“Oh, hell no.” My declaration sounded a little too loud as I realized the vampire sitting in Mr. Whitehaven’s office was our new client. I crossed my arms and looked at my boss.
Dermot Whitehaven was an eight feet tall puzzle of genetics, with long white hair, pale skin, and reddish brown eyes. I had no clue what he was, but had seen him fight demons, as well as pick up both Nick and an elf by the scruff of their necks and shake them. I’d also seen his eyes glow a couple of times and knew he was older than I liked to think about. “I don’t work for vampires.”
Lord Derrick, the vampire in question, chuckled while straightening the lace spilling from the cuff of his antique-looking, black velvet jacket. His light brown hair fell in loose curls to his shoulders. He looked as though he should be gracing the cover of a gothic romance. “You’re still holding a grudge.”
We’d crossed paths a few months prior, when I’d been looking for an alleged teen runaway. The vampire had also been searching for the girl, and just as allegedly wanted to hire me to find her, but apparently didn’t know how to use a damn phone to make an appointment. “Your goons trashed my car.”
“I’m paying for the repairs,” he reminded me.
“You cracked my freaking skull.” It had taken me twenty-four hours, with magical assistance from my witch buddies, to heal from him backhanding me into a stone wall.
Derrick inclined his head. “I’m sorry I injured you. That wasn’t my intention. You do have a reputation for being a little…hot-headed.”
Meaning I didn’t hold back from using my pyrokinetic ability to set vampires on fire when the occasion called for it. I’d met Logan the same night Derrick and I had our run in. “You and your goons beat up my friend.”
The vampire sighed. “But we didn’t kill him.”
I scowled and returned to glaring at my boss. “I don’t work for vampires.”