Willow is a town 6,000 strong—at least that’s what the town’s welcome sign says.

Most consider it a summer destination because of the great big lake between two minor rivers just right along the edge of town that attract tourists during the warmer seasons from all over the prairies.

It’s called Moon Cross Lake and across it, just right along the public beach, is the row of inns, restaurants and bars. Behind it is Kingston Avenue which is parallel to the main downtown area full of tiny shops and stores selling food, supplies, financial and travel services, gifts and souvenirs and all sorts of little businesses that strive on tourist dollar. 

Parallel to that is Carter Avenue where alongside of it stand what’s left of the commercial establishments and the local government offices like the town hall, registry, post office and the police station.

Right behind it is Sigler Avenue and after that would be blocks and blocks of houses for the residents of Willow. On a map, it looked like a multi-layered cake with a lake on top of it.

I used the cake analogy because I own a bakeshop just at the corner of Carter Avenue and Howard Street called Belle’s, well, Bakeshop.

My mother started it after she and my Dad moved to Willow about thirty-five years ago when the flour mill opened on the industrial section of the town just south of Keeping River where the lake trickled to.

My father was the head engineer and manned the operation for a over a decade. My mother had a business degree and a sweet tooth, thus the bakeshop.

My name is Olivia Vance. Ollie for short. 

My twin brother Jesse and I were born and raised in Willow. 

Dad died of a cardiac arrest when we were fifteen and Mom followed a couple of years after that. To be perfectly honest, Jesse and I were convinced she had died along with Dad and her body just took longer to deteriorate. They had been best friends more than they had been husband and wife. They went out on romantic walks after they put us to bed in the evening and we always walked in on them smiling or laughing and holding hands and they did not feel a bit embarrassed about it. We had not once heard them fight or talk to each other nastily. 

Orphaned at eighteen, Jesse decided to head out to California on a football scholarship with UCLA. My brother is an ambitious person and I grew up to him always talking about what was out there, beyond the rolling farmlands that surrounded Willow. He wanted me to go with him but unlike Jesse, my heart was in Willow, in the bakeshop, in our beautiful, two-story country house along the lake that Dad built for Mom two years after they settled in town.

He left and I started running the bakeshop while taking business courses and some culinary training in the community college two towns away on Wednesdays and Saturdays.

Almost ten years later, the bakeshop still remains as a local and tourist favorite now offering brunch and lunch menus, I still live in the our country house, and Willow, now without the flour mill which closed two years after my father’s death, is still surviving mainly on tourism revenue. 

Life in the town was as it has always been until early spring when we heard some unexpected news.

“We sure have some challenging times ahead,” Kirk O’Riley was saying to Wilma and Martin Kellerman who were having brunch with him by the corner window of the bakeshop.

I put down a plate of fresh blueberry pancakes and pork sausages in front of Kirk, a plate of sliced bagel and cream cheese for Wilma and a red-potato-and-bacon skillet for Martin who looked like he’d been having too many of these skillets based on the heaping of belly over his waistline.

“What’s the dim forecast for, Kirk?” I asked as I started refilling all their coffee mugs. 

“The Ruddard Mansion has been sold,” Wilma answered instead, handing me this week’s edition of the Willow Examiner. “Whoever bought it is turning it into a luxury bed and breakfast.”

“No way. They took it off the market two years ago,” I said as I unfolded the paper and scanned the front page.

“They probably put it back on just so whoever was interested could buy it. It’s going to hurt us, alright,” Kirk said with a sigh. He owned a small inn along the beach.

I stared at a picture of the Ruddard Mansion which was owned by Albert Ruddard, once the richest man in Willow after he arrived in town and opened the mill. The mill started having problems after a slew of engineers tried picking up where my father left off and it didn’t take very long before it completely fell into a financial grave. Albert’s wife left and the house was ordered to be foreclosed by the bank. He was found one day hanging from a rope looped around an iron baluster of the staircase railing.

The bank tried to sell it since but no one in town had enough money to afford it and businesses and out-of-towners who did were scared off by its history of suicide. One would think profit weighed more heavily over superstition but no one’s taken real interest in it for about five years so they took it off the market and left it there.

“Are they going to restore it to its original design?” I asked, quelling the hope in my voice to not upset Kirk. I’ve been to the mansion many times growing up, accompanying my parents to some of the elaborate lunches and extravagant dinner parties the Ruddards threw. 

