Hot Vampire Next Door: Season One (Midnight Harbor Book 1)

I yelp and lurch back like the scared human I am.

Bran is leaning against one of the porch columns, arms crossed over his chest.

“What the hell!” I yell and clutch at my chest. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“You’re not having a heart attack.”

“How would you know?”

“I can hear your heart. It’s fine. Now what do you want?”

After I catch my breath, I level my shoulders and say, “Don’t pretend like you weren’t just listening to my phone conversation.”

“Contrary to what you might think, little mouse, my world does not revolve around you.”

I huff. “Okay. Well…you must know why your brother would agree to bid on me, and I’d like to know what you know.”

“I must, mustn’t I?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t be all vampire-y. Just tell me.”

He pushes away from the porch column. I step back.

At his front door, hand on the doorknob, he says, “Come inside, and I’ll tell you.”

Oh, he was definitely listening to my phone conversation.

“I’m not doing that,” I answer.

“Why, little mouse?” His voice lowers an octave, and his eyes flare briefly. “Are you afraid?”

“I’m not a mouse,” I say through clenched teeth. “And no, I’m not afraid.”

He pushes the door in and disappears into the shadows. “Then what are you waiting for?”

The door hangs open. I peer inside, trying to gauge the level of shit I’d be stepping into if I walked over the threshold.

I was right, his house does seem to be a mirror of ours. I can just make out the outline of a sectional couch in the living room and a coffee table in front of it. There’s a table in the dining room and beyond that, the kitchen. There’s still only the one light on in the dining room.

Now that I’m standing at his front door, I’m starting to doubt my actual reasons for being here. I think it might have less to do with my upcoming birthday and Duval House and more to do with my fascination with Bran.

But I’m never going to tell him that.

Or anyone.

I step inside.

The door shuts behind me, and I find Bran standing behind it, his eyes glowing in the darkness.

“You’re a liar,” he says.

“No, I’m not. About what?”

“About being afraid.”

Goosebumps lift on my arms. The hair rises on the back of my neck. All of my mom’s old warnings run through my head. And some of Sam’s too.

Don’t go inside, she said.

So what do I do?

I’ve always been a glutton for punishment. And the truth is, I really wanted to see inside the house of the infamous Bran Duval. It doesn’t look like a murder den, so that’s definitely good.

There are framed black and white pictures on the angled wall beneath the staircase. The images are grainy like they were taken with a very old camera. Beneath the framed art is a skinny hall table with a stack of history books on top.

Despite the murky lighting, I can tell the house is extremely clean and clutter-free.

I immediately like it.

Kelly has always been a hard worker, but when it comes to our house, she’s thrown all effort out the window. I know she’s busy and tries to provide for us, but sometimes the clutter drives me bananas.

“So little mouse,” Bran says as he walks around me to the kitchen, “what is it you want to know?” He flicks on a hanging light over the kitchen island. There are no dishes on his counter, no stacked coffee cups in the sink. There’s a top-of-the-line espresso maker on the counter, but it looks untouched. Which is in stark contrast to the many liquor decanters on the old cabinet between the kitchen and dining room.

Some of the decanters are half empty, some full.

“You said my sister encouraged the Duval bid. How do you know?”

He goes to the cabinet and pulls out the cut crystal top from one of the decanters. The cork makes a loud fwop.

Bran fills a tumbler and takes a long swig. “She met my brother two nights ago,” he says. “You want a drink?”

“Sure. You got any whiskey?”

Bran fills a second glass. I take it when he offers it and swallow back a gulp. When the alcohol burns down my throat and settles some of my nerves, I feel infinitely better.

“Your sister met with Damien,” Bran goes on, “and told him that if he bid for you next week, she’d give him something he’s been wanting for a very long time.”

“And what’s that?”

“I don’t know.” He slings back the rest of his liquor and sets the glass down.

“You don’t have any idea at all?”

Bran just stares at me, face blank.

I narrow my eyes. “You do know.”

“I have my suspicions.”

“So tell me.”

“That’s not my business to tell, little mouse.”

“Stop calling me that.”

He smirks.

I knock back the rest of my drink too and put the glass in the sink. I might like his exceptionally clean house, but dirtying it up gives me a smug thrill.

“Thanks for nothing then,” I say.

“You could just turn it down,” he says.

I stop just out of the reach of the kitchen light, but with his vampire sight, I know he can probably see every hair on my head. “I’m leaving Midnight Harbor the first chance I get, so I’m not accepting any bid.”

This is the first time I’ve admitted this to anyone, and it shocks me that it’s Bran I’m telling.

I’ve made comments in passing to Sam, that someday I might want to move away, but I’ve never outright told her I’m doing it and probably soon.

She’ll be crushed, but I have to do what’s right for me, and I don’t fit in Midnight Harbor. I’ve always felt that way.

Bran comes forward. He’s still wearing the black t-shirt I stabbed him in, so there’s a fresh hole in the chest. I’m proud of that hole. “Fleeing the nest, are you?”

I nod. “Just think, you won’t have to listen to my whining and complaining anymore.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Well okay then.” I start for the door, silently cursing myself for listening to Sam. I didn’t exactly get anywhere with Bran.

Just as I reach out for the doorknob, Bran appears in front of me. All of the amusement is gone from his face. He’s serious and distant again. I’m not sure which Bran I like more. Or hate less.

“Ask your sister about the day you were born,” he says. “That might be a good place to start.” Then he opens the door and shoves me out. I stumble into the twilight and then hurry down the steps.

As I cross back into my yard, Bran calls out, “Hey little mouse?”

I stop and look back.

He’s leaning against the open door as he says, “You don’t want to know what I’d do to poor innocent virgins like you.”

My mouth drops open. “How dare you—”

He slams the door shut, leaving me standing there between our houses, fuming and suddenly throbbing between my legs.

Because the truth is, I do want to know.