Bitten & Smitten ib-1 Page 15

  It wasn’t even midnight yet, the wedding reception having wrapped up earlier than originally planned. I kicked around in the sheets for a while, but I wasn’t tired. I figured that I’d read the issue of Cosmopolitan I’d brought with me until I got sleepy. I slid out of bed. I was wearing my Rollerskating Mama nightshirt. Very retro. I sat down at my little vanity, where I used to dream about becoming a grown-up. I’d apply the makeup I’d stolen from Mom’s bathroom drawer and imagine being a world-famous model, or actress, or flight attendant. Any of the above would have done just fine.

  Little did I know back then that I would never amount to more than a senior executive assistant. And I wasn’t even that anymore. Yes, I was feeling sorry for myself—what else was new? The worst thing about sitting at my childhood vanity was seeing that my reflection was now completely and utterly gone. Kaput. I’d never get used to that. Out of absolutely everything that sucked about being a vampire, not having a reflection was the thing that sucked the hardest. Material Girls should be able to see themselves in mirrors. That was just a given. But it was over. I may as well stop wearing makeup altogether. What was the point anymore?

  Okay, I knew it wasn’t just the lack of reflection that started the tears flowing down my cheeks. It was everything that had been happening—the mirror was just the proverbial straw on the camel’s back. I hated everything about being a vampire, and the list was getting longer by the day. And the cure that Richard had talked about? I was sure that was just another lump of bullshit to add to my already-full bullshit collection. So, being that I was all alone, in the room that had been filled with so many optimistic, wonderful dreams of my imaginary future, I allowed myself to cry like the little girl who used to live there. May she rest in peace.

  “Sarah,” a deep voice said.

  I sniffed and raised my head. I looked at the mirror, but it only reflected back the dark, empty room. I turned around. Thierry was sitting on the inside of the windowsill next to my open window.

  “What are you doing here?” I tried to wipe my tears away.

  He stood up. “I wanted to check on you.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, but my voice was shaky. “Can’t you see that I’m fine? Just peachy keen, jelly bean. Never better.”

  “You could have fooled me.” He took a deep breath and didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “About what happened at the club the other day-”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, stopping him. “I said I’d never go there again and I won’t.”

  “No, it’s not that. Well, actually, it is that.”

  “What?”

  “I was wrong to say those things to you.”

  My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You were wrong?”

  “Please, let me finish. I will admit that since I first agreed to help you in your new life, I haven’t been there as I said I would be. If I had, you wouldn’t have crossed paths with Quinn. Your unfortunate decisions were made as an innocent fledgling in need of an attentive sire. And for me to demand that you leave the only life you’ve known without having any support was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have been surprised when you decided to go against my wishes.” He crossed his arms and looked away. “I sent George here to keep an eye on you—make sure you were all right. I did hope he would be able to do it a little more subtly, but what’s done is done.”

  I blinked. “Is he okay?”

  “He’ll be fine for the drive back to the city tomorrow morning, yes.”

  I was allowing the fact that Thierry had just apologized to me to sink in. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that this was a rare event.

  “Why were you crying?” he asked after a moment.

  I shrugged at the empty mirror. Then I pointed at it, afraid that I might make a weird sound if I tried to talk over that big lump in my throat.

  “Oh,” Thierry said. “That reminds me, I brought you a little something.” He stood up and moved closer to me and reached into his pocket.

  He pulled out a medium-size blue box wrapped with a white ribbon and placed it in front of me on the vanity.

  I looked up at him. “What’s this?”

  “A gift.”

  Thierry had gotten me a gift? I picked it up, pulled off the ribbon, and looked into the box. There was a silver oval inside. I took it out and looked up at Thierry in confusion. He seemed amused.

  “Open it up,” he said.

  The oval was about four inches in diameter with a release mechanism at the bottom. I pressed the button and up popped the top. It was an antique silver compact, like one you’d use to powder your nose in the old days.

  “It’s very pretty,” I said as I stared at my red-eyed reflection in the small mirror.