It was a beautiful house with plenty of large, airy rooms, a gleaming white wrap-around porch on the second level plus some smaller private balconies on the third and fourth floors that overlooked the lake, a large stone patio and pool and an immaculate lawn that led down to its own private beach.

“They’ll start working on it next week,” Martin said after swallowing a mouthful of his breakfast. “Neil’s been commissioned to supply all the materials and Joe’s signed up all the contractors he could find in town. Whoever bought it is pouring a lot of money into this ghost house.”

I gave them the paper back. “There’s no ghost in there, Martin. I don’t think old Albert Ruddard’s going to want to hang around and remember all that he’s lost.”

“Real ghost or not, it was handy for keeping buyers away,” Kirk said with a shake of his head. “That property is a goldmine if they can get it up to standards. It’s in a large, private piece of land with a patch of forest between it and the golf course and it has its own beach and dock. Tourists are going to love it. A little ghost story won’t hurt it either.”

I smiled and hugged the empty round tray I brought their food in with. “You should’ve plucked the fruit from the tree while it was ripe.”

Kirk’s expression soured. “Yeah but the bank wanted the price of a castle for it. As it stagnated in the market, I thought I’d wait a couple years more until they get really desperate but then someone came along and bought it without much fuss as if a few million dollars was just loose change.”

“Do you know who bought it?” I asked curiously.

They all shook their heads.

“Some hotshot businessman from Las Vegas,” Kirk said bitterly. “Why in the world would some casino mogul take interest in Willow?”

I patted his shoulder. “Hey, Mayor Hanker’s worked really hard on that ad slogan: Willow—small town charm, big city fun! Remember?”

Wilma rolled her eyes. “I still think that sounds juvenile. My sister in North Dakota’s heard our radio ad and made fun of it.”

I clapped Kirk’s slumped back enthusiastically to get him out of his defeated mood. “Don’t worry about it too much, Kirk. They said it’ll be luxury bed and breakfast so it would have a limited market. Most of our regular tourists here would still prefer the public beach and more affordable lodging. It’s the same way I get some people coming in here for my garlic shrimp scampi because they didn’t want to drop eighty dollars in Clyde’s seafood restaurant.”

That all got them grinning a little.

Clyde came back to Willow one day claiming to have a culinary degree and a Michelin star and opened the most exorbitantly-priced restaurant in the county.

By the time we closed the bakeshop at five in the afternoon, as we always do on Sundays, everyone who had come in and eaten was talking about the Mansion’s restoration.

The buzz started to fade towards the end of spring as the unknown identity of the new owner became an accepted mystery and the restoration surged on without delay.

“Hey, Ollie!” Mary Anne’s voice came from the little office just off the bakeshop’s kitchen where we do some of the books and paperwork for the business. It only had room for a tiny desk, a chair, a filing cabinet and a wall-mounted shelf.

I tapped Patrick on the shoulder to let him know he was on his own at the counter before I walked to the office where Mary Anne was scribbling hastily on a notepad.

Both Mary Anne McCarthy and Patrick Clearwater were already working with my mother in the bakeshop a few years before her death. Mary Anne was pregnant when she came to Willow one day after her boyfriend Victor got a part-time job at the mill. Six months after she gave birth to her son Kyle, Victor packed up and left and Mary Anne stayed and started working for my mother.

Patrick stopped by Willow one day after moving through towns and cities doing odd jobs here and there. He had no money when he came into the bakeshop and my mother sat him down, gave him a free meal and a job. He hasn’t left since.

The three of us managed the bakeshop and the small staff of ten.

I did a lot of the creative jobs like coming up with new recipes and menu ideas. Mary Anne managed the money and paperwork and Patrick headed the kitchen and operation.

“What is it?” I asked as I hovered by the doorway.

She tore the sheet off the pad and handed it to me. “Joe just called and ordered a late lunch for the six men working at the mansion. He said to just write up a bill and send it to him. He asked if we could deliver it.”

I scanned the list detailing the types of sandwiches and pastry they wanted. “I’ll take my truck. Are you and Pat going to be alright in here?”

Mary Anne nodded, her short blond hair bobbing around her. “It’s Saturday so it’ll be slow anyway. You can head home right after and we’ll close up. Come on, I’ll help you.”

Ten minutes later, I loaded the padded cooler bag in the backseat of my old, mint-green Ford pick up truck and started for the mansion.

I was looking forward to seeing it.

It’s been years since I’d been last in it.

