Once Upon a Vampire Page 2

  His lip curled again. He grabbed a book from the pile and tossed it in front of me. Awesome.

  “By all means,” he said with a smug smile. “Please sign my book.”

  I almost flat out refused. My hands were shaking like mad and my heart was close to panic attack level. Which was ridiculous, of course. After all, like any author, I’d had more than my share of trolls. I was used to dealing with haters.

  But this guy—he just had this presence. Like he filled the room just by standing in it. You could look away, but your gaze would always return to him. To his piercing eyes. To his black hair, shiny, even under the dim bookstore lights. And the way he moved! Graceful as a feline, yet exuding masculinity at the same time. As if there was something deeper, more powerful, rippling in the air around him. Causing a desire to radiate inside of me that felt almost feral in its intensity.

  And…this is why you don’t date, I scolded myself.

  I cleared my throat. ‘You don’t have to buy a book,” I told him. “I mean, I don’t care. And honestly it sounds like it might not be your cup of tea.”

  “I’ll be the one to make that decision, thank you,” he said, thrusting the book in my direction again.

  “Fine. It’s your money. Who should I make it out to?”

  “Logan. Logan Valcourt.”

  “Sounds like a vampire name,” I said with a small laugh, desperate to lighten the mood.

  He didn’t smile. Of course. Instead, he just stood there, waiting patiently for me to sign. I grabbed my Sharpie and turned to the title page. Addressing the book to him and managing to sign my name, even with my hand shaking. I left off the “Fangs and Kisses” part. It seemed too pat—too cute for his tastes.

  When I was finished, I handed him the book. “Thank you,” he said, as if amused. “I appreciate you taking the time.”

  And with that, he vacated the bookstore. So quickly it seemed like at one moment he was there and the next he was simply gone. I turned to Darla trying to calm my nerves.

  “So…that was weird.”

  She snorted. “Weird doesn’t even begin to cover that.”

  “What was he doing here? Why did he buy a book if he hated my character?”

  “Maybe he wanted to give you a shitty review on his blog. Who knows?” Darla shrugged. “Whatever. Shake it off, Hannah. He’s gone.”

  “Yeah,” I said, grabbing my favorite pen. “He was something though, don’t you think? I mean, he had this presence.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice!” Darla pretended to fan herself. “After all, tall, dark and Asshole is totally my jam.”

  I laughed. “Too bad he’s such a jerk. I would totally hire him to play Jonathan.”

  “I have a feeling he’d turn down that particular honor.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, staring absently at the back of the now empty store, where the guy had been hovering all night. It was so strange. He’d stayed for the entire reading, then waited until the very last person in line stepped up before making his move.

  “Real vampires don’t make love,” Darla mimicked with a laugh. “Man, where did he get that line? You need to use that in a book someday!”

  I shook my head, grabbing my stuff off the table. “He’d probably sue me,” I said, my mind flashing back to him standing there again and my heart giving a weird pang in my chest.

  He was an asshole, I reminded myself. A good looking asshole, but that’s all. And after tonight you’ll never see him again.

  2

  My cat, Spike, mewed in greeting as I pushed open my front door and stepped inside my apartment. He wrapped himself around my legs, almost tripping me as I fumbled for the light switch. It was our daily routine; he pretended he was happy to see me and I kept him well-stocked in kitty litter and catnip.

  I reached down, patting him on the head. He took the public display of affection for exactly three seconds, then darted over to his food bowl, looking up at me with accusing eyes. I should have gotten a dog. They weren’t so judgmental.

  “I know, I know,” I said, reaching into the cupboard to grab the cat food. “I’m late. There were a lot of people there. I couldn’t just turn them away.”

  Spike seemed to roll his eyes at this. He had no issues with turning people away. In fact, turning people away was his typical MO. I was the only one he allowed to touch him and then only sporadically when he was in the mood. Otherwise we both kept to ourselves, the consummate roommates.

