Blood Bath & Beyond

by Michelle Rowen

  “I do,” he said firmly, holding my gaze.

  “Then by the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. May you never be lonesome tonight or move into a heartbreak hotel again. Thierry, it’s now or never. You may kiss your beautiful bride.”

  Instead of cringing again at our spectacularly cheesy (and completely awesome) ceremony, Thierry focused all his attention on me. I grinned at him as if shocked that this had actually happened without the world exploding right in the middle of it.

  “We’re married,” I told him.

  “We are. I love you, Sarah.”

  My heart swelled. “I love you, too.”

  He cupped my face between his hands and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around him, almost losing my hold on my small bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath—which was a thirty-dollar wedding package add-on. We’d kissed plenty of times over the months since we first met, but this one felt different. It was the first kiss in the next chapter of our lives.

  Despite any questions I had, secrets he had, or promises I’d made to curious parties, Thierry had just made me the happiest woman on earth. And I was going to try my very best to return the favor.

  I honestly had no idea whatsoever what tomorrow might bring—or the day, week, year, decade, or even century after that. But, really, why spend time worrying about the future when the present was this bloody fabulous?

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next exciting Immortality Bites mystery,

  BLED & BREAKFAST

  Coming soon from Obsidian.

  Crystal balls have a lot in common with eyeballs. They both have the power to reveal hidden truths. That is, if you’re brave enough to look deeply.

  This occurred to me as I sat in a quaint fortunetelling café called the Mystic Maison, across the table from two sets of eyes and one crystal ball.

  The first pair of eyes was clear blue and smiling, set into the pleasant face of a woman in her late fifties. She wore the expected outfit of a fortune-teller—colorful blue and green robes embroidered with gold stars and moons, as well as a jade green turban that mostly encased her jet black hair. With a glance into her eyes, I could tell that she was both friendly and earnest.

  She believed she could tell my future while I waited for my coffee order. Whether she really could was currently up for debate.

  “You’re new in town,” the woman, who’d already introduced herself as Madame LaPorte, said as she gazed into the crystal ball in the middle of the small round table, covered by a red tablecloth. The conversations of others in the busy café buzzed all around, and coffee, tea, and freshly baked cinnamon pastries pleasantly scented the air.

  “Just arrived,” I confirmed.

  “And you’re here…not purely for a vacation, but for business.”

  “That’s right.”

  A small frown creased the skin between her thin, penciled-in brows. “However, you do hope this trip will serve two purposes—business and pleasure. This is also your honeymoon. Am I right?”

  I sent a sidelong glance toward the other pair of eyes watching this reading with interest. These eyes were the gray of a winter sky. At first glance, they were cold. At second glance, colder.

  At third glance…I didn’t think they were cold at all.

  To say I was fond of these particular wintry eyes would be an understatement.

  “A resort in Hawaii would have been our first choice,” Thierry said, giving me a wry look. “But a hotel room in Salem will suffice.”

  “Palm trees and hula dancers,” I said with a shrug. “Who needs ’em?”

  Only a day and a half after we’d gotten married in Las Vegas in a whirlwind ceremony that involved an Elvis impersonator and some really cheesy but fabulous vows, Thierry had been notified of his next assignment. That call put us on a flight from Vegas to Boston. From there, we rented a car that brought us the rest of the way to Salem—and bam. Here we were.

  No rest for the wicked. And, really, with so many airplanes in my future now that I’d happily committed myself body and soul to being both Thierry’s wife and his assistant in his job as a consultant for the Ring—the official vampire council—I was going to have to figure out a way to get over my fear of flying.

  Since we were currently in Salem, maybe I’d learn how to ride a broomstick.

  Madame LaPorte wasn’t a witch, nor did I think she had any clear vision of the future, crystal balls or otherwise. So how did she know this about us?

  Easy enough to figure out. I’d noticed Thierry fiddling with his plain gold wedding band—which he’d insisted on wearing even though he never wore any other jewelry. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Master vampires…well, they were very much the same thing. That he was willing to try to adjust to anything outside of his comfort zone to make his fledgling vampire wife happy made me…very happy.

  Giddy might be a better word for it, actually.

  But the fiddling was a definite tell that Madame LaPorte had picked up on. Newlyweds, table for two.

  She gazed deep into the crystal ball. “I see wonderful things for your future. Every day you spend together will be filled with adventure and romance.”

  I tried not to smile too widely at that. “Good to know.”

  Thierry gave me another glance as I slid my hand over his. “Enjoying your complimentary fortune so far, Sarah?”

  I nodded. “Any fortune that isn’t one of doom and gloom is much appreciated.”

  Madame LaPorte raised her eyebrows. “I don’t give bad fortunes. Who wants unhappy news—especially at such an exciting time of your life with your young and handsome husband?

