I had no idea how the guests had gotten their luggage up to some of the higher floors without an elevator. It was quaint not to have one, and lent to the atmosphere pretty handily…but it wasn’t exactly practical.
“Do I have this right—does the Conference begin this evening?” the blonde woman asked, pushing her own sunglasses up and onto the top of her head. The other woman said nothing as we walked down the corridor.
“Yes, you’re right on schedule,” I told them, not because I knew the fact myself, but because Clare had told me earlier.
“Wonderful!” the blonde woman, Magdalena, took a slim phone out of her alligator handbag and pressed its face, typing something into it.
The other woman, even though she was wearing sunglasses I couldn’t exactly see through, seemed to be staring at me. I felt her gaze against me, and despite my earlier bravado, it was unnerving. I pressed my shoulders back and walked as quickly as I could toward the far door next to the spiral staircase. It had an old “Exit” sign lit overhead, and when I pushed it open, holding it for the two women, the first floor room hall stretched on ahead of us, covered in a lush red carpet the exact same shade as drying blood.
I found their rooms, one thirteen and one fourteen, side by side. “Keep the change,” said Magdalena once I’d gotten the bags inside each and ducked outside with forced politeness.
She pressed a crisp, unfolded hundred dollar bill into my hand, and then closed the door in my face with a wide smile.
Huh, I thought, staring down at my hand. Vampires were surprisingly good tippers. I could never have predicted that.
For a long moment I debated about folding the bill up and tucking it under my shirt and safely into my bra. But then I realized how close I was to the spiral stairs. It’d be the work of only a few moments to trot up them, deposit the money in my room, and then return to the front desk to continue helping Clare.
My mind wasn’t really on the hundred dollar bill—though it was nice—as I walked back down the hallway and began to climb the steps. I slowed down, my hand gripping the railing, as my thoughts turned, as always, to Kane. To Kane who’d leaned toward me as if she needed to be close to me. To Kane who had invaded my constant dreams, to Kane who I wanted to be with more than anything.
I paused on a step before the spiral turned completely and my hallway would be in view. If I closed my eyes, which I did, and concentrate, I could almost imagine that I inhaled the scent of her. The intoxicating blend of jasmine and spice and vanilla, and the woody tang of her cigarette smoke.
I was becoming pathetic. No woman should have that much hold over another. Why was I so drawn to her? Why did I love her? It made no sense, none of it made any sense…
I breathed out brokenly and took the last few steps. But as I rounded the last bend of the spiral staircase, I paused on the landing, gazing down the hallway to my room.
A woman knelt in front of my door. She had short black hair, wore overalls and a plaid shirt, and—with a screwdriver—was fiddling with the lock of my door.
But that’s not what made me pause.
Standing beside her, over her, as if supervising her actions with micromanaging precision, was a form I would be grateful to never see for the rest of my life. With her hands on her hips and her toe tapping, Melody stood tensely in her bright red dress, the scarlet fabric moving restlessly by her leg as she tapped her toe with aggravated, jerky motions.
Even though I hadn’t made a sound, Melody straightened just then, and she turned to look down the hallway, her eyebrows raised as if she was surprised to see me at such an early hour.
But then that surprise faded almost immediately, and over her beautiful face a malicious glee began to spread as wide as her wickedly grinning mouth.
“Ah, Rose,” she all but purred, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she chuckled a little. “You have perfect timing.” She straightened to her full height and angled her chin up, looking down her nose at me as her words grew sharper. “Your suitcases have been taken down to the front desk.”
Her final words were a knife in my heart, sharp and twisting:
“Your services at the Sullivan Hotel are no longer required.”
To be continued…
Will Rose lose Kane forever to a woman who should never have returned? Experience this epic romance as it unfolds in the fourth Sullivan Vampire story, Eternal Dance, coming soon!
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If you enjoyed Meeting Eternity, you’ll love Big, Bad Wolf, Bridget’s first novel!
