Charlie wasn’t the type of person who allowed herself to get ruffled by things, and especially not handsome, suited men with dark eyes and even darker hair. But the moment she’d set eyes on him it was as though small explosions were happening inside her chest, and her heart raced. The hairs on her arms lifted, and the ghost of a breath swept across the back of her neck. Who was this man? He was tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders that filled out the suit jacket perfectly. She guessed him to be in his early thirties, so a few years older than she was. He clearly wasn’t from around here, and she detected a hint of something Slavic about his accent.

But she was here to do a job, and she couldn’t let a set of pretty dark eyes and a sexy accent distract her.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to stay around. There was a death on the moors last night. I’m here to interview everyone who was in the area to find out if you saw anything suspicious.”

Was it her imagination, or did he suddenly look away? His feet shuffled in the dirt, and she glanced down to see smart brogues caked in mud.

She wondered why he’d get such expensive shoes so messy. “Can I ask when you arrived here, and what your business was?”

“Of course.” He replied smoothly, a little too smoothly. “I was down here chasing after an old girlfriend.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You were chasing an old girlfriend.”

“That’s not as bad as it seems. She was taking a break from London. Her father died, and I wanted to make sure she was all right.”

“And was she?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her.”

“I see. Well, I still have a number of questions for you. Perhaps we could go back inside to answer them?”

The man looked back towards his car. It didn’t take a mind reader to see that he wanted to get away. Why was that?

“Could we do this another time? I still have a long drive ahead of me, and like I said, I have an early meeting.”

“If you’re going back to London, I don’t see when we would be able to do this.”

He glanced away again, and she didn’t miss the tension in his jaw. She didn’t know if his reason for wanting to leave was anything more than what he was telling her.

She nodded down at his shoes. “You go somewhere muddy?”

She almost expected his cheeks to grow pink at her calling him out on his messy shoes, but his complexion remained pale. Unnaturally pale, in fact. Something jarred through her. No, he couldn’t be. They didn’t get any of his kind around here. But then she remembered the thought she’d had about how the death of the sheep had been murder, and it had been a ‘what’ rather than a ‘who’ who’d killed the man.

“How many days did you say you’d been here, sir?”

“Umm, just since last night.”

“And you have proof that you weren’t in the area over the past week.”

“Yes, I believe I can come up with proof of my whereabouts.”

“Even so,” she continued, “I really am going to have to insist we step inside. A man has been killed, Mr ...?”

“Sokolov,” he filled in for her. “Ivan Sokolov.”

“Not from around here?”

“Russia, originally, though I’ve lived here for more years than I can count.”

“I see. Well, I suggest we go back inside, unless you’d prefer to do this down at the station?”

His gaze shifted across her, flickering over her shoulder and back again. Yes, this man was definitely acting guilty. She couldn’t say what of yet, but he was hiding something.

There was no way she could let him leave.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I really am going to have to insist.”

A smile spread across his face, but it wasn’t a smile she trusted ... not yet anyway. It was all too easy to allow a handsome face to cloud a person’s thinking, but she wasn’t that kind of person. She was level-headed, and she wouldn’t allow him to charm her into not treating him how she’d treat any other suspect.

The word surprised her. Suspect? Was that how she was thinking of him? He was a stranger in the right area, at the right time. Was he really capable of ripping out a man’s throat?

That pale skin ... If she touched him, would he be cold?

A shiver ran through her, and she immediately chastised herself for it. She’d never met a vampire in real life before. She knew they existed, of course she did, but Devon wasn’t exactly a typical vampire haunt.

That smooth smile again. “That’s fine. I can always be late.” He gestured towards the hotel’s entrance. “Shall we?”

Taking charge, she nodded and led the way. She and Stephen had been working all day to cover all the homes, bed and breakfasts, and hotels in the area, and she was exhausted, but this had to be done. They didn’t have the budget to cover what the chief was still saying was an animal attack, but her gut told her otherwise. What kind of animal in England was capable of pulling a grown man for a mile, without anyone hearing a thing? Not a single yell of pain or fear. It was as though whatever killed him had moved so quickly, he’d been unable to react or fight back. If it had been a big dog attack, or even a big cat, to support the rumours that one had been dumped on the moorland by a passing fairground, there would have been snarling, and the man would have fought. Even a big cat kill wouldn’t have brought him down so quickly.

She stepped into the hotel. It was warm, comforting, familiar. Low ceilings and wood panelling, and over-patterned carpets that looked as though they’d seen better days. To one side, a cabinet displayed racks of leaflets to all the local attractions. These kinds of places were popular with hikers and families from up country, all wanting to explore the wilderness of the moors. Sadly, people often underestimated the terrain, however, and lives were lost. People fell from the high tors, trying to get a picture of themselves while perched on the rocks, or they got dragged into one of the numerous bogs, or the fog rolled in and they found themselves disorientated and lost. She’d dealt with a number of deaths up here, but never one like this.

