Authors: Annalynne Russo
Her dance partner seemed none too eager to
divulge his personal information. Instead, he leaned over Anaïs, forcing her to
arch her back as his imposing form crowded her tiny, agile frame. Instinctively,
she brought up her left leg, her thigh hugging his narrow waist. Gripping his
bicep to maintain her balance, she felt the corded muscles underneath his
tuxedo jacket. He was so close; she could feel the evidence of his desire flush
against her sex. Anaïs moaned, unable to stifle her reaction as they swayed to
the beat of the music.
“My name’s Oliver. The bride works for me,” he
said as he left a trail of feather-light kisses to her bare neck and throat.
“Oliver? As in Oliver Polinski, the BPA’s
counsel general?”
“Yes, is that a problem?” He set Anaïs back on
her wobbly feet. Suddenly, she felt dizzy. Light-headed.
Fuck! My taste in men sucks.
Chapter Three
Playing Nice
Oliver felt the woman in his arms waver. Her
body grew limp. It was surprising, given the sassy inner banter that seemed to
swirl around in her mind. Only moments before, the vixen had her sights set on
seduction. Now she could barely stand on her own two feet. Was she swooning
from his stealthy moves on the dance floor or had he said or done something else
to set her off kilter?
“Thirsty? Let’s have a seat and I’ll get you something
to drink.” Lucky for Anaïs, blood flowed plentifully at the bar, one of the many
perks of attending a wedding overrun with the undead. In fact, Eva had insisted
that the acerbic red vintage be included on the menu. She refused to let her
human guests fall victim to cocky bloodsuckers who couldn’t keep themselves
from gorging on fellow partygoers.
Oliver set his dance partner down on a chair
next to one of the square banquet tables, and headed for the bar. He acknowledged
the bartender, Bobby DuBois, with a nod of his head. Another vampire.
God damn if the place isn’t crawling with leeches.
Trying to remain cordial, Oliver plastered a
fake smile on his face. He ordered a shot of whiskey, along with a glass of plasma
for the woman, then made his way back to her side. He handed her the concoction
and took a seat to her left.
“Thanks. I didn’t mean to freak out on the dance
floor,” she said. “But it’s not every day you meet the man responsible for your
best friend’s murder.”
Oliver’s eyebrows sprang up in realization. “Christine
Kristopolous? She was nothing more than an innocent bystander. Her death proved
unfortunate, but my guys had no other choice. She’d gotten caught in the
cross-fire of a madman on a senseless killing spree.”
According to reports, Christine’s death was an
accident, although Oliver had been the one to order the hit. Surely that’s the
way Anaïs must have heard it. Andreas’s mother had left a board meeting at the
MET,
Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was situated along busy
team had set up a sting. The sun began to set no more than an hour earlier and
dusk had settled over the horizon. BPA agents were staked out in every nook and
cranny of the street in search for Johann Rappel, the rogue vampire responsible
for a handful of cannibalistic murders. With body parts strewn all over town,
Oliver’s troops had been standing by, waiting to catch the killer unaware and
end his worthless existence.
Anaïs took a slow sip from the cocktail glass,
then gawked at him as if dumbfounded by the brutish, offhand comment he’d made.
“How can you say that? From what I’ve heard, you gave your man permission to
pull the trigger.”
Oliver stared at his companion, sensing the grief
and turmoil swirling in the reflection from her golden brown orbs. Suddenly,
guilt clawed its way up his belly and he frowned, ashamed at the obvious pain
he’d caused her. He raised his hand, then tucked a stray red curl behind her
ear. As soon as his fingers brushed the tender skin at her temple, he felt
Anaïs quiver. Strange. Had he inadvertently provoked fear in the powerful
vampire? It didn’t seem possible. Contempt maybe, but not fear. He hated to
admit it, although deep down inside he hoped her body’s unsolicited reaction
proved to be one of lusty anticipation. At least that way, he wouldn’t feel quite
so awkward and alone.
