Love Bites UK (Mammoth Book Of Vampire Romance2)

by Telep, Trisha

  Butterflies tickled her stomach. She parted the rich velvet stage curtain, blinking at the overhead lights.

  If she didn’t do it now, she never would.

  “You ready, sweetheart?” A handsome, grey-haired vamp clapped her on the arm, treating her to a sly smile and a wink as he passed.

  “More than you’ll ever know.” Once. Just once, she was going to do something for herself. And if it ruined her reputation for the next century? She’d worry about that tomorrow.

  Adrenaline raced through her body as spotlights popped to life.

  An exaggerated drum roll sounded as the grey-haired vamp jogged out on stage. He threw his arms out, clearly eating it up. “Welcome toooo Love Bites!” The audience went wild as the game-show band started in on a lively round of theme music. The affable vamp gave an exaggerated bow. Television cameras followed his every move.

  “Each week, one lucky lady gets to pick from not two, but three vampy studs to find her one true love. Will it last for the evening, or for all eternity? That’s up for grabs on stage tonight. I’m your host, Frankie G. Winner, coming to you live from Kiev, the undead capital of the world, with the hottest show on Vamp TV.”

  Kat sucked in a breath. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea. But, hell’s bells, she had to take charge of her life. Now.

  “Sponsored by Swiss Storage. For memories of a lifetime. Trust Swiss Storage. And by Fang-zite. The all natural Male Fang Enhancer. Show her you’ve got a little something extra . . . with Fang-zite.”

  “Go,” the stage director ordered.

  Kat smoothed her red silk top and, with more confidence than she felt, strutted out under the blaring game-show music and lights, her glam-girl earrings tickling her long pale neck. I am immortal, hear me roar.

  The studio audience seemed to stretch for miles. Never mind the countless vamps watching at home. Her stomach tingled.

  Her parents were going to kill her.

  Stop it. There was nothing wrong with dating. Most vamps got to date. Only the royals were forced to marry people they barely knew. And because of their stupid rules, she’d endured centuries of a loveless marriage. She deserved a little fun.

  Frankie brushed his lips against her cheek as the clapping from the audience died down. “Princess Katarina Volholme D’Transylvania,” he said, rolling her name on his tongue like a fine wine. “You are the only daughter of the King of Romania. Newly single after 856 years and I must say you smell terrific.”

  Kat smiled inwardly. The perfume was her own creation.

  “Are you ready to find the man of your dreams?”

  “Bring ’em on,” she purred.

  Frankie urged Kat into a cute little perch on a barstool that had to have been designed for a giant. Add that to the fact that she didn’t usually wear heels. The lights suddenly seemed too bright.

  Relax. It was just like when Grandpa fought the Byzantines. Move with purpose, move with power.

  Kate glided into the hot seat, and eased her glossy black hair from her shoulders. Frankie nodded in approval and she grinned despite herself. If she played it right, no one would even know she’d learned her modern English from watching American Idol.

  A blood-red wall separated her from the male contestants. Frankie rested a smooth hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready to meet the bachelors?”

  She nodded as the lights came up on the other side.

  “Mozart,” he called, “can we get a drum roll, please?”

  The flame-haired bandleader spun his sticks and began pounding a wild, jungle beat.

  “Let’s say hello to our first contender,” Frankie announced. “Bachelor number one hails from ancient Rome, where he wowed the ladies in the pits of the Coliseum. Today, he runs his own security firm and enjoys extreme sports. But will bachelor number one have the sword and the strength to win this lady’s hand? We’ll find out tonight.”

  The audience hooted and hollered. Kat fought the urge to peel at her Wildly Red nail polish. Bachelor number one sounded promising. Then again, her father hadn’t liked the Romans since they’d invaded his lands in the second century. Stop it, she chastised herself. Nothing would please her dad except her marrying Vlad the Detailer. While he wasn’t as obscenely old as her former husband, he was just as vanilla. Worse, he was chief of operations for his cousin, Vlad the Impaler. Kat had met them both at a dinner party a few hundred years ago and let’s just say they were bat crazy, always trying to conquer something. Even if her dad thought Vlad would make a nice, ambitious husband for her, it just wasn’t worth it.

