Fanged Love

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Maybe it’s because I’m finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. Neli texted last evening and asked me to come over to their winery around seven tonight so we could work on the wine profiles.

  Boz will be there, I remind myself. My heart flutters. I think of how incredibly generous he is, considering how he’s giving us his time on a Saturday. He has a small wine empire to run, and I know he probably values his downtime. Then I start thinking about how he looked the other night, with his new haircut and clothes. It was almost too painful to look at him—every curve of his ripped chest and biceps on display through his snug polo shirt. And that hard ass in those jeans? So gorgeous. My neck tingles. I give it a rub and go into my small bathroom done simply in white tile with blue accent tiles, noting that those weird mosquito bites have already healed. Strange. Why does the spot still itch?

  Anyway, I have a lot of work to do today—helping my parents pull together promotional materials. Once the new wine blend is finished, there will be an announcement to do and tasting events to host. The key will be creating lots of buzz with the wine influencers. If they get on board, then the wine magazines will follow and start talking about us.

  I shower and put on a pink floral maxi dress with black flats, but then change my mind and go for matching pink sandals. It’s kind of silly, but I think I caught Boz staring at my toes a few times. Maybe he’s a toe man. Either way, I like the idea of him admiring parts of my body, which is why I tie my hair up in a sloppy bun. I noticed he stares at my neck a lot too, and it’ll be warm out today.

  I spritz a little of my favorite rose perfume behind my ears for the finishing touch and head downstairs to the kitchen with a bounce in my step. Mabel pulls a quiche from the oven.

  “Oh no. Is that your bacon gruyere recipe?” I ask, my stomach grumbling.

  “Yep!” She sets it on top of the stove.

  “You know that’s my favorite. I’m going to gain twenty pounds if you guys don’t stop cooking all this delicious food.”

  “Well, the state bake-off is next week.”

  “I thought Eliza was entering that with one of her cakes,” I say.

  “They have a savory competition this year. It has a prize of ten thousand dollars, and I know we could really use the money right now.”

  It breaks my heart that she’s even thinking about money. “Shouldn’t you put that money aside for school if you win?”

  Her mouth pulls to the side. “I overheard Mom and Dad fighting. Is it true we’re going to lose the house?”

  Ugh. I know I should be honest, but she’s still a kid. I don’t want her to worry. “No. You must’ve misheard them. Everything’s fine,” I lie. “We’ve got a solid plan in place to grow the business and turn things around quickly.” I tap the end of her nose. “Soon we’ll be making enough to send you to the Culinary Institute of America in New York.” I know going there is her dream. Eliza wants to go to Le Cordon Bleu in Paris.

  “I’m not holding my breath. The tuition alone costs over a hundred grand.”

  Yikes. That is a lot.

  “But the institute here has a summer program—one month, ten thousand dollars,” she adds. “Maybe I can go to that? I mean, at least I’ll have it on my résumé—that is if you really think things are going to turn around?”

  I smile with encouragement. “I think that’s a great idea, but let’s not give up on getting you into your dream school, okay?” I know we can at least get her into the state university here. They have loans and whatnot. It’s not her dream though. “Oh, and hey, I’m looking at what it would take to enter our new wine in the big tasting championship in New York. If we get in, maybe you can come along, and we could tour the school while we’re there.”

  “Seriously?” Her big brown eyes light up. “New York?”

  Maybe I spoke too soon. “Well, a lot has to happen first.” Having a great wine would be a nice start. Then we need to submit it for consideration. Plus there’s travel expenses and a hotel. I’m hoping that Castle Sangria might be willing to front the costs. We could pay them back out of our future profits. “But let’s keep that between us for now. I’d hate to get everyone’s hopes up.” They only take the best of the best wines from around the country. The initial qualifying samples are due next month. They have to be sent in blind with a number, no winery label, and you have to pay a courier to hand carry the entry on a private plane. Shipping wines by car or truck agitates the sediments and changes the flavor. It’s even a risk to fly with it, but that’s your best bet to deliver the bottle with the flavor fully intact. Flying commercial won’t work because they limit the amount of liquids you can carry, and I’m not about to put our wine in the belly of a plane, where the temperature might not be controlled.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Mabel says.

