© 2026 by Ashley Chapman. Vampires Love Garlic. All rights reserved.

26

Southern Hospitality

McKenzie

Heather’s about to dip her arms in soap suds when I step into the kitchen. There are dishes everywhere. We used only the best for this party, and there are champagne flutes, shot glasses, china plates and bowls, and shining silverware. Food is piled up on the island, and there are decorations on the bar stools. The kitchen looks about as catastrophic as I feel, but there’s an air of calm that immediately wraps itself around me. This entire room could be on fire, and yet Heather radiates a sort of peace that is impossible to ignore.

Soft music is playing through her phone, some classical romantic piano pieces. She’s kicked her shoes off and seems content to clean. It’s strange to me that she can be so tranquil when Derrick did his best to make her feel worthless. Maybe, just maybe, my dancing with her gave her this sense of safety, this belief that here, in my kitchen, everything will be okay.

And I’ll be damned if that doesn’t stir my arousal more than her body and her blood do.

She trusts me. Enough that she found comfort in telling me what’s going on.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more masculine.

“Kenzie?” she asks, not looking at me. “Can you put the rest of the dishes from downstairs on the dumbwaiter and send them up?”

“I have a dumbwaiter?”

She turns from the water and laughs, missing the freckles of blood dotting my skin.

“Yes, you have a dumbwaiter!”

She moves past me. I try to hold my breath before her leg brushes against mine, but I fail. I can smell her perfume, her blood pulsing calmly through her body. I want a taste. Another one. Her poor cut hand wasn’t enough of a sip. Not nearly enough.

My canines are dripping.

I’ve never experienced this before. They’ve grown long before; that’s nothing new. But they’re actually dripping with venom. Holy hell.

“Right here,” Heather says triumphantly, opening what I thought was a cabinet to reveal a dumbwaiter crowded with dishes. “Oh. Looks like Narcissa’s already sent more up.”

She gathers some of the dishes in her arms and carries them to the sink.

If she cuts herself again, even the tiniest sliver, I’m done for.

The way she moves, so sure in the kitchen, all the awkwardness gone, is gorgeous. Her confidence is sexy as fuck. Damn, I’ve got that word going an awful lot in my head. Narcissa would absolutely tease me for it if she knew.

“I’ll wash the dishes,” I croak, stepping past her and burying my hands in the sink before she can get there. “You cut yourself last time. It’s my turn.”

“Okay, but you have to be careful. A lot of these dishes are delicate. The champagne glasses are fragile.”

“I got it.”

“Are you okay?” she asks, her hand moving to my forehead. “You’re flushed.”

“Too much to drink,” I grumble.

Liar.

Don’t touch me, Heath. Gods above, I won’t be able to stand it.

Her warm hand finds my forehead, and it’s all I can do not to groan. It feels good. So freaking good. Just her touch. My fangs grow another millimeter. They’re about to puncture the bottom of my mouth. The venom dripping from them is hot, and it stings as it drips around my tongue.

“Heather, you’ve been really honest with me this evening,” I say, closing my eyes as she keeps her hand on my forehead. “So I’ve got to be honest with you. You can’t touch me right now. Okay?”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she stammers, immediately pulling her hand back.

“I enjoyed dancing with you. It flattered me greatly that you told me everything about Derrick. Seeing you calm now is stroking my ego in a way that I very rarely have happen. I’m glad you feel comfortable and safe here, but I’m dangerous. I’m hungry, and blood-laced alcohol isn’t cutting it for me. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings.” I turn my head to look at her. “But it isn’t safe for you to be so close to me right now.”

“Is there anything I can do?” she asks softly, moving away from me and gathering storage containers for the food.

“Keep your distance and try not to cut yourself.”

“Oh, I suppose I’ll try and avoid slashing my hand open,” she teases with a long sigh. “It’s not like I’ve always dreamed of causing a vampire feeding frenzy.”

“You sure you don’t read smut?”

“Positive.” She laughs. “I can’t help what pops up on my feed, but I much prefer nonfiction, in case you haven’t noticed.”

