"What are you doing? Isn't he the stupid vampire that had you crying for months?"
Salem's accusing little voice cut through my panic like a dagger.
I'd barely stepped into the kitchen to grab glasses, and there he was—perched on the counter, glaring at me with those narrowed, judgmental cat eyes.
"I know, I know," I hissed back, trying to keep my voice low so Drake wouldn't hear.
"It's not like I've forgiven him or something. I just… need a bodyguard tonight, okay? Just in case he shows up. It's strategic, not romantic."
But Salem kept staring at me like I'd grown a second head. Or like I was a chicken that had somehow learned to talk but not to shut up.
"Forget about him," I snapped. "How do I repair the door?"
Right. The door.
The very obvious, very broken door that screamed "HELLO, I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING."
I fumbled, heat creeping up my neck.
"What did that old hag even teach you?" Salem whisper-yelled, his fur bristling.
"I thought you went for lessons!"
