Kristina Riley-Silivasi pulled her sleek pink Corvette into the pebbled gravel driveway of Nachari’s brownstone, grateful that there wasn’t any snow on the roads and she was able to take her baby for a spin. She had cut out of work early that morning and was eager to get to the mall.

She needed a pair of azure-blue ankle boots, with a three-inch heel to be exact.

Nothing else would do.

Her favorite form-fitting pencil skirt had hung in the closet for two long months, a cross between steel-blue and gray, and she was eager to dust it off and take it for a spin—only, it was winter; the hemline fell above the knee; and none of her current pumps worked with the uniquely colored fabric. Since Braden Bratianu had proven himself to be a tireless warrior in the mall—good-natured, endlessly patient, and willing to cart her packages—she was hoping he would tag along.

She bit her bottom lip and sighed as she climbed out of the driver’s seat and gently shut the door behind her: It was February 14^th, the human holiday, Valentine’s Day, not something the house of Jadon celebrated, but it could still pose a problem. Braden was always looking for any excuse to plant a kiss on her cheek—or gods forbid, her lips—to wrap his arms around her.

Those strong, muscular arms that were beginning to look like a Viking’s…

She quickly repressed the thought. Although he would turn seventeen on May 10^th, Braden was only sixteen years old. Jail bait. At least outside the house of Jadon. And Kristina? Well, she would be turning thirty in June—thirty. That practically made her a cougar.

Yet and still, due to the wisdom—or wicked sense of humor—of Napolean Mondragon, the Vampyr king, she and Braden were betrothed. She laughed at the stupid, antiquated word: betrothed. They were informally engaged, required to one day be mated, destined to one day knock boots.

She shoved her hand over her mouth and giggled.

What a wicked thought!

But she just couldn’t help it…

The average bear might not understand, but vampires matured much faster than humans. Even if Braden was occasionally plagued with immature antics, his nosferatu genes were definitely showing: His voice was masculine satin; his chest and his biceps were…titanium; and he was developing that telltale swagger that only a vampire had, a sexy allure that practically dripped from his pores.

Kristina had no idea when it had happened, but gods help her, if he continued to “mature” at this rate, she was going to end up as putty in his persistent, strong, rugged hands. One sidelong glance from those burnt-sienna eyes, and she just might melt into a puddle.

She cringed at the thought.

Good Lord! She was four months away from being a cougar!

Gross.

Thank goodness she would no longer age like a human. She would forever appear twenty-eight, the age she had been when Marquis had converted her.

She sidled up to the door of the brownstone and leaned against the frame, rapping on the panel three times—Braden would recognize her knock. About thirty seconds passed before the door swung open, and the kid flashed her a wicked-devious smile.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Red,” he drawled, looking as mischievous as a Cheshire cat.

Kristina rolled her eyes and raised her finger, placing it between their mouths before he could swoop in for a kiss. “Don’t,” she warned him. “Just don’t.”

He responded with gentle laughter, and the sound was like music. And then he held up both hands in defeat. “So you didn’t come by to declare your endless love—what’s up then, baby?”

“Kristina,” she corrected. “What’s up then, Kristina.”

“What’s up then, Red?”

She smiled. She was warming up to the term. “I need a pair of azure-blue ankle boots, and I saw the perfect suede ensemble at the Silverton Creek Mall a few weeks back.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyeing her Corvette. “Feel up to a little shopping?”

He fell into an easy stance. “What about your sapphire platforms?”

She turned up her lip in disgust. “Trust me, they clash.”

“Your cobalt-blue spikes, the ones with the ankle straps?”

“Oh…no…they’re even worse. Besides, it’s winter. My feet will get wet.”

Braden appeared to think it over. “So, just go with the knee-high, ultra-marine leathers then.” He held up both hands in question, as if to say: no duh!

This time, Kristina huffed and placed her hands on her hips, causing a lock of her loosely coiled S-curls to fall into her eyes.

Braden didn’t miss a beat. He reached out instinctively and tucked it behind her ear, the backs of his fingers brushing her slender shoulder. “What are they for—the shoes?” he asked innocently, obviously needing more information.

She flicked her wrist toward her feet in mock demonstration. “My form-fitting pencil skirt, the blue and gray.”

Braden’s eyes narrowed in concentration, then he nodded. “Oh…yeah…you’re right. None of your shoes will work, unless you go with black.”

Kristina glared at him then, utterly appalled.

He placed the palm of his hand against his left temple, shut his eyes for the merest of seconds, then flashed her a welcoming smile. “Got it. Just let me grab my coat.”

She chuckled beneath her breath. Braden was definitely developing his own sense of style—as vampires could maintain their body temperature at will, he didn’t really need a jacket. Nonetheless, he liked to look stylish, and he was getting pretty good at it…a whole lot better than he used to be. “No problem,” she said, twirling her keys while she waited.

In less than a minute, he was heading out the door in a worn leather bomber-jacket that matched the shade of his jeans. “Damn,” Kristina whispered beneath her breath. That jacket definitely…worked.

As they started toward her car, he furrowed his brows and shook his head, losing some of the natural rhythm in his developing, easy gait.

Kristina eyed him sideways. “You okay, Bray?”