I took Howard Street all the way up to public dock where the turn off to the rural road was. The gravel road led up to the bridge across Keeping River where the old mill stood right along just a few miles further. The rest of the drive was nice and quiet between the vast, unused farmland that was part of the massive Ruddard property. The mansion itself was tucked privately in a pocket of the lake called Moon Thief Bay.

As I neared the rusty, wrought-iron gates, I looked up at my reflection on the rearview mirror to make sure I looked presentable. My waist-length hair was in a loose braid over one shoulder. I wore a chambray shirt over a white tank top, a faded pair of snug jeans and my trusty pair of lemon yellow, canvas slip-on shoes. That should do. 

The gates were open and I drove through the familiar asphalt driveway that curved around a grove of poplar trees. As I passed it, the mansion started coming into view, the new pale blue siding and freshly painted white trim gleaming under the late afternoon sun.

I parked my truck next to what I recognized was Joe’s Chevy truck and grabbed the cooler bag.

I could hear a saw running and some conversation going on just right behind the curved stairway from the second-story porch that led down to the pool and stone patio.

“Hey, Ollie!” Greg Wells, one of Willow’s contractors, saw me and waved.

“Hey, everyone,” I greeted back with a smile as I came upon their group which from the looks of it, seemed to be building a pergola on a grassy patch just off the patio. “I brought food, as promised.”

Joe came out through a door that I remembered led to the dining room and flashed me a grin as he joined his crew in unloading their lunches from the bag.

“How’s the work going here?” I asked him, standing back to survey the facade of the mansion. “It looks about done.”

“Almost,” Joe said as he unwrapped his sandwich. “We’re just doing some finishing work inside now and bits of the outdoor structure. We’re right on time for our deadline.”

“When is it going to officially open?” 

He shrugged. “In a couple weeks’ time. We’ve only been talking to the owner’s lawyer who had been facilitating all the paperwork for this project. I know they’re keeping the name because Ed’s building a sign for them to put up outside the gates as soon as they’re done refinishing it but we haven’t heard of any other details.”

I bit my lip. “Makes you very curious who’s taking on something this big around here after a long time. I hope he’s not some nutcase.”

Joe laughed. “That’ll be my guess. They spared no expense restoring this place and the only other people who’ve been here other than my crew and the furniture delivery guys is the lawyer and some dwarfy lady who seemed to be the interior designer. No sign of the staff or management or anything like that.”

I crossed my arms and looked around the grounds I only remembered from my childhood memories. “I heard he’s some big casino mogul from Las Vegas. He must think this place is highly profitable if he’s taking the risks here.”

“Or maybe he’s just crazy rich and likes million-dollar fixer-uppers,” Joe said with another hearty laugh.

“Do you think I can wander around inside and just have a look?” I asked him with a sweet smile. “I haven’t been in here since Carol Ruddard’s children’s charity gala over ten years ago.”

Joe nodded and clapped me on the back. “Go right ahead, Ollie. See how good a job we did. You’ll like it, for sure.”

“I will, thanks!” I told him happily before I skipped my way towards the main entrance which was revealed through massive, twelve-foot-high, white French doors with glass panels.

Right off the grand entrance was a circular, two-story foyer with a magnificent crystal chandelier hanging just between the two curved staircases coming off of each side of the loft area right above the archway that led into what used to be the formal sitting room.

There were no furniture set up yet but the two story sitting room, which was the central location of parties and gatherings, kept its high ceilings, an entire wall of windows and a French door that led to the back porch, and the loft from the second level that wrapped around the rest of the big, airy room.

To the right, I remembered, was the study, a cozier living room with a fireplace and sunken den where Albert and his friends, including my father, would gather behind closed doors.

To the left was the lavish dining room that now showcased several chandeliers instead of the extravagant brass one it used to have right in the center which suggests they’re going to have several smaller dining tables here instead of one and behind the swinging double doors was the large kitchen that  was now furnished with industrial-grade appliances and amenities. 

I spent the next several minutes upstairs where about twelve bedrooms were located. The master bedroom was on a smaller level right above it with its own sitting room and balcony.

Much to my relief, the house still very much looked like it did about ten years ago except for the lack of furnishings and unfinished paint. But the most important thing I was yet to confirm whether it stayed the same or not was the secret basement my father had designed for Albert Ruddard. 

I stepped into the study which had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in dark wood and found the entrance to the secret basement: a floor-to-ceiling, oak-framed mirror. I remembered the tiny latch just right behind the two-inch wide frame on the right side of it and heard the click as I pulled it up.

