The Vampire's City

by Mary E. Twomey

  “At my salon?”

  “Why not? I’d be ceding homecourt advantage, so your dad wouldn’t be so defensive. He might be ready to move forward with more things like this if he isn’t so on edge, thinking the nearest vampire might up and bite him.”

  “Where are you going to sit?” I motion to the two cream-colored leather couches in the waiting area. “It’s not exactly a big enough space for you, plus your security, plus my dad, and my clients. And when this place gets going, the dryers make conversation problematic.”

  Rome waves off my concern. “I’ll have a table and chairs put out front, so it won’t interfere with your regular business. Plus, it would be good for everyone passing by to see the two heads of the families hanging out, like old times. Might encourage more vampires to frequent your business.”

  I like everything he’s saying, but hesitation still nags at me. “I’m not sure my father will go for it.”

  Rome stands, smoothing out his crisp white button-down shirt. “I’m not asking your father; I’m asking his daughter. This is your business, not his.” His shoulders broaden, reminding me that he is every bit the head of the most formidable vampire family in the world. “It’s your grand opening today. Best not forget the important things.”

  I straighten, my shoulders rolling back. “Then I accept. Just don’t bring Nico around, okay? My family isn’t exactly the forgiving type this early on.”

  “Fair enough. Just Orlando and me, then.”

  Orlando.

  I haven’t seen the Valentino cousin in years. I’m sure I am the only person who has ever been sad not to see the Valentino enforcer on the regular, but not a day goes by that I don’t wish I could see Orlando and hug the scowl off his cutie pie face.

  Rome motions around the salon. “I respect you for doing this, by the way. Never would’ve guessed that the youngest of all of us would be the bravest one. You’re teaching me all sorts of new things, Youngblood.”

  I don’t know what to say to the blatant compliment. I’m so accustomed to having to defend myself that praise hits my ears at an entirely new angle.

  I suddenly want to confess that I am not brave at all. I’m terrified of being abducted again. I’m only acting brave so people assume it would be stupid to snatch at me again. I must have an ace up my sleeve.

  In fact, what I have up my sleeve is sweat that comes from high rent and a twelve-hour shift.

  Rome reaches into his wallet and pulls out a stack of bills, setting them on the counter as he readies to leave.

  That snaps me to attention. “You know that’s way too much, Rome.” I’m not about to be a charity case (even though this is a new branch of the business, and we need every penny we can get). Still, I’m not entirely devoid of pride. I am my father’s daughter, after all. I take out the cost of the cut and shave, plus a modest tip, and hand the rest back to him.

  I hate that my hand quakes. I pray that he doesn’t notice. I need to take my second pill now, or the shaking is only going to get worse.

  Of course he refuses to take the money back. Rome’s pride is just as much a monster as mine, once provoked. “Not a chance,” he chides me. “Think of it as a welcome to the neighborhood gift.”

  “I don’t want your money for that.”

  He narrows his eyes at me, as if I am an oddity he has yet to understand. “Then what do you want, Coletta?”

  How does he say my name like that? It sounds ordinary on anyone else’s tongue, but it drips with innuendo on his.

  I fish around for something to lighten the mood. “I want…” A smile sneaks across my lips. “Does Decadenza’s still serve raspberry cannoli?”

  He’s so tall. Even in my stilettos, he towers over me with his sturdy yet leonine build. He stands close to me, warming my body with his, even though we’re not touching. “They do around Valentine’s Day. Good memory, Youngblood.”

  Youngblood. I wish he would stop calling me that. I loathed that moniker when I was little. My mother was supposed to be the Last Deadblood, but then I was born. So she was known in the papers as The Kennedy Deadblood, and I was the Kennedy Youngblood, ripe for the kidnapping.

  Only when Rome says it, a blanket of safety folds around my shoulders. I almost don’t mind the label when he is the one using it.

  The desire to step closer is overwhelming but I hold my ground.

  It’s then I realize that Rome is studying my lips with the same lust that is wafting off me.

