But I had had enough of teasing and games from my most impossible neighbor tonight. With a growl of pure exasperation, I yanked his dark head down to firmly seal his lips against mine, end his dangerous thread of speculation, and distract all of my own thoughts from their swirling panic.

My future was suddenly destined to include far too much socializing and horrific complications…

But as I sank willingly into my neighbor’s kiss, I could almost believe, for one shining moment, that we could manage it together after all.

Fierce Company

I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t been warned of the dangers when I’d moved in next to a notorious necromancer. From the moment I’d first spotted that sinister black castle looming over my and Dad’s cozy new cottage, I’d known exactly what sort of unnatural powers to expect. The respectable townsfolk nearby had told me Leander Fabian wasn’t safe even before twenty of them had come marching over with their mayor to burn down his castle in bright daylight.

Obviously, I had put a stop to that nonsense. No one would be burning down anyone else’s home while I was around, not after the way that Dad and I had lost our last one. But it was only now, many months later, after ignoring every single warning, that I finally realized the true horror I had let myself in for with my outrageous neighbor.

“You want what at our wedding?” I demanded.

I had been immersed for the past who-knew-how-long in the details of my new design for a really clever type of portable chill-box, balancing my pad of graphing paper on my bare knees as I sat cross-legged and surrounded by black velvet pillows in Leander’s ridiculous four-poster bed. As the sound of his voice finally trickled into my consciousness, though, I jerked my gaze up to stare at him in disbelief.

He was giving me the wickedest smile I’d seen yet, which, for him, was really saying something. “But, Mia!” His long, dark eyelashes fluttered innocently. “Don’t you want every wedding guest to douse us in a pint or two of preserved blood for good luck? If we invite just a few hundred or so of our closest friends, we’ll be all set for life. Then—”

“You are a menace.” I set down my pencil and narrowed my eyes at my fiancé. He knew exactly what he was doing, sprawled oh-so-casually across those decadent crimson silk covers with his alabaster chest quite bare and his black satin trousers disgracefully skin-tight. My hands were already itching to reach across and savor every delectable inch on display. Still, some lines had to be drawn. “We are not inviting a few hundred guests to our wedding!”

“So you’re fine with the blood-dousing so long as I keep our guest list to two hundred or less?”