Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
I smiled as he leaned down to kiss me.
“Probably for the best,” I murmured against his lips. “That way, they leave you alone, and I don’t get the urge to throttle them or toss them through doors.”
He laughed, turned me around, and gave me a small shove toward the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. “Go talk to that weird collection of people you have working for you. Tell Mr. Tom not to crush all of my flowers.”
TWO
The fresh mountain air greeted me as I stepped onto the balcony. I took two deep breaths, further clearing my mind, and then walked around the grill and approached the railing.
Standing just before the slope covered in azure-blue wildflowers and buttercups were Edgar, Mr. Tom, and Ulric, a little removed from the others.
“Hey, guys.” I bent to lean my elbows on the railing. Austin met me a moment later with a fresh mug of coffee. He set it on the railing beside me, glanced down at the others, and left without saying a word.
“Ah, yes, your morning cup of brew,” Mr. Tom said, entwining his fingers at his waistline. His wings, draped down his back like a cape, fluttered in irritation. “Pity you have to traipse all the way down to the kitchen to get it. If you’d just let me see to you in the morning instead of making me wait in this makeshift garden like a common criminal, you wouldn’t have to do things the shifter way.”
Mr. Tom wasn’t completely on board with my mating a shifter. He’d really hoped I’d find a gargoyle for that “honor.”
When I didn’t respond, Mr. Tom continued. “How about breakfast, miss? I trust Mr. Steele is seeing to that for you? He must know how you hate to cook. It isn’t something the mistress of Ivy House should lower herself to do, anyway.”
“He cooks for her regularly,” Edgar said as he scooted forward a little. “She is always so delighted with his creations. What’s for breakfast this morning, Jessie?”
I ran my fingers through my unruly hair. They got caught halfway through. “Eggs and sausage, maybe? Fresh fruit.”
“Hmm, sounds delicious.” Edgar rubbed his belly, the action for show. He was a vampire, and all he’d eaten in the last…way too many years to count was blood. I doubted he even remembered how food tasted. Still, he knew how much I liked to gush about Austin’s cooking and gave me ample opportunity to do so.
“Edgar, did you have something to tell the miss?” Mr. Tom asked. His tone dripped with disapproval.
Edgar wilted where he stood. He clasped his long, spindly fingers with the yellowed, pointed nails. “Jessie,” he began, “I regret to inform you that I have made a grave oversight. I must ask you, therefore, to retire me. I am not fit for my post.”
I wilted just like Edgar. For the undead, “retiring” didn’t mean sitting around in a houseboat or tapping a cane grumpily whenever anyone came near them. Retiring Edgar would force him from existence—something he asked me to do every time he felt he’d messed up.
“Mr. Tom, really?” I asked in annoyance. “I thought we talked about this. No one will be retiring Edgar. Stop goading him into asking for it.”
“First, I had hoped he’d lead with the grievance and not go straight to retiring. I apologize for that. I should’ve known better—”
“Oh, no, Jessie, in this case, he is dead right,” Edgar said, then leaned forward a little and winked at me. “See what I did there? Dead right?” He chuckled to himself before sobering. “No, there really is nothing else to be done. Aside from trying to rid Ivy House of the infestation, of course. I’ll do that posthaste, don’t you worry. I know my job, even if I did lapse on it a little.”
“A little?” Mr. Tom asked.
“Infestation?” I asked, my brow furrowing. “What has infest—”
“Tell her what you’ve done, Edgar,” Mr. Tom pushed.
Edgar regarded me solemnly again. “Miss Jessie, I regret to inform you that I have allowed a gnome infestation on Ivy House lands. I knew one of the creatures had made its home there but forgot how quickly they colonize. I should have seen to that instead of spending so much time here amongst the lovely wildflowers and few weaponized flowers while chasing the perfect doily—”
“Weaponized flowers?” I said, looking around the forest floor. “Like the ones the basajaun had to wrestle after they got out of hand and tried to kill everyone? Where are they—”
“The good news is I have gotten very close to perfection, I think. Very, very close. I’ve left a few of my very best doilies on the welcome mat for Mr. Alpha to peruse at his leisure. I think he will be very happy with—”
“For the last time, Edgar, he doesn’t want your doilies,” Mr. Tom cut in irritably. “There is a specific style of décor that can be outfitted with your doilies, and that style belongs to insufferable Irishwomen with no taste. It is rude to force doilies on the unsuspecting. A better use for them would be to give them to Hollace and Cyra. Hollace likes to throw them up like the clay targets in skeet shooting so Cyra can try to burn them out of the sky. Now that is a great use of your talents in the doily arena.”