The Vampire’s City
Mary E. Twomey
Mary E. Twomey, LLC
Contents
The Vampire’s City
About The Vampire’s City
1. Risky Business Move
2. Old Grudges
3. Peace is Possible
4. Separated by Glass
5. Scandalous Invitation
6. Taking Care of Rome
7. Raspberry Cannoli
8. Don’t be Dashing
9. Testing the Truce
10. Picking Dates
11. The Sound of Your Voice
12. Bad Date
13. Cutting a Deal
14. Haircut
15. A Cannoli is Just a Cannoli
16. Rome’s Agenda
17. Coming Clean
18. First Kiss
19. Picnic Prep
20. Swimming
21. Only You
22. Blood Ninja Disco
23. The Vixen and the Ballerina
24. Bad Brother
25. Coming and Going
26. The Broken City
About the Author
The Vampire’s City
Book One in The Last Deadblood Series
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By
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Mary E. Twomey
Copyright
Copyright © 2021 Mary E. Twomey LLC
Cover Art by Emcat Designs
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All rights reserved.
First Edition: September 2021
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
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This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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For information:
http://www.maryetwomey.com
Dedication
To the younger, more optimistic me.
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I know you’re still in there somewhere.
About The Vampire’s City
When Colette returns to her hometown after a decade away, she knows her life will never be the same.
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With the war between the two families finally cooling, Colette returns to Mayfield determined to improve relations in the divided city the only way she knows how. Opening up a business that serves both humans and vampires isn’t going to win her any friends, but she didn’t expect enemies to pop up so quickly.
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Danger lurks in the shadows as she does all she can to repair the broken city she left behind so many years ago. Now with her head held high and her father’s stubborn nature in her veins, Colette collides with the one vampire whom she knows could shatter her plans—and her heart.
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"The Vampire’s City" is filled with political intrigue and scandalous secrets, written by USA Today bestselling fantasy romance author, Mary E. Twomey.
1
Risky Business Move
Colette
This is a safe area, I remind myself. No vampire attacks have been deadly in at least six months, and no humans have assaulted a vampire in as much time, either. We’re a peaceful town now.
Or at least, that’s what they brag they are.
Yet when the backdoor of my shop swings open and I hear an unfamiliar tread coming toward me, I clutch the broom in my fists, ready to weaponize the thing if need be.
I’m not scared.
I’ve told myself as much every hour all day. One of these times it will ring true.
My gaze snags on the three spots around the salon where I’ve hidden guns, just in case.
A shotgun behind the picture of a voluptuous hair model hanging on the wall.
A Colt 1911 in my office.
A Glock 9mm behind the cash register in the hostess stand, which has been painted the color “Angel’s Kiss”. That is another word for pearly white, I have learned. The entire design is in line with my brand, but as this is only my third branch I have ever opened, I still feel the pangs of worrying I am too green for this sort of leap.
Especially considering that this branch is in Midtown in the wary metropolitan area of Mayfield. I am the last person whom this city wants to see opening a business in these parts. Being me has caused enough trouble for this town.
Yet here I am, because I have a plan.
A really stupid plan to bring unity to a city that is completely divided.
I am determined to do this by myself, with nothing but a few gutsy stylists and three guns.
And I am going to do it barefoot, apparently, since I left my heels in my office because my feet were killing me.
I take a deep breath and do what I can to remain calm.
I belong where I put myself, and I have set down roots here, for better or worse.
A male voice jerks my heart around in my chest as a man I once knew well walks in from the back exit.
“Well, would you look at that,” he says about the broom in my hand. “Apparently the Kennedy family can clean up its messes. Who knew?”
Nico Valentino strolls in, his shoulders back to feign ease, as if it’s totally fine that he just picked the lock and broke into my business unannounced.
My breath catches at both the intrusion and the intruder. Seeing the youngest Valentino brother for the first time after so many years spent apart drives a knife through my chest. Everything in me aches at the sight of Nico, though I know the attachment is entirely one-sided, now that we play by the rules the grownups have set out for us.
My childhood best friend is all grown up, as am I. Yet here we are, divided for reasons that had nothing to do with us.
The instinct to run into his arms is overwhelming, though I know that is not who we are to each other anymore.
When I chose to open a business in Midtown—the only Kennedy to ever attempt something so bold (or stupid)—I knew there would be risks.