  “Our second bachelor hails all the way from England where he was a big hit as a royal executioner at the Tower of London. These days, he makes his living slicing and dicing news articles. Our bachelor is a journalism professor at the University of Missouri. But can mere words provoke the passion of a princess? We’ll find out.”

  A group of women in the back started whistling. He must be good-looking. Most vamps were, but still, it took something special to get them going. Kat crossed her legs. She wouldn’t mind being hot for the teacher.

  “Bachelor number three hails from the Scottish Highlands. He’s as comfortable in a tartan as he is at the table on the World Champion Poker tour. Want to finally know what’s under that kilt? Bachelor number three is betting on true love.”

  She had always wondered about men in kilts. And she was more than ready for a little adventure after being cooped up for the last eight and a half centuries. Vamps mated for life and let’s just say her husband hadn’t exactly gotten out of the castle much.

  To be fair, he was almost 2,000 years old when she’d married him. He’d been an old, old, old friend of the family’s – her parents’ choice, of course. He’d spent his nights dissecting the moths that flew into his study window. Or eating songbirds. He’d never had time for Kat. Marrying her had been a favour to her father and the crown, nothing more.

  “And now,” Frankie said like he was announcing the cure for sunlight, “it’s time for our bachelorette’s first question.”

  Kat sat up a little straighter and began reading the first pink question card. “As you may know, I haven’t been out much in the last few centuries and I’m up for a fun time, maybe even a few surprises.” She emphasized the last word as the card instructed. “Bachelor number one, where would you take me on our first date?”

  “Well, Katarina . . . ”

  The Roman’s voice sounded smooth, velvety. Kat succumbed to a very un-princess-like fidget.

  “I’d take you to paradise, baby, because that’s where you’d be after one kiss from me.”

  She forced herself not to gag. The Romans always did like their poetry, but sheesh – she’d expected more from a gladiator.

  Kat glanced at the endless audience and immediately regretted it. After living quietly for so many years, it felt strange to be in front of so many people.

  She cleared her throat. “Bachelor number two, where would you take me?”

  Kat pasted on a smile – practised and perfected over the centuries – as he droned on and on about a picnic by a beautiful lake, one without food (for obvious reasons), without beverages (any and all consumables gave him gas) and not too close to the lake (he had a water phobia ever since his near drowning in 1754). Never mind that he was immortal. Well, she wasn’t going to learn any more. Kat wasn’t going anywhere with bachelor number two.

  This simply had to get better.

  “Bachelor number three? Where would you take me?”

  “It’s simple, Katarina.” His voice was low, rumbling. If he’d had a Highland accent, he’d lost it years ago. “I’d ease you onto the back of my Harley, and rev up the engine. After that, it’s anything goes.”

  She was suddenly aware of how tightly her black leather pants hugged her legs, her thighs. Kat tried to get her mind off it by focusing on him, but then all she could think about was what he wasn’t wearing on his thighs – or anywhere else under that kilt. Did Highlanders really go commando? And w
as she ready to find out?

  “Bachelor number three,” she began.

  “Number one,” Frankie corrected her.

  “No, we’re skipping that.” Kat waved him off. She needed to talk to the Scotsman again. She eyed the next question card: If we were married . . .

  It would never happen. Kat flipped to the next card. She didn’t need marriage again. She just needed a life, one where she called the shots for a change. Forget the cards. Kat shoved them underneath her. “Bachelor number three–” she folded her hands in her lap in anticipation “– what would you say is your best asset?”

  “My attitude,” he said simply. “I don’t give up. I don’t give in. And I know how to treat a woman.” He lowered his voice. “When you leave here tonight, with me, I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”

  Like he just assumed she’d go with him. Oh, who was she kidding? She’d made her choice. Kat was going to have her own version of a Highland fling with the utterly delectable Scotsman.

  She stamped down a squeal of triumph. Finally! She’d been dreaming of going on a date since she caught her maid sneaking out with a handsome young blacksmith back in the seventeenth century.

