“Petro Makisma,” he repeated, as if I should know him.

Petro glanced at his driver in the awkward silence. The driver kept his poker face, yet left me with the impression Petro’s lack of notoriety was nothing new. Petro shifted his feet. “Ah. I’m here to extend my apologies and those of my entire family.”

Again, I waited.

His shoulders slumped. “Sir Misha Aleksandr and I are of the same family.”

The hardening of my face made him step behind his driver. In all fairness, it wasn’t my prettiest look. “Oh. Him.”

Petro’s jaw nearly unhinged. He glanced at his driver again, who gave the palms-up “go figure” response. I supposed Petro expected the mere mention of Misha’s name to excite me. Think again, Petie.

The front door to my house opened and my sisters hurried outside. Taran must have sensed the vampire mojo. “Who the hell are you?” Taran asked when Petro greeted them warmly.

Petro’s smile faded once more. I was starting to feel bad for the guy. “He’s Petro Makisma,” I answered for him. Their blank stares told me they’d never heard of him either. Taran eyed Petro’s bow tie like it could bite. I walked to her side. “He’s here to apologize on behalf of his family.” More blank stares. “He’s with Misha.”

“Oh,” they all responded.

Petro urged his driver forward with a gentle nudge of his small, neat hands. “The gifts, please, Antonio.”

I stepped back, giving the driver ample space in case he chose to attack. Unlike Petro’s five-foot-five frame, this guy was behemoth. A Goliath to Petro’s David.

The driver returned with a stack of wide crimson velvet cases. He handed one to each of my sisters, saving the last one for me. I quirked a brow at the lush case. A small silver plaque, engraved with my initials, lay fixed at the center. When I wouldn’t take it, the driver opened the case. Dime-size diamond earrings glimmered with enough brilliance to blind. Between the earrings rested a small, handwritten note on thick, expensive stationary. The little card read:

My Dearest Celia,

Looking forward to dinner.

Your humble admirer,

Misha Aleksandr

This time, it was my jaw’s turn to fall open. First of all, there was nothing humble about Misha. Second, damn. Just, damn. I glared at Petro. “You can’t be serious.”

Petro frowned. “I assure you they are the highest caliber of diamonds. However, if you prefer a more classic emerald to match your eyes—”

“We don’t want the jewelry. And we especially don’t want to go out to dinner with some idiot who tried to kill us!”

“Speak for yourself, Celia,” Taran said, admiring the sapphire-and-diamond bracelet she’d already snapped onto her wrist. She frowned at my scowl. “What? It’s the least that rich bastard could do.”

Emme dropped her gaze, blushing as pink as the diamond at the center of her platinum necklace. “Everyone deserves a chance at forgiveness,” she said quietly.

“He tried to have us killed.” I repeated my words slowly. Apparently, though, all it took was something shiny to distract them. Surely Shayna would be reasonable.

Nope.

Shayna juggled her sapphire-encrusted daggers. “Oooh—look. They sparkle in the sunlight.”

Petro cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Celia, but I believe he intended the dinner invitation to be a private rendezvous.”

Petro jumped at my scowl. “I’m not having dinner with him.”

It was then I heard what sounded like a bottle being dropped behind our house. Now what? I jogged around back, slowing to a stop when I caught a wereraccoon rifling through our garbage. A na**d wereraccoon in human form. His aroma of bark and dry leaves was unmistakable. I couldn’t believe it. It should have been comical. But I wasn’t laughing.

His hairy legs stiffened. Slowly he raised his head from the large plastic barrel to see me standing there, gawking at him.

“Um. Hi,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food.

He paused before bolting toward the lake like his life depended on it. Because it did. Of course our evil neighbor had to come home from grocery shopping just then. After all, when else would Mrs. Mancuso have had the opportunity to see me chasing a na**d man across my front lawn? She crossed herself as I ground to a halt in front of her.

I watched the wereraccoon disappear into the patch of woods as he ran faster than any na**d guy with flapping male parts should. Taran’s WTF expression said it all.

Petro’s driver gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Welcome to the supernatural world,” he muttered.

CHAPTER 4

Finding a wereraccoon rifling through your trash sucked. Having a can of Lysol thrown at you while being called a tramp by a woman with enough neck skin to make a purse sucked more. But getting stalked by the supernatural paparazzi just about threw me over the edge. In addition to the wereraccoon and werebobcat, every mystical freak imaginable had made an appearance. I scented them everywhere. They hid in our bushes, peeked in our windows. I even found a werepossum sleeping under our porch.

