Actually the IT team was one man, and he was currently in the States setting up operations because the Order didn’t have an official US headquarters yet. He and King hoped to open the New York base within a few years.
In the database, Rook located the Other section, which detailed all breeds not vampire. It was more a way to keep tabs on who was living where and associating with whom than a complete archive of every breed that trod mortal ground. Their files on faeries were sparse. Those creatures lived in an entirely different realm, yet the knights had occasion to deal with the sidhe who lived in FaeryTown. Mortal vampire sympathizers also were kept under close watch.
Under Witches, the database didn’t list any more on Verity beyond her name, believed to be Veritas Von Velde. Or so he assumed she was the only witch named Verity who lived in Paris. Records guessed at her age as more than two centuries. Because she was associated with the Demon Arts Troupe, a known address was listed for her. A recent move within the past few months?
He made a note of her address and headed out. Half an hour later he stood in front of a pretty little walk-up townhome with a vast and lush herb garden out front, enclosed by a wrought-iron fence painted deep purple.
He clanked the greenman brass door knocker and after five tries decided she was either not home or not answering a hunter’s raps. He didn’t sense anyone inside; it wasn’t a magical skill, he just felt as if the place was empty. So he scribbled a note and tucked it under the mat.
He’d wanted to see that she had survived the attack last night with little wear and tear and check that she had found a spell to counteract the bite. The last thing he needed on his watch was a witch turning vampire. The double-whammy of magical skills and the hunger for blood tended to make such a creature deadly and place them on top of the Order’s Most Wanted list.
* * *
The field trip to search for the necklace resulted in disappointment. But stocking the pantry had been successful with a quick stroll down the Rue Cler.
“Wanted to know that you are okay,” Verity read from the note she’d found fluttering up from under the doormat. “Need to talk to you. Please meet me at the coffee shop on Quai d’Orsay at eight p.m. Rook.”
She fanned the note over her lips as she strode inside and set the reusable grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Drawing the multicolored silk Hermes scarf away from her neck, she touched the bite wounds. She’d applied her great-grandmother’s ointment on the punctures, and the swelling had calmed nicely.
After putting away the groceries, she cut a head-sized watermelon into chunks, which she transferred into a glass container. She ate a few pieces, then picked up the note again and marveled over the precise, squared letters that reminded her of an architect’s writing style.
It was already evening. Dare she meet the man? She had an idea what he wanted to talk about. Couldn’t tell him she’d lost the thing, could she? No, she had to be certain of his identity before she started worrying about that.
And she did want to learn more about the man who had saved her. Sort of saved her. It would have been a hell of a lot better had he staked all the vamps before the bald one had bitten her. And she was just snarky enough to let him have it for that omission.
But should she meet a strange man out of the blue? Especially a hunter?
Though her mother had been dead for more than a century, her warning words still resounded clearly in Verity’s memory. Amandine Von Velde had been betrayed by a hunter—a betrayal that had taken her life.
Sighing, Verity popped another watermelon cube in her mouth. Yet grandmother Freesia’s entreaty to find the one man she could trust dallied with the learned maternal diatribe. Verity had lived alone for more than one hundred and sixty years. She’d had many lovers and a few boyfriends, but never had she allowed herself to completely let down her guard. To trust. Even her male friends she kept at a comfortable distance. A witch had to be cautious.
She wanted that trust. That moment of releasing her breath and just accepting. And she wanted love. What woman did not? Yet would she recognize it when finally it entered her life?
“I hope so. I don’t want to die alone. Companionship sounds…lovely.”
Yes, she would go see the hunter named Rook. Because she wanted to look at him in the light and see if he had been as handsome as she’d remembered while in her fearful, panicked state. And if he embraced her again, maybe gave her a welcome hug, then her night would be complete.
Because his hug had made her feel safe. And that feeling was all too uncommon of late.
* * *
Rook paused mid-sip of his espresso. The witch striding across the street toward his table positioned out front of the café was the sexiest thing on two legs.
Shod in shiny black patent leather high heels, her long legs stroked the air sensuously. Those sexy gams were sheathed in sheer black thigh-high stockings that stopped about four inches below her skirt, and those four inches of skin made his mouth water.
He finished the sip and winced at its heat. Or was that the heat suddenly moving over his perpetually cool skin?
A miniskirt flirted with black ruffles at the hem, and above that, a plain white T-shirt emphasized her pert nipples as the swing of her long, curly, purple hair brushed over them. An unbuttoned gray sweater slouched off one of her shoulders and hung longer than the skirt length, giving her a tousled bedroom look. As if she’d just been given a sound tumbling between the sheets.
Fuck, she was gorgeous.
The dark eggplant hair was curious but not shocking, the color of a lush bloom one would nuzzle to their nose to smell the fragrant perfume. Something he wanted to push his fingers through and clutch to his face while he was giving her the tumble her sensual allure demanded.
And with that thought, Rook straightened and set down his coffee before he spilled it on his lap and singed the erection that had suddenly tightened his pants.
He stood and offered his hand, which she shook before sitting down in an elegant glide and crossing her legs beside the chair instead of under the table, giving him a great view of her gorgeous gams.
“Purple, eh?” he asked stupidly.
She swung thick ringlets over a shoulder. “It’s natural.” With a gesture to the waiter, she confidently summoned him.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Rook offered, inwardly admonishing himself for his sudden timidity. He didn’t do insecurity. He’d overcome that weakness, at the least, three centuries ago. “I’m glad you did.”
“I had to come. I wanted to thank you in a more coherent manner than I must have done last night.” She patted his hand before releasing it. “You’re cold. It is a bit chilly this evening, isn’t it?”
“It’s the way I am. I’ve always been cooler than most. But I warm quickly when…” He stopped himself from saying stroked properly.
Just met the chick, Rook. Dial your lust down a notch.
This one he did not want to scare off. She could help in his investigation.
The waiter stopped by, saving him from having to finish the sentence. Verity ordered mint tea and two vanilla macarons.
“So, thank you,” she said when the waiter walked away. “Did you stake the vampire who bit me?”
“I, uh…” He didn’t want to answer that question but had known it was coming. “He got away. I’m sorry. By the time I left you, the longtooth had given me the slip. I searched the Order database but couldn’t find him. I didn’t get a good look at his face. All I know is that he’s bald.”
She nodded and looked aside, tugging down her skirt in a nervous gesture. On her fingers glittered copper rings clasping amethysts. Witches were into gemstones and precious metals. He’d once known the meanings of the stones and how they could be utilized in magic. That had been so long ago.
“It’s