by Deanna Chase
“Hello, Iona, how are you?” I’ve never been an uninvolved boss; I know every one of our employees by name.
“Hi, Vivian, I’m good.” She greets me with a warm smile, familiar with my routine. “Are you doing a last-minute check before the next bunch?”
My real name is Alexandria, but Iona, like everyone else since the day the sign for The V V Inn went up, calls me Vivian. Iona’s worked here about a year and has proven herself to be an incredibly organized woman. She’s one of the few employees not imported from another state or country. Her family resides in the nearby town, Dead Foot, with a population of only a few hundred.
“Yes,” I answer, “but I’m also up here because of an issue in room six. How long have you been on this floor today?”
Iona looks at me with a question in her eyes, probably wondering about what issue I’m referring to, but she answers quickly enough.
“I was up here with a team of three and we all left before noon.”
“Did you see any guests in this wing?”
“No,” she answers.
“What brought you back up here?”
“I’m doing a walk-through to check on the items the MacKellans requested.”
“Ah yes, the six-pack of Perrier and the Moét et Chandon White Star. That would be in the mini-fridge in room seven?” She nods in agreement. “I’ll check for it on my return through the floor.”
She hesitates before leaving, like she has something to say.
“Thanks, Iona,” I improvise, hoping to ease her into telling me what’s on her mind. “We would’ve appeared unprofessional if we’d missed those.”
She blushes from the acknowledgement. Iona’s attractive and the extra flush of color draws my attention to her robust good health. She looks me straight in the eye—a blatant invite in the supernatural community toward a vampire. I draw in breath, surprised.
Iona knows a little about what goes on here. Most all of my employees do. But they’re not normally involved in the fantasies of the guests so their knowledge is sketchy. The workers do talk though, and many of them have donated blood for our virile customers.
I possess a secondary trait that helps with our unique clientele. It’s not as strong as my ability to project illusions, but it’s increasing with use. I read desires through a touch.
I reach out and make contact with the exposed skin of Iona’s wrist and I slip into her mind. Her desires tumble close to the surface, like rainbow-colored snakes. Touching on a sliding thought, I see she hopes to be chosen to donate blood. Iona’s mind holds no hint of fear, even though she’s aware most of our guests are bloodsuckers. And she feels a strong family tie to me. In her mind, I’m like a great-aunt, one who holds a position of respect and kindness in her heart.
“Are you sure donating is a step you want to take?” I ask.
“Yes, very much so,” she says with sincerity.
When she stared into my eyes, she had innocently offered herself to me, unaware that I do not normally feed from employees.
“Iona, it would be with the guests, not with me. Is that still acceptable?”
She again holds my gaze a little too long. “Yes.”
“Sometimes it leads to a more intimate encounter but only if you want it to. I make sure the guests know ahead of time how far you’re willing to take it.”
“I’m ready.” Her voice sounds firm, certain. “My grandmother was Junee.”
Ah, that’s why this strong Inuit woman seems so positive in her choice. Junee worked for us when we first opened our doors twenty years ago. She was an accepting and loving woman who enjoyed her position here for ten years.
I’ve placed a compulsion on all the workers during their employment—they can share details of sexual acts, but not of the blood donation. When they leave, I take care of the rest of the details during a specialized exit interview.
“Yes, my great-aunt spoke of her very well,” I say, keeping to the ruse “my aunt” ran the inn first. The employees tell a tale every fifteen years that’s kept us safe. They believe that after the original founder retired, a niece and her husband took over the operation. I’ve inserted this belief with care into the minds of all who have worked for me, while blurring our images a bit in the old employees’ memories so they think they see a family resemblance, rather than realizing we’re the same people.
“Very well,” I decide. “You’ll be put on the next list. Please review the guests and tell Tommy your choices this evening. Pick ones you like, and remember, it’s supposed to be fun.” I say the last part with a wicked smile on my face. “Don’t forget to tell him your limits,” I wink.
I have a hunch Iona will choose a female vampire. Those long stares were quite bold and while she caught me off guard, I’m guessing they had true intent behind them. Time will tell.
“Thank you, Vivian. I’ve been dreaming of this moment since the first week I started here.”
Gee, no pressure there. Iona throws me a beaming smile before rushing down the hall. Let’s hope the experience mirrors her dreams. To ensure it, I make a mental note to supervise part of her blood donation. I’d rather be safe than sorry.
Continuing my original journey to inspect the rest of the rooms in this wing, I take a detour on my return to check the items in the mini-fridge. All appears as it should with the rooms ready and waiting. Which does not help me figure out who could have killed that man and why. I leave the wing through the French doors and out to the bookcase-lined loft encircling the vaulted lobby.
I descend one side of the winding, dual staircase to the main floor and see Tommy working on the computer. Tommy’s our imported Aussie, who’s lived and worked on the property for five years. He glances up from his usual spot behind the front desk with a big smile. Residing on the resort comes with perks, and Tommy’s ever hopeful he’ll be put to the top of the donor list when he sees me.
“G’day, Vivian, aren’t you looking good today?”
“When do I not look good, Tommy?” Modesty has never been my forte.