  “You should be happy,” I scolded him. “Darla wanted me to go out for drinks. I could have been hours later.”

  Spike swished his tail, his eyes not leaving the bag of food. I sighed. He knew better than anyone that I would never have taken Darla up on her offer. She knew it, too, when she’d offered. But she always did, anyway. As if she felt guilty going out and having a good time while I returned to my empty (sorry Spike) apartment alone.

  But I didn’t begrudge her a good time. And I wished she wouldn’t begrudge me my solitude. She couldn’t understand how I could live in a tiny apartment with towering bookshelves on almost every available surface. She’d told me a thousand times I should move—I had the money now—I could get a real house. With a real library and a master suite with a Jacuzzi tub and walk-in shower.

  But while the library part sounded cool, I wasn’t interested in a house I could get lost in. This place was mine. Cozy, cramped, but comfortable. I felt safe here. Spike and I had our routine down and there were no surprises. Nothing to bring on the anxiety. It was my haven, my retreat when things in the outside world got to be too much. When the signing lines were long or the fans were rowdy, I could picture this place. My well-worn sofa, my Apple TV. My faithful computer in the corner, surrounded by vampire tchotchkes that fans had sent me over the years. It all dampened the screaming anxiety to a dull roar.

  No granite countertop or six burner range in the world could make up for that luxury.

  I sat down on the couch in question now, fidgeting a little, still wired from the event. I hated that feeling—being tired, but unable to sleep. On nights like this, if I didn’t do my trick, I would be up for hours, staring at the wall, actively trying to keep the panic at bay as I thought back to all the people. Surrounded by people.

  I leaned back on the couch. They were all friends, I told myself, going through my routine. They all loved you. They loved your books. They only wanted to meet you. The flashes from their smart phones burned against my irises. They wanted to post your picture on Facebook to brag to their friends. They’re part of your family. They love Jonathan, they love Maisie. They love you.

  Except the guy who hadn’t.

  My gut clenched as my mind flashed back to the tall, dark stranger at the back of the room again. Logan Valcourt. Hot asshole extraordinaire. Why had he come? What did he want? His eyes seemed to burn into me, even now. Cutting and cruel and angry. Why had he bought a book? Why had he said those things about me?

  Not that they weren’t true. At the end of the day, he was right. What I wrote about vampires? Just a mash-up of what I’d seen on TV and read in other books. I hadn’t done any real research into the entire mythos—just sampled popular culture and made up the rest. It usually made Darla and I giggle when people would write online about how my vampires were “realistic” unlike other authors’. How could something made up be real?

  And as for the not knowing men, well, that was more than a given. I hadn’t had a boyfriend since before. And I doubted I would ever have one again. But that suited me just fine. After all, I had a busy, successful life. I had dozens of well-loved book boyfriends. And I had Jonathan. Jonathan, the perfect man. The perfect vampire. The one who could always guarantee me a happily ever after.

  Real life was just too risky.

  I walked over to the keyboard and smiled. “Hey Jonathan,” I whispered, feeling a little silly doing it. I sank down into my computer chair and loaded up my latest work in progress. Dreams with the Vampire would be the fourteenth novel in the series and I
was determined to make it the best.

  I began to type.

  * * *

  “Jonathan are you okay?”

  Maisie looked up to see the vampire stalk into the room. She frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, taking a worried step backward. She’d never seen him like this. His eyes were cutting, cruel. Angry.

  He grabbed her and shoved her against the wall. His lips pressing against hers, cruel and punishing. She opened her mouth to protest and his tongue dove in.

  “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he snarled as he came up for air. “But you know nothing at all.”

  * * *

  I leaned back in my chair, frowning. Where had that come from? Jonathan did not accost Maisie. They were in love. They respected one another. She was safe from him. He never scared her.

  He wasn’t like him.

