After spending the day in a nearby motel waiting for night to fall, I pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot in Durango, Colorado, exactly two weeks later. As Ms. Luiza had promised, I couldn’t have missed the shuttle bus parked in back that I was supposed to meet. A huge wrap around the entire vehicle advertised the beauty and fun to be had in Havenwood Falls, my soon-to-be hometown. Several people were boarding the bus. I parked my car nearby and glanced at the clock. 7:14. I had just enough time to pee and grab something to eat before we hit the road again.

“Holy fuck, it’s freezing!” I yelped when I opened my car door. I grabbed the thick, white coat from the passenger seat and wrapped myself up before climbing out.

“Michaela Petran?” a deep and raspy voice said from behind me, and I turned to face an old man with gray, shaggy hair and a long beard to match, wearing a thick flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. I had to bite back a smirk, thinking of Sindi’s lumberjack dreams.

“Um . . . Kaela Peters,” I corrected as I pulled on my coat. How was he not freezing?

His gray, furry brows pinched together before laughter twinkled in his blue eyes. “Of course! Silly me! Gettin’ forgetful in my old age. Anyway, good on you for meetin’ us here. The drive from here on in can get confusin’ and treacherous. You sure you want to drive it?”

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine,” I promised. It wasn’t like I really had a choice. I needed my car.

He eyed said car. “In that thing?” He chuckled. “Good thing the roads are clear right now. But winter ain’t over yet up in the mountains. You better be gettin’ a four-wheel-drive A-S-A-P.”

“Um . . . thanks for the advice,” I said. I supposed most of my savings would be going to a new vehicle soon. “I’ll be fine for now, right?”

“For now,” he said with a nod. “Alrighty then, Ms. Petra—I mean, Ms. Peters. I’m waitin’ on a few more arrivals, but we leave in ten minutes with or without them and with or without you.”

“Understood.” I gave him a smile, then hurried inside to take care of my personal business, worried about being left behind.

For some odd reason, I couldn’t find Havenwood Falls anywhere on any map, not even Google’s. I had coordinates, but Ms. Luiza warned me that GPS often led people down the wrong roads, taking them hours out of their way. After being on the road for three nights, I really didn’t want to add hours if I didn’t have to, especially if it risked me being outside at sunrise. So I made sure to be back in my car and ready to go by the time the bus, decorated with ski slopes and restaurant facades, pulled out. To my surprise, I wasn’t the only car following. A five-vehicle caravan made its way up and around the mountains.

The roads were steep, twisty, and pitch black except where the beams of our headlights bounced off rock walls on one side and plunging cliffs on the other, with plenty of thick-trunked trees that would split a car in two with one wrong turn. My old Ford Fiesta fell behind at one point, and I rounded a bend and almost slammed into a herd of elk starting to cross the road. I swore they stood at least three feet taller than my car because all I saw at first were legs.

Once I saw the sign welcoming me to Havenwood Falls, I could finally loosen my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, damned glad I was part of the caravan, because Ms. Luiza and the old man were right—I’d have never found this place on my own, especially in the dark.

A spotlight lit up the welcome sign, made of layered stone with beautifully made black metal lettering. At once, it was both charming and sinister, as I imagined living in a small mountain town surrounded by the wild would be. My stomach began to flutter with butterflies as the giddiness of my new adventure overcame me for the hundredth time in the last two weeks. Yet, at the same time, a feeling of comfort slid over my shoulders and down my back, like a warm blanket, a comforting hug, a lovingly whispered welcome home.

We drove on several miles past the welcome sign, curved another bend, climbed a little higher, and even before I saw them, I knew there’d be lights as soon as we crested the ridge ahead. And there were. A smattering of lights lit up the town below with silhouettes of the looming mountains inky black against the night sky, their white caps appearing to glow. Even in the dark, I felt their intimidating yet wondrous presence. Realization that I’d never see them in the daylight hit me like a punch in the gut. Maybe once I hung my blackout curtains and took certain precautions, I could take a quick peek.

We passed Creekwood, a housing development on the left, then the road forked, but I already knew to stay to the right. And not just because Ms. Luiza had given me directions to the inn from here. I could somehow see in my mind’s eye each landmark even before I came to it: Havenstone, a townhouse and villa development built in a wooden ski-lodge style, on the right; the high school’s two-story brick building on the left; a shopping center and an apartment complex (Havenwood Village, I somehow knew) on the right; and then I’d reach the town square. Staying on the same road along the south side of the square, I passed by a two-story row of darkened shops and what I assumed to be apartments above them, considering the lights glowing in a couple windows. Then finally I came to the large Victorian manor that was the inn, sitting at an angle on the corner so it faced the square, a dim light glowing through the glass door. But the inn wasn’t exactly as the pictures had promised and what I’d envisioned. Even in the dark, it looked as though it had seen better days—more than a few years ago.