“Too true,” he replies, then glances at his computer screen. “Isn’t the MacKellan party due in next?”
“Yes. Move them to rooms seven, eight and nine, please. We had an issue with the rug in room six, which won’t be available until new carpet can be installed.” I project honesty and sincerity, and Tommy doesn’t bat an eye.
“You got it, Viv, no worries.” He taps the changes into the keyboard and hands me a new file—which reminds me I’ve got some investigating of our current guests to do.
“Tommy, have the Salvador and Natsuhara files sent to my suite in an hour, please.”
He taps his fingers a few more times before glancing up.
“Yes, ma'am. Consider it done.”
I keep files on all our guests. The MacKellans are new so their file is thin. Checking it over, I confirm details in my mind, placing names at the ready to match with faces when they arrive. MacKellan is the family, or seethe, named after the head vamp in the group. Individuals go only by first name unless conducting business outside the seethe, and they all use the same surname. This convention makes it appear like the group is a big extended family, even though no one is related.
The MacKellan group is a party of five—three vamps, one mate, and a companion. Which is a fairly big vampire party for us. The max we usually see is two. Not many in a seethe choose to vacation with another vamp tagging along. I’m glad to note they will need additional sustenance while staying with us. One extra companion for food won’t be enough with two younger vamps in attendance.
Staying awake around the clock during the inn’s open season requires additional feedings for our kind. Even I need a full feeding of a single pint each month with the added strain on my system. Normally, the sips I take from my husband a few times a week would be enough to keep me satisfied, but here in the dark winter wilderness, I need more.
“Let me know if you feel like being a donor this week with our new guests,” I direct Tommy. “You
can be at the top of the list if you’d like, I know it’s been a while for you.” He nods while his dimples show in a big smile. “Check them out when they arrive, choose who you’d be comfortable with and let me know.” I hesitate and then add, “Put Iona down second on the list. I spoke to her and she’s ready. Pass the word to others who like to donate, but be discreet.” Tommy nods again, his sandy blond hair falling over his forehead. “You know my rules. I’d like the list with preferences by eight tomorrow morning.”
You’d think I’d just given him an early Christmas bonus the way his face lights up. “You’re the best, Viv. Have I told you that lately?”
“No need, dearie, Rafe tells me every night.”
My accompanying grin is wicked as I turn toward the front doors. Pausing a moment, I consider the week ahead with this visiting unknown group and the additional problem of the dead John Pierre. I would be wise to make sure I’m at my peak. Turning back to the desk, I address a specific requirement.
“One more thing. Call Jonathan and tell him I have to speak with him in my office at nine tonight.”
“Got it,” Tommy replies, reaching for the phone.
I redirect my mind to the work at hand. Needing to get in the right mood to project well when the new visitors arrive, I let my thoughts drift to the previous night with my German husband. His smooth, pale skin glowed in the candlelight set around our room. Rafe wore the tight boxer briefs he knows I love. They curve and cup his body and never hide when he’s interested.
The warmth in my middle moves throughout my limbs. A burning desire to pull my dress up around my waist, right here in the lobby, overcomes me. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time, but I’d rather not forget myself in such a way more than once a season. My body shudders at the mere thought of doing just that in front of complete strangers.
My treacherous mind thinks back to my husband’s rampant desire last night. I picture the stretchy fabric straining against his arousal while reining in the pull to get on my knees to reach and peel away the material, springing him free. It’s all in my mind and I’d certainly appear odd on my knees to any onlooker in the lobby.
Dria, I enjoyed last night, you minx. You warming up for the guests? I nod my assent. That’s my good girl. Remember the part with me on my knees? I loved how you couldn’t wait and had to press yourself into my tongue so early on… liebling, what you do to me…
This time when I see Rafe in my mind, he’s straining against the front of his slacks instead of his briefs. His hand reaches to readjust…
I slam our mental door when my hand reaches to pull up my hem. Whew, close call. After the guests get settled, I am going to have to track him down. I hope he hides. It’s so much fun to hunt him when we’re hot.
I hear a van door slide closed and turn to face the front entrance. The first guest opens the door on a burst of frigid air that pushes the hair from around my face. A man walks through with a confident stride.
Well, well, well, look what we have here. Isn’t he just gorgeous?
Chapter Three
“Welcome to The V V Inn. I’m Vivian, one of the owners. I’m here to help make your stay an enjoyable one.” Turning my inner thoughts out, I project sensuality through every pore.
The man striding in from the main entrance has no mate on his arm. He’s olive-skinned with dark hair and brown eyes. Dressed in a custom-made black Italian suit, he saunters toward me. The power radiating off the handsome newcomer labels him a vampire, like a calling card for the undead. I can tell by the tingling push against my skin he’s been dead about fifty years. It’s safe to assume he is not the head of this seethe. He must be the Antonio listed in my file.
His eyes lock on mine while my desire coils about him like a snake. Approaching the front desk, his tan nostrils flare as he takes a deep sniff. “I’d heard this place was like candy for your soul,” he observes, “but I had no idea.” Like most predators, he zeroes in on what he considers to be prey—me—not sparing a glance at the surrounding lobby.
