the chance without considering the implications. It would be so easy to rely on you, but I need to stand on my own two feet. It is why I came to Caldwell, and I am not going to compromise on that.”

  Trez covered her hand with his own. “I won’t have a key, I promise. I won’t be able to get in there—it’s nothing like that. It will be your private place, for you to do… whatever in.”

  The fact that he felt like vomiting seemed a sad commentary on where he was. The desperation was, literally, nauseating.

  “This is not about you,” she said. “Or anybody else. I want to take care of myself. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s best not to rely on other people, and if I don’t start being independent now, when is it going to happen—”

  “That shithole you’re in now is not safe.”

  “I really appreciate your concern.” Her eyes were luminous as she stared up at him. “But it’s a no-thank-you. And I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  Removing her hand from under his own, she patted his arm, in a classic just-a-friend kind of way, and then slipped by him. As she passed so close to his body, he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. Then he turned and watched her go. She was going to work with that blond human all night long, and Trez was willing to bet they were going to share inside jokes, and the bastard was going to offer to take her home at the end of the shift. How far would things go at that point?

  As the urge to kill resurged, Trez argued with his biochemistry. He was not bonding with her, goddamn it. That was crazy.

  This was all crazy.

  He was all crazy.

  Leaning back against the cool wall, he breathed deeply and tried to ignore the smells from the kitchen, the sounds of people talking in the building, the low-level howl from the storm outside. He could not control his thoughts or his body when he was around that female, all kinds of haywire happening. So the easy solution was to not come here. Not see her. Set up boundaries that were high and wide and accessorized with barbed wire.

  And yet he kept throwing himself at this gauntlet of his own invention. To the point where that female, who had asked for none of this, and didn’t even know the half of it, was the one putting up the “No Trespassing” signs.

  It was too fucked up.

  Forcing himself to get moving, Trez kept things slow as he went down toward the kitchen so he didn’t catch up with her. The last thing he needed was to add stalking to his list of career choices. Like pimp and drug dealer weren’t enough on his LinkedIn?

  The back of the house was utilitarian, nothing but painted concrete walls, and serviceable spaces like iAm’s office, the locker room, and the staff break room. And then there was the kitchen itself. As Trez emerged into the huge space, he blinked in the glare of the bright lights and the stainless steel. Everything was spotless, well organized, and, due to the inclement weather, nothing like the hotbed of activity that usually hustled around the stoves, the ovens, the prep counters, and the staging area.

  “What the hell?” he muttered.

  Something was burning on the stove, and where was his brother? Where was the sous chef?

  “iAm?” he called out as he went over to the sixteen-burner and moved a pot of sauce off the heat. “iAm!—”

  “—here, I’m right here.” His brother came rushing out of the pantry, a twenty-pound bag of flour in one hand, a flat of eggs in the other. “Hey, how are you?”

  “I’m good.” Yup, just fantastic. I’ve been upgraded from suicidal to self-annoying. Next stop: Lunatic. “Where is everyone?”

  “Most of them couldn’t come in because of the storm.” iAm dumped the bag on the counter. “I just sent Enzo home, along with my other two chefs. I’m just going to handle things myself tonight.”

  “Whatever’s in there was burning.” Trez pointed to the pot. “I moved it over.”

  “Thanks.”

  Instead of going over to check on what was up with the sauce, iAm put his egg load down like he meant to get started on whatever it was he’d intended to make. Except then he seemed to lose focus, bracing both hands on the counter and lowering his head.

  Trez frowned. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You sure about that?” Trez glanced at the pot. “When was the last time you burned something?”

  There was only a heartbeat of a pause, the kind of thing that almost no one would notice. And then iAm’s black eyes looked up and he appeared perfectly normal, perfectly calm, as he lied:

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  Guess two could play at this game, Trez thought.

  * * *

  “This is bullshit. I’m out of here.”

  As the words were pushed out of an angry, lipsticked mouth, Therese glanced across the water-filling station. Liza, a female human who was one of six servers supposed to be on, had evidently decided to jump ship and was determined that everyone not only know that she was leaving, but also be aware that she did not approve of the weather.

  Like someone inside of Sal’s was in charge of the blizzard button and had negligently greenlighted the storm.

