His chest puffed out. “There you go. I knew we’d get along.” With a flourish, he whipped off the cap with black fingernails, revealing thick blond hair—and black eyeliner rimming his eyes.

She blinked. Once and then again, looking closer. Were those colored contacts? Like the ones kids wore for Halloween? Yep. “You have got to be kidding me.” How in the world had he fooled her? She’d asked for documentation, although records could be falsified. She began to stand.

He grasped her good wrist and tugged her down, leaning toward her. He smelled like cheap beer and even cheaper cologne. This close, he appeared to be in his early twenties. “I promise I’ll give you what you want. My blood is all yours after I take a taste of my own.” He opened his mouth, showing fangs.

Fake ones.

Anger snapped through her. “I can’t believe this.” Yes, she was a complete moron. The risks she’d taken for this meeting had kept her up for nights. She jerked free and started to stand.

The front door burst open, and a mammoth blond male strode inside just as a commotion sounded from the rear exit on the other side of the bar. The kids by the pool table snuffed out the pot, backing away and plastering themselves against the sole dartboard, their eyes wide and their chests sunken.

She stopped breathing. Damn it. Grabbing her bag, she moved toward the restroom behind her and the window she’d already scoped out—just in case this assignation went south.

“Grace?” The voice came from near the back exit. The low, dark, accented tenor stopped her cold.

She slowly turned, her body flashing to full-on panic mode. It couldn’t be. No, no, no, no, no.

Yep.

Adare stood there; the surprise on his face quickly banked. The fury in his impossibly black eyes, however, glittered harsh and bright.

She edged backward.

“Donna even think it.” In his anger, his Scottish brogue, the product of a distant time and place, broke free and strong. His black hair hung to his shoulders, dotted with snow that was quickly melting. For the raid, or whatever this was, he’d worn a jacket, cargo pants, and boots—all black and more than likely concealing various weapons.

“Holy shit,” Sebastian muttered, standing and turning.

Grace nodded in agreement. If she could shove Sebastian toward Adare, she might be able to—

Adare’s nostrils flared, and her body reacted, stopping her in her tracks. Then he started moving toward her, smooth and graceful, his six-foot-six height and broad chest making him look like the proverbial immovable object.

Sebastian swallowed loudly and backed to her side. “That guy is huge. Like huge, huge.” He looked toward her, one fluorescent blue contact falling out of his eye. “What have you gotten me into?”