Still, I pretend I am not the least bit affected by the impromptu visitor. I make sure to keep my voice light. “If you stopped by for a haircut, I don’t open my doors until Monday.”
Both the Valentino brothers have that cocky way to them. Though I haven’t seen Nico in years, other than watching him get arrested and then worm his way out of jail on TV, he still looks the exact same—lean build, thin lips, and a medium height that is somehow still forbidding in nature. His jet-black hair is coupled with olive skin that only tans, never burns. He’s got the thick, expressive eyebrows of all the men in that family. His angular jaw adds a touch of cruelty to his infrequent smiles.
Of course, I remember back when he was Nino-bear, and we made mud pies together.
But that was before our fathers made a mess of things.
Nico throws the sign I had hanging on the front of my door. Vampires and Humans Welcome is a big statement, but it shouldn’t be. It should be a given that everyone is welcome in every business. Of course, nearly every other business in Midtown hangs signs that read Humans Only.
I opened my business here to make a statement, to make peace, to force the world to make sense.
Nico runs a hand across the closely shaven sides of his head. “You gonna make me all pretty, Deadblood?”
I’ve always hated that nickname. Though, I’m not sure it qualifies as a nickname. Those are supposed to be playful and cute, not a moniker to make me sound infamous for being born the way I was.
My smile is breezy but my grip on the broom is tight, my knuckles paling as the seconds tick by. “Only th
e best for you. Maybe some highlights, a waxing between your eyebrows—you know, so there’s two of them.”
Nico mimes a laugh and claps his hands. “I was thinking you might want to postpone your grand opening. Put it off a few months.”
Though he is taller than me even if I was wearing my heels, the fact that I am barefoot makes me feel like he outgrew me by a mile. Nico is dressed like he knows how to get rid of a body, what with the standard black slacks and white button-down every man in or working for the Valentino family wears like it’s a uniform. My pink pencil skirt and cream blouse that show off my curves made me feel pretty, feminine and powerful when I put them on this morning, but now I wish I’d opted for combat boots and Kevlar.
I fight to keep my voice steady, but it comes out a mild squeak. “What are you doing here, Nico?”
I can handle the press without breaking a noticeable sweat. I can give the reporters their pictures without an ounce of hesitation in my smile nor a brunette curl out of place. I can hold my head up as if being the Last Deadblood is no strain on my soul.
But being in the same room as my childhood best friend (who now hates my very existence) requires constant effort to keep my composure from crumbling.
Nico rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. “I’m helping you get ready. You look like you could use a hand.”
I shouldn’t be surprised when he grabs up the nearest chair and bashes it against the long mirror I installed yesterday beside the entrance.
I tense at the shatter of glass that litters the floor, but I keep my scream to myself.
I expected hazing from the vampires who are certain I shouldn’t exist. I am the Last Deadblood, after all.
Nico’s roar of frustration rattles my insides. “You think you can come back to Mayfield and we’re just going to let you? It’s bad enough that you didn’t stay gone, but to open up a business here, smack in the center of Midtown?” He motions around the salon that I have made sure is nearly perfect. “Maybe if you’d stayed in the East End with the other humans, I wouldn’t have to come here and lay down a few ground rules. But opening a business where vampires have to look at you and deal with all you’ve done is a new low, even for you Kennedys.”
I don’t argue. There’s no point. I have been responsible for the deaths of hundreds of vampires, however indirectly.
To make matters worse, my father could have used his office as sheriff to go after the criminals who murdered vampires. They made weapons using my blood, which is a surefire way to kill a vampire. But for a good many years, my father turned a blind eye to the plight of those not like him.
My father is supposed to protect all the citizens of Mayfield, instead of just the ones who are most like him.
It set a precedent to the rest of the world that vampires are second-class citizens, undeserving of justice.
Father has come to his senses and cracked down harder on violence against vampires since then, but the stink of his lax rule isn’t something the vampires are quick to forgive, nor humans reticent to exploit.
Clearly Nico will never be ready to forgive my family’s sins.
Never mind that I was sent away during the major clashes between my family and Nico’s. Forget that I have been the one campaigning for peace every time I am interviewed. Forget that for the vampires to be in danger from the radicals because of me, I have to be in danger by the radicals, as well. In no way would I ever donate my deadly blood to people intent on murdering vampires.
Nature is cruel, but people are worse.
All anyone sees when they look at me is a Deadblood, no matter how much I try to convince the world I want these stupid turf wars to end.
