Bitten & Smitten

by Michelle Rowen

  “No.” I sat down in the chair across from her desk. “Late night.”

  “You mustn’t miss out on your beauty sleep. A woman’s looks are one of her greatest assets in the business world, you know.”

  My smile held, but I did glance at her desk calendar to make sure we hadn’t just time-traveled back fifty years.

  She shuffled through a stack of mail and some papers on her desk. “Sarah, I know I’ve been unforgivably late with your review this year.”

  Oh, crap. That’s what this was about? I was going to have an impromptu job review with zero time to prepare? Just super.

  She noted my look of dismay. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it as pain-free as possible for you. I think you’re doing a stellar job. Normally, you also look top-notch. I’ll overlook today since it’s the only time I remember seeing you look less than”—she eyed my outfit—“pulled together.”

  I’d procrastinated on my laundry a few extra days this week, and because I’d woken up so late I absently reached down to smooth out the navy blue skirt I’d found balled up in the corner of my bedroom. Hey, it smelled clean enough.

  “My recommendation is to keep up the good work. I’m changing your title to senior executive assistant, and giving you a three percent raise effective next payday. Congratulations.”

  Wow, three percent. I could move up that early retirement plan to age seventy-five now, instead of eighty. Lucky me.

  “Thank you,” I said. “That’s very generous.”

  “You’re quite welcome.” Ms. Saunders nodded and grabbed a gold-plated letter opener to begin attacking her stack of mail.

  I turned to leave. Didn’t want to outstay my welcome.

  “Damn it!” she exclaimed, and I turned back around. She winced and nodded at the letter opener that she’d dropped to her desktop. “Damn thing slipped. I’m probably going to need stitches now. Can you be a dear and fetch the first-aid kit for me?”

  She held her left index finger and frowned at the steady flow of blood oozing out. A few small drops of red splashed onto the other letters spread out on the desk.

  I felt woozy. And suddenly dizzy.

  I blinked.

  When I opened my eyes, I was no longer standing by the door about to leave. I was crouched down next to Ms. Saunders’s imported black leather chair, grasping her wrist tightly…

  … and sucking noisily on her fingertip.

  I shrieked and let go of her, staggering backward. I grabbed at her desk to keep from falling, but I dropped on my butt, anyhow, taking most of the contents of the top of her desk with me.

  She held her injured finger far away from her and stared at me, wide-eyed, with a mixture of shock and disgust.

  I scrambled to my feet and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

  What in the holy hell just happened?

  “I… I… uh… I’m so sorry,” I managed. “I don’t know what… I wouldn’t normally do something… I just…”

  Ms. Saunders pulled her hand close to her chest, perhaps to protect it from further abuse.

  “Get out,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah, I’ll get back to work. Again, I’m so, so sorry. Would you like me to bring you a cup of coffee?”

  “No, not to your desk,” she said evenly, but her volume increased with every word. “Get out of here, you freak. I don’t care what you’ve heard, I’m not into women. You’re fired. Now get out of here before I call security.”

  “But… my job review—”

  “Get out!” she yelled.

  I took a step toward her, wanting to try to rationalize what just happened, but she rolled backward in her chair as if she were afraid of me. I held up my hands.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. I just want to explain.”

  She grabbed her phone without taking her eyes off me and hit a number. “Security, this is the fifth floor…”

  That was all I needed to hear. I ran out of her office and back through the maze of cubicles. What had just happened? What would possess me to do something so disgusting? And was there really a rumor that Ms. Saunders liked chicks? Because that would explain a lot.

  But there wasn’t any time to think about what had just happened. I was relying on pure instinct to see me through this. And my instinct was telling me that I’d better get the hell out of there as fast as possible if I didn’t want to be unceremoniously escorted out of the building by two security guards.

  Back at my desk I grabbed my pink-haired troll doll that was suction-cupped to the top of my computer. Then I opened my top drawer to retrieve the little box of Godiva truffles I kept there for my daily three o’clock chocolate fix. Was I forgetting anything else?