He shrugged his shoulders and held out his palm. “You gonna let me drive?”

Kristina appraised her pink coach lovingly and gave him an evil smirk. “Hell no! Never…ever…ever. Not unless we’re taking your Mustang.” She waited for his reply.

He walked to the passenger door, shuttle-stepped sideways, then braced one hand on the panel. “That’s cool. You can drive.”

Kristina rounded the car in an instant, leaned against the door, and placed both hands firmly on Braden’s chest—there was nothing flirtatious about it. “Okay, that’s the third time. Braden, what is wrong?” Vampires did not get sick, and he was acting like something was hurting.

He tried to conceal his frown—or was that a grimace? “Psychic headache,” he teased in a lackadaisical tone.

“Yeah, because our kind really gets headaches,” she snipped. She pushed him aside, opened the door, and gestured toward the seat. The moment he folded into the leather, she squatted down in front of him. “You getting that house of Jadon thing?” she asked, lowering her voice. No need to aggravate the headache.

He nodded.

Kristina bit her lip. “In your head, or your gut, or both?”

Braden’s eyelids drooped like they were heavy. “It’s all in my head.”

Kristina nodded.

Ever since the king had been attacked by a dark lord in the form of a nasty possession-worm, Braden Bratianu had been linked to the heart of the house of Jadon—he had been linked to the venerable king. While he occasionally had premonitions, he more often had…sensations: bits and pieces of feelings and thoughts, some sort of supernatural knowing, the ability to pick up on random impressions that were floating through the ether. If it affected the house of Jadon, Braden was open game. He could feel it, taste it, smell it, or just sense it—and it often manifested in his body. When the king had been hurt, Braden had puked out his guts, and over time, he had come to distinguish the sons of Jadon from their powerful, ancient king by where he felt the sensations.

If this one was in his head, then he was picking something up from another male, someone other than Napolean.

Kristina rested her palms on his knees and softened her voice to just above a whisper. “Okay, so…any dreams? Any visions? Anything concrete?”

“Nope,” he muttered. “Just a headache, and it’s not really even that. Just like a pulse in my temple that makes me a little dizzy.”

Kristina studied him with concern. “So, breathe through it then. Let the impression come in fully so it can pass.”

Braden’s eyes met hers before he closed them.

“Breathe in through your nose,” she guided. “Now out through your mouth.” She watched as his chest began to rise and fall with deep, diaphragm breathing. “Good…keep going…now what do you sense?”

He shook his head softly. “Nothing, really.”

She tried to be more specific. “Do you smell anything?”

“No.”

“Taste anything?”

“Nope.”

“Keep breathing,” she instructed, waiting through several more breaths. “What about physical imprints—can you touch, feel, grab hold of anything?”

He shook his head again.

“Okay, what about your hearing? What do you—”

“A two-toned rose,” he muttered quietly.

Kristina frowned. “Come again?”

“A rose. Two tones. Black and red.”

Kristina’s eyes grew wide, but she didn’t let her anticipation affect her voice. “Are you seeing it, or feeling it?”

“Nah,” Braden said, “just…just picking it up…it’s just like…it’s there.”

“Okay,” Kristina responded. “Anything else…about the rose?”

Braden grew pensive: quiet and serene. “The red, it’s more like crimson…for passion. And the black, it’s death and foreboding.” He jolted backward. “The black is swallowing the red.”

Kristina didn’t flinch.

She waited for the knowing to pass…until Braden reopened his eyes. “Feel better?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “That was eerie.”

“No shit,” she agreed, flashing him a cautious smile. “What do you think it was about?”

Braden stared off into the distance, then slowly shrugged his shoulders. “No idea, Kristina.”

“Should we tell someone?” she asked. “Maybe Marquis or Julien…Nachari, at the least?”

Braden shook his head. “If I reached out to one of my brothers”—he was referring to the entire house of Jadon—“every time I felt a twinge, saw an image, or had an impression…that’s pretty much all I’d do. It’s obviously something meaningful, but there wasn’t enough information. I think we should just monitor it—see if it grows or changes, if more information pops up. I think we should wait.”

Kristina nodded, not missing his reference to we—to the two of them, monitoring the situation together.

“It may just be jitters or some other dumb shit,” he added, apparently wanting to appease her. “You know: my parents’ upcoming visit.”

Kristina nodded more forcefully then. Yeah, she definitely knew that was a sore spot, and whatever Julien Lacusta had said or done to Dario and Lily Bratianu, the couple was headed to Dark Moon Vale on Saturday to see about their son, to finally make an effort and visit.

It was about damn time.

She let the silence linger as Braden seemed to come back to himself, to shake off whatever had been plaguing him. “You okay to shop?” she finally asked.

Before she could catch it or stop him, he reached out with one hand, lifted her jaw, and placed a soft, tender kiss directly on her lips. “Yeah. And thank you, Red.” He whispered the words against her mouth before slowly pulling away.

Kristina froze. “Braden…”

He waited for her reprimand.

“You’re still too young. I’m still too old.”

He chortled good-humoredly, deep in his throat, and murmured, “Young. Old. You’re mine, Kristina. And in case you didn’t notice, you’re also shivering.”

She glanced down at her hands and flushed.

Well, shit.

Time to head for the mall.