Beyond the Moon

“Is there anything wrong with wanting to believe?”

“Not at all.”

Her mouth curved so prettily, Rook thought surely, if it had been his heart stolen by her, he’d let her keep it for as long as she wished to wear it around her neck on a leather cord.

“Would you mind taking a look at some mug shots at Order headquarters?”

“I, uh…hmm.” She twisted the teacup around on the saucer.

“If you’re unsure about what you saw…”

“It’s not that. I’m not particularly fond of taking sides within the paranormal community. I let the vamps do their thing, and they tend to leave me alone. If I should dabble in their affairs…”

“You fear reciprocation. What if I could promise you protection?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I just…”

“That’s fine.” He didn’t want to push, though he couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t want to catch someone who had harmed her, no matter the breed. If he had been mortal, would she have helped him?

He wouldn’t dwell on it. He had other ways to make the woman talk. And he didn’t really mind what the topic of conversation was, so long as she didn’t walk away from him now, never to be seen again.

“Would you have dinner with me?” he asked. “I find I don’t want you to walk away from me. I’d like to get to know you better.”

“Where would we have dinner?”

“The location hinges on your decision?”

“Of course. If you suggest a seafood restaurant, I’d have to refuse. I’m not much for slimy cuisine.”

“My place,” he said. “I want to cook for you.”

“I’ve never had a man cook for me.” Her eyes brightened as she pushed aside a thick curl from her face. “It’s a date. Right now?”

“Have you other plans?”

That smile would undo him. “Not at all. Do you live close?”

“On the Ile St.-Louis. My car is parked just down the street.”

“I am at your beckon.” She took his proffered hand and followed him down the street.

That had been too easy. Yet disappointment weighed down Rook’s shoulders. He’d been so close to his soul, and now it was gone. Possibly taken by a vampire. He had to get it back.

Because he owed Oz for four centuries of imprisonment.

Chapter 3 (#ulink_21406649-cfee-5083-831e-c54972833fda)

The buildings on the Ile St.-Louis where Rook lived were old, and Verity knew anyone living here had to be wealthy. She suspected Rook was rich, judging by the stylish suit and Italian leather shoes he wore. She wasn’t into brand names, but she could pin a designer label merely from the way it made the man stand, erect and proud, elegant and tailored. Right with his place in the world and not afraid to take on any challenge.

Of course, that could be the hunter in him, too.

And he smelled like something worth more than a quick spritz from a cheap bottle of cologne. Like burnt peaches and tobacco. The idea of tasting him effervesced in her core and warmed her skin.

Occupied by a truth demon, eh? Yet he couldn’t read the truth in Veritas Von Velde. Interesting. And definitely worth further exploration.

After shedding her sweater and handing it to him to hang, Verity sat at the kitchen table with a goblet of Bordeaux to watch her host work culinary magic. Admittedly, cooking was not in her arsenal of magical or just plain practical household skills. She ate simple whole foods that required little preparation, but that was only because she’d never taken the time to learn to cook. She had always been busy with her magical studies. And when a woman grew up with a grandmother, great-grandmother and mother who always cooked, why bother? So to watch this gorgeous man move about with such ease as he concocted food for her was a dream.

Rook was tall and sleek. Beneath the gray dress shirt flexed steel muscles, and the very sinews of him conformed against the fabric as he reached for vegetables or high on a shelf for cooking oil.

In her imagination Verity glided her palms over his cool skin, mapping his contours and memorizing his hard angles. She bit the corner of her lip to contain a squeal of glee.

His slicked-back dark brown hair touted tufts of gray near his temples and a few sprigs of salty strands mixed here and there throughout. Dark brows commanded her attention to his gaze when he regarded her. While sitting at the café table she’d noticed a tiny scar above his left brow and fancied it from a rapier or even a vampire fang.

The groomed stubble that edged his jaw as if to frame his façade begged her to touch. A small triangle of stubble sat beneath his lower lip, and along with the mustache, it gave him a swashbuckler appeal. She loved facial hair and wanted to feel his mustache tickle her upper lip as he kissed her.

All in all? The man possessed a brutal beauty that she wanted to trace and learn.

Rook’s frequent glances over his shoulder acted as if invisible touches shot through the atmosphere and made it impossible for her to relax because her entire body hummed with desire. Tracing the inner curve of her lower lip with her tongue, she tapped a fingernail against the crystal wine goblet.

“You like quinoa?” he asked over a shoulder.

“I’ll like anything you offer.” Including a tickling kiss from that sexy mustache. “It’s a treat to have a man cook for me.”

“I’ve been cooking for myself for centuries. I hired a chef for a few years in the early twentieth century but decided I prefer doing things for myself.”

“You like the control,” she guessed.

He nodded, conceding with a guilty grin.

“That’s the difference between the two of us,” she said. “I prefer people doing things for me.”

“It pleases me to do this for you.” His wink caught her as if a hand about her heart clasped ever so gently.

Verity swore under her breath. The man was sexy. But she’d only just met him. Cool the fire, and calm the jets. She didn’t need to trust him at this stage, but learning a little more about him would prove wiser than leaping blindly into lust. And after her last disastrous relationship, she was skittish.

By all means, she wanted to help him find his soul. Because—and this was just occurring to her now—if this hunter could find the vampire who may have stolen her necklace containing his soul, then naturally, he’d slay the longtooth. Then, if for some strange reason the spell she’d worked last night hadn’t been effective, she would have a backup reassurance that she’d never transform to vampire.

Not that she needed backup. Her spells were always effective.

She wandered over to the stove and peeked around Rook’s arm to inspect his creation. Bright chopped vegetables glistened in the frying pan. Scents of lemon, pepper and rosemary teased her nose.

“Looks delicious. Mind if I snoop about while you

create?”

“Go ahead. The bathroom is through the bedroom if you need it.”

“Thanks.”