  Oh, my God. I’d just been fired.

  No, couldn’t think about that now. Later. Deal with it later. I nodded to myself and grabbed my bag. It was still soggy from last night.

  Soggy from my plunge off the top of a bridge with Thierry de Bennicoeur, the suicidal-yet-sexy vampire. Could that have happened for real? No. I must have been so drunk that I’d taken a shower, fully clothed. And accessorized. But couldn’t margaritas only be held responsible for so much?

  I heard a ding and the elevator doors opened up.

  Security got out and I saw Ms. Saunders walking toward them, holding her injured hand and gesturing wildly in my direction. I couldn’t hear what she was telling them, and I didn’t really want to know. The last thing I needed was all my coworkers finding out I was getting physically booted from the company for sucking on my boss’s finger. The word “embarrassing” didn’t even begin to cover it.

  I made a beeline for the stairs, which took me past Amy’s desk. She was typing steadily and looked up at me with surprise as I whizzed by. I held my thumb and pinkie finger to my ear, making the universal sign for “call me,” then disappeared through the door leading to the stairwell.

  I took the stairs all the way down to the parking garage. Out through a set of doors to my right and I was into downtown Toronto’s PATH system—the huge maze of tunnels under the business district. I’d always loved the PATH because it helped me avoid nasty winter weather while wearing expensive footwear. Slush and heels did not combine for good results.

  Actually, calling them tunnels wasn’t all that accurate. They were more like the narrow halls of a shopping mall. Lined with restaurants and stores, joining together the tall, downtown buildings. Tiled floors led in all directions. Signs above and on the walls pointed toward Adelaide or King Street

  or Bay. The regular users never needed to look up at the signs, just forward, their lips pressed against their foamy cappuccinos, or their noses tucked into the daily Globe and Mail, as they traveled by foot through the commuting crowds. The tourists walked around as if they’d just entered a surreal, underground world. They were the ones who usually got in my way.

  I made a quick right, pushed through large glass doors, and then got on the subway. Eyes straight forward, unblinking, my staring contest now was only with the gray stations that whipped past the window.

  I got off at my regular stop and walked methodically to my apartment building. Rode up in the elevator to the tenth floor. Slid my key into the lock, then went inside and automatically locked the door behind me.

  I could still taste the blood from Ms. Saunders’s cut on my tongue. It tasted pretty damn good.

  My knees buckled under and I dropped to the floor, just past the front door and next to the fridge. The daze I’d been in slowly lifted, leaving behind it the bizarre truth I’d been trying all day to deny.

  It hadn’t been a dream.

  I was a vampire.

  Now what the hell was I supposed to do?

  Chapter 4

  Falling asleep seemed the best course of immediate action. Some might call it passing out from the shock of realizing I was now a bloodsucking monster, but I’d prefer to simply think of it as a power nap.

  When I woke up, it was dark in my apartment, which seemed odd since I’d left the offi
ce well before noon. I pushed myself up from the kitchen floor and flicked on a light. The clock on the stove read 7:30.

  I’d just slept for nearly eight hours. Not good.

  My mouth felt like a desert. I poured myself a glass of wine from a half-empty bottle at the back of the fridge and downed it while trying to organize my racing thoughts.

  I’m a vampire. The words swarmed through my brain. A neck-biting, cape-wearing vampire with a capital V.

  I began to feel woozy again.

  I grabbed the phone off the kitchen counter. There were five messages waiting for me on my voice mail. The first one was from my mother.

  “Sarah? Are you there, honey? Pick up.” She always started her messages that way. “Just to remind you, the wedding rehearsal and dinner begin at four on Monday, but we wanted some time to visit with you first. Call us so we’ll know when to expect you, okay?”

  I sighed. I was to be one of the bridesmaids in my cousin’s wedding back in my hometown of Abottsville, Ontario. I decided to pull a Scarlett O’Hara and think about it tomorrow. I had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment. To say the least.