I try to keep my voice level. “Nico, enough. I have every right to be here. I belong where I put myself.”
“You belong anywhere other than Mayfield.” Nico sets the chair down, whistling a menacing tune. Actually, it’s a light, whimsical ditty, but on his curved, slender lips, the tune turns sinister and sends a chill up my spine. “If you get to be a hairstylist, then I get to be a decorator. That window looks a little off to me.”
I wince when he takes the chair and bashes it against the giant picture window.
Fear rockets through me when I realize that coming home might be the worst mistake I will ever make.
And Nico will never tire of making me pay for it.
2
Old Grudges
Colette
The chair bounces off the surface without leaving a scratch, though Nico’s rage is still in full swing.
I examine my nails, feigning boredom, even though I am shaking inside. “Bulletproof glass. I had it installed to make sure any of your kind that come in here are safe.”
“My kind?” Nico snarls at me, launching the chair across the salon. “You can say it, Colette. I’m a vampire. And the only bullets that could take us out are the ones coated with your blood. If you really wanted to protect us, you would stay away from Mayfield. You wouldn’t have been used to make all those weapons designed to slaughter my kind.”
I swallow hard, unable to pretend Nino-bear’s accusations don’t wound me.
That’s who he was to me, back when we were too young to care that we shouldn’t be friends. He was my Nino-bear, and I was his Coco-bear.
I straighten, still holding my broom as if it’s a shield. “You know I had nothing to do with that. I would never hurt you on purpose.”
Nico spits on the floor I just finished sweeping. “That stupid treaty isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. It’s got your father’s signature on it, and he’s never been anything but a liar.”
I’ll not argue with that.
I smooth out my blouse, refusing to look ruffled. I don’t want Nico to know how upset him being here makes me. In my silly imagination, I’ve envisioned the first time I come across my childhood best friend, all grown up. How it plays out in my mind is that we accidentally run into each other on the street in Midtown. Worry twists my features because I don’t want him to hate me, or worse, not remember my face. But he breaks through my anxiety with a pure smile, scooping me in a hug while he excitedly catches me up on the adventures I’ve missed in his life’s journey while I was overseas.
I comment on how grown he looks, and he spouts back a comment about me not growing at all, because I’m still so short. We share a laugh and then we go to a coffee shop to spend the afternoon together and catch up. We marvel over how crazy the world is, and how we are the only two sane ones left.
Not quite the scene playing out before me now.
I am prepared for this, even though it breaks my heart. My best plan is to pretend I don’t have a heart, that the useless organ holds no value.
I lift my chin. “My father is who he is, but I am who I am. I’ve never killed a single person unless it was self-defense or by accident.”
Nico scoffs. “But your blood was used to coat the bullets that killed my people.”
And here it comes. I can feel the years of resentment bubbling up, now that I am back in town and Nico has somewhere to spew his pent-up venom.
He is one of thousands who have every right to hate me for all my blood has done. I’ll not rob him of his fury. Now that I am back in Mayfield after so many years away, I’m sure this will be the first of many interactions wherein I absorb the brunt of their well-earned hatred brought on by the world’s injustice and my cursed genetics.
Nico’s cheeks turn red with rage. “Your bullets killed my mom!”
Though his words are true, and I’ve done my best to deal with them over the past four years, they shove me in the chest all the same. Images of the only mom I have ever known flood my brain. Even though she was never rightfully mine, I claimed her as such, and she smiled every time.
The fact that my blood was used to murder Mama V is a crime I will never forgive the world for, nor will I forgive myself.
“I loved her, too,” I offer, though I know this is the wrong thing to say.
Nico picks up ano
ther chair and starts wailing at the drywall, carving huge holes into the freshly painted lavender surface.
I grimace, anxiety climbing in my veins. I want to race to stop him, but I know that would only make things worse.
Nico beats on the wall. “Fat lot of good your love did her! If not for you and your family, she would still be alive!”
I back up until my spine hits the far wall, bracing myself as Nico destroys much of my hard work. My fingers itch to grab my Glock 9mm from the register, but reason wins out.
Though mine are just regular bullets that can’t kill a vampire, they send a clear enough message. They can slow a vampire down, even going so far as cracking bone. But though the temptation is there, I am not going to hurt Nico, no matter how much of a prick he’s turned out to be.
I’m not sure I am capable of raising my hand to a Valentino.
My blood murdered Nico’s mother. Maybe this is a portion of what I owe him.
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