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

Chapter 36

Snap Back to Reality

McKenzie

I’ve heard her think it before. I’ve heard her slip and say it without realizing it. But hearing Heather say “I love you” purposefully, so I can hear her, is probably the biggest brain-fry I’ve ever had. It shouldn’t be. I’ve known she’s attracted to me since I first met her in the café. Truth be told, I blamed it on all the vampire characteristics. Charming, handsome, rich… the usual. But to feel her in my arms, the softness of her breast, the willingness in her legs, shit. I’d listen to her say those words every day and still never come up for air.

It’s been three days since I got back. I’ve caught glimpses of her at work on Broughton, but that’s about all. She’s been knee-deep in work on the mansion and her school. I’ve been chest-high in paperwork, donations, sponsors. The works. Even so, I can’t stop thinking about her, her scent, the way she offered herself.

The way she wanted me.

“And here we find the great McKenzie Bristol in his natural habitat.”

“Still lurking around in Savannah, Derrick?” I growl. “Haven’t had enough of Southern women yet?”

Derrick smirks, leaning against my doorframe like he owns the house. I’m not even going to bother questioning how he got into my house in the first place. My half-brother’s slimier than an eel in the marshes.

Yeah. Half-brother. I say that loosely. Harold’s been with hundreds of women in the space of his fifty-three years. My mother was the only one he was ever married to. I’m the firstborn of at least thirteen, the only legitimate heir. Derrick, the little weasel, is the result of a liaison with Harold’s favorite mistress.

“Haven’t had enough of one little barista?”

“Leave Heather out of whatever the hell it is you came here for.”

“I came to offer to sponsor your party, and this is how you treat me?”

“You made Heather think she had to leave Savannah.” I arrange a stack of papers and slip them into my desk’s file drawer. “You made her think she was nothing.”

“Not nothing,” he tsks, dark eyes looking around the study. “Just wanted for blood. That’s all.” He runs his fingertips along the fireplace mantel and looks at the picture frames resting atop the wood. His fingers pause on the image of a woman with long curly blonde hair and green eyes. My mother.

“I was sorry to hear about Veronica,” he says, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes. “She was always nice, even to my mom. You and I didn’t get much of a chance to talk at dinner a month or whatever ago.”

“How is Juliette?”

“Dying of cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Go figure.” He retrieves a lighter, flicks it, and breathes in the toxic fumes from his cigarette.

“She’ll be dead within a few months,” he continues.

“Again, I’m sorry. It’s hard to lose a mother.”

“Is that why you moved here?” He looks around the room again. “Didn’t Veronica love it here?”

I stand up and move closer to him.

“Yes, she did. For God’s sake, Derrick.” I reach out and snatch the cigarette. “You’re still burning through these?” I raise the nastiness to my lips, take a drag, and scowl. “Blood Ash. You wrap your tobacco with it. I told you to quit. We aren’t invincible. This will kill you.”

“It dulls the bloodlust. It’s smoke this or tear through women’s throats like they’re tissues. Stopped me from devouring Heather the other night, though she’s a tasty thing.” His eyes sparkle as I toss the cigarette into the fireplace. I’ll burn it later. “Harold know you’re fucking around with a human?”

“Is there anything Harold doesn’t know?”

“There’s the typical McKenzie. Cool as a cucumber. He knows what she looks like. He wants me to skulk around and find out more about her. Figure out why his firstborn is toying around with his food but hasn’t bitten her yet.”

“You can tell our sorry excuse of a father that he can go screw himself. Heather isn’t any of his business, and if he’s wise, he’ll stay away from her. I can enjoy her company without biting her. Some of us know how to show restraint without Blood Ash.”

“And why should you show restraint?” Derrick snaps. “You’re a vampire, for fuck’s sake. You need blood. It keeps you alive. Why not indulge in a living vintage for once? You know how delectable warm, new blood is, and yet you keep drinking your centuries-old vintages.”

“Because I love her.”

There.

Take that, son of a bitch.

“I value Heather as a person. She has an imagination that astounds me. I show her a filthy, falling apart mansion and she sees stars and chandeliers. I tell her I’m a vampire, I literally drink from her wrist, and she doesn’t run away screaming. She is everything I’m not, and that is worth waiting for. I will not bite her until she’s ready. I will not hurt her, ever. And you won’t either. If I hear anything again about you tasting her blood or making her feel worthless, I will hunt you down and put your miserable addicted self to an end. Tell Harold that Heather is under my protection, with or without a bite.”

“He’s not going to listen.”

“Then he’ll get to suffer the consequences, should he try to hurt Heather.”

I storm back over to my desk and sit down.

“Do you want to be a sponsor for this hellfest or not? I’ve got work to do.”

He’s about to say something when the doorbell rings.

Fuck my life.

“Stay. Or don’t,” I say, leaving my office and hurrying down the stairs.