  The next four messages were from Amy. She was desperate to know why I’d been fired. Apparently, there were now multiple versions of what had happened circulating through the office. One had been that I’d made a pass at Ms. Saunders.

  I gently bashed my forehead against the cool surface of me fridge. Great, just great. With my luck I’d probably end up getting sued for sexual harassment.

  What could I tell Amy that didn’t sound crazy? I decided not to call her back until I figured that out. I poured myself another glass of wine and downed that one, too, then considered having another one. But there wasn’t enough wine on the planet to help me relax.

  I took a quick shower and then slid into a pair of hot pink yoga pants—I didn’t do yoga, but they were trendy—and a snug white T-shirt with DIVA imprinted on it in pink and purple sparkles. My comfy clothes. The clothes I usually wore when I was having an ugly night and staying in to watch Sex and the City on DVD.

  But I wasn’t doing that tonight. I needed answers and knew where I could find them. I grabbed my purse and searched through it. For a fleeting, panicky moment I thought that I’d lost what I was looking for during the course of the day, but there it was at the bottom of my purse, stuck to a loose cough candy. I pried the honey-lemon lozenge off the business card and stared at it with deep apprehension: MIDNIGHT ECLIPSE TANNING SALON.

  Okay, Monsieur Thierry de Bennicoeur, I thought. You’ve got some ‘splaining to do.

  Less than an hour later I squinted at the business card again to double-check that I was at the correct address. I looked up at the tanning salon’s exterior and made a face. It was run-down, as was the entire neighborhood in this west end part of Toronto. There wasn’t a Starbucks for blocks.

  But I didn’t need it to be a fancy, four-star spa. I just needed answers.

  My face stung from the blowing snow. It was even colder than last night had been, and there was no more fooling myself that I wouldn’t be hip-deep in the cold white stuff within a couple of weeks. Thus, the upcoming trip to Mexico.

  I shoved the business card deep into the pocket of my black leather coat—my backup jacket since my nicer, more expensive burgundy one was all but ruined from last night’s surprise swim. I pushed open the frost-kissed glass door to the salon.

  Inside there was a tall reception desk with the Midnight Eclipse logo—essentially a solid black circle bearing the words “Midnight Eclipse”—painted on the otherwise empty wall. A plastic potted palm tree stood with very little dignity in the corner. To the right of the desk was one black door and to the left were two white doors. Add to that the soggy green floor that I stood on, and it was pretty much all the room had to offer.

  I frowned, feeling tense. Where was everyone? If the place was closed, the door would have been locked, wouldn’t it? This sure didn’t look like a place “Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Intimidating” would frequent. Why would he send me there in the first place? What was this, some kind of joke? After the day I’d had, I wasn’t in a laughing kind of mood. A crying-hysterically-and-babbling-incoherently mood, maybe. Laughing, not so much.

  “You must be Sarah,” a voice ventured.

  “Hello?” I looked around, but still didn’t see anyone. “Who said that?”

  “I’m Barry.” A very small man emerged from behind the desk; he couldn’t have been more than four feet tall. He wore a tuxedo and had a black top hat perched crookedly on his head. “Barry Jordan.” He extended a small hand upward. “I was told to expect you.”

  “Hi.” I shook his hand automatically. No reason for me to be rude, after all. “Then I guess I’m Sarah.”

  “Excellent. I take it you’re here for the grand tour?”

  My gaze slid from the potted plant back to the desk. “There’s a grand tour?”

  “Absolutely.” Barry’s smile showed off tiny fangs. He released my hand.

  A miniature vampire. Collect ‘em all.

  “You’re a vampire?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I sighed. “Good. I have so many questions, I need to—”

  He waved his hand. “All in good time. Are you ready for the tour?”

  I stared at him for a moment. “Um. Okay, I guess.”

  He grinned, hurried over to the right, and opened one of the white doors into a room with a toilet, a sink, three lockers, and a wooden bench.

  “The changing room,” Barry announced.

  “Ah.”