I start washing dishes, and there really is something grounding about scrubbing. It gives me time to think, and with Heather respecting my need for distance, it clears my head. I try to focus on the problem of Derrick as I place glasses in the drying rack. It pisses me off that he made Heather feel like anything less than the stunning, gentle woman she is. It bothers me more that he’s prowling around in Savannah. He knows that Heather’s been hanging out around me, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered her.

Damn.

I glance over at Heather.

She’s faltering, exhausted. I can’t imagine what she’s gone through emotionally since Derrick hurt her. She has every right to be afraid of me, especially right now, but she’s trying her best to clean, to pretend that I’m not a blood-sucking predator. I don’t like how tired she looks. She appears about to keel over, and I make her an offer before I stop to think about the implications.

“Heather, maybe you should stay over tonight. I have spare guest rooms. I don’t want you driving when you’re this tired.”

“Oh, I like where this is going,” Narcissa says as she walks into the room with several decorations. “Forced proximity. Sounds just like a playboy-turned-lover romance.”

“Next thing you know, she’ll be sleeping in my bed. Just to keep her safe,” I say with a snort.

“Your idea, Kenzie, not mine,” Narcissa sings.

“Oh goodness,” Heather squeaks. “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t stay overnight. That would damage the reputation the two of you have together.”

“I mean, we could just say we’re having a threesome,” I say. I glance over my shoulder, catching her telltale blush.

“You think way too highly of yourself,” Narcissa says with a laugh.

“Stay, Heather. Rest,” I say as gently as I can. I look over at her, watching as she tucks food into the refrigerator. She picked the perfect outfit for herself for tonight. I’ve never seen her cleavage before, but this dress fits her like it was made for her, and I find my eyes resting on the soft swell of her breasts. The black and green beads that fall around her legs in tassels bring my attention to her thighs. Each time she moves, she reveals a tempting sliver of skin, and her thighs are absolute perfection, there waiting for me to put my hands behind and lift her up onto the nearest counter. Forget her blood, it’s this woman I want.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile, “but it wouldn’t be appropriate at all.”

Way to knock me back into my place, Heather. The last thing I need to be doing right now is lusting after you.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” I ask. “I’m not interested in romancing you, Heather. You’d be in a separate room. You’re human. You don’t have to worry about reputations.”

“Oh, McKenzie,” Narcissa says with a long sigh, and a twinge of discomfort twists in my gut. I go over my words even as Heather’s face falls. There’s no way what I just said didn’t come across as egotistical and cruel. I just told her she’s unattractive enough that she shouldn’t even consider how her staying here would look. I clearly can’t be interested in her.

“I,” Heather starts, then stops. “I realize I’m not appealing to you in a sexual way. I understand. But it still wouldn’t be right. My grandma doesn’t know what you are, and she wouldn’t know what to think of it.”

My mind blanks.

She’s not appealing in a sexual way?

I can’t take my eyes off her ass as she stands on tiptoes to grab a container from one of the cabinets. I can’t stop looking at her body. The backs of her legs, so slender and smooth, so ready for my hands to run over them, caress them, grip them as I…

“McKenzie, you’re salivating,” Narcissa interrupts my fantasy.

“I think I need to finish here and go lie down. I’m not feeling well,” I stammer. It’s the truth. Since when have I started thinking of Heather as anything but the cute friend from the coffee shop?

The concern on Heather’s face is going to kill me.

“Heather, stay here tonight. I can text your grandma and explain. It’s already almost one o’clock in the morning. You can stay in one of the guest rooms, and then tomorrow you can go home,” Narcissa says easily. “I’ve got some pajamas for you.”

“Narcissa,” I warn. She sees me as needing blood. She’s missing the arousal. I’m in for a hard night either way. If I don’t get fresh, hot blood, it’s going to be insanely hard to sleep, and I’m going to be in physical pain. Add to that the real desire that goes hand in hand with it, and I’m not going to be safe to be around for some time.

“I’m not really pretty enough for anyone to think anything indecent is going on,” Heather says quietly.

