Night’s Master (Children of The Night #3)(2)
Author: Amanda Ashley

Being in the same room with one of the Undead, breathing the same air, made me decidedly uncomfortable. I took several deep breaths, hoping it would calm my nerves. It didn’t.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” I asked, pleased that my voice didn’t betray my uneasiness.

“I was hoping you could recommend something.” His voice, as deep and mesmerizing as his eyes, danced over my skin.

It had never occurred to me that Vampires liked to read, or do much of anything except wear black, drink blood, and spend the daylight hours resting in their coffins.

“What do you like?” I asked. “Mysteries, suspense, sci-fi…?”

He shrugged. “Have you read any good books lately?”

“Me?” I was unaccountably pleased that he had asked for my opinion. “Well, yes, I thought the latest Jordan Montgomery mystery was his best one to date.”

He nodded. “I’ll take it.”

Aware of his gaze on my back, I hurried to the mystery section and plucked a copy from the shelf.

“That’ll be twenty-seven fifty,” I said, ringing up the sale.

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a crisp fifty-dollar bill. His fingers were cool when they brushed mine, yet I felt a frisson of heat race all the way up my neck to warm my cheeks. I slid the book and the receipt into a sack, also hand painted by me, and handed it to him, along with his change.

“Might I know your name?” he asked.

I hesitated to give it. I’m not really into Supernatural stuff all that much, but I knew that names were powerful mojo.

His gaze locked with mine, and I found myself saying, “Kathy. Kathy McKenna.”

“A lovely name for a very lovely lady,” he murmured, bowing from the waist. “I hope to see you again.”

“Are you going to tell me your name?” I asked. Hey, it only seemed fair that I should know his name now that he knew mine.

“Ah, of course. I am Raphael Cordova.”

I stared at him. Raphael Cordova! Good grief. He was the leader or chief or whatever they called it of the North American Vampires.

He smiled, displaying remarkably even, white teeth. “I will see you again, Kathy McKenna.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a promise, but before I could ask, or think of a suitable reply, he was gone, as silent as a shadow running from the sun.

The night after Raphael’s visit, thirteen people stopped by the store. They didn’t just come in because they were curious or to browse, either. They came in to buy. Every one of them bought at least two books; one lady bought four, another bought nine.

I’m not sure when I realized that they had all come into the store after the sun had set, or exactly when I realized they were all Vampires, and that Raphael Cordova had probably sent them. I guess I should have been pleased. Instead, it annoyed me to think that he had rounded up a bunch of his Undead pals and ordered them to throw a little business my way. I didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for me, thank you very much. And I certainly didn’t want to be beholden to a Vampire for anything.

I had a feeling he would show up later that night, and he did, just as I was about to close up shop. He was clad in unrelieved black again—a short-sleeved T-shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and muscular arms, another pair of tight jeans, and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. Just looking at him made me feel good all over.

He inclined his head in my direction. “Good evening, Kathy McKenna.” His voice was just as I remembered: soft and low; it caressed my skin like warm, dark velvet.

“Come for another book, did you?” I asked ungraciously.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” he replied with a faint smile.

“Don’t tell me you finished the other one already.” Montgomery novels tended to be long; his newest book was almost nine hundred pages.

Cordova nodded.

“What are you, a speed reader?”

“Not exactly,” he replied with a wry grin, “but sometimes the nights can be long.”

I was tempted to say, “no kidding,” but I restrained myself. “I guess you enjoyed it.”

“Yes, very much, which is why I’m here. I’d like to buy everything he’s written.”

“You might want to narrow that down a little,” I said drily. “Jordan Montgomery has written something like fifty books in the last twenty years.”

“I’ll take whatever you have on hand,” Raphael said. “And please order me the rest.”

“You don’t have to buy all those books just because you feel sorry for me,” I said waspishly. “And you didn’t have to tell your friends to come in here, either.”

“Ah,” he murmured, a guilty smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “Don’t tell me they all came tonight?”

“I don’t know about that, since I don’t know how many you asked to show up,” I replied, and then, as my exasperation faded, I wondered what was going on that there were so many Vampires in town at one time, which made me wonder if that meant an equal number of Werewolves were also prowling the dark streets. The thought sent a cold chill slithering down my spine.

I glanced out the window, wondering if the moon was full, and if it was safe to walk home now that the town was full of Vampires and Werewolves. Funny that they were enemies. You’d think they would go hunting together, I thought morbidly, since one drank blood and the other devoured flesh.

“Miss McKenna?”

“What? Oh, right, the books.” I walked toward the back of the store where the mysteries were shelved, acutely aware that Raphael was following me. I wasn’t sure I liked having a Vampire, even a remarkably sexy, handsome one, at my back. Or anywhere else in the vicinity, for that matter.

I had sixteen of Montgomery’s backlist in stock, all in hardback. Assuming Cordova read a book a night, I figured I wouldn’t be seeing him again for a couple of weeks. The thought left me feeling curiously depressed, but I told myself it was a good thing. After all, who needs a Vampire hanging around?

He helped me carry the books to the front of the store, then handed me his credit card. I stared at it for a moment. Somehow, I had never imagined that Vampires carried credit cards. Apparently, I had a lot to learn about the ways and means of the Undead.

I quickly rang up the books and gave him a copy of the receipt to sign. His signature was a bold scrawl across the bottom of the paper.

I loaded the books into four shopping bags and pushed them across the counter. “Happy reading.”

“Thank you.” He started to turn away, then hesitated. “Would you care to have dinner with me some evening?”