The mirror moved outwards, light from a wall sconce that automatically turned on filling the dark crevice behind it.

It didn’t look like any of the contractors found this secret access.

I knew about it because I found the blue print of it among my Dad’s files in the office when I was younger and asked him about it. He told me not to tell anyone else but the secret basement was where Albert could hide his collection of antique guns and other precious items.

Most of the house had been stripped of furnishings after it was foreclosed but I was curious whether or not they ever found the treasures hidden under it.

I stepped into the landing and followed the narrow spiral staircase that led deeper under the mansion. All the wall sconces that lined the hall had turned on automatically.

I’ve never been down here before but I knew that there were about three or four rooms in the basement and that the gun collection was at the end of the hall. I passed all the closed doors and reached the room at the end of the hall, taking a deep breath before twisting the knob open.

I stepped into the room and my jaw dropped open.

There were about a couple dozen glass display cases in there, each containing an assortment of vintage guns. Some were hung on the wood-paneled wall. My cheeks started to hurt from smiling. To my right was a door and curious to see what else was stored down here, I pushed it open and saw very tall bookshelves that were lined neatly with old books. I strolled through the aisles and just behind the last one, what I saw made me stop dead in my tracks.

Unable to breathe, I looked down at two, identical black coffins with what looked like a gothic, iron door knockers on each of them.

Why would coffins have door knockers?

Gasping at the first idea that cropped up in my head, I stepped back, almost knocking over two wine glasses sitting on top of a side table behind me. 

They had a red stain at the bottom. They weren’t dusty either. In fact, nothing in this basement seemed dusty.

I swallowed hard and backed up further, my hand jerking at the touch of cold steel. I looked behind me and found a door, and without thinking, I quickly grasped the knob and shut the door behind me.

When I turned around, it was another dim hall and not the same one I came in through earlier.

Dammit. Why didn’t I just retrace my way out? This place was starting to creep me out worse than the old ghost story. I didn’t think old Albert Ruddard was into collecting coffins.

I was going to bolt out through the door again when I spied some faint natural light coming from the end of the hall. I didn’t recall any windows down here from my Dad’s blue prints. They couldn’t put in any because the basement was supposed to be a secret.

I hurried through it and saw a small, rectangular window that was too high for me to peer out of. It was also too small for me to squeeze through and it didn’t look like it had any lever for opening it. Sunlight was just reflecting against it that I couldn’t see anything meaningful. 

I looked down at my feet and saw some light gray dust on the floor right under the window. I bent down and tested it in my hands. Concrete. Someone had just recently installed this window.

Some muffled noise caught my ear and I looked around. There was a room at the end of the hall past the window. In fact, it sounded like some type of conversation.

I sighed in relief. Perhaps there were some contractors who were working down here and that the basement may have in fact have been long discovered. Maybe they could point me to the exit out of this goddamned maze.

I rushed to the door and pushed it open, the scream dying in my throat.

“Yes, yes, yes. Harder!”

A female, based on the long dark hair cascading down her bare back, was crying out in pleasure as she kneeled on a large, king-sized bed, her hands clutching the disheveled sheets while a very tall male, based on the broad, muscled back and the short blond hair, was pumping into her from behind in powerful, controlled strokes, his full buttocks flexing with each motion.

“Oh, my God,” I finally uttered, my hand flying to my mouth.

They both whipped around with alarming swiftness and before I could get a look at their faces, the girl leapt from the bed and seemed to fly towards me, her arms stretched forward as if to grab me.

She started shrieking in an almost inhuman voice and her eyes were an ugly, burning orange color but before I could react, the male reached out, grabbed her by the waist and hurled her sideways until she landed flat against the concrete wall by the bed’s headboard.

I screamed at the horrible angle of her body but before I could do anything else, the male grabbed me by the shoulders. In a matter of seconds, we were in a large and luxurious bathroom, the door shut close behind us and his hand clicking the lock in place.

“You... Y-You threw her against the wall!” was the first full sentence I could form as I looked up to him despite his overwhelming height. He must have been about six feet and four or five inches. At five feet, six inches, I felt like an elf next to him.

He didn’t say anything as he stared down at me with piercing blue eyes and I held his gaze and realized he wasn’t blinking.

I looked down and realized I was staring past his ripped stomach and narrow hips. His still very erect and very, um, sizable, member, was on display.

I cursed under my breath and shut my eyes only to be startled by fists pummeling the door from behind it. I’ve seen naked men in pictures and movies but never in the flesh and never this close.

