Fanged Love by

“Stella, are you okay?” Mom asks. “I thought you’d be more excited about today. There’s so much we can learn from these other wineries.”

“Sorry. Jet lag. I’ll get some coffee and be good as new.”

My parents give me matching looks of concern. “You just don’t sound like yourself,” Dad says. “Your voice is monotone.”

“There’s a lot riding on today. I’m anxious.”

My dad rubs his hands together. “Me too, but we can only go up from here. I’m so thankful to Boz and Neli. Have you seen them?”

Boz’s voice echoes in my mind: I’ll see you at sunset tomorrow. Vampires awaken at sunset.

I shake away the bizarre thought. There’s a reason I’ve been terrified of vampires since childhood, and it all comes down to a late-night movie and the poor timing of my cousin scaring me. Everything is perfectly explainable and in the realm of reality. Boz is not a vampire.

“I’ll get us both coffee, Stella,” Dad says. “You want one, hon?”

My mom shakes her head. “No, thanks. I’m going to check in on the twins. They wanted to explore the shops. Stella, take notes on the marketing materials over at the winners’ table. There might be something useful for us.”

“Sure.” I wave in farewell as they leave the exhibition hall. I head over to the row of winners’ tables.

I taste a few wines, chatting with the representatives, and take some brochures. I need to focus on business, not last night. I’d like to erase last night from my mind completely. I shift to the side, discreetly taking pictures with my phone of some wine labels, and head to the next table, taking a brochure. Wait. I know this medieval castle.

My head jerks up, and I meet Neli’s eyes across the table. They won last year, so of course she’d be here representing them.

“Ever wonder why there’s a medieval castle sitting in the middle of California wine country?” she asks.

The illogical pieces slide together in my mind as I stare at the picture of the castle on the brochure. This isn’t a reproduction. It’s the real deal, an eight-hundred-year-old castle belonging to an eight-hundred-year-old man, who used to dress in a top hat and cape. Like in olden times.

Not an eccentric billionaire recluse.

Not a goth musician in hiding.

An eight-hundred-year-old man. There’s no question in my mind he’s a man. I saw him in his full naked glory. Somehow he found the fountain of youth. That must be it.

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I feel a headache forming. Neli’s suddenly at my side, signaling for a young woman to take her place at the table. She must’ve brought an assistant. Of course she couldn’t run an award-winning vineyard single-handedly. I focus on this fact instead of the larger one that makes my head hurt. It’s just not possible. No human can live that long.

“Let’s go someplace quiet for a chat,” Neli says, guiding me from the noisy exhibit space. “We’ll sit outside. There’s a nice bench under a shade tree. How does that sound?”

I follow numbly, grateful for her soothing voice. My nerves have been jangled all day. I barely slept last night, and when I did sleep, I had nightmares of blood everywhere, a man screaming while I watched in frozen horror, knowing I could be next.

A short while later, we’re seated on the bench. It’s a warm day with a light breeze. The spot is secluded, no one else around. A calm oasis.

“How are you feeling today?” she asks.

“Exhausted, frazzled, stressed out of my mind.”

“Competition has that effect on everyone.”

I lift my brows, giving her a pointed look.

“Okay, okay, I’m here to talk you through a different kind of reality. Let me start by saying I am so sorry about the way you found out. That was a shock to the system, and you didn’t deserve that.”

“Thank you.” Why am I being polite to a killer’s accomplice? I should be running straight to the authorities. But something stops me. I want to believe they’re the good people I’ve come to know.

“Let me start at the very beginning…”

I listen as she tells me the most fantastical tale about Prince Bozhidar, how he came to be the form he is now from his humble beginnings, how he took her in when she was a child and treated her well, and how life has been for them in the centuries they’ve been bonded together.

“No human lives eight hundred years,” I say stubbornly. “You’re human. Completely normal.” There’s no way Neli is a vampire. She’s a beautiful woman in her twenties. Someone I would consider a friend. “And, to be totally honest, I don’t appreciate being lied to like this.” Especially because I don’t understand why they’re doing it.

“I’m not lying, Stella. I’m immortal,” she says. “I’m bonded to Boz, and I can only leave him when he releases me.”