  Wait a minute. My reflection? I watched my eyes widen with the growing awareness. It was a shard. Thierry had given me a shard—a special mirror like Zelda had told me about. Of the highly expensive variety.

  I raised my wide eyes to look at Thierry.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  I started crying again, but now for an entirely different reason. Thierry was going to think I was a complete basket case, but I didn’t care. He looked dismayed as I gently put the shard down and got to my feet.

  “If you don’t like it,” he said, “I can—”

  I squeezed his words off with a huge bear hug, pressing my nightshirt against his black suit.

  “I love it, Thierry. Thank you so, so much.” I looked up at him, my eyes filled with tears of happiness. He smiled down at me. He looked great when he smiled. He pushed the tears off my cheeks with his thumbs and gently held my face in his hands, just staring at me with his silvery eyes. His smile slowly vanished.

  My heart was pounding hard as I looked into his eyes. He leaned closer to me, and I could feel his warm breath glance against my face. He was breathing faster than he should have been, and his heart was beating against my own. He pulled me to him and our lips met, softly at first but slowly growing in intensity, until we were battling each other for who could kiss deeper and sweeter and longer. I traced my hands down his back, under his jacket and lower still, pressing his body even closer against my own. His hands moved down to the backs of my bare thighs and he lifted me up, turned us around, and we fell down to my messy single bed without his lips leaving mine for even a moment. His weight pressed me firmly against the narrow mattress, and he began to kiss down my neck with a growing hunger.

  The fleeting thought of Why did I have to wear my Rollerskating Mama nightshirt to bed tonight? went through my mind, but I pushed it away. Thierry traced his mouth back up my neck to claim my lips again, and I forgot all about the stupid nightshirt. But I’d definitely go shopping for some sexy new lingerie as soon as I got back to the city. Oh, yeah. I ran my tongue along the inside of his mouth and then lightly across his fangs. He let out a low moan and pulled back a bit to stare down at me, with dark eyes.

  “Is this the way you always say thank you for a gift?”

  “Absolutely.” I grabbed the back of his head to pull him down to me again. “Now shut up.”

  His mouth curled into a smile and he kissed me again. There was a sharp knock at my door.

  “Sarah?” my mother’s voice said. “What’s going on in there?”

  “Oh, shit,” I murmured against Thierry’s lips. I gently pushed his face away so my voice wouldn’t be muffled. “Nothing, Mom.”

  “You don’t have a boy in there with you, do you? Is it George? I said he could stay in the guest room, young lady. We have rules in this house.”

  Thierry looked down at me and raised an eyebrow.

  “Um… nope. Nobody’s in here, Mom. Just little ole me.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Uh… yeah, just a sec.” I squirmed out from beneath Thierry and straightened out my nightshirt. I cleared my throat and tried to compose myself as best I could. Why did I feel guilty having a man in my room? I wasn’t fourteen anymore, for Pete’s sake. Thierry slowly pushed up off the bed. He moved toward th
e open window, and I gave him a sheepish look. Sheepish yet sexy. At least that’s what I was striving for. He cleared his throat quietly, ran a hand through his tousled dark hair, and smiled back at me. “We’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight.”

  “Make it nine?”

  “Eight-thirty. Good night, Sarah.” He climbed out the window and, with a last look, was gone just like that.

  I took a few deep breaths and tried to look calm before I opened the door. My mother stood in the doorway wearing her bright green housecoat and looking a little worse for wear. Maybe her hangover had kicked in early.

  “Yeah, Mom? What is it?”

  “Do you want eggs for breakfast?”

  I blinked at her. “You just wanted to know if I wanted eggs for breakfast?”

  “That’s what I just asked you, didn’t I?”

  I sighed. “Sure, eggs would be great.”

  “Scrambled or over easy?”

  “Scrambled.” Much like my life.

  “Okay, honey, have a good sleep.” She blew me a kiss and turned to walk down the hall.