My knuckles ached from pummeling the two wererats that rang our doorbell in the middle of the night, reeking of witch’s brew and begging for autographs. And I was coming off my sixth twelve-hour work shift in a row.

So when a master vampire showed up on my doorstep, let’s just say I didn’t welcome him with open arms.

“What do you want, Misha?”

Misha frowned, giving him a totally unfair sexy brood. “You’re not wearing my earrings.”

The earrings marked the beginning of the parade of expensive gifts Misha had sent in an effort to apologize for vampire court. “Giving us jewelry and paying off our mortgage doesn’t change the fact you almost had us killed. You can’t buy us, Misha. We’re paying you back for the house.”

“The master sent flowers and candy, too,” one of his idiot bodyguards said from the walkway.

“Oh, yeah, ’cause nothing says, ‘I’m sorry I wanted to torture you,’ like chocolate truffles.” I narrowed my eyes at Misha. “Just tell me what you want.” The corner of Misha’s mouth curved slightly while the two goons behind him exchanged “I have dibs on her liver” glances.

“I came to see you.”

I stood in the doorway in the tank top I’d slept in and a pair of yoga pants that had been begging to go to the big laundry basket in the sky. My wild curls and I had fought. They’d won. I hadn’t showered, and I resembled something the wereraccoon was chewing on before he ran like the dickens. Yet Misha’s hungry gaze swept along my body, despite my hell-on-a-cracker appearance.

I leaned one arm along the doorway and rested my other on my hip, annoyed. “Why? Did you run out of virgins or something?”

Misha’s gray eyes flickered with stirring mischief. “If I had, should I expect to find one here?”

“Nope. We’re all out, too.”

“Hmm.” Although it sounded more like yum.

Misha lived in Tahoe City, a ridiculously wealthy area packed with multigazillion-dollar properties. I doubted he’d driven the six short miles to our home in Dollar Point just to borrow a cup of virgin. A few moments passed, enough time for that cocky expression to slowly dissolve and shadow with foreboding torment. “I need your help, Celia. I fear it is rather urgent.”

My human side warned me to run far and fast. Whatever scared Misha would surely scare me. My tigress held us in place. She thought we should hear out the reigning Prince of Darkness. I refused to invite him in, though. Inviting one vampire meant only he or she could enter. Inviting a master allowed him and everyone in his keep access to our home, so we agreed to meet at a nearby café. I reasoned that he wouldn’t have sent flowers and gifts just to kill me later. And while he didn’t make my insides flutter like that wolf I’d met, Misha wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes.

After making my waves as presentable as the laws of big hair would allow, I traded my pathetic ensemble for workout clothes. My plan was to go for a run after our chat. I was running more—a lot more—hoping for another glimpse of that sexy wolf.

I drove to the Kings Beach Cafe and slipped into the booth where Misha waited. Two waitresses rushed to our table. I thought they were going to fistfight to see who would wait on us—or should I say, wait on Misha. The waitress with the most robust figure won.

“Good afternoon. I’m Tiffany. Would you like to hear the specials?” That’s what she said. Judging by the way Tiffany’s breast casually brushed against Misha’s arm when she handed him a menu, she really meant, “I’m not wearing any panties.”

Misha gestured to me with a subtle wave of his hand. “Perhaps you should start with my lovely companion.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have. Tiffany did a double take and huffed. In her preoccupation with Misha, she’d failed to notice me. I smiled and gave her a pinky wave. “Just a chai tea latte, please.”

Misha kept his eyes on me. “The same for me as well.”

Tiffany returned in record time…and braless.

Hello. I’m still here, Tiff.

Misha smiled at my scowl. “Would you like anything else, my darling?”

“No.”

I’d meant to sound annoyed. I blamed Misha for taking away our anonymity. And yet, as Tiffany flounced away, I found it increasingly difficult to feel anything but curiosity. Misha sported yet another designer suit. This time he’d tied his long blond hair back from his shoulders. He may have dressed for the corporate world, but there was nothing nine-to-five about him. Misha was model perfect. And Misha knew it.

So then what was he doing with me? Hell, I didn’t even wear makeup.

He’d selected a corner booth where the sun peeked through the shades. I couldn’t help but smile. Bram Stoker had it all wrong. Sunlight had no effect on preternatural beings. Only sunshine created through magic could do them harm. Crucifixes didn’t work either: Many vampires were devout Catholics, although they usually snacked on the priest following confession. Vampires did, however, drink human blood. That much was true. Blood preserved their youth, enhanced their beauty, and kept their organs functioning. And while vamps took their fair share, it was less than humans donated to blood banks. Unbeknownst to humans, though, vampires ran most blood drives. Guess that explained all the shortages.