I don’t know what Derrick told Heather that she thinks she’s not pretty, but if I don’t leave this room right now, this very second, I’m going to pull her against me and show her just how pretty she actually is. My God, I need blood.

“McKenzie,” Narcissa repeats, hoping I’ll somehow comfort Heather with words, but I just can’t right now.

“You two do what you want,” I say, finishing this round of dishes and drying my hands. “But I need to head to bed. I’m sorry. Leave the rest of the mess for tomorrow.”

My hands are trembling so badly I’m about to drop all the dishes. I can’t think straight. Heather is a distraction, absolutely, but not an annoying one. She could stand perfectly still, not say a single word, and my brain would still be scrolling through all the possibilities of how I could drink her blood and make love to her at the same time.

“Go ahead,” Narcissa says, a hint of understanding in her voice. “Heather and I will make sure the kitchen is at least somewhat clean before we go to bed.”

I turn and make my way out of the kitchen, every muscle stiff. My neck is going to be hurting tomorrow.

“Kenzie?”

Heather’s timid voice calls from behind me as I walk towards the staircase.

I pause, my hand on the wood banister.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

I turn to look at her. She’s so beautiful, standing like an image of green, black, and red in the doorway. Her eyes are lowered, and she’s biting her lip. She’s going to make herself bleed if she doesn’t stop, but I can feel her nervousness, and if this helps her release some of it, then I’ll have to bear it.

“Why are you sorry?” I ask, my voice harsher than I want it to be.

“I’ve ruined everything.” Her eyes meet mine. “I shouldn’t have told you about Derrick. You have enough on your plate without worrying about him being sneaky. I don’t need to stay. I don’t want to hurt you. I care about you. Deeply. And I love Narcissa. I don’t want either of you to be inconvenienced because of me.”

I could throttle her.

Inconvenienced?

“Do you have any idea how much you’ve helped us over the past few weeks?” I demand, taking a long step toward her. “Any clue what this party meant to Narcissa?”

“You could have hired someone else.”

“Someone else? No one else could have teleported my house to the Roaring Twenties the way you did.”

I take another step closer.

This is a bad idea.

She cut her lip. I can smell it.

“I came downstairs today and thought for sure I must have woken up in the Twenties. You have brought Narcissa such joy.”

Another step.

Oh my God.

That smell.

Heaven.

“And by making her so happy, you’ve made me happy. Heather, stop biting your lip.”

She releases her lip, her eyes widening with understanding.

“Kenzie, I’m so…”

“I swear to God, if you apologize one more time for being who you are, I’m going to find Derrick and tear his throat out.”

The blood has formed a perfect bead on her lower lip.

Oh hell.

I’m too close. My chest is almost brushing hers. She’s looking up at me with a trusting gaze that I don’t deserve. I can’t tear my eyes away from the blood. It’s the perfect color, the perfect texture, on the perfect lip.

She tries to speak my name, seeming to understand what is happening, but it’s too late.

I’m done.

I cup her face in my hands, lean down, and take her lower lip between my teeth.

Her blood is more than just delicious. It’s an aphrodisiac. The first time I tasted it, when she cut her hand, I was so hungry that I couldn’t feel the fire flooding my veins. This isn’t the same.

That one drop of blood has me ravenous for more. I suck it from her lip, swallow, and can’t stop the satisfied hum that rises from my chest. She really is Savannah rolled up into a killer body with a sweet soul. In that one drop, I can taste the summer warmth rising off the river. I can smell the gardenias blooming in spring, the camellias in full blossom. I close my lips over the cut, my tongue flicking out to catch each precious drop. I need more. I want more.

I want her.

A soft cry escapes her lips, brushing over my mouth. I turn my eyes to hers and see how wide they are. She isn’t terrified. I don’t think she’s even afraid. Instead, she’s studying my face, looking at me as though this is entirely new to her. Someone sucking her blood is certainly a new experience, but there’s more to her expression than just surprise that I’m drinking from her. It’s almost like she’s never had someone’s mouth on hers, like drawing her lip into my mouth serves as her first kiss.

Holy shit.