  “Yeah,” I said under my breath. “Thanks to you I’ll be getting lots of sleep tonight.”

  She turned around. “What was that?”

  “I said, you have a good sleep, too.”

  “Okay. Good night.”

  I closed the door and stood there with my back pressed up against it for a few minutes until my racing heart slowed down to a relatively normal pace. Then I went back to my little bed, got in, and pulled the covers up high. I leaned over and felt around for my old diary I’d always kept in the secret hiding compartment of my bedside table. I opened it up to a blank page, grabbed my strawberry-scented, pink-inked Hello Kitty pen and wrote:

  Mrs. Sarah de Bennicoeur.

  Thierry + Sarah = Tru love 4ever.

  I drew a heart around it. With an arrow and everything. Then I came to my senses enough to scribble on top of it. I absently chewed the end of the pen while wondering what tomorrow would bring.

  The morning came extremely bright and damn early. I got dressed in faded jeans, hot pink T-shirt, and my black leather jacket. I happily used the shard to help put on my makeup. It was simply the coolest thing ever. Then I choked back half of the scrambled eggs my mother made, so as not to seem rude, and said my goodbyes, praying I wouldn’t throw the eggs up all over the interior of Thierry’s sleek black Audi. Dark sunglasses firmly in place, I gave my mom and dad one last hug each—they were still stunned from the breakfast conversation of, “Oh, by the way, Reverend Micholby tried to kill me last night and now he’s in jail.” So as not to freak them out any more than they already were, I’d officially decided not to part ways with them till the next time I saw them. At Christmas dinner. Or maybe it could wait until Easter. I’d have to play it by ear. I climbed into the backseat of Thiery’s car on the dot of eight-thirty. Thierry was driving. George was in the passenger seat, looking pale but alive.

  Thierry turned around and smiled at me. “Good morning, Sarah.”

  I smiled back and felt my cheeks redden as I remembered the feel of his incredible body pressed against mine. “Good morning to you, too. And how are you feeling today, George?”

  “Like someone should take me out back and shoot me,” he said very seriously.

  I patted the top of his sandy-colored hair that was currently back in a messy ponytail.

  “Sounds like somebody needs some caffeine.”

  The three-hour drive back to the city was relaxed and mostly comfortable, except for the fact that I badly wanted to climb into the front seat and straddle Thierry. I managed to control myself for the time being. But the heat I was feeling between us would have to be handled very soon. I might just explode if it wasn’t, or at the very least I’d get a very bad sunburn. I busied myself looking out the window at the passing countryside. Tree, barn, horse. Horse, barn, tree.

  Finally the barns and horses gave way to pavement and traffic. The city enveloped us and I began to feel relatively normal again. I wondered if Amy would mind if Thierry came along on the double date. I’d tell her that Quinn was out of the picture. Way out. Then again, I couldn’t exactly imagine Thierry tolerating dinner and dancing with my best friend and her new man of the moment. Time would have to tell on that one.

  “I’ve shut down Midnight Eclipse for a couple of days,” Thierry said as we neared the club. “But I need to pick up some files and invoices.”

  He parked around the back of the club and got out of the car. I got out, too. George stayed put in the front seat, his cheek pressed against the window. Thierry raised an eyebrow at me as I approached him from the other side of the car.

  “I’ll only be a moment,” he said.

  I grinned up at him. “And your point is?”

  “Oh, nothing at all.” He smiled as we turned toward the back door.

  There was a woman sitting with her back against the red door, her knees up against her chest. She was— hands down—the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life, at least in person. She had raven-colored hair, which was long and wavy, perfectly pale white skin, and full burgundy lips. Big, dark Gucci sunglasses covered her eyes. She wore a dark blue shift dress that swished against her trim body as she got to her feet. Standing, her legs were as long and shapely as any swimsuit model’s I’d ever had the misfortune of seeing. I felt the sudden urge to get back to the gym as soon as possible.

  “Finally,” she said and placed an elegant hand on her slim hip. “I’ve been waiting here for ages.”