  I blink up at him, though it does nothing to erase the haze of desire. “I don’t want something as common as money. I want something beautiful and sweet. Bring me a raspberry cannoli next time they make them? Then we’re square.”

  “Beautiful and sweet?” Rome moves his hand slow enough for me to dart away if I wanted, but I’m not sure I do.

  My breath catches and my body stills. He is the brave one of the two of us right now, because he does the thing I’ve been dying to do to him. He takes what he wants while I only dream about the scandal as he runs his thumb along the swell of my lower lip. I am malleable for him, my lashes fluttering with palpable desire.

  “You’re the boss, Coletta.” His eyes study my lips in the same unprofessional way I am lusting after his. He mouths a curse word that contains equal parts frustration and reverence.

  My breath quickens at the unmistakable tension in the air. It’s drawing me closer to his body, as if I have been cold my whole life and am for the first time understanding warmth. It’s not my overactive imagination. Rome’s thumb plays with my lower lip with no trace of familial or platonic space. His fingers caress my cheek, stirring a darkness in the recesses of my body. His touch grants my spirit an odd lightness I did not think possible.

  I shouldn’t put my hand on his chest. Or if I do, it should be to push him away. But my palm needs to feel the hard planes of his pecs. I know the difference between wants and needs. This is an ache that will keep me up at night if I don’t scratch this itch. It’s as if his chest is the one thing guiding the way to a new horizon I have yet to climb and claim.

  I am a mix of bold and shy, ravenous and wary.

  He leans close enough that I can taste the cinnamon of his breath.

  It’s my turn for uncertainty to sweep over me as my palm slides up his torso so my fingers can grab onto his white collar.

  I’ll bet he’s a dynamite in bed.

  But that is not something I should be thinking about. He is ten years older than me. He babysat me, for crying out loud.

  And more important, our families are deadly to each other. We are constantly on the brink of war.

  Yet he lets me tuck the cash into his breast pocket because my left hand wants to test if my right hand was correct in its assessment that Rome’s body is sheer perfection.

  Both hands agree, but they want more.

  “Mm.” The sound Rome makes at my touch is low and sexy. I knew it would be.

  I shouldn’t be this close to him.

  Yet when Rome crooks his finger under my chin and tilts my head up, I am helpless to resist moving my body to suit his whims. I am a sucker for a freshly shaved cheek.

  I let out a heady gasp when he presses the crest of his cheek to mine so he can whisper the scandal we shouldn’t be sharing. “I’ll bring you something sweet if you keep looking at me exactly like that.”

  I balk at him, my cheeks flushing. “How am I looking at you?”

  He leans in without warning and sucks on my earlobe before releasing me abruptly to drown in my pool of lust.

  “Like I’m a raspberry cannoli.” He reaches for the handle on the front door, giving me a clear shot of his ring that all the Valentino men wear with their family’s crest emblazoned in the gold. His chest is firm and filled with the fullness of cocky delight that comes from leaving a woman utterly undone with a few sensual sentences and those damned cinnamon lips.

  Desire rages hard in my veins, begging me to be bold once more and tell him to get back here. I need to suck on his lower lip.


  Instead, I stand in the middle of my store in stunned silence, uncertain which steps I took tonight that led me to this moment of utter flabbergast.

  “Goodnight, Coletta.”

  And just like that, Rome exits out the front door. He leaves me to wonder if I imagined the sexy tilt of his smile, or if the connection that crackled between us was real enough to keep my heart racing for the rest of the night.

  8

  Don’t be Dashing

  Colette

  I grip the counter’s edge. My heart races as I let down my façade of “I flirt this hard all the time. No big deal.” I can still feel the caress of Rome’s thumb on my lip. I can smell his cinnamon mouth as my own waters for a taste of his.

  I haven’t wanted anyone in a very long time, and even then, whomever my crush had been never got near enough to make my knees this unbearably weak.