The following is an excerpt from Big, Bad Wolf. Part heart-pounding mystery, part epic romance, it follows the story of Megan Upton and the mysterious, enigmatic, hungry-eyed woman she finds herself falling in love with…
I wasn't ready for it, what happened then, how it happened so unexpectedly. But isn’t that how these things tend to go? You can never expect something like this...
Because this is the day I met Kara.
I noticed her first between the biography shelves, prowling down them in soft boots that made no noise against the linoleum. I noticed her because I felt someone’s gaze on me, and when I turned, I saw she was staring at me, eyes that seemed to see all the way into me. I looked up and she didn’t lessen her gaze, only intensified it, deep blue eyes sharp points that left me speechless, they were so powerful.
“I need a little help,” she said then, smile soft, hands spread as she gracefully moved to the desk. Her eyes were a sweet blue, like cornflowers. I opened my mouth and closed it.
“How…how can I help you?” I tried to ask, but I stuttered over the words, and then tried again, after I cleared my throat and blushed and the woman had screwed up her features in a curious expression.
I wished I was under the desk.
“Art books,” she said, then, her head to the side.
Okay. I could help with that. “They're all over here,” I said, standing, smoothing my skirt, allowing my inner librarian to take over. “Any title, author, specific art that you had in mind?”
“Nah,” she stuck her hands in pockets and fixed me with that startling gaze again. It was…a hungry look, I realized.
I showed her art technique books and art history books and she gave me a luke-warm shrug until I put a slim volume of da Vinci's sketches in her hand. Her eyes lit, and she flipped it open and thumbed through it carefully, like the binding would break if she turned the pages too quickly.
“Is this what you wanted?” I asked, unnecessarily. I was almost preening, she was so clearly delighted with it.
“Well. Almost,” her smile was warm, honey dripping off a spoon. “Do you have any more?”
Moments passed, and she walked up to the check-out desk with an armful of art books, all different periods, all different artists. She’d been so happy with each volume I'd given her, and it didn't seem to matter that we had an empty shelf in our tiny art section...because she was happy.
I sat down in my swivel chair and grabbed the rubber check-out stamp approvingly (other libraries have mostly computer check outs—but we’re so tiny, we still do everything the old fashioned way. Which I kind of prefer). She set down the books in front of me smoothly, and we locked eyes. That expression again, that dark hunger as she gazed deep into me. I knew I was blushing as I stared up at her.
There was something about her that captivated me utterly.
“Can I…can I see your library card?” I asked, not because I wanted to ask it, but because it slipped out of my lips. Default words came while my mind wandered to other places. I was on autopilot, pinned beneath her gaze.
“Library card?” she asked, surprised.
“Don’t you have one?”
“No,” she looked abashed, mouth open. “My goodness, Megan, I'm sorry.”
“How did you know my name?” I stammered.
“Your name tag,” she stared at my breast pointedly, grin chasing her features. “It's a beautiful name.”
<
br /> I was blushing again as my heart began to beat insistently through me. “I'm afraid you have the upper hand.” I said then, because I had to say something. “I don't know your name.”
“Kara,” she said, the two syllables sounding rich and warm on her tongue, like she was saying a line of poetry. I realized that I was leaning over the desk, as if my entire body was drawn to her. I swallowed, leaned back, glanced down at the stack of books.
“Well then, Kara—it’s no problem,” the name was rough in my ears, sounding not nearly so nice in my own mouth. “We can outfit you with one.”
“One...?”
“A library card.”
We stared at one another in frustrated silence for a moment. She had a strong jaw, delicate hands. I was distracted and flustered and I didn't understand why I was.
You find her attractive, a distant part of my mind practically sang. I silenced it, but still took in this incredibly beautiful woman. Kara. (It did sound like a poem.)
She was saying something, and I hadn’t heard her. Guilty, I tuned myself back as she repeated: “...ID, right?”
“I'm so sorry,” I muttered, licking my lips. They were suddenly dry. My mouth was a desert.
“Do I need an ID to get a library card?” she asked again, patiently.
“Yes?” My mind blanked as I watched her shift her weight, saw her hips move in the other direction. I stared at her, and I couldn't remember if you needed an ID or not. Did you?
