"Go to hell," she called over her shoulder as she made her way through the halls of the institution. She had changed in subtle ways he hadn't been able to detect in photographs. Her figure was fuller, and she carried herself with a grace and confidence she hadn't known five years before. Her walk was more assured, and the almost imperceptible lines that touched her face only added to the depth of her dramatic features.
She was absolutely stunning. And really, really pissed-off.
Her scent was the same, a sweet melange of honeysuckle and lemon that made his fangs descend when he thought of the single taste of her blood he'd enjoyed years before.
"Beatrice," he called again. "I've already told Dr. Stevens you'll be helping me on my project while I'm doing my research here."
She whirled around at her office door. "Well, you can just use that voodoo to change her mind then, can't you?"
He came to stand in front of her and took a deep breath, staring at her mouth, which was pursed in displeasure. "I could." He shrugged. "But I won't."