“Tristan! Let me in!” the girl was screaming. “Let me have her. She’s a human girl. You won’t miss her!”

My eyes widened and my throat tightened as I looked back up at the guy named Tristan whose beautifully full mouth was now turned up on one corner in an amused smile. The cleft on his chin showed more prominently and I had the strangest urge to run my fingers along it.

“She finds human girls very tasty” he said in a deep, husky voice hinting at some sinister humor. “But don’t worry. Until I figure out who you are and what in hell you are doing down here, she can’t have you for supper. Yet.”

My heart raced at his meaning but I pushed my spine up and straight. I have no idea what I just walked into but the last thing I needed to be was a bag of unsettled nerves.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” I demanded of him instead, making sure my eyes didn’t stray anywhere near his naked and gloriously hot body. “This place has been purchased and there are contractors working on it. If you’re squatting here—”

“Squatting?” he repeated in an dry tone. “Little girl, I bought this place. You’re the trespasser.”

I frowned. “B-but Joe said they haven’t had anyone else come in—”

Powerful fists pounded on the door again and I just heard him sigh. 

“Back off, Liria!” he suddenly snapped in a booming voice that made me jump and everything else in the bathroom quiver. 

The pounding stopped and then the female spoke in a sultry tone. “Tristan, baby, come back. We’re nowhere near done yet.”

At the mention of that, my cheeks burned, remembering the scene I walked into and how in those brief seconds, I vividly memorized the anatomy of this giant of a man still standing naked in front of me.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asked and I saw him smiling as if he was enjoying showing off himself to further aggravate my embarrassment. “I don’t mind having a pretty girl like you look. You can touch too but I’ll have to reciprocate.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, grabbing a folded towel from a pile stacked on large reed basket by the jacuzzi and throwing it at him which he caught easily. “Cover yourself up, for heaven’s sake.”

He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked up to me until he was only a few inches away.

“Tristan, I’m still horny!” Liria was yelling from behind the door again. “Come out here and fuck me or I’m going to eat the brains of that little human girl.”

“What kind of monster are you and your girlfriend?” I asked in repulsion, backing away from him and finally realizing just what kind of danger I was in.

All humor disappeared from his mesmerizing face. “The kind you shouldn’t know about, little girl, which brings me to my dilemma.”

Before he could say anything else, we heard some scuffling from the bedroom again and Tristan looked up.

“Cage, send Liria home, please,” he spoke to whoever seemed to have just entered the bedroom. “I have a situation I need to deal with.”

“What’s going on in here?” a male, grumpy-sounding voice asked. “Liria’s salivating like a dog and the basement door was open when Stigger and I came in.”

“We have a guest,” Tristan answered. “Let me know once Liria’s gone.”

Nothing else was said between the two men and we listened to some more scuffling and protests.

My hands were clasped together so tightly my knuckles were almost white. I couldn’t think of any survivable way to escape.

“Are you scared?” he asked as if reading my mind.

I looked up. 

His smile was back on now and if not for the hedonistic scene and violence I saw earlier, I would think I was face to face with an angel from the light blond hair that strayed a bit around his forehead, the piercing blue eyes, the aquiline nose and the almost delicate bone structure. 

But his smile was seductive and sinister at the same time and his body was like temptation materialized so there was no way I was talking to some divine creature.

In fact, he gave me every gut feeling that he was the exact opposite of what he looked like.

“Let me go,” I told him. “The workers are upstairs and they know I’m here. They’re going to look for me and find you and you’ll be in some real trouble, Mister Tristan.”

“It’s Tristan Black,” he introduced, extending a hand. “What’s your name?”

I don’t know why I answered but I did. “Ollie.”

He took my hand and shook it and didn’t let it go. His touch was warm and firm and I couldn’t find any muscular strength in my arm to pull my hand away.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ollie, however unusual the experience had been,” he said with that roguish smile again. “I’m usually a little better dressed when first introduced to a lady. I work my way to less or no clothes from that point.”

I glared at him and finally pulled my hand away. “You can’t possibly be the owner of this place. You and your girlfriend... There’s something not right about you two.”

He shrugged, not taking offense. “There is something different about us, yes, but not necessarily wrong. How could it be wrong when it’s so advantageous? And I’m most definitely the new owner of Ruddard Mansion. I paid quite a price for it. We’ve been here about a week now but we came at night so no one would’ve noticed. It’s one of the reasons I like this place so much. Anything can be going on in here and no one will know.”