A little old woman wearing an old-fashioned dressing gown stood in the driveway flapping her arms, waving me down although I was already turning toward her. She motioned me along as she scrambled as fast as her little legs could carry her down the drive toward the back of the inn. She could move surprisingly fast considering her age and plump stature. She waved me into a parking space next to the last of five cottages lining the back of the property. Exactly like I’d seen in my mind a few weeks ago.

The woman clapped her hands together under her chin, and a big smile filled her sweet face when I climbed out of the car, making her gray eyes twinkle. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here!”

Her arms opened, and she took a step toward me as though she wanted to hug me, but stopped herself. “I’m sorry! It’s just so exciting to have you finally back. I mean, finally here. Back here, in your cottage, yes, that’s what I mean. This is your place, dear.” She bustled up the steps of the front porch, stood by the front door, and gestured at it. “I’ll let you do the honors.”

She moved to the side and waited for me to ascend the porch and enter.

“You must be Ms. Luiza,” I said as I mounted the steps and held my gloved hand out to her. Damn was I thankful I let Sindi talk me into buying a bunch of winter clothes before I left, all on end-of-the-season sale in Atlanta.

“Madame Luiza, dear. The M has always been for Madame. I’m too old to be a Ms.” She patted her gray mop of hair and again motioned at the knob while completely ignoring my outstretched hand. “You should have everything you need for now, and I’ll help you get situated for good over the next few days before your first day at work.”

I gave her a wary smile before opening the door and crossing the threshold into a small living room that couldn’t have been more perfectly decorated for me if I’d done it myself. The cozy room’s walls were painted a light neutral color with white trim and was furnished with a plump-cushioned taupe couch and a dark brown chaise lounge set between a large bookcase and a fireplace. Blankets and quilts draped over the sofa and chaise, and flames licked the logs inside the hearth.

“Thought you might like a warm fire to greet you. It’s a bit colder here than Georgia, I imagine,” Madame Luiza said from behind me.

I snickered. “Just a bit. I’m surprised I can’t see my breath.”

“Well, that’s silly. It’s forty-one degrees out. That’s a heat wave for this time of year.” She emphasized her statement by fanning her face with her hand and letting out a chortle. “That’s supposed to change by the end of the week, and we’ll be back to cold for a bit longer. But don’t you worry. You’ll get used to it one of these days.” She babbled on as I moved farther into the cottage, glancing around at what I could see through the doorways—a kitchen and a small hallway that led to a bedroom and bathroom. “In a year or two from now, you’ll be hitting the swimming hole in June with the rest of the young’uns. I’d go, but ain’t nobody want to see this old lady in a bathing suit!”

She chortled again, the sound warming my heart. Rather than annoying me, as it normally would have done, her babbling came as a comfort.

“Well, I’ll let you get on then. Sun’ll be up in no time, which means our guests will be, too. You get some rest, and I’ll see you soon enough.”

I stood in the doorway to the kitchen and turned toward her. “It probably won’t be until later tomorrow, probably in the evening. I’ve been driving for days and . . .”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, I know, honey. No worries. We’ll get that all taken care of tomorrow night. Get your tattoo and everything. Or I could probably get Adelaide to come here, make it easier—”

I cut her off. “Um . . . tattoo?”

Her eyes widened as she clapped her hands over her mouth. “Did I say that out loud? I’m sorry. I’m trying so hard not to throw everything on you at once. Go on now. There are refreshments in the refrigerator. Bedroom is that way, and blackout curtains throughout. Sleep well!”

She gestured toward the back of the cottage, then hurried out the front door before I could say another word. I followed her, but she was already completely out of sight when I stepped onto the porch.

“What in the hell?” I muttered out loud as I went back out to my car to grab the necessities. I’d unpack the rest tomorrow night.

After dropping my suitcase in my room and kicking my shoes off to replace them with socks and slippers, I padded into the kitchen for something to drink. And nearly squealed when I opened the refrigerator door and saw the bottle on the top shelf.