Vampire Rule Number 23: Vampires have butlers and house staff.

I don’t. Maybe I’m not really a vampire. At this exact moment, I’d pay handsomely to have someone else answer the door.

I jerk it open, a bit too violently, and glare at the man standing on my front porch.

He’s a couple of inches shorter than I am with short brown hair streaked with silver. He has big gray eyes, looks like he’s in his early forties, and clearly works out.

“Yes?” I snap.

“Mr. McKenzie Bristol?”

“That would be me.”

“Oh.” He smiles, a nervous sort of endearing expression. “I’m Robert Judas.” He holds out his hand and I stare at it like I’m supposed to do something with it. His smile wavers, just slightly. “Robert,” he repeats, lowering his hand. “Friends call me Robbie. Narcissa said…”

Damn. He’s that Robert. The Robert. The I’m-going-to-impregnate-and-marry-your-fiancée Robert.

“Can I help you with something?” I ask.

Ooh, I’ve very much crossed into a side of McKenzie no one wants to see. I can be cool, confident, collected. I negotiate businesses with extreme price tags and wear designer suits. But underneath that calm composure, I also have a fairly short temper. Especially right now. I’m starting to get hungry. Shit. And shit again.

“She mentioned you’re hosting a massive get-together. I would like to contribute, if I may,” Robert says.

“Excuse me?”

Holy shit, I’m bordering on downright catty now. My fangs are extending, and my stomach is starting to clench with hunger. Robbie, bless his terrible timing and completely ignorant soul, already has Narcissa’s venom flowing through him. I can smell it. He would taste terrible, and I’d have to contend with Narcissa. For about five seconds, I consider stealing one of Derrick’s cigarettes.

I shake my head, force myself to focus.

“You want to contribute to a massive vampire gathering?”

He nods.

“I’m trying to figure out how to talk to Narcissa’s parents. I thought adding some money to this event would possibly help.”

Oh you sweet, stupid man.

“Any way I can get you to come back tomorrow?” I ask.

“I’d really rather speak with you now. I flew all the way from California.”

“And didn’t have the decency to call?”

“I called five times. You must have thought it was spam. I emailed you twice.”

“Oh for shit’s sake. You’re ‘gobamabeatauburn?’”

“I can show you the Bama tattoo on my ass, if you’d like.”

I can’t come up with a single word. This ridiculous, sweet human, standing here staring down a dying-of-hunger vampire and talking about ass tattoos like it’s just another Sunday and his favorite football team’s playing.

“Now really isn’t the time,” I all but groan.

And then there’s a “Hello there!” from Forsyth Park, and I wish someone would shoot me.

Mayor Richardson. Rosy-cheeked, holding his hat in one hand and letting his bald head shine. Of all the absolute worst times to come around…

“Mr. Bristol!” He waves and trots up the steps to my front porch. “Good morning, son!”

He holds out his hand. I shake it and throw an irritated glare at Robbie.

“How can I help you, Mayor Richardson?”

I’m trying not to growl. The longer I stand here, though, the more aggravated I get, and the more aggravated I get, the hungrier I am. I’m surprised I’m not lisping yet with how long my fangs are.

“I heard Miss Heather has taken on another project for you involving a ruined antebellum manor. I’ve also heard tell that every landscaper and architect in the city’s trying to get in her good graces. Something about a rather impressive get-together?”

Well, shit.

“Yes, sir. I’m having a family reunion in December.”

“Family reunion?” Derrick’s voice comes from behind. I swear, if he tries to pull anything…

“Oh? It isn’t just family?” Mayor Richardson asks.

“No. Not at all. Just some of the most elite members of the East Coast,” Derrick croons. I can feel the bastard smirking over my shoulder. “Business moguls, socialites, influencers. The works.”

“Any mayors?” Mayor Richardson asks, and I can hear the unspoken invitation in that question.

Oh my God.

“One, if you have any interest in attending,” I choke out.

Damn it. I’m too hungry to care about what I just said. I should stop while I’m ahead, but as I said, short temper, especially when starving.

“May as well invite all the Southern politicians. We can make this a regular hootenanny,” I continue.

Yes. Yes I did just mimic his Southern twang in that last word. Nearly slapped my thigh and stuck a piece of straw between my teeth while I was at it.

Oh, this is not good.

“Delightful!” He claps his hands together, and it’s taking everything in my power not to reach out and strangle him. Great. Just great. Add a whole lot of influential humans to a vampire mess. Goddamn.

He starts making plans. Robbie is trying to get my attention. Derrick’s standing in the doorway, leaning against it with a cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk on his face.

You know what? Fuck it.

I put a hand on Derrick’s arm, pull him out of the doorway, and slam the door shut. I grab my keys from my pocket, lock the blasted door, and turn to my own personal version of the Three Stooges.

“I’m leaving.”

That’s all I say.

Blank looks all around.

I trot down my front porch steps without looking back.