I was reading between the lines but I needed him to keep talking so he stayed distracted while I figured a way out.

“If your earlier activity is a sign of things to come, please don’t tell me you’re turning the Mansion into a whore house.”

He looked at me and laughed dryly. “Oh, no. Liria is merely an acquaintance passing by. We were just—catching up.”

“Why did she have orange eyes and sound as if she meant what she said about eating my brains?” I asked without batting an eye. 

His expression grew a bit serious as he leveled me a gaze. “Because she did. Liria is a Catheer demon and they especially like human brains. She can be a little crazy sometimes but don’t worry, her bark is worse than her bite.”

If he meant to repulse me, the turning of my gut surely indicated he succeeded. “You’re telling me she’s a demon. What are those two coffins in one of the rooms for?”

His eyes lit up in surprise. “Oh, you saw those? Good thing you didn’t walk in when they were awake or you’d be a pint of blood lighter by now.”

I sucked in my breath but ordered myself to stay calm. This guy obviously has something loose in his brain. “Are you referring to vampires? You’re telling me that demons and vampires are real? How about the boogey-man that crawls out from under kids’ beds. Is that true too?”

His expression sharpened as if he was now annoyed.

In what I swear was a blink of an eye, he moved from across the bathroom to right in front of me.

“You obviously know very little for your own good,” he hissed, his face leaning down towards me, forcing me to look into his eyes that...suddenly flashed an amber color. What?

“Enough with the games now, Ollie,” he said, his tone impatient as he held me by my elbow. “Tell me what you’re doing here? Did someone send you? Tell me.”

“Ow, stop shaking me!” I cried out and he loosened his grip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about but I came here to bring lunch to the contractors who called in their order at the bakeshop. I just wanted to look inside the Mansion and see if it’s still how I remembered it to be a long time ago.”

His eyes narrowed as if he was considering it but didn’t quite become convinced. “How did you know about this basement? How did you find your way down here?”

“My Dad designed it for Albert Ruddard. He told me about it and I’ve seen the blue prints as a child. That’s why I’m quite attached to it,” I answered because I was too honest a person I couldn’t even keep details that might prove helpful later on to myself.

He finally let me go. “Your father was Michael Vance?”

I looked at him warily. “Yes. How do you know him?”

“I’ve done a little bit of research on the town before I decided to invest here,” he answered, leisurely pacing around the bathroom. “He was the mill’s operations engineer. After he died, the business kind of fell apart, didn’t it? Do you think Ruddard blamed him for that? Or the town’s people who lost hundreds of jobs?”

I tried not to physically flinch at the sting of his questions. They were just questions but they were ones I tried not to think about.

“My Dad couldn’t exactly help what happened to him,” I answered acidly. “He died of a cardiac arrest. He wasn’t planning on it.”

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes imperceptible, before nodding. “Of course not.”

We were silent for a few seconds before he said, “So it’s Ollie. I’m assuming it’s short for Olivia? Olivia Vance.”

I nodded, mildly surprised that he guessed my name right.

He stared at me hard for a long moment and looked like he was going to say something more when someone knocked on the door. 

“Liria’s gone. She wasn’t too happy about being kicked out but she’s out of your hair now,” Cage, or at least the same guy Tristan called by that name earlier, said, not sounding amused.

Tristan glanced at me, his eyes intent as they bore into mine for what seemed like eternity. Then he suddenly backed off with an angry snarl.

“Let’s go,” Tristan said, taking me by the wrist and throwing the bathroom door open.

A large, very muscular man was standing there in a shirt and jeans, his hair dark and his face scruffy.

He frowned at the sight of me.

“Who is this?” he asked, glancing at Tristan who grabbed a black silk robe from a chair next to the bed. “What’s this human doing here?”

“That’s what I intend to find out,” was Tristan’s simple answer before taking my hand again and leading me down an office with a big wooden desk. He deposited me on an armchair across it.

“Don’t try to run, Ollie. It would not be wise for you,” he said before walking behind the desk and slipping into the leather chair. He glanced up at Cage who followed us inside. “Can you tell Arabella to come down here when she rises? Well, after she’s done with the workers.”

I watched Cage leave and shut the door behind him. I turned to Tristan. “What do you mean after she’s done with the workers? Who’s Arabella?”

He clasped his hands together and rested his face on them. “Relax. She’ll simply let the workers forget things what they may have seen and didn’t need to know about while working here today. It works better than any confidentiality agreement. Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt.”

