Chapter One Twizz
“The first thing we need to do, Mr. Twisden—”
“Call me Twizz.”
The beautiful brunette sitting across from me takes a deep breath.
“Mr. Twizz,” she repeats carefully, like she’s worried I may be offended by the shortening of my name, even though she’s calling me what I asked her to.
“Before I pull up any property listings to look at, it’s important to get you a pre-approval letter for a mortgage so that we know what price range to look in. ”
“No, no, no. That isn’t necessary.” I wave my hand in front of her, hoping to shoo away her concern.
I can do it magically if I need to, but I’d rather not.
Not yet. It would be nice to be real with someone besides my master, at least for a little while longer.
“Something in the million-to-million-and-a-half range is probably what we’re looking at.
Although that doesn’t buy what it did twenty years ago, now does it?
” I attempt a joke. She doesn’t bite. Ha, I wonder how she’d react if she knew that I do.
“Once we get you pre-approved—” She starts with her scripted response again.
“I assure you,” I cut her off. “There’s no need. There won’t be a mortgage. This will be a cash deal.”
She looks at me with a deadpan expression on her face. “But you have no proof of income.”
I smile as brightly as I can to set her at ease. “That doesn’t really matter now, does it? As long as the cash is on the table when we go to the closing.” That’s how I bought the last two houses for my master. I don’t see why she’s making such a fuss over earned income.
Her brows furrow. I can tell that she’s getting frustrated with me. That’s not at all what I want. I need to approach this from another angle. I can’t be held responsible for causing her frown lines or wrinkles. This woman is far too pretty.
I take a quick peek at the nameplate in front of me, lean forward in my seat, and reach across the desk. I place my hand over hers and smile.
“You see, Ms. Sweety—”
“Sweeny,” she corrects, pulling her hand away like I threatened to cut off her fingers. “My name is Isabella Sweeny.”
Oh well, that’s one attempt burnt to hell. Can’t fault me for trying, though. Isabella Sweeny. The name sends a rod of warmth down my spine and through my chest.
Not many things do these days. Not since Master Larlkin started the process of turning me. A process that started fifty-five years ago and won’t be completed for centuries to come. For now and the foreseeable future, I will remain in the in-between phase. Half-vampire, half-changeling.
The cold that lives in my bones and spreads through my veins only warms when I drink blood. Or, as of this moment, think of Isabella Sweeny.