“Yes! Wine!” The next best thing to blood, but without knowing my way around yet and with sunrise less than two hours away, I wasn’t about to go out and hunt tonight. I found a set of wine glasses in the cabinet and a bottle opener in the drawer. This place really was stocked perfectly for me. And when I opened the bottle and took a whiff, I realized just how perfectly.

Too perfectly.

My hands began to shake.

“Blood.”

How the hell did they know?

I paced the lovely cottage for hours, unable to settle down and sleep even when the sun rose, which was only barely noticeable behind the total black-out curtains on every window, keeping the interior dark and comfortable. My gut instinct swung erratically between being completely freaked out that my new employers were apparently aware of my state of unusual existence and feeling completely comforted and welcomed by their considerate gestures. I obviously knew other vampires existed in this world because, well, Sindi, and the small handful of others she’d introduced me to. And not to mention whoever had turned me—we’d never figured that out. Whoever they were was a total dick, leaving me to turn and adapt all on my own. It could have been a bloody disaster with a high body count if not for Sindi. We’d heard rumors of other types of supernatural beings as well, although nobody we knew had ever actually met any others. But what were the chances that the owners of Whisper Falls Inn not only understood that vampires existed, but knew that I was one?

Probably the same chances that every hotel night manager job on the internet was at the same place. And the same chances that you’d seen in your mind the very grounds you drove up to tonight, the very cottage you’re in now. The same chances that you feel like you’ve been here before when you’ve never even stepped foot in the state of Colorado.

So maybe the owners were also vampires, and they’d heard of me through the vampy grapevine. That was plausible, I supposed. But the rest didn’t add up. This place wasn’t right. Or maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I had gone insane after all.

I stood at the front window, next to the front door, aching to go outside and prove to myself that I did not know that there was a coffee shop three doors down to the west and another on the far side of the square, right across from the chamber of commerce. That there was no way I knew that four blocks to the east of town square and two blocks north, at the end of a cul-de-sac, sat a large log cabin with a green tin roof and a stream running along the back of the property. These kinds of details weren’t on the Havenwood Falls website I’d skimmed through after taking the job. So there was no way I knew these things. I had to be wrong.

My legs carried me across the living room, into the kitchen, and back again, trying to expel the nervous energy that had been coursing through my veins since I discovered bottled blood in my fridge. I cursed my vampirism for holding me hostage in here—but, in truth, my avoidance of severe pain was my true captor. I wouldn’t die if I went outside. At least, not immediately. But it would sure hurt like hell and leave me all blistery and fucked-up for days. However, I could look out the window, at least for a few moments, with no painful repercussions.

I hurried to the bedroom and fished in my suitcase for the sunglasses I held onto for those times when I just needed a peek to remember what the world was like in the light of day. I’d almost trashed the shaded specs while packing, because I’d learned long ago to stop indulging in those little glimpses. They only depressed me. It was better to try to forget life as a normal person and embrace my new existence as a creature of the night. Now I was glad I’d thrown them into the suitcase at the last minute.

After pulling on a hoodie and gloves to cover as much skin as possible, I put on the shades and pushed the front curtain back a few inches. My heart pulsed with longing at the bright world out there . . . except I couldn’t really see much. The roof over the front porch blocked out almost everything. I could see my car and the white trunks of aspen trees on the other side of it, an expanse of brown lawn that stretched out from the cottages to the wrap-around porch of the extremely large Victorian-era main building of the inn, and a portion of said porch with its peeling paint that might have been white at one time. Flower beds surrounded the porch, but only a few scraggly vines stuck out of them. I tilted my head and adjusted my angle to catch a glimpse of a brick building across the street, but that was about it.

Fuck.

I was about to let go of the curtain when a blue, late model pickup truck parked about halfway up the drive that led back to the cottages. A moment later, a man walked across the lawn toward the main house, a tool belt hanging low on his hips over his perfectly fitting jeans cladding his perfectly sculpted ass. My breath became lodged in my throat as I drank him in. Tall, broad-shouldered, arms thick with muscles that strained the sleeves of his green Henley. He wore a knit cap, sunglasses, and a closely trimmed beard, preventing me from seeing his face. With my eyes, anyway. Because in my mind, I could see him clearly. He glanced over his shoulder, directly toward me, and I let the curtain fall. Not that he could have possibly seen me from that distance and behind the window under the shadow of the roof . . . but it was a compulsive reaction.

The lump in my throat grew, making it difficult to breathe. I . . . know . . . him. In all the ways a woman could know a man.