I bit my bottom lip, fully understanding his implied suggestion that I would be going through it as well.

“What do you want from me? I already told you how I ended up here.”

He smiled a little. “I don’t know yet what I’m going to do with you, Ollie. I’m quite intrigued why I can’t decide for sure.”

He was toying with me, dammit.

“Would you like to negotiate your freedom by providing what you so inconveniently interrupted earlier? I might consider it.”

Was he suggesting I sleep with him so he let me go? 

Blood rushed to my cheeks in utter embarrassment at remembering just how perfect he looked without any clothes on earlier but I quickly chased the thoughts away.

“Go to hell, Tristan.”

He laughed. “Been there and won’t be coming back. It’s a nasty place, I tell you.”

“I could scream,” I threatened. “I could scream really loudly and they would hear me and come down here.”

He didn’t seem affected. “Then I would have to kill them all.”

I glared at him. “Some people know I was headed out here today and they’re going to look for me. You’re going to attract some attention.”

He looked bored. “Then I would kill them as well.”

“Stop it, okay?” I snapped, angry. A surge of energy flowed through me but I didn’t move from the chair. “Stop trying to spook me by threatening to kill everyone.”

He looked startled and I felt some inward relief that he might start taking me seriously now.

“Who are you really, Ollie Vance?” he asked, his eyes narrowed at me as if seeing  me for the first time.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m the girl who’s going to kick your butt if you don’t let me go soon. Have you heard of kidnapping? They may let you off the hook for being clinically insane but you’re still going to be locked up.”

“If you never get to leave here, no one would know,” he answered coldly and I felt the tears rising in my chest.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

This can’t be seriously happening to me right now.

I opened my eyes and as he glanced away and stared into space for a second, I jumped to my feet and ran for the door but he was blocking it before I could even take a couple of steps further.

“What the—”

My voice trailed off as I realized he got from behind the desk to the door in a mere few seconds and every bit of my brain told me that what I saw was not possible in reality. Unless...

“You still doubt what I told you,” he said through gritted teeth as he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me against him, his body pressed against mine and his face coming down so close to my own.

The amber glow returned in his blue eyes and they stayed there.

My own eyes widened in incredulity. “Your eyes... H-how did you get to the door so fast? What... No, you couldn’t have possibly been telling the truth!”

He smiled slowly and his gaze moved down to my lips. “Believe it, sweetheart. For your own sake, believe it.”

A rap on the door came and we both straightened.

Cage came in first, still looking at me darkly, and behind him was another guy, lankier and shorter with dark olive skin and black hair that was pulled into a low ponytail and he was wearing army-looking pants and a white wife-beater shirt. He had intricate tattoos wrapped around both arms.

In contrast to Cage, this other guy smiled at me and said, “Hey! I’m Stigger!”

I waited as the guys moved aside and in came a very tall woman with an almost jet black hair stylishly cut into a bob with blunt bangs that hovered right above a wide set of almost indigo-colored eyes. Her skin was porcelain white and she was clad in a slinky, floor-length royal blue dress with a black shawl around her broad shoulders.

She looked me up and down with a condescending glare. 

“This human is too skinny for me and Arabella to enjoy,” she finally said in a thick Russian accent.  “She’s here to feed us, I assume.”

I opened my mouth to protest but from behind the tall Russian lady stepped out a small girl, maybe about thirteen or fourteen years old, with a small frame and a pasty white complexion almost the same shade as the Russian girl. She was wearing a cotton dress with a light floral print and ballet flats, her hair long and curly and a lovely shade of chestnut. 

I wondered briefly what a young girl like her was doing in their company until she grinned with an almost devilish expression.

“I’m Arabella. This is Irina. What’s your name?” the girl asked in a soft, high-pitched voice typical of teenage girls except for her distinct British accent.

“Ollie,” I answered slowly, glancing at Tristan who was looking at Arabella.

“What is she in trouble for?” Arabella asked earnestly as if Tristan was about to tell her what Santa got her for Christmas.

“Trespassing,” Tristan answered, pushing me back down to the chair I abandoned earlier. “She got a little curious and wandered down here. We just need to make sure she remembers nothing of this, Arabella.”

Arabella walked in front of me, her gray eyes shining with something that disturbed me quite a bit.

“Before we do that, can I have a bite?” she asked Tristan and startled me when she put a very cold and heavy hand on my shoulder. “I haven’t had anything since I rose. Fresh human blood tastes so much better and she looks positively yummy.”