  I’m not even close to composed when Rome storms back inside a minute after his departure, his brows furrowed. He is folding a piece of paper he didn’t have out when he left. He jerks his thumb at the door. “Are you in the habit of leaving your door unlocked? You can’t do that, tré-sur.”

  I remember the authoritative yet romantic way his father used to use sweetheart names for Mama Valentino. I’ve never heard Rome speak like that to a woman before. Then again, I haven’t seen him in a great many years. Maybe he throws the term of endearment around like it’s cheap candy for silly women to addict themselves to.

  I straighten my back, pursing my lips at his harsh tone that’s softened only slightly by the sweet name. “I was just going to relock it. You’ve been gone a total of one whole minute. And you’re the one who picked it open in the first place, if you recall.”

  I pray that he doesn’t notice the trembling of my hands. My left thigh’s muscle is spasming under my peach skirt, making standing securely an effort.

  Rome frowns at the handle. “Yes, well, I’ll get you a new lock. This is easy to maneuver.”

  “I know. That’s partly why I chose it.”

  Rome snorts. “You were hoping to be robbed?”

  “Are you here to rob me?” I spout back, knowing that I must look like a flustered mess. I roll my eyes at his concern, pretending this whole endeavor doesn’t scare me one bit. “I’m always misplacing my keys. I needed a deadbolt I could pick if I accidentally locked myself out.”

  Rome’s eyes squinch shut like he is praying for patience. I had no idea the man was capable of expressing this many emotions in a single night. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he stuffs the slip of paper into his pocket. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “Your hearing can’t possibly be as bad as your manners.”

  He mimes a laugh, which I count as him actually being amused by my late-night humor. “Come on. Pack up. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  It’s my turn to frown at him. “Huh?”

  “Now who’s hard of hearing. I kept you here late, so I’m walking you to your car. It’s dark out.”

  I didn’t realize night had fallen, but he’s right. I roll my shoulders back, feigning ease. “Thank you, but it’s fine. I don’t need an escort.”

  It’s a lie, and we both know it. Most women might get a little jumpy (for good reason) going to their car alone at night. But I’ve had a target on my back since I was born.

  Rome doesn’t call me on my denial. He holds my haughty gaze with unadulterated steadiness in his. There’s a silent command that the head of the Valentino family has always emanated. He never has to raise his voice. He doesn’t have to hurry. Rome communicates all he needs to with a single look.

  After a handful of seconds, my shoulders lower. “Oh, fine. But I can handle myself. I’m not afraid to be here.”

  Another lie, met by a cautioning tilt of Rome’s head and a knowing look. Still, he’s a gentleman who grants me my delusions if they make me feel safer. I need to believe no one wants to capture me. I have to hold to that hope, otherwise I’ll hop back on the airplane and fly across the ocean to hide in a country that doesn’t allow vampires or human radicals, so I can sleep without fear of being stolen away again.

  The very real worries of the risks in coming back to Mayfield present themselves to me all over again. Anxiety tightens my abdomen as sweat begins to form on the nape of my neck.

  It’s all fine. I have every right to be here. No one is gunning for me.

  My footsteps are quicker than usual, clicking this way and that as I hurry to shut off the lights and power down everything else. My thigh muscle is unstable, so I touch on various surfaces while I walk, hoping Rome doesn’t notice me steadying myself.

  If I fall in front of him, so help me…

  For good measure, I check that the front door is locked, grab my purse and jerk my head toward the back exit. “This way.”

  Rome’s strides are long, covering more ground so he can get to the door ahead of me. He pops open the exit and peers around the corner, reaching for the gun on his belt.

  “Stop making me jumpy,” I scold him with a scowl. “There is no danger.”

  Rome’s eyes comb the parking lot, which is empty, save for our two cars. “Tell yourself what you need to. We both know you shouldn’t be walking to your car alone in the dark.”

  “It’s barely past dusk, and I’m fine. You know I’m a decent shot.” Though, I’m not sure I could grip my gun right now if I needed to. My fingers are starting to go numb.

