Trixie couldn’t remember the last time she went to a little
girl’s birthday party but it certainly wasn’t since becoming a vampire.
Olivia and Doug might have been two of the world’s most powerful
vampires, but they had also become the first vampire parents in recorded
history. Today was their daughter Emily’s second birthday and they were
throwing her a big old party, complete with birthday cake and balloons.
Trixie had gone back and forth all day long about whether or not
to attend.
Being around little Emily was bittersweet on a regular day and
the birthday celebration would only heighten Trixie’s struggle. But choosing
not to go would have been selfish. Trixie’s personal drama wasn’t Emily’s
fault, and she didn’t want to disappoint the adorable little redheaded cherub.
Not only that, Emily was Olivia’s daughter and since Olivia was Trixie’s maker,
that made her family.
Not showing up would have been rotten.
Olivia would have understood if Trixie bailed out; she knew her
better than anyone else. But Olivia’s Bloodmate, Doug, wouldn’t understand her
absence from such a celebrated event. Neither would the other members of the
coven.
Nope. Trixie decided to do what she always did. She’d put on a
smile, make a wise-ass comment or two, and act like nothing and nobody bothered
her.
A familiar voice pulled her from her thoughts as she strode down
the stone hallways of the Presidium’s underground facility, buried deep beneath
Fort Tryon Park and The Cloisters in New York City, “Well, smack my ass and
call me Sally.”
The deep southern drawl echoed around her, stopping Trixie dead
in her tracks. A shiver of lust whispered beneath her skin as it usually did
whenever he was nearby, but she swiftly shoved it aside.
“Okay, Sally.” Trixie rolled her shoulder and fought the buzz of
attraction. “But you can smack your own ass.”
“What’s the matter, darlin’?” The rumbling baritone of his voice
soaked with that southern twang, drifted over her shoulder but she didn’t spare
him a glance. Trixie continued toward Olivia and Doug’s apartment door, forcing
herself to put one foot in front of the other. “Don’t I even get a hello?”
“Hello, Dakota,” she said, with a roll of her eyes.
Coming to this little gathering for Emily was difficult enough
and his arrival only ratcheted her anxiety up a notch. Damn it. Why wasn’t he
out on patrol? Over the past few months, the cocky and admittedly gorgeous sentry,
had become more and more present in her little corner of the universe.
Trixie fiddled with the box in her hands, the one she’d wrapped
carefully with the pink and white skull and crossbones paper. She didn’t even
bother to put a card with it. Everyone would know who’d brought it. She was the
only coven member with bright pink hair and a penchant for skulls and
crossbones, after all.
“That your present for little Emily?” He asked. “You wrapped it
real nice.”
He got closer by the second.
“No,” Trixie snorted. “I just like carrying around a gift
wrapped box for the hell of it. You know, for shits and giggles.”
She was being a snot but she couldn’t help herself.
Trixie kept her gaze pinned to the mammoth mahogany door at the
end of the hallway and tried not to notice that he’d sidled up next to her, his
stride matching hers.
Dakota Shelton, the newest sentry for the Presidium, the vampire
government, was not an easy man to ignore.
His six foot two inch broad shouldered frame towered over her
easily but there was something else about him that set her on edge. It was the
way he carried himself. He moved effortlessly and casually, as if he was just
the good-old boy from Texas he claimed to be.
But Trixie knew better.
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