  I shuddered as the all too familiar fear trickled down my back, causing my pulse to rise and my heart to beat faster in my chest. I rose from my seat, checking the windows, checking the doors. That was another nice thing about having a small place, though I wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone. But it was easy to keep on top of. I checked the windows again, then the door. But my pulse still raced.

  And so I walked over to the bookcase. I grabbed the box. The beautiful handcrafted wooden vampire puzzle box, made from wood harvested from the Carpathian Mountains. It had been stained turquoise blue on the outside and lined in the richest velvet on the inside. I ran my hand across the top of it, taking a deep breath. Just seeing the box gave me back a small bit of control. Sometimes that was all I needed.

  But not tonight. Tonight with the huge crowd, with the man who looked like Jonathan but wasn’t. Tonight I needed something more. And so I opened the box and I pulled out the razor blade. It gleamed in the candlelight of my apartment and I sucked in a breath. Then I put it to my arm, closing my eyes. Letting all my worries flee my mind as I concentrated on dragging the blade down the inside of my arm. Watching the small trail of crimson appear behind it.

  It was beautiful.

  And I was at peace once again.

  3

  “So who is this guy again?” I asked grumpily as Darla worked on my hair. It was hopeless as usual, of course. My crazy corkscrew curls kept escaping her attempted up-do, no matter how much gel she used.

  “You tell me,” she said with a shrug. “All the invitation said was that the gala was being held in your honor and that the proceeds would support your favorite charity.”

  “Which is the only reason I’m agreeing to any of this,” I huffed, yanking down at the sleeves of my gown, feeling itchy and uncomfortable in my dress. Whoever this anonymous benefactor was, he certainly didn’t know me well if he expected me to delight in the spotlight of this kind of thing.

  In fact, it was pretty much the anti-me. Dressing up, hobnobbing with rich people who likely saw my books as nothing more than poorly written mommy porn. I mean, to each his own—I didn’t begrudge them their opinions. But that didn’t mean I had to spend quality time with them, defending my books.

  But in the end, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse. Not when the invitation promised a minimum of thirty-thousand dollars going to RAINN, my favorite charity group. And so I sucked it up and donned a dress and tried to mentally prepare myself for the required mingling and small talk.

  In other words I was pre-drinking like a boss.

  “Are you sure you want to wear that?” Darla asked, giving the dress in question a critical once-over. “It’s like ninety degrees out today. It may be boiling in the ballroom.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assured her.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “You haven’t been…you know…have you?”

  “No!” I cried making my voice as indignant as I could. “You know I don’t do that anymore.”

  “Okay, okay!” She held up her hands. “I was just checking.”

  “I just don’t want people to see the old scars,” I lied. “That’s all.”

  But, of course, that wasn’t all. In fact, I’d been pulling out my Carpathian puzzle box every night this week. I didn’t know why, exactly. Just that ever since that night at the bookstore my nerves had been fraying at the ends. To the point where it was actually starting to interfere with my daily writing word count. And I so didn’t have time for anything to interfere with my writing. Not when my book was due in three weeks and I wasn’t even half done with it.

  Which also meant I didn’t have time for shit like this. An evening at a gala meant an evening not writing. And when I did finally meet my so-called benefactor tonight, I would have a thing or two to say to him, charity or no.

  “You sure you don’t want me to come?” Darla asked, giving me a worried look.

  For a split second I contemplated saying yes. That I needed her there—that I couldn’t do this without her. But in the end, I shook my head. I knew she had scored tickets to the Imagine Dragons concert tonight and had been eagerly anticipating the show for months. She didn’t deserve to miss out on something so epic just to babysit little old me. I was a big girl. I needed to do this myself.

  “I’m sure,” I said. “You go to the concert. Have fun.”

  She pursed her lips. “And you’ll be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. I mean, it’s just a party, right? What could possibly go wrong?”

  The gala was being held in a beautiful old mansion on the far side of town. The type you’d expect to see in some Great Gatsby movie remake with expansive lawns and overly manicured shrubbery. It was already packed by the time I arrived and the valet was working overtime, moving cars that probably cost more than the GNP of several small countries. Whoever this guy was, he clearly knew all the right people.

