Fanged Love by

I enter the grand lobby of the Argent de Doigt d’Hôtel with its oversized indoor trees, vaulted stained-glass ceilings, and elegant crystal chandeliers. The man behind the counter greets me with a nod. I am almost to the elevator, a very ingenious closet that moves one from floor to floor, when I catch the most exquisite scent of roses. Stella…she is near.

I turn my head and spot her through the open doorway just off the lobby, sitting at a table near the bar, one leg crossed over the other in a way that exposes one bare leg from knee to ankle. Do not go to her, Boz. Do not do it. I cannot seem to leave. The soft lighting in the wood-paneled space bathes her skin in a radiant glow, and her long dark hair shines as it cascades over the back of her pale pink floral dress. I clench my fists and shut my eyes. If the witch’s curse is real, giving in to my desire will result in my destruction. Not to mention, the very real possibility of Stella’s. If she is truly my mate, then I will be driven to turn her. And to destroy such a precious creature is not my wish. I know this is what Neli wants. She likely ensured Stella would be here for me to find. I quickly pull out the Summoner and send a note:

Prince Bozhidar: You and I will have words tomorrow, little matchmaker devil.

I notice the squiggling dots indicating that she is responding. I turn and quickly make my way toward the elevator while she likely composes an apologetic reply.

Neli: Don’t look at me, dude. Destiny is all. Can’t outrun it.

Prince Bozhidar: Don’t you dare quote Uhtred. He is a great warrior!

Uhtred is that fellow we were watching on the tiny portable theater during the aeroplane ride here. I rather enjoyed the way he beheaded his enemies in his Last Kingdom. It was also nice to escape to the gritty, filthy warmth and simplicity of the medieval era. Ah, nothing like home.

Neli: And you were once a great warlord. So stop being such a wuss, and go claim your woman! She’s waiting for you in the hotel bar. Chicken. Bock. Bock. Bock.

I growl. I knew it! Neli is my trusted ally, but like any female, she cannot be discouraged from her goals once she sets her sights on something. It is very annoying.

Prince Bozhidar: Your fowl words do not sway me. Now, please try to find out where our hunter is staying so that I may address the issue properly tomorrow evening. Good night!

The elevator chimes, and I am about to step inside when I hear Stella’s voice. “Boz! Hey.”

I groan, feeling the push and pull. I should go to my room. I should break into the Musée d’Aquitaine to see the Venus of Laussel—a stone carving of an ancient woman scratching herself. I should find a café table in the plaza, sip wine, and compliment the fashionable American tourists passing by and showing off their Must Have Tees. I should do anything but go to her.

“Boz?” she calls out again.

Against my will, I feel a smile curl on my lips, and my body turns. “Stella, you are awake.” What am I doing? Dammit, man. No!

Stella makes a little wave, and her face lights up with a smile. I am done for.

I stroll over, my resolve melting away like a piece of ice on a hot, sunny sidewalk.

“I think I slept too much on the plane, and now I’m wide awake. Join me?” She glances at the chair directly to her left. The ambiance is dark, cozy, and romantic. A couple sits closely in the corner, whispering very erotic words between them—vampire ears hear all. Three women and a man, wearing formal clothing, sit at the long mahogany bar, sipping a fine red port with notes of caramel and currants. I can smell it from here. But nothing is more delicious than the woman before me. Roses. Purity. My little virgin…

I take a seat next to her, and our eyes lock. My heart jars inside my chest. Dear gods. The beating in my chest feels even stronger now. It must be true that a vampire’s heart beats anew when they are with their one true love. She is my lobster, to quote my wise friend Phoebe.

But I cannot dine on my lobster.

“So, where did you come in from?” she asks. “I thought you were going to bed early.”

“I meant to, yes; however, I could not sleep. Went out for a stroll.”

“Oh. Maybe I should have done that. It’s just, I’m so nervous about tomorrow. Everything’s riding on this competition.”

Why must she say the word “riding”? An image of her doing just that hits me like a spike to the brain and lodges there: Her creamy soft skin glowing with the light of a crackling fireplace, her hair wild and loose down her back, her pert young breasts bobbing as her hips rock while she rides my cock and—