Fanged Love by

“Nothing to fear here. You are as safe as a lamb in a lion-less meadow.” Welcome to the lion’s den. I promise to keep my fangs to myself. I set my blazer over the back of a chair. “Please, take a seat. We have arranged three blends for you to try.” I gesture toward the long table that Neli has prepared in the center of the barrel room.

Speaking of Neli, where is she? I should text her to join us with my new communication device she calls an eye-phone. I prefer to call it “the Summoner,” as that is its purpose for me.

Stella takes a seat and looks all around. The cellar is a large vaulted space with multiple archways lit by candelabras overhead and sconces along every wall. It is one of the more comfortable spots in the castle with its dim lighting and privacy. Alarm shoots through me. That nearly sounds as intimate as my bedchamber. I send an urgent message to Neli.

Prince Bozhidar: Your presence is required for the tastings.

I wait for the Summoner to serve its purpose, and then I wait some more, but there is no response from Neli. Is this thing broken? I give the device a shake and stare at the small screen. How can this be? Neli always responds to every chiming notification. She is a slave to her eye-phone.

I want to track her down, but don’t want to be rude to our guest. Surely, Neli will be along shortly. If she knows what’s good for her.

I turn my attention back to Stella, who is rubbing the side of her neck in the spot where I took a sip. The memory sends more sharp need rushing through me, but I resist my urge and make a note to always feed before I see her in the future, to prevent temptation.

“Will Neli be joining us?” she asks hesitantly.

“She’ll be down shortly.”

Her head lifts, and she looks up at me under her lashes, seeming almost shy. The delight I always feel in the presence of maidenly virtue is nearly eclipsed by primal lust, but I cannot allow the beast in me to emerge.

“Would you like to sit with me while we wait?” she asks.

“I-I…” I am about to tell her that I prefer to stand, but what can I say? I am a complicated male who, on top of wanting to protect her, also believes in being a gentleman. And what is the number one rule of a gentleman? Always be a gracious host. Of course, the vampire version of that rule includes the added phrase: before you eat your guest.

No, no, I tell myself. I am better than that. I am an ancient powerful vampire with unmatched self-control. I can handle anything Stella throws my way, even a little naked toe action.

“It would be my pleasure.” I take the seat across from her so that Neli can sit at the head of the table and provide a buffer between us.

“I’m so glad we’re working together,” she says.

“I am happy to help a neighbor.” The air between us fills with an awkward energy, which is unknown territory for me. I am a creature of the night. We don’t do awkward. My little friend Chandler does awkward all day long. That is no help. I must consider how Joey or Ross would handle this. Ah, my friends, I fear you have never faced such temptation.

I know. I look away and pretend to study the wall.

Stella does the same, looking around.

Yep. Just two regular people, sitting together in a dark, private wine cellar. One of them absolutely does not wish to drink the other’s blood.

“So,” Stella finally says, breaking the long silence, “I would love to plan some future events here. Your barrel room is just spectacular. I really appreciate your help and would like to give something in return. Plus it would bring publicity to both our wineries. What do you think of a harvest celebration in September?”

I cannot have too many visitors here now that I am awakened from my five-hundred-year slumber because there would be questions about where I have been all these years, and questions lead to lies. Lies lead to a risk of exposure given how easy it is in this day and age for anyone to check the facts. “How many people would attend an event like that?”

“Tons! It could be a real moneymaker.” She smiles. “I’m sure you’d sell a lot of wine, and some of our blends would be good to sell too.”

“That is an idea,” I say diplomatically, not wanting to squash her good spirits. Also, she smiled her sweet smile for me, and now my unbeating heart is all tingles and manly flutter. Quite unusual. The flutters, I mean. Being manly comes naturally.

She gestures overhead to the nearest candelabra, continuing with her creative ideas. “And with all these cool candles around, it’s a great vibe for a Halloween masquerade ball, which I think I mentioned before. Add some cobwebs in the corners, maybe some spooky ghost sounds.” She shivers and then chuckles. “Look at me, creeping myself out with ghosts. I know they’re not real, but sometimes my imagination runs away with me. Like the other night I could swear I heard strange noises in the house. I ended up sleeping with my head under the covers. Ridiculous, right? Honestly, I’m much too practical to believe in the otherworldly. My sisters like to watch all those paranormal shows—anything with ghosts, witches, vampires, werewolves—but I can never suspend disbelief long enough to enjoy them.”