  “I’m glad to hear that purse holds some heat. Where are your brothers? I’m going to have a talk with the sheriff about you walking to your car alone.”

  “Oh my gosh, do you hear yourself? I’m fine.” When he doesn’t let up as we walk to my car, I harrumph. “The more you worry, the jumpier I get. I don’t want to think about the risk, okay?” I start talking with my hands, gesturing wildly the more worked up I get. “If I worry about who might abduct me next, I’ll never leave my house. I can’t live like that. Fear doesn’t suit me. Fear doesn’t get a thing accomplished.” I motion to the building. “Fear has no place here.”

  Rome stops a few feet from my car door. He doesn’t argue with me but waits for me to open my purse so I can fumble around for my keys. I know I didn’t misplace them, but my fingers feel fat and clumsy now. My breath syncopates as all the times I felt eyes on me but couldn’t identify my stalker creep under my skin. My hand moves more feverishly now, pecking through old receipts. I can’t remember the last time I cleaned out my purse.

  My mother was given purses, dresses and jewelry by top designers all the time. She was gorgeous and photographed often.

  I bought my designer bag, saving my money until I could prove to myself that I was more than just a Deadblood. I am a business owner. A franchise owner.

  I have no reason to sweat.

  And yet…

  It’s a whole excruciating minute before I feel Rome’s hand on my wrist. His fingers are steady while mine tremble. He doesn’t say a word but meets the fear in my eyes with calm control in his. He doesn’t break eye contact even as his hand dips into my purse, revealing itself three seconds later with my key ring in his fist.

  When I reach for my keys, he clutches them, stilling my hand. “Here’s how this is going to work,” he warns, a deadly coolness plaguing his words. “I’m going to get your locks replaced because those locks are flimsy, and you deserve better. Big risk takers should have big safety nets, so that’s what’s going to happen. I’ll give the spare key to your father, so if you do lock yourself out, he can run it up to you.”

  “If I locked myself out, my father is the last person I would call,” I admit. I chew on my lower lip. “Declan can keep the spare.”

  Rome studies my admission with unveiled curiosity, though he still doesn’t give my keys back. “Alright. Next, I’m going to get floodlights installed back here that run on a motion sensor. It’s not foolproof, and it’s certainly not all you need, but it’s a start.”

  A loud exhale of sheer exasperation stutters o
ut of me. “Rome, you don’t need to…”

  With a small turn of his chin, my words trail off, giving him the floor. “And if your family isn’t going to make sure you get home safe, then mine will.”

  My eyes dart to the shadows as my breath quickens. “You’re doing it again! You’re making me afraid when I don’t want to feel that. I know this is the right move, and you’re trying to scare me. I’m not moving my salon to the East End! I’m staying right in Midtown, and you can’t scare me out of here!”

  He hooks my purse around his forearm. His arms go around me, gathering me up in what could only be described as a hug.

  Rome Valentino is hugging me. It’s a leap from the reality I know, yet I am certain I’m not hallucinating. His words come low and insistent in my ear. “You’re already scared, Youngblood, so let’s be strategic about it.” His body is just as hard and muscular as I imagined, but his hug isn’t lacking in softness. “You know the risks better than anyone. I like that you’re here. I like what you’re doing with this salon. It’s a statement the people of this city need to see. But when you walk into the arena, you have to do it with your eyes wide open and all your exits covered.” Rome releases me from his gentle grip. His movements are graceful and unhurried as he unlocks my car and opens my door for me. “You did the big part, opening up this business. Let me help with the small stuff.”

  It’s the least condescending way he could say his piece.

  Finally, I hear him.

  My chin lowers. “Okay, Rome.” My eyes squeeze shut as I muscle through the words I know I need to produce. “Thank you for helping me.”

  “Was that really so hard?” He offers his hand, guiding me into my car.

  “Yes.”

  I love the sound of his chuckle. I can’t believe I helped bring the beautiful sound into being.

  I don’t expect his lips to graze my knuckles, but when they do, I am reminded of how stunningly handsome this man is.