She smiled at me and suddenly, two sharp incisors slid down past the top row of her perfect teeth.

A tiny shriek escaped my mouth and Tristan put a hand on Arabella’s shoulder.  “No, Ara. Just let her forget so we can get back to our tasks.”

The girl looked disappointed but she sighed and put both of her very cold hands around my head, her palms pressing against my temple.

“Tristan, what is she doing?” I demanded in fear but for some reason I was unable to move away from the chair.

“Relax, Ollie,” Tristan said calmly. “This will be over before you know it.”

Then, Arabella started chanting in an unrecognizable language and I waited for something to happen—something painful, something explosive or unexpected at the very least.

But nothing did.

Arabella stepped back, frowning deeply.

“Is it done?” Cage asked.

Arabella shook her head. “It’s not working.”

“What do you mean it’s not working?” Cage asked again, his voice getting its edge back. “It always works.”

The Russian girl made tsk-tsk sounds. “Maybe you should try again. Maybe it wasn’t right—”

“I know my spells and I know it’s not working, Irina,” Arabella interrupted in annoyance, sounding way beyond her teenage years. “For some reason she’s immune to it.”

“So what do we do?” Stigger asked, looking around the room uncertainly.

Cage stepped forward. “We have to kill her. It’s the only way to ensure she doesn’t go talking about us.”

My heart lurched. Tristan threatening me was one thing. Cage looked like he couldn’t wait to wrap his hands around my neck and squeeze.

I shut my eyes close, wiling myself to wake up if this was just a really, really bad dream.

I’ve done that before where the nightmare felt so real I really thought I was going to die and then I suddenly woke up. Please let this be one of those.

“No.”

Guess not.

I opened my eyes and looked up at the faces who I suspect are all NOT humans. 

Tristan was studying me.

“We have to cut her loose, Tristan,” Cage pressed on but all he got was a glare.

“You won’t talk about what you learned from here today, will you, Ollie?” Tristan asked with a smile.

I stared him. What was I supposed to say?

Say you won’t so you can walk away, a voice that sounded very much like Tristan said in my head.

Wait, in my head? I was staring at his face and he didn’t make a sound. 

Say it!

“I’ll keep my mouth shut,” I finally said, eyeing him meaningfully. “You better not be here to hurt anyone though or I’m going to come back for you.”

Everyone else except Tristan looked sincerely surprised and then looked at each other.

“She’s funny,” Arabella said sweetly. “Could we keep her, Tristan? Please?”

Tristan didn’t look at the girl.

He offered a hand to me. “Come on, Ollie. Let’s see you to the door, shall we?”

I took his hand and followed him to the door with everyone watching us.

“You’re making a very big mistake, Tristan,” Cage called out but Tristan simply shut the door behind him.

“He surely doesn’t like me,” I commented quietly as I followed him through the narrow halls which he almost filled completely with his staggering height. “Are you all vampires? How come your hands are warm?”

Suddenly, I was backed up against a wall with Tristan leaning down towards me, his hands braced against the wall on each side of me. 

“I liberally told you things I shouldn’t have because I thought we could simply erase those memories,” he said in a low voice, his breath warm against my lips. He definitely didn’t seem like a vampire if what I know of vampires was true. “And apparently we can’t so we’ll have to work out an arrangement here, Ollie, one that will heavily dictate whether you live or die. Do we have an understanding?”

I looked at him and although his eyes have returned to their deep blue shade, the warning in them was still strong and clear. 

I nodded. “Yes. We have an understanding.”

He looked at me for a few more seconds before stepping away. “Good.” 

He led me back up to the study and escorted me to my car.

It was now dark and all of the contractors have left, only remembering what memories Arabella wished them to retain.

“Take good care of yourself, Ollie,” he said as he stood there and watched me turn on my truck. “Don’t go wandering off on your own.”

I didn’t say anything else but just pulled out of the driveway as fast as I could.

The road was familiar but in the blanket of night and with all the new knowledge I just gained from my little adventure, it felt terrifying. 

Tears filled my eyes but I angrily brushed them away.

I now really wished Arabella had been able to erase tonight’s memories. I think I would rather not know that what I believed to be just myths and urban legends were in fact as real as I saw them to be with my own two eyes.

I would keep my word to Tristan because I believed they would be capable of the harm they threatened me with.

So much for an angel. 

Sure, he saved my life but now it’s his to claim if I don’t keep their little secret.

After tonight, I knew the town of Willow will never be the same again.