  “What are we talking about?” Mom enters the kitchen. She looks tired—dark circles under her eyes and a somber vibe.

  “Oh, uh…” I think fast. “I’m going over to Castle Sangria later to work on the new wine. I didn’t want Dad to get upset. I know he’s not a fan of Mr. Bozhidar.”

  My mom swipes her hand through the air. “Your father just worries, that’s all.”

  Mabel raises a brow. “I dunno, Mom. I’m going to side with Dad on this one. Something about that man feels off.”

  “Like what?” I laugh. Everyone’s so paranoid. I don’t get it.

  “Like…the way he looks at you,” Mabel says, widening her eyes comically. “Reminds me of a wolf sizing up a juicy lamb.”

  I roll my eyes. “He’s just intense. Okay, and he’s a little eccentric.” But those eyes…they scream bedroom.

  “Oh, and let’s not forget handsome,” Mom chimes in with a swooning effect to her voice.

  “Whatever, I have to get ready for work,” Mabel says.

  Mabel has a summer job at the small French bistro down the road, working in the kitchen.

  “Have fun,” Mom says to Mabel. She turns to me. “And you don’t have too much fun.”

  I shake my head.

  My mom waits until Mabel’s out of the kitchen. “Honey, I didn’t want to bring this up, because I know how smart you are and how dedicated you are to helping Stellariva, but maybe I should say something. I noticed how Mr. Bozhidar was looking at you too. And you gave him your share of looks back, but is it really wise to get involved with a man when you’re planning on doing business together?”

  That joyous flutter in my heart, the one that was there when I woke up this morning, dies with a sputter. She’s right. It’s a terrible idea. Things could go sideways and the deal could blow up. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll keep it professional. I promise.” But as soon as those words leave my mouth, I already feel like I’ve gone back on my word, like it’s a forgone conclusion I’m going to be with that man. And yes, I know I hardly know Boz, but these glimpses into his honest, generous heart have me wanting to spend more time with him.

  No. You can’t blow this, Stella. You can’t. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my knees locked together. No entry, handsome.

  “Thank you, honey. And good luck tonight. Tell Mr. Bozhidar we’re very excited to see what he comes up with.”

  Suddenly, I’m wondering if my mom should go instead. She’s the one with the nose. My heart instantly protests. I have to see him. I’m drawn to that place and to that man.

  Maybe tonight I’ll figure out how to break his hold, because it can only lead to a bad situation. A man like that—rich, smart, generous, and hot—is single for a reason: Because he wants to be. And I’m not going to risk this important venture for a fling, especially when I have zero interest in those. Pursuing anything with Boz will only lead to heartbreak.

  That evening, just before seven, I head across the road to the castle. It’s a bit of a climb up the driveway to the front door, but it’s a warm evening, and I need to work off some of the anxiety that’s been building all day in my stomach. I know what I have to do. I know what’s right. This partnership
is the difference between my family’s survival or losing everything.

  I walk up the long, cobblestone driveway at a brisk pace. My gaze flashes to the window on the top floor. Part of me hopes to find the silhouette of a tall, strong man watching me, but it’s empty.

  I sigh, but tell myself it’s good. Very good. There can’t be any more of those longing glances from across the room and little flirtations.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Hello!” a man’s voice calls out from behind me just as I pass the moat.

  I stop and turn, thinking it’s probably some tourist who’s lost. We have tons of people who come from all around the world to visit the valley and the wineries. People get turned around all the time. And, oddly enough, the GPS doesn’t always work in this area. It’s like a chunk of road is simply missing from all the electronic maps. It’s no big deal since both wineries have big signs out, and it’s not like anyone’s going to miss the huge castle at the top of the hill, but it is strange.