  I was definitely not one of these people.

  My driver walked around the car, opening my door and putting out his hand to help me step out. I took it, trying not to wobble on my ridiculously high heels. Darla had not only forced me to wear heels, she had dragged me to Nordstrom’s earlier that afternoon to buy a decent pair. Something I didn’t appreciate at the time, but now realized, judging from the other guests, was the right move. If I didn’t sprain an ankle, that was.

  Once on my feet, I thanked the driver. He told me to text him when I was ready to go home. I agreed, then turned to the house, sucking in a breath, trying to still my fast-beating heart.

  You can do this, I told myself. It’s for a good cause. The best cause.

  I started up the front steps, feeling heat prickle under my arms in the warm night. My dress, which had already felt hot in my air-conditioned home was now scorching my skin and sweat was already dripping between my breasts.

  But there was no turning back now. And so I pushed onward, walking past the line of people posing for photos in front of the mansion. Praying the place would have proper AC.

  I needn’t have worried. The inside of the mansion was even more opulent than the outside and thankfully properly chilled. In addition, every corner seemed to be carved in marble and trimmed in gold. Fancy chandeliers dripped diamonds of light from the beautiful fresco ceiling, the intricately painted cherubs frolicking with rapturous mortals.

  What was I doing here? This was so not my world. Sure, I made a lot of money selling books, but that was probably spare change in the couch cushions to the other people here. I looked around, desperate to locate a familiar face—would I know anyone here? Someone from the charity foundation we were raising money for perhaps? Another author? Maybe a caterer I had gone to college with? But no, I didn’t I recognize a soul in this sea of well-dressed strangers.

  This was going to be a very long night.

  Finally, I made my way over to the bar. Always a safe haven in a storm. I slipped onto a stool and ordered a glass of champagne. When in Rome, right? A few moments later the bartender returned, placing the glass in front of me. I picked it up, pulling it to my lips, almost choking on the bubbles as I attempted to drink too quickly. Desperate to soothe my
frazzled nerves.

  “May I have this dance?”

  I whirled around, startled by the sudden voice. My eyes widened in surprise as they fell upon broad shoulders, dark hair, pale skin and oddly piercing blue eyes.

  Vampire, my brain niggled before I could help myself.

  I know this sounds crazy, but for a split second, I truly thought it was Jonathan, my vampire hero, sprung off the page of one of my books and standing before me in real life, asking me, of all people, to dance with him.

  But, of course, it wasn’t. And a moment later I realized exactly who it actually was, standing before me.

  Logan Valcourt. The stranger from my book signing.

  I hadn’t realized how much I’d been still thinking about that whole thing until my eyes raked over him now. But suddenly I realized he hadn’t left my brain since that night at the bookstore. Not entirely anyway. The encounter had been lurking in the shadows of my memories all this time, waiting patiently to reemerge.

  Just as he, himself, evidently.

  Because now he was here. Inexplicably standing in front of me. A shiver ran down my spine—and not one entirely made up of fear.

  “You!” I cried, almost falling off my barstool and spilling my drink. “What are you doing here?” Seriously in all the galas in all the world. He had to walk into mine?

  A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “It’s nice to see you again, too, Hannah Miller.”

  I nodded dumbly, not sure how to respond. The way his mouth moved was weirdly mesmerizing and I was a bit concerned I might actually be drooling as I stared at him, dumbfounded. And who could blame me, really? I mean, my God, he was good looking. His dark hair slicked back tonight, offering up a better look at his intense blue eyes which were framed by black lashes so thick you could imagine he was wearing guyliner. His nose was strong, as was his jaw. And his lips were full and generous. And as for his body? Even hidden under his tuxedo, you could tell it was magnificent. Like one of those Greek statues I’d seen in the ballroom. I had to fight the urge not to run my hands down his chest to see if it was actually made of marble.