  “Fucking snow.” Liza reached around to the small of her back and yanked at the ties on her half apron. “I’ve got rent to pay. There are two tables filled, and neither of them are in my room anyway. I swear that fucking hostess hates me.”

  Therese looked away. Liza Drama was something she had learned to stay out of, although God knew it was a big pool to fall into.

  “Maybe more customers will come in.” Emile leaned out around the ice bin and the stacks of plastic refill containers. “It’s early.”

  “I’m not waiting around.” Liza wadded up her apron and put her hands on her hips. “What are you going to do.”

  Therese went about her business, taking one of the pitchers, opening the ice tank, and getting some chips out. Liza was not talking to her. Liza never talked to her. The woman couldn’t have made her dislike more obvious if she had tattooed her forehead with “Back Off, New Girl, He’s Mine.”

  “I’m going to stay here,” he said. “I need my shift money.”

  “How am I supposed to get home?”

  Therese graduated from the ice bin to the water dispenser, pushing the lip of the pitcher against the toggle. The stream of cold water that came out was steady but small. She wished the damn machine peed like a racehorse so she didn’t have to listen to this.

  “I don’t know.” Emile shrugged. “Call an Uber?”

  “You are my ride, Emile.”

  Okay. So all Therese could hear in her head was Faye Dunaway gritting out, No more wire haaaaaaaaaangers!

  “And I am staying here.”

  Therese felt the sting of the woman’s glare on the back of her neck so acutely, she had to roll her shoulders to release some tension.

  “This is bullshit,” Liza said. “And you better call me to make sure I get home safe.”

  With that, she huffed off, and it was only when the coast was clear that Therese glanced over. “You know, if you want to go, I can handle—”

  “No.” Emile shook his head curtly. “She needs to do her own thing. I don’t know what her problem’s been the last week or two.”

  You haven’t noticed that she’d like to stab me with a fork? Therese thought. And every shift she’s denied the chance, she gets even crankier?

  Emile looked over. “We’re not dating. Just so you know. She lives two streets away from my apartment and I give her rides. That’s it.”

  Therese stepped away from the water machine. “She doesn’t bother me.”

  Emile’s smile was relieved. “That’s good. That’s… really good.”

  To break the eye contact, Therese took a couple of steps over and ma
de a show of assessing the main dining room. There were twenty or so tables of various sizes and configurations, and just as Liza had reported, only two were filled, one by a human couple, and another, a four-top, by a male of the species. The bar, which had banquette seating, was totally empty, and the other front room, which was Liza’s territory, was empty.

  And then Therese realized something.

  “Wait, are we the only servers here?”

  There was the sound of ice rattling into a container. “Now that Liza’s gone, yes, I think we are. The hostess left.”

  Therese sensed the human man staring at her, and she wanted to tell him to stop. Not because he was being offensive or invasive and not because she felt threatened. It was because she felt absolutely nothing at all—and also because he only thought he knew who she was. Humans assumed vampires were a Halloween myth, and that secret needed to be kept. But more than that, she wasn’t looking for any kind of a relationship, not even a casual-dating or friends-with-benefits one.

  If she was going to get involved with somebody—which she was not—it was going to be that Shadow—

  Stop it, she thought. Just frickin’ stop it—

  “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  Therese shook herself and focused on Emile. His handsome face was stricken, his skin pale.

  “What?” she said.

  “Look, I don’t…” He put his water container down on the counter. “I don’t want to make things weird.”

  “What?”

  As he stood there, looking downcast, she cursed under her breath. She must have spoken the red light out loud.

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “Oh, my God. No, no. I was talking to myself. That wasn’t directed to you. I’m sorry.”

  As his features eased and he started to smile, she almost went to find Liza and suggest she be the one to work with the guy. What the hell was going on tonight? There seemed to be trouble happening everywhere she turned, even though she hadn’t dropped any trays or spilled wine on any customers.

  Yet, she tacked on. She hadn’t done a dropsy yet. The night was still young.

  Before she could figure out a way to kindly pump the man’s breaks—although maybe she should lead with a flash of her fangs and then dematerialize right in front of him; that would take care of things—Emile smiled like the prospects of the evening had just gotten so much better.