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The daemon glanced at his watch. The day was young, but he already knew why his friend was in Scotland. Matthew Clairmont was falling in love.
He spoke so softly that I had to strain to hear. “Witches and vampires aren’t meant to feel this way. I’m experiencing emotions I’ve never—” He broke off. “I know.” Carefully I leaned my cheek against his hair. It felt as satiny as it looked. “I feel them, too.”
“What is this nonsense about my not being interested in anything but an old manuscript?” I flushed. This was mortifying. “Sarah and Em said you were only spending time with me because you wanted something. I assume it’s Ashmole 782.” “But that’s not true, is it?” he said, running his lips and cheek gently against my hair. My blood started to sing in response. Even I could hear it. He laughed again, this time with satisfaction. “I didn’t think you believed it. I just wanted to be sure.”
