Walker glared at me from under his hand as he massaged his temples. “Why would I do that?”
“I’d imagine it’s difficult to drive when you’re fighting a migraine.”
Walker turned his gaze back to the road, but he didn’t pull over. He drove us all the way to his house, his eyes barely open and his hands wringing the steering wheel in pain, but we pulled into his driveway in one piece. If tonight was any indication, country life wasn’t much different than city life: investigating murders, dodging vampire attacks, and surviving stubborn men. Except I could do all three in boots instead of heels.
* * * *
Walker’s house was exactly what I had anticipated a house in the deep woods would look like, but even after seeing it a second time, I couldn’t believe Walker actually lived there. The house was essentially a log cabin, a beautiful, three-story log cabin with a wrap-around porch, wood-burning fireplace, and stone chimney. A porch swing was built into the house on the east side of the porch, and on the north side, a hammock was stretched between two awning posts. Gabled dormers jutted from the roof, letting light and space into the attic. The gravel driveway was outlined in heavy stonework; it extended into a wide lot at the side of the house.
When we’d dropped off my luggage earlier this afternoon, the driveway had been empty. Now, two pickup trucks in addition to Walker’s Chevy, his Harley, and a Charger were already parked in the lot as we pulled in. I climbed out of the truck gingerly—my hip protesting the movement—and stared, in awe of the sheer magnitude of Walker’s home.
“Expecting company?” I breathed.
Walker smiled. “Come on. Let’s go inside and get an icy-hot patch on your hip.”
“I’m not—”
He held up a hand. “Don’t. You were better at hiding it in the city.”
The arthritis has worsened since the last time you were in the city, I thought. Instead of speaking my mind, I said. “An icy-hot patch isn’t going to cure anything.”
“It won’t hurt anything either.”
I stared at Walker, his face chiding and my hip pounding, and I gave up on pretenses. I used to go through almost an entire day without the arthritis and scar tissue from my old injury affecting my daily life. Today was obviously not one of those days, so I swallowed my stubbornness.
“Well, in that case, an icy patch would be great.”
Walker stepped around the hood of his truck and onto the wooden wrap-around porch. A very thin, auburn-haired woman met us at the entrance and opened the screen door for us. She wore an oversized, green sweater, boot cut jeans, and fuzzy green socks. Exactly how thin she’d become was mostly hidden under the layers of baggy clothes, and when she smiled at our approach, her hazel eyes crinkled with genuine warmth. Her smile was wide and bright and had the uncanny ability to transform her delicate features from frail to precious.
Walker smiled back, and his expression was equally warm. Her pale skin and sharp features reminded me of fine china, something of high value but easily broken. I wondered if Walker had noticed the hollows under her collarbone and the frail, protruding bones of her wrist. Walker didn’t normally miss much, but if the answering gleam in his eyes was any indication, he was distracted, maybe by more than just her eyes and blossoming smile.
The corner of my heart I had let soften toward Walker over the past few weeks ached.
Shoving my feelings for Walker and those dangerous hopes aside, I gritted my teeth against the pain and climbed the porch’s front steps.
Walker bounded up the steps beside me. “DiRocco, I’d like you to meet my partner and very good childhood friend, Ronnie Carmichael. Ronnie, this is Cassidy DiRocco.”
Ronnie’s smile slipped slightly. She looked almost cautious as she held out her hand.
I took it and forced my own smile. Her hand was rough and her knuckles pink, scaly, and cracking, like she worked regularly with plaster. She covered the back of my palm with her other hand in a handshake sandwich.
“It’s great to finally meet you,” Ronnie said, and her soft voice sounded genuine. “Ian has told me so much about you. I feel like I know you already.”
Walker had divulged absolutely nothing about Ronnie, so I couldn’t respond in kind. I simply nodded. “All good things, I hope.”
Ronnie’s smile brightened. “Any friend who helps Ian on one of his missions is a friend of mine. I’m so glad he found a night blood in the city. I hate to think of him surviving the night alone.” She sighed. “Not that being alone ever stopped him.”
I smiled, and this time mine was genuine, too. “I was just as fortunate that he found me. He had my back, too. Multiple times.”
“I’m sure he did. Some of the other night bloods, like Logan and Theresa, lived in solitude, too, but I think they appreciate having backup now.”
“The other night bloods?” I cocked my head, forcing my expression to remain bland. “I thought you and Walker were the only night bloods in the area.”
Ronnie nodded. “We were. For years we were the only night bloods we knew existed, but since Walker found Theresa, Jeremy, Logan and his sons, and now you, we’re becoming quite a little family.”
I glanced askance at all the vehicles in the driveway. “Do Theresa, Jeremy, and Logan live nearby?”
“We can continue this conversation inside.” Walker placed his hand firmly at my lower back, ushering me inside.
I turned to protest, thinking he was just trying to derail my question, but when I looked back, I recognized the urgency in Walker’s tone. The sun had set and full darkness surrounded the house.
Ronnie extended her hand towards me. “Here, let me give you the tour. You’ll be staying in the room across the hall from Walker. Jeremy lives next to—”
“It’s been a long day for both of us, Ronnie,” Walker interrupted, but his tone was so baby sweet that she nodded sympathetically, like she hadn’t been interrupted. I felt nauseated. “I think Cassidy would rather freshen up before meeting anyone. Once she’s settled, I’m sure she’d love a tour.”
Ronnie looked at me as if to validate Walker’s statement, but the truth was that I couldn’t care less about a tour, whether it occurred now, after I’d taken a shower, or never. Walker’s house was much bigger than I’d expected. Ronnie lived much closer to Walker than I imagined, and my anticipation for this visit couldn’t have been more misplaced. I shifted my gaze between Ronnie and Walker, and although they both expected me to respond in some intelligible fashion, I couldn’t get past the fact that I was standing in what was essentially a coven of night bloods.
* * * *
“How many night bloods are living in this house?”
I’d followed Walker to the bathroom in tense silence, watched him rummage for the icy-hot patches, and I’d stood stoically while he alternately eyed the patch and my skin. I held my shirt to expose my waist while he eased the band of my pants down slightly to gain better access to my hip. The rough heat of his fingertip grazed along the puckered star of my scar, and goose bumps shivered across my back. A deep, radiating heat stoked through my gut at his touch. My breath caught, and I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer.
“Ten night bloods?” I guessed. At Walker’s telling silence, I upped the ante and my volume with it. “Fifteen?”
“Not everyone lives here. It’s more of a home base, not a home, per se.”
“My God, more than twenty?”
Walker sighed. I could hear the frustration expel with his breath, but I refused to let this go.
“The last time we spoke about night bloods, you assured me that we were rare, that the