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Prologue
EDMOND BLACKMORE
A man about to find the last thing
he was looking for…
and the one thing he can never have.
Idon’t believe in love at first sight.
I don’t believe in love at all—at least, not for myself.
It’s not in the cards for this confirmed vampire bachelor, but that’s all right. I’ve led an otherwise full life and undeath. I have good friends, blood brothers who have become my family, and fulfilling diplomatic work that makes good use of my time and talent.
That’s why I’m here, at this goth rock concert in America’s heartland, surrounded by young people thrashing to the music in ripped jeans, crop tops, and sundresses. Nathaniel, the self-proclaimed vampire king of Chicago, demanded I attend the show with him to celebrate our newly forged treaty. He’s agreed to stop attacking the misfit shifter pack in the city’s southside in exchange for an introduction to Natasha, the vampire queen of Paris, a mercurial tyrant he believes to be his fated mate.
And who knows? Perhaps she is.
The two of them certainly share a love for impulsive decisions, self-aggrandizement, and partying like it’s 1999. Nathaniel’s been pounding vodka-saturated blood since before sunset and just ordered three bags for the after-party. Meanwhile, barely an hour into the concert, I’m wishing I’d brought earplugs and wondering how soon I can fake a headache and escape to the peace of my hotel room.
The music itself isn’t bad, it’s the volume I take issue with, and I’ve never been a fan of large crowds. I prefer a chamber orchestra, a play in an intimate theater space, or a poetry reading by candlelight in a cozy drawing room. I’m still considered part of the younger vampire generation—I was turned in the thick of World War I; snatched from the hands of death on a French battlefield—but my tastes are far more regency than rock star.
I’m shamelessly old-fashioned, which means I’d usually be taken with that girl in the long white dress with flowers in her hair. With her red curls, freckles, and plush, pink lips, she looks like she escaped from a Jane Austen novel. On a typical night, I would make my way over to her group, buy her a drink, and see if she was open to being charmed into my bed for a night.
I may not believe in love, but I believe in pleasure, and there’s no doubt in my mind I could make Red so happy tonight, she wouldn’t mind waking up alone in the morning.
But Red isn’t the one who’s captured my imagination.
My gaze skims right over her to the woman dancing on the small, raised stage beside her in the center of the VIP area.
The woman is tall—at least five ten—with bronze skin and glossy black hair that falls to the middle of her back. Her bone structure is a study in balanced perfection and her beauty undeniable. But it isn’t her stunning cheekbones, graceful arms, or tiny waist that has me in thrall. It’s her eyes, those bold, clever eyes that snare mine between songs, daring me to make the first move.
Those eyes…
I would swear I’ve gazed into them hundreds of times before.
Perhaps in another life. Or perhaps only in dreams.
It doesn’t matter, really. The only thing that matters is that the pull I feel isn’t purely physical. There’s something else, something more profound that swirls through my chest, warning that getting any closer to that perfect girl would be a bad idea.
Maybe even a very bad one…
“I can have the guards fetch her for you,” Nathaniel shouts into my ear. “It’s no problem.”
I turn to see him grinning like the wolf who devoured the farmer’s flock but kept one sheep to torture for his own entertainment. He has his hand down the bodice of the dazed, drunk brunette on his lap and his fangs are fully visible beneath the curve of his top lip.
But that hardly sets him apart from the crowd in our present company. Vampire Husband’s lead singer often wears fake fangs and half the people in the crowd are sporting a pair themselves. The practice allows real vampires to hide in plain sight among them, picking out fans likely to be amenable to serving as a late-night snack after the show.
“She’s clearly into you, Eddy,” Nathaniel continues, massaging the brunette’s breast as he speaks, making me even more uncomfortable than when their tongues were down each other’s throats a few minutes ago. “But who wouldn’t be? You’re fucking gorgeous. Truly. If I were into dick, I’d be on yours like white on rice. Don’t you agree, Lucy? Isn’t he a thing of pure and utter beauty?”
Lucy emits a breathy laugh and shifts her bleary gaze my way. “Oh, yeah, for sure. He’s like a panther.” She pauses, cocking her head as she considers me with a more thoughtful expression. “But like…a sexy panther, with sweet eyes. You look like a nice person, too, you know? I’d definitely go for you if I weren’t already with Nathaniel.”
I clear my throat. “Well, thank you, I appreciate that.” The two of them are staring at me like I’m a juicy steak they might agree to share after a few more drinks, but I’m not up for being anyone’s meal tonight. “And thanks for the offer to find me a date, Nathaniel, but regrettably, I must take my leave. My train leaves at five, and my assistant and I must arrive early to vampire proof the sleeping car.” I extend my hand his way, managing not to cringe when he offers me the still warm palm recently glued to Lucy’s breast. “I’ll touch base soon about plans for Paris.”
“Très bon. Bon voyage, mon ami,” Nathaniel says as he slips his fingers back into Lucy’s top, clearly alluding to his eagerness to meet his true love in France this coming spring.
It would be cringeworthy that he’s doing so with his hand down another woman’s shirt, but when it comes to lovers, Natasha also enjoys variety. As long as Nathaniel is willing to share and be shared, it might still be a match made in promiscuous vampire heaven.