Here I go again, showing my inexperience when it
comes to the opposite sex.
“I’m sorry for your loss. From what I hear, Christine
was quite the woman.”
Anaïs opened her mouth to speak, although before
she could utter a single word, they were interrupted by the happy couple making
the rounds from table to table in order to greet their invited guests. Andreas
lifted Anaïs’s hand to his lips and gifted her with a gentle kiss, while Eva
came around and put her arm around Oliver’s shoulder.
“I see you two have already become acquainted,”
the huntress said, a crooked grin crinkling up the corners of her mouth. Oliver
knew that look; she was up to no good. Then she turned to Anaïs. “It’s so nice
to meet you. Andreas has told me a lot about you.”
“Thank you. I can see that you both love each
other very much. I’m sure his mother would be pleased that he’s finally decided
to settle down.”
“Well, Aunt Anaïs,” Andreas said with a reverent
bow. “We should mingle with the rest of our family and friends. Are you
planning to stay in town for a while? Eva and I will be headed off on our honeymoon
after the reception. We’ve been working like mad the past few months, so we’re
taking an extended, two-week holiday.”
Anaïs glanced in Oliver’s direction, and then
she shot him a wink. Her sad, sullen expression had completely vanished. The
smoldering look she flashed him made his heart race and his cock become
partially erect. “I was planning to catch a flight back to
persuaded to change my mind. I’ll keep you posted.”
There was a stilted silence between them once
the bride and groom had moved on. It seemed as if both of them sensed the
undeniable attraction, yet ignored it, like the proverbial elephant in the
middle of the room. Oliver fidgeted in his chair, trying to think of something
to say to break up the monotony. He knew he should simply walk away. No use in
letting them push each other’s sexual buttons when nothing substantial would
ever become of it. After all, the last thing he needed to do was consort with
the enemy.
Unfortunately, Anaïs’s luscious red lips and
tight, rosebud nipples, visible through the thin material of her dress, kept
his ass stuck to the seat. For the first time, he understood how men could be
enthralled by the ethereal beauty and captivating charm of the undead. This one
had certainly caught him off guard. She left him helpless under her spell. Oliver
spent the last two decades planning covert ops and ordering the cutthroat
deaths of countless vampires. Yet with Anaïs, all he yearned to do was cup her
breasts in his hands, and watch those pouty lips move up and down his rigid shaft.
Oliver felt his cock grow painfully hard, the
proof of his arousal once again noticeable through his fitted trousers.
Suddenly, his face grew warm with embarrassment as heat snaked its way up his
cheeks. Anaïs’s eyes skimmed over his appearance, alternately moving between
his crotch and what he could only assume was a beet red face. She giggled
softly, then took his hand and pulled him to his feet.
“Come on, lover boy. Let’s go dance before
someone catches wind of the blood rushing through your veins and sees it as an
invitation to dine.”
This time, the music was contemporary – a slow,
sensual Luther Vandross ballad.
Now this is more my style, Anaïs whispered in
her mind.
Soon their limber bodies were molded together as
one. With each graceful step, they glided seamlessly across the polished wood
floor from one end to the other. Their nimble feet barely touched the ground.
Elegant and flowing, they appeared to be floating, like two translucent spirits
that had swept through the ballroom, trying their best to look inconspicuous. Oliver
had never been one to draw attention to himself. Yet how could anyone disregard
the beauty at his side? She was impossible to miss.
Their torsos were pressed achingly close, so
much so that he could feel her hardened mounds against the broad muscles of his
chest. Anaïs’s hot breath skirted down his neck. With the vivacious beauty so
near, Oliver didn’t know quite what to do or say. Nervous as hell, he felt a
pool of sweat form along his spine as they danced, cheek to cheek. His cock,
however, seemed totally at ease, wantonly rubbing against her inner thigh. The
arm he kept draped over the vampire’s back itched to move lower, eager to graze
the luscious curves of her ass. Although he hesitated, his lack of finesse when
it came to women stopped him dead in his tracks.
