Just One Bite (3 page)

My gaze zeroed in on Vinnie’s
Absolute
section, which overflowed the allotted line and continued on the back.

Blond hair.

Blue eyes.

I flipped the paper over and kept going.

Great ass.

Big tits.

Small waist.

Nice teeth.

No bunions.

No hammertoes.

Vagina
(what’d I tell ya?).

Never misses confession.

I was
so
dead.

The realization hit me as I reread the list. Then I did what any born vamp on the verge of total annihilation would do (at least any born vamp with a zest for life and an addiction to pink)—I panicked.

A full-fledged I-can-feel-the-stake-sliding-between-my-rib-cage
panic.
Which was the only explanation for what happened next.

The phone rang and I snatched it up
without
checking the caller ID.

Three

“D
ead End Dating,” I said as I picked up the receiver. “If you’ve got the money—that includes check, Visa or MasterCard—we’ve got the time.” I know. It reeked as far as catchy jingles went, but I’d just been threatened by a bona fide vampire killer. Gimme a break. “Lil Marchette,” I added. “How can I help you?”

“You can call me back once in a while.” Jacqueline Marchette’s familiar voice carried over the line. “I’ve left six messages. But then that’s how it goes. You shed blood, sweat, and tears to give afterlife to three beautiful, healthy children, and how do they repay you? They ignore your phone calls when you’re this close to picking up a gun and ending it all.”

“You don’t own a gun, Ma.”

“Maybe not, but your father bought a paintball Uzi to use on Viola.”

Viola was an ultrastylish werewolf who lived next door to my parents. She was president of the Connecticut chapter of the Naked and Unashamed Nudist Sisterhood (a group of female werewolves that met weekly at her Fairfield estate) and a Democrat.
And
the recently court-ordered owner of the controversial patch of azalea bushes that sat on the property line between the two estates.

My father was still pissed over the ruling. That, and the fact that his prized chain saw (which he’d used to chop down said azaleas time and time again) had mysteriously fallen into Viola’s possession (it’s a
long
story).

“The thing looks real,” my mother went on, “and it causes the most painful-looking bruises.”

“Don’t tell me he really shot her?”

“Actually, he shot himself in the foot when he was trying to load the blasted thing. He’s lucky there were only five balls in the barrel, otherwise he might have put out an eye and bled all over my Berber rug.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s a vampire, dear. Of course he’s okay. In fact, he’s already healed. He’s cocked and loaded as we speak, and skulking around the backyard. Viola’s having one of her get-togethers tonight and he’s got this absurd notion that he’s going to cause a diversion by peppering her yard statues with paint. While she and her guests are on the back patio examining the damage, he’ll sneak onto her property and steal back that bloody chain saw. Or at least that’s the plan at the moment.”

“Isn’t that against the law?”

“That’s what I told him, but he says since it’s his in the first place, he’s not breaking the law if he takes it back.”

“What if he can’t find it?”

“He moves on to Plan B.”

“Which is?”

“Hiring someone named Fast Hands Freddie to do it for him. The man specializes in organized-crime hits, but he’s good with burglaries, as well. Your father found him in the phone book under
Hands-on Business Consultants,
and all of this is beside the point. I deserve, at the very least, a phone call, don’t you think?” She went silent for a long moment and I shifted in my seat.

In addition to the standard superpowers, all born vamps possess a special power unique to each of them. My oldest brother Max could summon a thunderstorm. My middle brother Rob could redirect the wind. My youngest brother Jack could command a burst of fire. I could sniff out a sale within a five-mile radius. My mother? She could heap on the guilt with nothing more than a moment of calculated silence.

My panic quickly fled, swamped by a wave of self-loathing.

“Geez, Ma. I’ve been with a client since I walked in the door and I haven’t even had time to check my messages—”

“Not you. Your brother.”

“Max? But he always calls you.” Max was the hot and hunky kiss-ass.

“Your other brother.”

“Rob?” Also hot and hunky, but instead of kissing ass, he simply kept to himself. “He calls every week.” Unless he was too preoccupied with a certain daughter of born-vamp hotelier Victor Lancaster. I’d hooked up Rob with Nina One, the blond half of my best friend duo The Ninas (Nina Two lived in Jersey with her own commitment mate, courtesy of yours truly), and they’d been getting pretty serious over the past few weeks. I smiled at the prospect, but then my mother sighed and the expression died. “Maybe he’s been extra busy at Moe’s. Isn’t it spring inventory?”

“Yes, and I’m not referring to Robert. The
other
one.”

Meaning my youngest brother Jack. Once-upon-a-time jerk turned semi-decent vamp who’d recently married the woman of his dreams. The
human
woman. A fact that still didn’t sit well with my mother, who’d done her best to break them up. She’d even gone so far as to hire me to find him a more suitable mate. True love had prevailed (with a little help from
moi,
of course), and they’d gotten married anyway. My mother had kept her mouth shut during the ceremony (my brother had threatened to break off all contact with her), but she’d yet to accept that her baby boy would willingly betray his heritage and give up his chance to breed baby vamps.