  “Hi,” I say. “Can I help you?” The man is wearing thick glasses and a very unusual outfit—a long brown trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat made from straw. First of all, it’s pretty warm out this evening. Second, why wear a summer hat with a winter coat? Oh well.

  “Yes, yes. Thank you. I’m from the local water conservation agency. I’m doing surveys about the various wineries and was wondering if you could answer a few questions about your neighbors.”

  Huh. That’s odd. How does he know I live across the road? And all of the wineries are strictly regulated in the valley in terms of water usage. The county monitors compliance to usage limits and conservation law; for example, we’re only allowed to water our plants at certain times of the day. Once a year, an inspector comes out to make sure all our sprinklers and irrigation systems are functioning properly. But that’s usually in the early spring. “I’m sorry, but who did you say you work for again?”

  He pushes his thick glasses up his nose. “The water conservation agency. We’re a private group. We monitor the wetlands. You know, for bird and animal migration. I’m in charge of tracking nocturnal species. Have you noticed any unusual wildlife activity at night? Animals being eaten? How about bats? Have you seen bats on your neighbor’s property?”

  Okay. This dude is cuckoo. We have no wetland in this area, and I don’t like his beady eyes. “I’m sorry. I really couldn’t say. You’ll have to ask them.” I turn and continue on my way, walking even faster toward the front door.

  “How about bloodsucking bats?” he calls out.

  Ohmygod. I shake my head and keep walking.

  The front door of the castle jerks open. Neli’s about to greet me but notices the man. Her eyes go wide, like she’s surprised, and then they narrow into tight little slits.

  Does she know this creep? I look over my shoulder, and the guy turns and walks quickly to his black truck, where one man is waiting behind the wheel and another is seated on the passenger side.

  “What did they want?” Neli asks when I get to the door.

  “That man was asking about your vineyard. They’re some looney bat activists or something. I don’t know.”

  She nods slowly, looking irritated.

  “Everything okay?” I say.

  “Oh. Yeah. Great. Come on in. Boz is waiting for you down in the cellar. You know the way.”

  “Aren’t you joining us?” The last thing I need is to be left alone with him.

  She reaches out, fixes a stray lock from my hair, and then pinches my cheeks.

  “Ow. Hey!” I push her hands away.

  “Sorry. You had a bug on your face.”

  On both cheeks? And why’s she fixing my hair?

  “I’ll be along shortly. Now run along.” She practically pushes me toward the staircase that leads down into the cellar.

  What the hell is with people tonight? I shrug and take a big breath, knowing what awaits me down in the dark, intimate space. Be strong, Stella. Be strong…

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Boz

  I have Neli answer the door so I can limit the time I spend alone with Stella. I hear them approaching the cellar now, where I wait. Perhaps I will let Neli take charge and merely watch the proceedings so that I may keep Stella at a safe distance. It is the only way to resist her.

  I lean against a nearby column, arms crossed. A single look will convey to Neli what I need from her—she has to be the one to offer the blends for Stella to enjoy. I don’t want Stella to take offense at my subtle request not to be too near her.

  “Hello?” a soft feminine voice calls. Stella. Has Neli left her alone?

  I stay where I am, considering if I should step farther into the room or wait. Maybe Stella will think no one is here and go back upstairs for Neli. But then she steps close enough for me to catch her intoxicating rose scent, the scent of purity.

  Mmmm…delicious. Her virgin blood tempts me fiercely.

  She steps farther into the space, peering into the dark shadows at our various rooms and rubbing her arms as though she’s chilled. With the movement, light reflects off the gold bracelet I gave her, and a deep sense of satisfaction fills me. I like seeing her wear my gift. It means she likes it, and pleasing her pleases me. Then my gaze catches on the long line of her neck exposed with her hair up, and hunger takes over, clawing at me. I must remember how special she is, a rare gem that is going to require all of my willpower to resist tonight. My honor demands it.