Keeping his desire on a tight leash, Oliver
fisted his hand in the swath of material that had gathered in the natural curve
of her spine. He leaned in, his utterance raw and gruff. “So you like Luther
Vandross?” he asked, trying to make casual conversation. “He’s one of my
favorites, as well.”
All of a sudden, Anaïs’s movements came to a
standstill. She jerked her head back and cocked it to one side as if perplexed.
She squinted, her gaze narrowing in on Oliver. At the same time, her pliant
curves became stiff and rigid in his arms. “How did you know that? I never…”
“I…um,” Oliver fumbled with the words on the tip
of his tongue. “I can read–”
Before he could finish the sentence, Anaïs’s
raised her hand in the air, and with a swift turn of the wrist, slapped him
square across the jaw. The sting felt like a million bees swarming over his
flesh.
“You bastard! You’ve been reading my mind this
whole time, haven’t you?” Anaïs’s irritated scowl proved that she couldn’t
possibly do the same. Good thing, too. Oliver didn’t need a sexy bloodsucker
trying to pick his brain. With her hands on her hips, she simply strutted away,
leaving him stranded in the middle of the dance floor with a roomful of
vampires ready to pounce.
Chapter Four
The Threat
It was well past three in the morning by the
time Anaïs made it upstairs to her suite at the Four Seasons Hotel. After
leaving the reception, she’d taken some time to search for sustenance, although
nothing had piqued her thirst. Then, she made a pit stop to the hotel bar and
downed a couple of cocktails. Vampires didn’t need to eat or drink, but after
her confrontation with Oliver, she’d hoped the alcohol would help calm her
rattled nerves. Eventually, the bartender announced it was last call and Anaïs
had no alternative but to head upstairs.
As she approached her room, thoughts of the
BPA’s counsel general still flashed through her mind. She wanted to strangle
him for delving into the depths of her mind without permission. Anaïs didn’t
share that specific talent and therefore, couldn’t return the favor. In fact,
Oliver Polinksi had done more than read her thoughts. He’d left her feeling turned
her on and pissed her off all at the same time, which was a first. So
preoccupied, she hadn’t noticed that the door to her suite had been set ajar,
as if it had been tampered with. Had someone snuck into her private quarters?
Hesitant to shove open the door on the off
chance that the burglars still lie in wait, Anaïs peered inside through a
slight crack in the frame. She could see the room was in shambles. Drawers full
of clothing had been emptied and strewn about haphazardly. The expensive art
lithographs on the walls had been torn off, shredded into pieces, and littered across
the rug’s surface. With her ear plastered to the wood, she listened for voices
or the sound of movement, anything that would tell her if she needed to enter
the room with fangs blazing. But she heard nothing. No one.
Anaïs sighed, then pushed open the door and
crossed the threshold. A major clean-up job hadn’t been on her agenda for the
evening. Neither had spending the night alone without a man to warm her bed and
satisfy her need for sustenance. Yet here she stood. Unfortunately, Oliver
Polinski had screwed up her plans.
Oh hell! I’ve got nothing better to do. I might
as well get started straightening up the place.
Picking up blankets from the floor and tossing pillows
onto a nearby chair, Anaïs noticed a small photograph that remained half-hidden
underneath the upturned bedding.
Hmm. Where had that come from?
She swooped it up off the ground and examined it
more closely. Suddenly, her eyes shot open; her stomach heaved at the horrific scene
depicted in the image. A scantily-clad woman, a vampire as evidenced by the
sharp incisor protruding from the left side of her cheek, lay discarded by a
dumpster in what appeared to be a dark, deserted
broken, twisted at an awkward angle with one of the frail collar bones sticking
out of the skin. The bustier she wore seemed to be torn in shreds, her bosom flayed
open by a jagged gouge that had been cut against the grain from breastbone to
rib cage. Her heart was ripped from her body, and set on top of her distended
abdomen.