  Of course there was the issue of the rest of the show. What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever bitten? How many vamps can you fit in your coffin? Name the wildest place you’ve ever slept.

  She hardly listened to the answers. She wanted the Highlander.

  Fionnlagh MacLaomainn had the little vampire exactly where he wanted her. Sure, he couldn’t see the maverick brunette on the other side of the wall, but he felt her heat like the pounding of a battering ram. Her desire, too. She wanted him.

  And why shouldn’t she?

  His kind specialized in giving the vamps exactly what they craved. Too bad he wasn’t working for the eager Princess.

  Finn cocked an arm over the back of his chair and shifted uncomfortably as the wooden stake he carried rubbed into his back. He never went anywhere without it. Vamps could be damned unpredictable.

  Only the wealthiest undead could afford to keep an empath fairy like Finn on staff. Finn was undetectable to vamps when he wanted to be. Deadly too.

  Still, he wouldn’t have signed on for this job if it had meant hurting Princess Katarina. He didn’t injure innocents. He would take her back to the King, however. She’d protest. He’d insist. After all, Vlad the Detailer had already arrived for the wedding. The vamp had a reputation for being sharp, focused and utterly obsessed with order. It would go much better for Katarina if Finn delivered her in good time.

  Then he could get back to providing real security.

  In his last mission, he’d staked a band of assassins. A king as old and powerful as Volholme had made his share of enemies. Still, Finn had a feeling someone new was gunning for the throne. There had been three attempts on the King’s life in the past year. They needed Vlad’s security forces, and perhaps even his cousin’s, before another attack occured. It was a dangerous juncture – too dangerous.

  It wasn’t the time for the Princess to be running off.

  Well, he’d tracked her, he’d found her, and now he’d bring her back. Finn ran a hand along his jaw as the host of the show asked the male contestants to stand.

  In his three centuries with the royal guard, he was used to feeling the base emotions the more unstable vamps carried with them – fear, greed, hate.

  Tonight, he was sensing something else entirely.

  Finn stood, feet apart, as one by one, Princess Katarina met the poor saps she didn’t choose. He shifted uncomfortably as the heat in his groin built.

  Gods be to Glasgow. The vixen couldn’t stop thinking about what he had going on downstairs and it was making him damned uncomfortable. Her father had claimed she was innocent, naive – untouched for at least the last several hundred years – locked in a fargalin’ castle in Romania for God’s sake. Seems it had given her plenty of time to work on her fantasies.

  Think of the job.

  He didn’t need her approval. Didn’t want her company. Even so, when he stepped around the wall to greet her, he couldn’t help but swell with pride at the way she eyed him. A petite thing, as most women of her era were, with an upturned nose and pouty lips to die for. But there was something else that he hadn’t seen in her file photo – a sparkle in her rich green eyes, an aliveness that he hadn’t seen in a long time. He took her in slowly and wished he was the kind of creature who could give her what she clearly wanted.

  The little royal was ready to let loose with about eight centuries’ worth of sin and debauchery. Too bad for her she picked the wrong man to fool around with.

  “Hello, Princess,” he said, taking her small palm in his, giving in to the urge to rub his thumb against the soft skin on the top of her hand. “You can call me Finn.”

  Her eyes darted down to where he touched her then back up at him. “It’s a pleasure,” she said, her voice low and breathy.

  She was more open than he’d ever seen a vamp. He couldn’t read her thoughts, just her impressions. And what she was broadcasting right now made blood rush to parts that he’d rather forget about while on international undead television.

  He couldn’t help but grin. He liked a challenge. And this woman was more dangerous than a rabid vampire horde.

  The announcer talked animatedly about their supposed dream date: a romantic getaway to Venice, Italy. There, they’d enjoy a cosy gondola ride for two before being whisked away to the terraced clock tower above St Mark’s Square. As the moon rose above the city, they’d get a true taste of classic Venice by dining on a pair of donors descended from the great Renaissance painter Giovanni Bellini himself.

