Hot Vampire Next Door: Season Two (Midnight Harbor Book 2)
Hot Vampire Next Door: Episode Thirty

“What is he doing here?” I whisper to Bran.

“He can hear you,” Damien calls across the parking lot.

I wince. You’d think I’d know better having grown up in a town of vampires.

Bran doesn’t say anything, but I get the feeling he doesn’t really know either.

The vampire courthouse, situated on the north end of downtown Midnight, sits directly across from Kramwell Park. The park sprawls over several acres of rolling land with a large pond in the center, a paved biking trail that winds around it, and a little café along the edge.

Even though it’s well after midnight, the park is full of life. The café, constructed to look like a 19^th century conservatory done entirely in glass, glows like a snow globe in the night.

When Mom was alive, we’d pack food in a vintage picnic basket and come to the park in the summertime to sit on one of the gently sloping hills.

Kelly and I haven’t done it since Mom died and I feel a pang of sadness at the thought of it now.

We cross the parking lot beneath the soft light of the old-fashioned streetlamps and Damien waits for us, leaning against the stone building like a dark vision.

He’s wearing all black just like his brother and from afar, when they’re standing next to each other, you could easily mistake them for twins.

But Damien’s hair is shorter, his lips thinner, and his gaze a little more penetrating.

“Kelly,” Damien says, his eyes sweeping over her, not in a hungry way, more like he’s checking her for wounds.

“Hey,” my sister answers. “Hi.”

They stare at each other for an eternity.

Bran says something in a language I don’t speak. I think it’s French.

Damien’s eyes tighten and he responds the same way.

“You know, it’s rude to talk in another language in front of people who don’t speak the language.”

Damien’s tense gaze settles on me, but when he speaks, it’s still in French.

Bran grits his teeth and says something low and below his breath.

Kelly, always wanting to unravel confrontation, looks at Damien. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Of course.” He acts like he wants to reach out to her but clasps his hands behind his back instead. “Julian has overstepped. He must be held accountable.”

And also the Duval brothers hate Julian, so I think this is really a win-win for them.

I remember one of my first conversations with Bran when he told me Kelly promised Damien something he’d been wanting for a very long time if he bid on me.

Now I’m desperate to know what that is. My sister? Power over Julian? Revenge against Julian?

I don’t know where their war began. Jimmy insisted most vampire feuds start over lovers and cattle.

Were Julian and Damien fighting over my sister?

“And if it’s approved?” I ask Damien. “If the courts allow my sister to leave Locke House, can she be adopted by Duval House? She won’t be safe otherwise.”

Kelly avoids looking at Damien. I think she’s just as worried about her life after this as I am. But maybe for different reasons.

“I don’t much care what the court says,” Damien answers. “Kelly will come home with me.”

My sister’s eyes dart to the older Duval brother as her cheeks pink beneath her freckles. I quickly reach over and take her hand in mine and squeeze. Her grip is clammy but tight, like she’s holding on for dear life.

I don’t blame her.

Since I’ve become involved with a Duval, every day feels like a hurricane.

“Shall we?” Damien gestures to the front entrance.

Bran shifts in front of me and pulls one of the doors open. They’re easily ten feet tall and made of solid wood with windows inlaid with an iron diamond grid. The door creaks and clanks the way I think a door would on a medieval castle.

The vampires like their drama. Even their entrances are dramatic.

Inside, iron lanterns hang from the tall ceiling and intricately carved metal sconces flicker golden on the wood paneled walls.

Bran leads the way, but Damien stays at our back, sandwiching us between two Duvals. I can’t help but shiver.

We go down the main hall, then cut left down another where a sign hangs from the wall and reads Small Claims Court.

But there’s nothing small about this.

I’m aware that something of this magnitude will shake up Midnight Harbor. The Duvals are never involved in this sort of thing. No mortal has ever been important enough to start a potential war.

I look over at Kelly. Her face is blank, but her hand is shaking in mine.

We enter into a clerk office. There are seven people in line ahead of us but Bran clears his throat and the others scatter like dry leaves on pavement.

He goes to the head of the line and the woman sputters. “Good morning, Mr. Duval. What can I do for you?”

“Pledge petition.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows rise. “Oh. Okay. Sure.” She rifles through some papers and produces a single application that she sticks beneath the metal arm of a clipboard. “This needs to be filled out and turned in before you can go before the council.”

Bran takes the clipboard and a pen and returns to us. There’s a bank of waiting room chairs against the wall, so Kelly and I sit. Bran and Damien remain standing and Bran fills out the form, his hand a blur across the paper.

He frowns at a line, looks up at Damien, and asks him something in French.