  He closed the door and moved to the other. Inside were two tanning beds, currently not in use. A dirty towel had been rolled up and discarded in a corner. Another potted palm tree sat near the door.

  “The tanning room.” He made a presentational flourish with his arm, as if he were showing me something very impressive. “Employees tan for free.”

  “Vampires tan?” I said with a frown. “But I thought—”

  He waved me off again. “Please do not interrupt.”

  Barry Jordan was quickly outstaying his welcome as tour director in my book.

  He clicked the door closed and breezed past me on the way to the last door. I held up a hand to stop him.

  “Listen, I don’t want to waste any more of your time. I’m really not all that interested in the inner workings of a tanning salon. No offense.”

  “But you’ll want to see this. I’m sure you will.” He looked extremely disappointed; even his bow tie seemed to wilt a little bit.

  I sighed with impatience. “All right, then. Go ahead.”

  He nodded, straightened his tie, and reached forward to open the door.

  A wave of voices, loud music, smoke, and darkness seemed to rush into the reception area, and my mouth dropped open at what I saw inside.

  “This is the real Midnight Eclipse,” Barry said proudly. “Vampires only.”

  I blinked in disbelief. Of all the things I’d expected to see behind that last door, this wasn’t it. But I suppose it made perfect sense. A nightclub for vampires. Somewhere to relax and unwind after a hard day of avoiding the sunlight and pointy wooden objects.

  After a moment my eyes adjusted to the dimness. A long, black-lacquered bar hugged the wall to the left. Booths and tables flaunted sexy crimson tablecloths and small, glowing lamps. At the far side there was a stage, where, over the murmured conversations of the crowded club, a beautiful, raven-haired Bertie Page look-alike was singing a throaty rendition of “Fever.”

  “Have you ever waited tables before?” Barry asked.

  “In college,” I said, my voice barely audible. “But I’m sure it’ll come back to me.”

  “Good.”

  I shut my gaping mouth. “Wait a minute. Forget I said that. I don’t want to work here.”

  “I thought you were here for a job interview.”

  “No. I need to talk to Thierry.”

  “Thierry?” Barry sounded shocked. “You mean the master.”


  “The master?”

  “Don’t say it like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Without respect. The master is to be respected.”

  I glanced back into the club. A few eyes were now on me. Curious gazes from the gathered vampires. It was funny, because if I hadn’t been told they were all creatures of the night, I’d never have guessed it. They looked perfectly normal to me. Not Goth, anyhow. Not one pasty face or black Marilyn Manson outfit to be seen.

  Barry took a deep breath and a smile blossomed on his face again. “You’re new. He mentioned that you were without a sire, so any missteps are to be expected, of course.”

  “Missteps?” My patience was waning. “Look, Tuxedo Boy, is Thierry here or not?”

  The smile slipped from his face again and his eyes flashed angrily at me. Yikes. I didn’t want to make him pop a blood vessel or anything.

  “Barry,” a smooth, deep voice said to my left. “It’s all right. Please leave Miss Dearly to me.”

  The sound of his voice coursed down my spine like the feel of your first shot of tequila on frosh night. Shocking and unexpected, but not entirely unpleasant.

  I turned, already knowing who it was.

  The master.

  He looked different than he had last night. More put-together. Less suicidal. His dark, almost-black hair was brushed off his face. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a square jawline showing a small amount of fashionable stubble. His full lips were unsmiling, of course, and gray eyes that seemed almost silver watched me as if I were the only person in the room.

  He, unlike the others in the club, was dressed all in black. He wore a button-down silk shirt that was open at the neck, black jacket, and black dress pants. The darkness made his face look even paler, but it wasn’t unattractive and pasty. It was as if he glowed with power. An inner energy that made me tingle right down to my toes.

  Yowza.

  “Sarah,” he said. “I was not certain that you’d come.”

  I forced a smile. “And yet, here I am.”

  Barry made a sound and I grimaced. He probably wanted me to bow before the master, or something. As if that were going to happen.