She stepped back, thoroughly scared. Her Parker?

The front door opened, and Parker stepped inside, incredibly sexy in a red silk shirt and dark-washed jeans. His eyes gleamed, and his lips curled in a sensuous smile as his heated gaze drifted down her body like a caress. “Your door was unlocked.”

No, it wasn’t. She distinctly remembered locking it before taking her shower. She didn’t know who might decide to drop in. Both Rock and Dragos had the disturbing habit of showing up on her couch unannounced. If she didn’t know them so well, she’d have thought they were interested in her, but Rock was in love with a shy water elemental, and Dragos was involved with a bitch Amara couldn’t stand. “That door was locked, Parker.”

He blinked, the innocence he strove for completely lacking, thanks to the grin that threatened to overwhelm him. “Was it?”

She bit her lip. Somehow she knew he wasn’t there to hurt her. If Glinda could hear Amara’s thoughts, she would have her hide, but on this one she was going to go on instinct. “Don’t I have to invite you in?”

He chuckled and shut the door. “Monster Movie Night, remember? We mock how much Hollywood gets wrong. That’s one you should definitely giggle at.” He stood before her, touching his chest to hers, curling his fingers around hers. “You look exquisite.”

She was trembling. Why was she trembling? “So do you.”

She’d swear he was laughing at her, but when she started to glare up at him, his expression was solemn. “Thank you.” He lifted first one hand, then the other, placing soft kisses on her fingertips, and her knees damn near gave out. “Are you ready, my sweet?”

She nodded before she could stop herself.

“Good. I look forward to seeing the movie. Do you know what’s playing tonight?” He reached over to her coatrack and wrapped her favorite sweater around her shoulders.

“The Howling. The weres insisted, since last month was The Haunting of Hill House and the month before that was The Craft. Next month we’re probably going to do The Guardian again, although my vote is for The Day of the Triffids.”

“What about Attack of the Killer Tomatoes?”

“The theater won’t show it anymore. It took forever to get the stains out.”

He paused before pulling her door shut. He took the keys from her and locked it. “Stains?”

“We started throwing tomatoes at the screen, the projector, each other. By the time the movie was over, the theater looked like Little Italy had puked all over it.”

He shook his head and held out his elbow. “Shall we?”

She took his arm and began walking. “It’s about five blocks to Main, then another three to the theater.”

“A lovely stroll with a lovely woman,” he whispered in her ear. She’d have thought he was just being polite if not for the fact that he nibbled on her earlobe when he was done.

She shrugged, brushing him off. “Do I need some Vamp-Be-Gone?”

He gasped. “I’m wounded. Again. And here I am, taking you to the theater, making sure you aren’t molested—”

“—by anyone other than you.” She was beginning to enjoy this. He was flirting with her.

With her!

She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

“That should be obvious.” He sniffed arrogantly, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or scream for help.

“Tell me something.” They turned onto Main, and she knew she wouldn’t have much time, but the question had been circling in her mind ever since he’d asked her to movie night.

“Anything.”

“Why me?” When his steps faltered, she continued. “I’m curious. I mean, most vamps take one sniff, wrinkle their noses and move on to the O-positive set. You have to know I’m not human, so why me?”

“Will you answer my question if I answer yours?”

She nodded. Everyone in town knew who and what she was, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t find out, now that he’d been accepted by the council.

“What can I say? To me, you smell divine.” She opened her mouth to protest his lame answer, but he placed his finger over her lips. He halted and gently asked, “What are you?”

She huffed out a breath. “I’m a dryad.” Another dryad saw her coming and, as usual, crossed the street without acknowledging her. She hid her wince and hoped Parker hadn’t noticed.

His eyes grew wide and wild. “Really,” he breathed. It was like she’d handed him Christmas, his birthday and an all-you-can-eat porn star rolled into one. From the way he swallowed, he might have started drooling.

I am in big trouble. “Yes, really.”

“Well. That explains quite a bit.” He started walking forward again, a curiously satisfied expression. “I was cursed by a witch to drink only green, leafy blood.”

This time she was the one who drew to a halt. She ignored the man behind her who muttered “Freak” before walking around her, instead focusing on what Parker had just said. “That’s…different. How did she manage that, and why aren’t you dead of starvation?”

“Long story, one I promise we’ll go into after the movie.” He stared into her eyes. “If you’ll allow me, that is.”

She swallowed hard. “I should warn you. I’m slightly more than a dryad.”

He nodded. “And I’m a freak among monsters.” He smiled and threaded their arms together again. He didn’t seem to notice the unfriendly stares they were attracting. “I think we’ll get along fine.”

There was a brief moment at the concession stand where Parker thought he would have to fight a werewolf over Amara’s popcorn. The were had snarled at her, and only backed away when Parker snarled back. Amara’s apprehension had him pulling away before a real fight could begin. The were let it go also, joining his friends with a sneer.

He didn’t get it. The popcorn didn’t smell that good, and Amara hadn’t done anything to deserve such a reaction. When they took their seats toward the back of the theater, several people got up and moved away, giving them wary looks. Parker kept his arm around Amara, eager to show her at least one person in the theater was happy to be with her.

The movie, on the other hand, turned out to be incredibly fun, especially when the werewolves decided to howl at totally inappropriate moments and hurl insults at the screen. Watching the on-screen werewolves shape-shift with crackling bones and melting faces while their terrified victims screamed seemed particularly amusing to them. A few of the real weres growled at that part, but Parker didn’t want to know what that was about.

He always wondered why the victims didn’t run. Who would be that dumb? If Parker was faced with something that could easily kill him but took twenty minutes to change shape in order to do it, no way in hell would he stand there screaming. He’d haul ass and get as far away as he could. He shook his head. You might as well carry ketchup packets in your pocket in case the monster wanted some condiments while he gnawed your face off.

There was a mock fight in the audience between one of the werewolves and a woman who smelled like a clean, crisp waterfall. The werewolf won by the simple argument that when your tongue is busy dueling with someone else’s, you can’t yell anymore. “Mates?”

“Mm-hmm.” Amara snuggled close, giggling when the werewolf slung the woman over his shoulder, saluted his friends and strode out of the theater. “She’s been dealing with some pollution in her pond, and it made her cranky. This was a good way for her to get some of that out without hurting her mate.”

Parker’s head tilted. “Her pond?”

“She’s a naiad.”

“Oh. That explains the way she smells.”

Her eyes literally lit up, the green glow startling him. “You like the way she smells?” The rumbling tone of her voice startled him even more.

“It’s refreshing, but it isn’t you.” He licked a long line up her neck, enjoying her shiver. “No one is you.”