Damien gives him a quick response.

Within minutes, the form is complete and Bran returns it to the woman.

We don’t wait long. I guess whoever is manning the line today is the right person to move us ahead.

I can vaguely recall a study unit in my government class in high school that covered the supernatural courts. Each supernatural—vampire, shifter, and witch—get their own court, but a representative from the other factions serves on each council. The fae don’t have a court, unfortunately. They never saw a reason to start one, since they had always gone back and forth between the realms and they had their own system on the fae side.

I wonder if those stuck here are regretting that decision now. They literally have no representation.

When we walk into the courtroom, we’re ushered in front of a bench where two vampires sit next to a shifter and…

“Bianca?” I blurt.

I went to school with Bianca, though she was a few years ahead of me. She’s one of the witches from the Mulligan family. I had no idea she was a councilwoman now.

She’s wearing a tailored black blazer with a high collar that stands around her long, pale neck almost like armor. Her short blond hair is cut in a sharp bob. It’s tucked behind her left ear where a diamond encrusted cuff glitters on her lobe.

I shouldn’t be surprised she’s here. She was always ambitious, incredibly smart, and heavily into politics. She was class president in junior high and high school and often volunteered during local elections. She loves this kind of thing.

“Hi Jessie,” she says and then her gaze sweeps over the Duvals and she gives me a frown.

I want to explain to her. I want her to know that I know what I’m doing (do I?) but one of the vampires on the bench starts speaking and I clamp my mouth shut again.

“Case Number 0788358,” the vampire says, his voice booming across the room. “Duval vs. Locke. Pledge petition for one—” He scans the form. “Kelly MacMahon?”

“That’s correct, Vasill,” Damien answers.

I remember vasill from my class. The title is the vampire equivalent for a judge.

“What’s the charge?” the vasill asks.

“Willful misconduct,” Damien answers. “My brother, Bran, and Miss MacMahon, Kelly’s younger sister, found Kelly suffering from compulsion fever earlier in the night. In addition to that, several nights ago, Kelly also returned to her mortal home with a sizeable neck wound.” Damien stops and his jaw flexes, teeth gritting.

After a deep breath, he adds, “Ms. MacMahon was healed only by the blood of my brother. I would like to petition for permanent adoption of Ms. MacMahon, as is my right by vampire law.”

Bianca’s eyes widen.

“We can’t approve a legal adoption of a pledge until we’ve allowed Julian Locke to speak in his defense,” the vasill points out.

“Yes, but you can approve a temporary removal order for the safety of the pledge as is stated in Section 71.329 of the Pledge Civil Rights Act.”

My head is literally spinning with all of the legal speak. I’m suddenly grateful Damien is here. I think he had all of this planned out before he took one step into the courthouse.

He knew he wanted to win today and he knew just how to do it.

“I have a question for the MacMahon sisters,” Bianca says.

Kelly and I, hands still linked, step forward. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“First, do you have any objection to the Duvals adopting you into their house?”

Beside me, Kelly shakes her head, then clears her throat. “No, councilwoman.”

Bianca folds her hands on the bench and her shoulders scrunch up, causing the collar of her blazer to stand further erect around her face. “And do you know what you’re doing? Right now?” She narrows her eyes, assessing. “Do you understand what you’re asking for?”

Yes. No. Maybe? Do we, Kelly?

Maybe Kelly and I are both in over our heads. It’s all fun and games fucking Bran, being with Bran, but what happens after tomorrow? What happens if Kelly is adopted into Duval house?

Where do I go for my pledge?

I look over at my sister, at the exhaustion smudged beneath her eyes, the downturned corners of her mouth, the paleness of her skin.

We have so much left to figure out, but I want her by my side. She may not be blood, but she is my sister and she’s the only family I have left.

“We do, councilwoman,” I answer. “My sister’s safety is my highest priority.”

Kelly smiles at me. She pats our linked hands, then kisses me on the cheek. “My answer is the same as my sister’s. I’ll do anything for her and Julian Locke is…” Her voice catches. I catch the glint of tears welling in her eyes.

“He’s what?” Bianca prompts.

“He’s—”

The courtroom door slams open.

We all turn to the commotion.

Julian Locke is there, a piece of paper clutched in his hand. “Stop!” he shouts. “Kelly MacMahon cannot be adopted into Duval House.”

‘Mr. Locke,’ the vasill says, ‘you’ll be given ample opportunity to def—’

‘She can’t be adopted into Duval House,’ he says again. ‘Because she’s my blood mate.’ He waves the piece of paper in his hand. ‘And I have the signed license right here to prove it.’

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