  Finn tuned out the rest. It didn’t matter anyway. They wouldn’t be going to Venice. No, the Princess was coming with him.

  Kat squeezed her toes against her slick, gold strappy sandals and knew she’d made the right choice. Fionnlagh MacLaomainn was even more delicious than she’d pictured him. Not to mention dangerous. He stood with his feet set apart, chest pulled back, and eyes that explored the entire quivering length of her, and then went back for seconds.

  He wore a blue and green plaid kilt, a white linen shirt and had the roughened look of a man who wasn’t afraid to get out there and live life. He had a squared-off jaw, an angular nose, and – her favourite part of all – auburn hair that whispered just short of his shoulders, with bits of gold and grey threaded throughout. Finn had the grace and bearing of a vamp who knew exactly what he wanted, which was perfectly fine with her.

  The intimacy of being here, with him, caught her off guard. She felt claustrophobic all of a sudden and, at the same time, exposed.

  Kat schooled her expression. He couldn’t know how he’d gotten to her. Just because she’d never been alone with a man who wasn’t a relative didn’t mean she couldn’t handle this. Times had changed. She had changed.

  She willed herself to stop shaking as she marvelled at the warmth of his hand, the taste of the air around him. He felt and smelled alive and vibrant, not at all like her recently deceased husband, or even her father for that matter. Kat hadn’t been this close to a vamp her age in, well, too long.

  Finn slid a heavy leather coat over his shoulders. “Ready?”

  “Oh yes,” she said. She’d never been more ready for anything in her life.

  He led her out of the studio and to the sleek black Harley parked outside. She hitched one leg over the monstrous machine and watched in sheer delight as he did the same. It was time to prove Princess Katarina Volholme D’Transylvania could take care of herself.

  Finally.

  She scooted forwards until her hips nestled against the bunched-up fabric of his kilt. “No helmets?”

  “We’re immortal,” he said, leaning back into her, “what can happen?”

  Kat curled her toes in delight as he took off for the open road.

  The wind tore through her hair as the bike zipped through a row of posh stores on Kiev’s premier Khreshchatyk Street.
Wrought-iron street lamps cast a warm glow on outdoor cafes and the well-dressed pedestrians winding in and out of each other. Finn gunned the engine as he turned down the narrow Kiev Passage that led out of the city.

  Free at last!

  Her fingers played along his waist under his jacket. She ventured further, slipping under his fine linen shirt and feeling rock-solid abs. Oh my. Katarina stroked him lightly, revelling in the smattering of goosebumps she left in her wake. She’d ventured and he’d responded. How long had it been since someone, anyone, reacted to her with any kind of feeling other than respect? Or mere tolerance?

  The one time she met Vlad, he’d looked straight through her, as if she didn’t exist. She had no doubt he’d marry her without even seeing her, if it was at all possible.

  Kat pressed her cheek against the back of Finn’s buttery leather jacket. If the night ended right now, it would have been worth it.

  Plus, she realized, a thrill rippling up her spine, they were going the wrong way. The airport, and Love Bites’ private jet, was to the rapidly fading east. Finn was headed west.

  She was so right to pick the Scotsman!

  Kat wiggled against his firm backside and wondered if there might be a way to glamour him into kidnapping her to the coast. Royal blood had its advantages, or so she’d heard. Oh this was going to be fun, indeed.

  On the way through the centuries-old town of Vinnystia, he took advantage of a stop light to twist around in his seat. He was rather dark for a Scotsman, and a vamp. The soft glow of the street lamps played off his features. The night was still young. Finn was supernaturally fast, even when he obeyed pesky things like traffic signals.

  She licked her lips. “So what’s the plan, Braveheart?”

  He stiffened. “William Wallace was a patriot and a martyr. I’ll not have you making glib comparisons.”

  She cocked her head to the side, studying the thunderclouds that rolled across his brow. “Did you know him?” Kat had certainly heard the stories. Her father had called the Scottish rebels a bunch of damned fools. Technically, she shouldn’t have been in awe over a rebel to a king, but darned if she didn’t find the whole thing a touch romantic.