“Jack’s in Rio on his honeymoon,” I pointed out. “He doesn’t get back until next week.”

“So? Is there some unspoken rule that says a man can’t phone his mother while in a foreign country on his honeymoon?”

“Well, yeah, Ma. It’s his
honeymoon.
”

“Has he called you?”

“I’m his sister. That’s rule number two.”

A moment of silence ticked by. “I hope he’s all right.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Then why hasn’t he called?”

Duh. “Maybe he’s busy having fun.”

“With that human? What sort of fun could they be having? It’s not like they’re having sex. What’s the point?”

Because they’re two committed souls who want to express their devotion not just emotionally, but physically, as well.
I caught the response before it could slip past my lips.

First off, I wasn’t in the habit of contradicting my mother (see her special talent above) and second, she’s my
mother.

“He could be partying or sightseeing or biting unsuspecting tourists.”

She brightened at the last prospect. “Do you really think so?”

“Does a vampire suck blood?”

“I suppose you’re right. Jack
is
a born
vampere.
It’s not like he can turn his back on his very nature. Not forever. Sooner or later, he’ll grow tired of that human, and then he’ll realize what a wonderful existence he had. He’ll get rid of her and everything will be back to normal.”

“Most definitely.”
Not.
As much of a player as Jack had been, he truly had changed. I’d seen the love in his eyes when he’d pledged his love to Mandy. He wasn’t morphing back into Jerk Vamp anytime in the next eternity, no matter how much my mother wanted him to.

At least, I hoped not.

“Since we’re on the subject of superior born male vamps—”

“We are? I thought we were talking about Jack.”

“Exactly.”

Oh.

“I happen to know a superior born male vamp who’s very excited about seeing you again.” Just like that, my mother changed the subject and I was back in her crosshairs.

“Listen, Ma, I know I said I would go out with Remy, but we’ve already been out a dozen times. I’m just not attracted to him.”

Remy Tremaine was the chief of the Fairfield Police Department and my mother’s prime son-in-law candidate. He was good-looking, filthy rich (thanks to the private security service he ran in addition to being one of Fairfield’s finest) and he had an astronomical fertility rating. He was also the son of one of my mother’s oldest and dearest friends (they’d grown up together, playing paper dolls, yapping about boys, and terrorizing small villages).

While I liked Remy (we’d also grown up together, minus the dolls and boys and small villages, of course), I didn’t
like
Remy.

At least, I hadn’t thought so until a few months ago. We’d had a few
ka-pow
moments (n: used to describe instantaneous, tummy-tingling chemistry) and now I wasn’t one hundred percent sure he wasn’t all that.

At the same time, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure that I wanted to find out.

Because you like Ty.

I ignored the voice. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think fast because I want to invite him to the hunt. You two could leave early and spend some time alone getting to know each other. You could talk about your impressive orgasm quotient and he could talk about his fertility rating.” Excitement infused her voice. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise and tell you the number Estelle mentioned, but let me just say that I think you’ll be more than evenly matched.”

“I already know, Ma. You told me last week. And the week before that. And the week before that.”

“Well, then. It’s all settled. I’ll call Estelle. She and I both are pushing for an April commitment ceremony. We can have it at the Huntress club and—”

“It’s just dinner, Ma, and I haven’t even said yes.”

She ignored the second part. “First dinner, then the next thing you know, you’re giving birth to little
Jacqueline Marie du Champagne Genoise Tremaine.
”

“I gotta go, Ma.” I slid the phone into the receiver and tried to calm the sudden pounding of my heart.

Not because I didn’t want to squeeze out a baby vamp one day. I did. Hence my recent no dead-end relationship policy. But I
so
wasn’t naming it after my mother. My own name didn’t even fit on a MasterCard application. No way was I dooming my child to a similar fate.

I’d rather go for something short and sweet and
now.

Maybe Shiloh.

Or Violet.

Or Magenta.

The notion calmed me down all of five seconds and even drew a tiny smile.

One that quickly died, however, when I shifted my attention back to Vinnie’s application. I keyed in a few of his
must-haves
and ran a search of my database.

Zilch.

Which meant I had to go above and beyond my preexisting clients.

Way, way up
I decided after several minutes of deep thought. I pushed to my feet and grabbed my purse.

A quick swipe of lip gloss and I headed for—where else?—the nearest church.

Four

I
didn’t actually go to church.

Despite my soft spot for MasterCard commercials, I
am
a vampire. Not that I’m liable to start smoking or burst into a ball of flames or anything that clichéd. But I do get this very uncomfortable case of hives.

My father says it’s because we’re born and bred in darkness, vessels of evil, minions of Satan (Yeah, I know. Overinflated ego fueled by way too many reruns of
Dark Shadows
).

My mother—just as much ego, but with an edge of practicality—says I’m allergic to the chemicals used in the stained glass (my great, great, great aunt Michelle has a similar problem. She fed on a clergy member during a tour of Canterbury Cathedral a few years back and swelled up like a Weeble). That, and I’m allergic to the accumulated holiness.