“You look good enough to eat.” His smile appears cold and calculated.
This is the drawback to pushing sexual feelings at guests when they walk through the door. Some foolish recipients direct their reactions back at me instead of the people they came with. I sense this young vamp hopes to stir my interest and entice me closer. Since I’ve never answered to corny one-liners in my past, I don’t see why I should now.
I smile, but don’t respond. My mother always told me if you don’t have something nice to say, not to say anything at all. I sometimes succeed in following her advice, but not often.
It’s obvious I’m undead, but he’s unable to guess my true age. Like all smart women, I hide my years well. Controlling what others of my species sense of my power is intentional. Old blood is desired by all of our kind, especially the young ones. It helps them grow strong enough to survive being prey to a more powerful vampire. The younger members of a seethe are bound in this need to the head of their family through exchanged blood.
Antonio’s gaze on my neck clearly indicates he hopes to taste my power and see what surprises my curvy body may hold. No matter how handsome I may find the young vamp, he will be disappointed. Although I enjoy a good fantasy now and then, it doesn’t change the fact Rafe and I are married—neither of us will break our vows.
Even though I have no seethe here, just Rafe and me, I do share my power through my blood. Contrary to the romanticizing by today’s youth, blood can be enjoyed in other ways than the mouth-on-neck route. I’m more generous than most vampires my age. We serve shots of my blood mixed with alcohol at the bar. Of course, it sells for a steep price.
I push a little to ensure Antonio will see me differently. With a delicate touch, I weave through his mind, inserting the idea of me as his latest conquest would not be worth the trouble. The exchange is quick, unnoticed by the new guest. Antonio turns to the desk to register, appearing less concerned with me.
I repeat my greeting when the rest of the party enters through the double doors then take a step back to allow them time to register. Again, I push sexual desire into the lobby, feeling my cravings wrap around their senses while invading their minds. They’ll experience warmth touching their skin as my emotions and thoughts seep in to become their own.
The rest of the MacKellan group advances about twenty feet before they stop and stare up to where the ceiling vaults away. All four are pulled into my web of desire but the three women react like a bunch of high school kids out drinking. Sounding giddy, almost carefree, they’re excited with their adventure and loving every moment. I hear jubilant sighs of “oh” and “ah” as they walk about while peering at the opulent surroundings. The sexual electricity of the crafted moment gives them a high. A few bodies spin around to take in the grandeur of the lobby all at once.
Light sparkles off the twisted glass of the hand-blown chandelier. Highly-polished wood banisters gleam in its soft light. Sounds bounce off the wood floors, rising, only to be muffled by the three-story, book-lined landings encircling the lobby.
A svelte blond vampire whispers, “Do you feel that?”
“I feel something,” Antonio states, turning from the desk.
I note individual reactions to the space while watching expressions run across their features. The female vamp who spoke looks like she’s close to going over the edge from the vibe I’m sending. She breathes heavily, her lips parted, while her glassy eyes stare at nothing in particular.
The energy signature pulsing from her feels young, close to Antonio’s age. This could be Joanna. Her black Goth attire looks cute on her athletic Barbie figure, but I bet cute wasn’t what she was hoping for when she picked the clothes out.
The only other man in the group, Liam MacKellan, sends out his energy in a wave. His rude electric broadcast prickles my skin. It’s strong. Unless he blocks it like I do, it could get uncomfortable for me to be in a room with him for any length of time. I would judge him to be a little over three hundred
, much younger than my own five hundred eighty years. He’s unquestionably the head of this seethe. His regal bearing and dominant strength remind me of a clansman of ages past. Liam may be dressed all in black, but I bet he’d look more at home painted blue, wearing a kilt, and wielding an axe.
Liam’s hard countenance reveals nothing while he observes his surroundings. He feels my sexual energy projections but he’s much more controlled. He’ll be a fun one to shake up this week.
The lush brunette with a hand resting in the nook of his arm could be the Francesca listed in my file, as her coloring reminds me of Italian blood. The woman holds herself with confidence and grace; she would have to be strong to hold her own with him.
The last member of their party is a petite blond. By her pure scent, no vampire has laid claim to her yet. Interesting. They have fed from her, but there has been no mutual exchange of blood. I wonder why she was invited if she is not a servant. One companion is not enough to feed three vamps, so why bother to bring her at all? She is pretty in a sweet kind of way. I would almost call her innocent—except for the company she keeps. If I got Joanna’s name right, then this pretty young thing must be Olivia.
I can hardly contain my compulsive impulse to touch them all and read their desires, but that will have to wait a bit longer.
Tommy explains house rules with our guests while distributing room key cards. “Hungry for blood, please call the front desk. We have willing donors on the premises twenty-four hours. No sharing blood with your donors. It’s a one-way transaction. Please do not use any vampire mind control to alter memories unless asked by Vivian or Rafe directly—and she will be checking.” Handing out the last key card, he wraps up his spiel. “Tours and instruction of the third floor rooms will be given at noon tomorrow. Please call if you’d like a private viewing with one of the owners. All other information on the resort can be found in the binder in your room, including directions for items in your welcome basket.”