A small bar was through a door to the right. “Go and take a seat,” she told the man, Ivan Sokolov. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

She thought he was going to put up more of a fight, but he nodded and left her to go to the bar. Her uniform was already garnering a number of curious glances, and she smiled and nodded at anyone who caught her eye. The woman behind reception also smiled at her as she approached, but there was a nervousness to her eyes, which Charlie was used to seeing. Something about seeing a police officer always put people on edge.

“Officer, how can I help you?” The receptionist kept the smile fixed to her face.

“I’m going to need a list of all the people staying here last night. There’s been a death on the moors, and I need to speak with anyone who might have seen something. I’ll want to speak with you, as well.”

She nodded. “Of course. How dreadful. Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“Thank you. Just the list for the moment.”

“Of course. I’ll have it with you shortly.”

“I’ll just be through there.” Already, the dark-haired man was sitting at the bar, his suit jacket stretched across his shoulders. What was it about him? She was someone who trusted her instincts, and her insides had gone off like fireworks the moment she’d laid eyes on him. Was it just that something about her recognised that he might not be human, or was it something more? And how did she approach the topic of him possibly not being human? What was the etiquette with that? Did she just come out and ask him? Because she couldn’t help feeling like if they had something paranormal in their midst, there was a good chance he was connected with the death on the moors.

She left the reception to join him.

“I took the liberty of ordering you a drink,” he said, motioning to the bar. He stood slightly as she approached and then sat back down when she took her place beside him.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she said. “I’m on duty.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s non-alcoholic.”

“Thank you, Mr Sokolov.”

“It’s Ivan, please.” His head tilted slightly as he regarded her. His eyes were terribly dark, so brown they were verging on black.

She had to know.

Though she knew it was completely unprofessional, she reached out and touched the back of his hand.

The moment she did, she let out a gasp. Not only was his skin ice-cold, but images flooded her head like a flash of numerous photographs through her mind—faces she didn’t recognise, people in old-fashioned dress, a horse and cart struggling through snow-covered grounds. Money exchanging hands, kisses against naked skin, men fighting. And blood, so much blood. It was as though she experienced his entire lifetime in a matter of seconds.

Charlie stumbled off her stool, almost falling. But strong, cool fingers caught her wrist and pulled her up again.

“What ...?” She struggled to find her words. “What are you?”

They’d started to gather attention from people nearby. To the outside world, it must have looked like he’d done something to her, when he hadn’t—at least not physically—so she forced a smile and retook her seat. She stared down at the tips of her fingers. “What the hell just happened?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure you’d believe me even if I told you.”

“Told me what? You’re not human, are you?”

“No, I’m not.” He fixed her with those dark eyes, and her heart raced.

“You’re a vampire.” It wasn’t a question, but he answered it anyway.

“Yes, I am. And I think you’re my Bloodmate.”

“Your what?”

“My Bloodmate. You saw inside me just then, didn’t you? Saw everything I was and everything I’ve ever been since.”

“I ... I ... I don’t know what I saw.”

“We’re connected, you and I. Destined.”

“I don’t believe in people being destined.”

“Not people. But vampires and Bloodmates, yes.”

“That’s crazy. You don’t even know my name.”

A slight smile tweaked his perfect lips. “No, but you’re going to tell me.”

And she found she did. “It’s Charlene. Charlene Ramsden. But everyone calls me Charlie.”

“If you saw inside me, you might be able to tell me what I did.”

His words made her pause. “What do you mean?”

“You’re looking for the person ... or creature ... who killed that man. What if I am that person?”

Confusion flooded though her. “You mean you don’t know?”

“I blacked out. I woke up with blood on my clothes.” His gaze shifted away. “I may be responsible but I can’t remember.” He brought his eyes back to hers. “Something called The Thirst has taken hold of me. I was going to go back to London to contact The Directive and let them deal with me, but now you’re here, and that changes everything.”

“Does it? How?”

“You’re my Bloodmate, and your presence keeps The Thirst at bay. I don’t feel the need to feed and f—” He’d been about to say something else, but cut himself off. “I feel better now I’m around you.”

She shook her head. “This is insane. I should arrest you as a suspect.”

He held both wrists out to her. “Then do it.”

“I don’t have any proof, unless you’re planning on confessing, of course.”

“Can I confess to something I have no memory of?”

“Perhaps not, but there would be evidence of what you did if, in fact, you were responsible.”

He glanced away. “There was blood. Lots of blood.”

“Where is it now?”

“I washed myself, but I still have the shirt.” He paused, and a slight frown crossed his brow. “I mean, I did have the shirt. I dumped it in the maid’s trolley on the way down.”

“We’ll have to go and get it back. The lab will be able to match that blood to the DNA of the man who was killed.”

“And if it wasn’t me who killed him?”

She sat up straighter. “Then you’ll be free to go.”

His eyebrows lifted. “So you’re going to arrest me?”

“I don’t think you’ve left me with any choice.”