Page 8 of Forsaking All Others

I snort and choke a little on my champagne when several of the women start to chant, “For Jaguar….grrrrrr,” curling their hands to scratch the air as though they’re big cats.

Groaning internally, I continue my careful study.

Everyone is beautiful, of course, but not everyone is dark-skinned. I guess that must have just been my carload of contestants. There are complexions from every corner of the world. And while most contestants are standing around drinking, gossiping, and effecting nonchalance, it’s clear they’re all in their own ways, predators.

All except one.

Sauntering over to the couch, I sit beside a beautiful blonde with a wide, open and friendly, albeit slightly bemused, face. She has long, straight hair and is wearing a powder-blue velvet dress that complements her eyes perfectly.

“Hi,” I sigh as I sit, “I’m Catriona.”

“I’m Thorun.”

“Thorun, that’s an unusual name. Where are you from?”

“Iceland.”

“For real?” I snort. “Jesus, this guy must have a seriously diverse taste in women. And by taste, I mean literally and figuratively.”

“I guess,” she frowns. “Can you tell me why we’re all just sitting around here, and why everyone’s so unfriendly? I came in here third, but so far you’re the only lady to speak to me.”

“Lady?” I smirk and shake my head. “I’m far from that. But you know the rules of The Game, we need to wait for the bachelor to arrive to start the cocktail party.”

“It looks like a party already to me,” she smiles, “although not the kind I’m accustomed to.”

“And not the kind we’d stay at if we had a choice,” I mutter.

“Exactly!” She smiles. “You understand. Can I call you Cat?”

“No, only friends call me that.”

“Oh, well, we could become friends.”

“We won’t.”

“Oh.”

She looks down and nods to the bottle I’ve squished between us.

“May I?”

“If you dare,” I frown.

“Oh, ah, I’ll get my own if you need all of it. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need all of it,” ‘well maybe I do,’ “but…aren’t you worried I’ll poison you?”

“Why would you do that?” She laughs.

I cock my head to one side and study her.

“Thorun, you do realise we’re on The Vampire Bachelor Games. We’re all here to win the hand of the bachelor.”

“A game show, yes,” she nods, “my grandmother entered me to find a husband. She despaired of me living my life without someone by my side. But look around,” she shakes her head, “these women are so beautiful. I’m obviously going to go home alone.”

“Home?” I frown.

Our conversation is interrupted by the entrance of the man of the hour.