Book 1 of the Orbus Arcana series by Viki Lyn and Vina Grey
The front half of a silver sedan decorated his bakery, its nose nudging the counter, glass shards peppering the floor like confetti. Except Vincent Kamateros wasn’t celebrating. Didn’t have much to celebrate, really.
He stepped around the vehicle, and glass crunched under his clogs despite his walking-on-hot-coals strut. The car had nose-dived into his store about an hour ago. His landlord, Mr. Sala, slumped between his seat and air bag. Dead. If it wasn’t so serious, the situation could have been a scene from a cure-for-insomnia B grade movie you watched at three in the morning.
“Sir, the crime scene is off limits.”
He took out his irritation on the unfortunate crime scene tech, pinning the man with his gaze. “The entire bakery cannot be a crime scene, surely?” Fine for them to tape off the scene, but he wasn’t leaving his shop.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll get my supervisor.” The young fellow scampered away.
Ah good, so he could still intimidate with a look. All was perhaps not lost. Except his life as he had known it and his powers. Madre de dios. Enough with this maudlin mood.
Vince pressed his thumbs to his eyes. These humans made him jumpy. Eight weeks without warm, flowing blood had left him as nervous as a caged bird with a cat tapping on the bars.
“Sir, you need to step back.” One of Tempe’s best in a navy uniform held out his hand to stop Vince. The place crawled with them.
He intimidated the human with a forceful glare but a voice from behind distracted him.
“Excuse me, are you the owner?”
The deep tone made him think of fire lit nights and warm sheepskin rugs and bodies twined in lust. Surely, lack of blood would not lead to such a reaction to a male voice. He turned.
Ah, yes. Fire, rug, desire – emotions evoked by a voice and the physical appearance of the man before him. He took in the man from his broad shoulders to his polished loafers. He couldn’t help it. Dark sleek pants hugged muscled thighs. A blue polo shirt outlined shoulders embodying the clichéd mile. That cock-sure stance, feet apart, slightly on his toes. This man would tempt a saint buried twenty-feet under.
He pursed his lips to hold back a smirk as the man stepped away from Vince’s scrutiny. Though Vince had to give him credit for not backing off the stare-down.
“Yes, this is my bakery.” Vince scrutinized the man’s body again. A tingle behind his eyes warned him to curb his lust before his eyes changed color. It had been decades since he’d had such a gut reaction to a man. He blinked and mentally willed away his innate response to such a strong emotion.
“I’m Detective Reeder, this is Detective Norman.” The detective indicated a redheaded woman beside him with a flip of his hand. “We need to ask you some questions.”
He blinked at the ID thrust under his nose – J. Reeder. What did the J stand for?
Something typifying the boy next door with his clean-cut looks – Jake, John, Joe.
“Sure. Er…where do you want me?” His brain couldn’t swing a more polished response.
Say here, right now, on your knees.
He really had to do something about his abstinence. Maybe, in a less blood-deprived state, this unexpected All-American male wouldn’t tempt him.
“Let’s get out of this mess.” Detective Reeder pivoted on one heel and walked away.
Not for a bag of fresh blood could Vince have stopped his eyes from darting down again. The front view had set up the back one perfectly – a begging-to-be-held ass.
The detective glanced over his shoulder. “Unless you want to come back to the station.”
Vince shook his head. This man brought back memories of the thrill of the chase, the enticing two-step when attraction first hit.
“Outside is fine.” His more lustful thoughts came to a halt when he passed the shattered window. The damage to his shop caused a pang in his heart. Who knew when he’d been talked into buying a cupcake bakery he would become so proprietary? Life sure took the strangest twists and turns.
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