“I don't have an ID,” her hands were in her pockets, now, not touching her glorious stack of art books. I felt her posture shift, her slight shoulders starting to curve toward the door.
No one, in all of my years of being a librarian, had ever responded to the library card question like this, and my mind was grappling, trying to catch up to this strange turn of events, already made…different by her very presence. She wore dirty jeans, and a black shirt...I could see the hint of finely formed black tattoos on her forearms, and a thin gold chain hung at her neck...her neck, which was long and curved up beneath the tousle of jet black hair, flecked with gray. She was probably thirty-something.
And I was so attracted to her, it was all I could think about.
“Just…just take the books, Kara,” I whispered, caught again in her gaze. It was gentle now, her eyes downcast, but still she pinned me in place with the beautiful blue of them. “Just...take them,” I told her again, pushing the stack of books toward her across the counter. I swallowed and gazed up into her eyes. “I trust you.”
More silence. And then:
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice low, husky. She gave me an easy smile so bright, so intense, I felt my heart skip a beat.
“Don't mention it,” I called after her.
But the door was already swinging.
She was gone.
You can get Big, Bad Wolf, Bridget’s first novel, available now!
Acknowledgements
Being a writer is a lonely pursuit—you spend so much time in your head and in the worlds that you’re writing that you really start to appreciate the people who stick with you and care about you even when you do crazy things like write until all hours of the morning and talk incessantly about your stories. So I am deeply and incredibly grateful for the loved ones in my life who put up with me and all of my eccentricities. You are loved and appreciated.
I can’t believe the fans of this series—you guys are incredible and so supportive, and I’m overwhelmed that my vampires, who have lived in my head and in my computer files for so long, are being loved by you. Thank you for wanting to know what happens next. You keep me writing and inspire me so much by your enthusiasm, and I am so grateful for it.
R.M., to whom this book is dedicated, is one of the few people who never gave up on vampires, and she has never given up on me. Your friendship is one of the best things in my life, and this one’s for you.
Em keeps things lively and entertaining and just a little scary and always reminds me to take breaks from my work.
K. has been reading and supporting and being endlessly enthusiastic about my work for as long as I’ve been writing it, and I began writing vampires because she knew how much I loved them and told me I could do justice by them. I’ve never forgotten that, even all these years later. Thank you.
M. pushes me to be better, and is one of the most inspiring women I’ve ever met. Thank you for reading my stories and helping me be an even better writer through your encouragement and belief in me.
There are many more women (and a few guys, and surely a few cats) who inspire me, care about me and help me to be and write the best I’m capable of. I love you, and thank you.
Without the love of my life beside me, I would have no reason to tell stories or to see the beauty in this world. She is my foundation in everything and my reason for being. I love you.
About Author Bridget Essex
Bridget Essex has been writing about her beloved vampires for almost two decades. She has a vast collection of crochet hooks and teacups, and likes to listen to classical music when she writes. Her first date with her girlfriend was strolling in a garden, so it’s safe to say she’s a bit old fashioned.
Bridget has a black cat she loves very much, and a brown dog who actually convinces her to go outside. Her little house is often much messier than she’d prefer, but she has the perfect excuse: she’s a writer. This excuse doesn’t work nearly as well on her girlfriend as she’d like.
About the Sullivan Vampires, Bridget has this to say: “I was very frustrated by the lack of serious romance concerning lesbian vampires. Most lesbian vampire stories are erotica, and erotica is wonderful, but I wanted to write something that was romance focused. I wanted to write a sweeping epic love story between two women involving all of the great stuff you can play with when you’re writing vampires. Their immortality. The fact that to be with them is incredibly dangerous if you’re human. I wanted to write a love story you could fall in love with. And I hope with all of my might that I’ve done this with my Sullivan Vampires! I’ve loved writing them so very much—I hope that you enjoy reading them!”
You can find out more about her work at http://BridgetEssex.wordpress.com
Learn more about Rose and Star Press, publishers of lesbian romance and fiction of distinction, at http:///www.LesbianRomance.org
Meeting Eternity (The Sullivan Vampires, Volume 1 Page 18