  I straighten away from the column and remove my black blazer. “You seem chilled.”

  She yelps and slaps a hand over her mouth, her brown eyes wide. “Oh God. It’s you.” She drops her hand and sighs with relief.

  “Forgive me for scaring you. I merely wanted to offer my jacket.” I approach her slowly and offer my blazer, not trusting myself to wrap it around her.

  She beams up at me. “I’m okay, thanks. I was just a little spooked by the shadows. Silly imagination.”

  “Nothing to fear here. You are as safe as a lamb in a lion-less meadow.” Welcome to the lion’s den. I promise to keep my fangs to myself. I set my blazer over the back of a chair. “Please, take a seat. We have arranged three blends for you to try.” I gesture toward the long table that Neli has prepared in the center of the barrel room.

  Speaking of Neli, where is she? I should text her to join us with my new communication device she calls an eye-phone. I prefer to call it “the Summoner,” as that is its purpose for me.

  Stella takes a seat and looks all around. The cellar is a large vaulted space with multiple archways lit by candelabras overhead and sconces along every wall. It is one of the more comfortable spots in the castle with its dim lighting and privacy. Alarm shoots through me. That nearly sounds as intimate as my bedchamber. I send an urgent message to Neli.

  Prince Bozhidar: Your presence is required for the tastings.

  I wait for the Summoner to serve its purpose, and then I wait some more, but there is no response from Neli. Is this thing broken? I give the device a shake and stare at the small screen. How can this be? Neli always responds to every chiming notification. She is a slave to her eye-phone.

  I want to track her down, but don’t want to be rude to our guest. Surely, Neli will be along shortly. If she knows what’s good for her.

  I turn my attention back to Stella, who is rubbing the side of her neck in the spot where I took a sip. The memory sends more sharp need rushing through me, but I resist my urge and make a note to always feed before I see her in the future, to prevent temptation.

  “Will Neli be joining us?” she asks hesitantly.

  “She’ll be down shortly.”

  Her head lifts, and she looks up at me under her lashes, seeming almost shy. The delight I always feel in the presence of maidenly virtue is nearly eclipsed by primal lust, but I cannot allow the beast in me to emerge.

  “Would you like to sit with me while we wait?” she asks.

  “I-I…” I am about to tell her that I prefer to stand, but what can I say? I am a complic
ated male who, on top of wanting to protect her, also believes in being a gentleman. And what is the number one rule of a gentleman? Always be a gracious host. Of course, the vampire version of that rule includes the added phrase: before you eat your guest.

  No, no, I tell myself. I am better than that. I am an ancient powerful vampire with unmatched self-control. I can handle anything Stella throws my way, even a little naked toe action.

  “It would be my pleasure.” I take the seat across from her so that Neli can sit at the head of the table and provide a buffer between us.

  “I’m so glad we’re working together,” she says.

  “I am happy to help a neighbor.” The air between us fills with an awkward energy, which is unknown territory for me. I am a creature of the night. We don’t do awkward. My little friend Chandler does awkward all day long. That is no help. I must consider how Joey or Ross would handle this. Ah, my friends, I fear you have never faced such temptation.

  I know. I look away and pretend to study the wall.

  Stella does the same, looking around.

  Yep. Just two regular people, sitting together in a dark, private wine cellar. One of them absolutely does not wish to drink the other’s blood.

  “So,” Stella finally says, breaking the long silence, “I would love to plan some future events here. Your barrel room is just spectacular. I really appreciate your help and would like to give something in return. Plus it would bring publicity to both our wineries. What do you think of a harvest celebration in September?”

  I cannot have too many visitors here now that I am awakened from my five-hundred-year slumber because there would be questions about where I have been all these years, and questions lead to lies. Lies lead to a risk of exposure given how easy it is in this day and age for anyone to check the facts. “How many people would attend an event like that?”

  “Tons! It could be a real moneymaker.” She smiles. “I’m sure you’d sell a lot of wine, and some of our blends would be good to sell too.”