A Werewolf’s Guide to Seducing a Vampire (Glimmer Falls, #3)

by Sarah Hawley

Gigi was an extrovert who loved parties and public speaking, while Ben preferred time alone with his plants, books, and knitting.

That was an “absolutely not,” and what was so wrong with sweater vests? They were sophisticated yet cozy, wrapping around his torso like a hug.

“Right. Sometimes I forget humans are determined to suck the money and joy out of everything.”

“I’m thirty-eight and single and haven’t dated in nearly a decade. My business takes up all my time, and I like to knit, and I’m not even a properly rowdy werewolf, and who could ever love someone who feels this anxious most of the time? I should like all the howling and biting things, but I just feel out of control, and no one else likes sweater vests even though they’re wrong about that, and what if nothing about me is attractive and I die alone in a ditch?”

“Hobbies don’t have genders,” Themmie said. “And you don’t have to be some stereotypical macho woodsman to be attractive. Also, you’re not going to die in a ditch, knitting isn’t boring, and sweater vests…uh, I’m sure they have many merits.”

Putain de bordel de merde.

If Ben was going to end up rolling around in mud, persecuting the local wildlife, and shamelessly scratching his balls, he would rather do so far away from witnesses.

Caitlin

“Tell her you’ll be happy to meet but will be bringing security,” Eleonore ordered. She handed the phone off to Ben without waiting for a response. “I’ll go sharpen my knives.”

“How very Jane Austen of you,” Gigi said.

“I refuse to discuss tentacle porn with you.”

“It’s a lovely day,” she said. Her fingers quivered, and her leg kept jogging so fast it was almost vibrating. “So much sun! Maybe we can install a training dummy in the yard today. Or maybe we should hunt down Cynthia Cunnington and break her arms?” She giggled. “So many possibilities! I’m already having a great time.”

Coffee tasted bad and felt good, and right now Eleonore felt like she could single-handedly fight an entire army so long as her heart didn’t explode first.

I love coffee!” she pronounced.

I can’t tell if it’s a good sign that I don’t even question half the things you do anymore.”

“You liked me sucking your blood. Can I suck your penis, too?”

The vulgar words fell from his tongue hesitantly, which made them seem even naughtier. She was absolutely going to suck his penis, and she was going to make him put on a sweater vest before doing it.

It was hard to stay irritated when Ben was so big and handsome and grilling sandwiches, so Eleonore forced herself to look away from him so she could properly intimidate the investigator.

“Christ,” the investigator muttered. “I hate having immortals as clients. Everything’s always so vague and weird and threatening.”

“Tricky wolf,” she said with no true ire. “You know I can’t be angry when faced with grilled cheese.”

And really, every good couple should have a soft one and a stabby one.”

She was tempted to shriek in frustration, but she reminded herself Ben was a product of this soft, gentle time where species mingled freely and the police would arrest someone for even being an accomplice to murder. He had hot running water and a microwave and a television, and he’d never needed to solve a problem by rearranging someone’s insides.

“I would say I’m sorry,” Ben said as he buckled his seat belt, “but I really don’t give a fuck, Lilith.”

“I’m amazed she didn’t chop your dick off,” Lilith said bluntly. “If that had been my vengeance you’d ruined, bits of you would be scattered across three counties.”

“Lili,” Kai said from the passenger seat, “remember that thing we talked about? It starts with an e.” Her forehead furrowed. “Erotic asphyxiation?” “Jesus Christ,” Avram said. Kai looked over his shoulder. “Empathy, Lili. Empathy.”

“Carry on with the rally,” she shouted, waving a hand. “The mayor is in the dumpster.” “Wait, literally?” Gigi asked.

It didn’t matter how much an abuser said they loved someone—or even if they truly believed they loved that person. An abuser would always consider themselves the hero or heroine of their own story. But their love was a broken facsimile of the real thing, not worth having, and it wasn’t worth wasting time feeling sympathy for someone like that.