  I glanced at Thierry. He took a deep breath and didn’t seem as if he was going to say anything back to the woman. How rude was that?

  “Hi.” I extended my hand. “I’m Sarah.”

  She smiled, showing off perfect white teeth, fangs included, and shook my hand.

  “Veronique,” she said. “Thierry’s wife.”

  Chapter 15

  Veronique de Bennicoeur was slightly over seven hundred years old, though she didn’t look a day over thirty. She and Thierry had met during the Black Death plague in Europe. She’d been a vampire first and Thierry’s sire. She currently lived in France, but word had reached her through the grapevine that there was trouble in Toronto, and she thought she might be able to lend a hand. Her favorite drink was a martini on the rocks. I listened to her give me the Cliffs Notes on her life with the poorest excuse for a smile frozen in place on my face. I was trying to decide, while listening to her go on about her fabulous life, who I wanted to kill more. Her or myself.

  “So, what do you think?” Her voice was as beautiful as she was. She could have been a deejay. Or a phone-sex operator.

  I decided. I was going to kill myself.

  “Hmm? What was that?” I stood behind the bar, bracing the edge of it for support. I’d originally gone behind it to get myself a shot of whatever blood type was on tap, and Veronique had sat down across from me and ordered a martini. I only gave her one olive.

  She smiled. “I just asked if while I’m in town, the two of us could go out for a girls’ lunch. It’s so rare that I find another woman I feel I can really talk to. You’re an excellent listener.”

  “Yeah? Wow. That sounds great.” Even I couldn’t coax enthusiasm into those words.

  After a quick two-cheeked European-style kiss and a few words of greeting to Veronique, Thierry had disappeared into his office shortly after he’d let us in the club. George was lying down in a nearby booth concentrating very hard on healing, but I was pretty sure he had a curious ear open for our mostly one-sided conversation. What I was still doing there was beyond me, although I was sure that the bone-jarring shock had something to do with it.

  Thierry had a wife.

  Not something that had come up in casual conversation. I was trying very hard not to freak out. It was difficult, but so far I was succeeding. He had a wife. Okay. He wasn’t currently living with this wife; that much I’d figured out. Well, I suppose when you’re married for six hundred freaking years you need a little t
ime apart to help keep things fresh. I’d done four shots of B positive with vodka chasers since we got back. They weren’t making me feel better. I guess B positive didn’t live up to its optimistic reputation. I was starting to feel way claustrophobic. Since Thierry hadn’t said a word to me to explain what was going on, I was getting the distinct, stomach-churning impression that I wasn’t needed anymore. Gorgeous European ?ber-wife had returned.

  “I should go,” I said.

  “No, dear girl, stay. I like you. And you make an excellent martini.” She ran a French-manicured finger along the edge of her glass.

  “Thanks. Um, no, I really have to take off.”

  “Very well, if you insist. And listen, I know Thierry wants to shut down the club. Don’t worry at all. We will open for business tonight as usual. I know how hard it is to be a working girl in the big city.”

  She thought I was only a waitress there. Kill me. Somebody, kill me.

  “Great.” I smiled at her through clenched teeth. “I’m just going to say bye to Thierry now.”

  There were a few other choice words I had in mind for him, too. But I was going to try to be mature. That was me. Mature with a capital M.I knocked lightly on his office door and then pushed it open. Thierry sat at his desk, staring intently at some papers. He didn’t look up.

  “I’m leaving,” I said.

  He still didn’t say anything.

  “Hello? I said I’m leaving.”

  He finally glanced up as if surprised to see me standing there. “I thought you’d already left.”

  I felt heat rise in my cheeks. “Oh, did you?”

  He shrugged, then looked back down at the papers. “Doesn’t matter, I suppose.”

  I stepped farther into the office and closed the door behind me. I could prove I was mature. Just watch me. “Veronique is very beautiful.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  I counted slowly to ten in my head. “I didn’t know you were married.”