  Handsome, most definitely—Thierry was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and those piercing gray eyes that more often than not took my breath completely away when he looked at me. But young? It was a good sign that this fortune-teller wasn’t quite as universally insightful as she would have liked us to believe. Thierry might physically look as though he was only in his mid-thirties, but tack on another six centuries and you’d be in the right ballpark. This particular ballpark had been around since medieval times—and I’m not talking about the theme restaurant with jousting actors and wenches delivering ale and turkey drumsticks.

  At twenty-eight, I was practically an amoeba when it came to life and experience compared to Thierry. But, as they say, opposites attract. There weren’t too many couples—fanged or otherwise—more opposite than the two of us.

  I was about to reply to Madame LaPorte when I felt something strange—a sensation of cold fingers trailing down my spine. I tightened my grip on Thierry’s hand and turned slowly in my chair to glance over my shoulder across the café.

  Someone was watching me from the archway leading into the gift shop area. A man with dark hair and black eyes. His attention was focused on me like a laser beam. His gaze was cold, hard, and endlessly unpleasant.

  “Who’s that guy?” I whispered, turning back around.

  “Who do you mean?” Madame LaPorte asked.

  “The tall, pale man standing over there with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. He’s giving me the creeps.”

  She frowned, glancing over in the direction I nodded. “There’s no one there.”

  I turned back around slowly, surprised that she was right. “Where did he go?”

  “There was no one there to begin with,” Thierry said, his brow furrowed. He didn’t say it like he doubted I saw anything. More that he was confused by why he hadn’t.

  “Hmm. Could be you caught a glimpse of the Maison’s ghost,” Madame LaPorte said lightly. “Lucky you. He doesn’t make an appearance for just anyone.”

  My gaze shot to hers. “There are ghosts here? Are you serious?”

  “No…ghost. Singular. While there are admittedly many rumored ghosts in Salem, this is the only one that’s ever been of any real importance.” She smiled. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed half-heartedly. “Hooray.”

&
nbsp; We really should have gone to Hawaii.

  “You believe there’s a ghost haunting this café?” Thierry asked.

  She brightened even more. “With all my heart.”

  “Most spirits lose their ties to the world of the living after three days. How long has this one been here?”

  “There have been sightings of Malik for over three hundred years. Not just at the Maison, either. All over Salem.”

  “Malik.” I repeated the name. It didn’t sound nearly as friendly as Casper. “Who was he?”

  “A witch-hunter.” Madame LaPorte’s expression turned serious, but I could tell that she loved sharing this subject matter. “Murdered by a witch during the trials. She trapped his spirit here forevermore.”

  “Forevermore?” I repeated. Not exactly a word you heard every day. But it did add some drama.

  “And then some.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, I’ve never been lucky enough to see him. Then again, we don’t know for sure that’s who you saw, do we? It could simply have been a customer who slipped into the next room.”

  Then, after wishing us a pleasant visit to town, Madame LaPorte excused herself so she could go give another table a free and pleasant—but quick and generic—fortune while they waited for their order.

  Adventure and romance. I did like the sound of that.

  The waitress brought over our mugs of coffee a moment later.

  I glanced at Thierry as I stirred two teaspoons of sugar into my Hazelnut blend. “The ghost of a witch-hunter named Malik was just giving me the furry eyeballs from across the room. Should I freak out now or save it for later?”

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “Better than a vampire hunter.”

  “I appreciate you taking this seriously.”

  A smile played at his lips as he gave me a slight shrug. “If that is indeed who you saw, you must remember that a ghost’s affect on the living is negligible at best. Even if the rumor’s true and you did see this particular witch-hunter, it’s nothing to concern yourself with. He can’t do you—or anyone else—any harm.”

  I took a sip of my coffee, successfully calmed by his calmness. “I’m surprised you didn’t see him, too. If he’s really a ghost, that is.”

  “Me too.”

  Thierry and I might be opposites in many ways, but we did share a special skill that only a small percentage of vampires possessed. We could see ghosts and also sense the departing spirit of someone after death. But ghosts weren’t exactly commonplace. Something would either have to trap them here on earth or they would have to be summoned by a psychic with very strong skills—and psychics like that were as rare as finding a nun in a string bikini.

  Bottom line, ghosts weren’t lurking on every street corner. Thankfully.

  “Here he is,” Thierry said, rising from the table. Any amusement on his face from earlier faded. “Let me do the talking, Sarah. Owen is not someone I want you to have much contact with.”

  That was rather ominous. “Noted. I’ll play the part of the mute brunette.”

  We’d been asked to meet a vampire at this café upon our arrival named Owen Brumley, whom Thierry already knew from years ago. Owen was to give us an overview of the problem Thierry (and I) had been sent to check out.

  That was the job of a consultant. Quite simple, really. If there was a vampire-related issue that drew the Ring’s attention, they sent someone like Thierry to assess the situation. From what I’d deduced, it seemed as if the Ring was mostly interested in keeping the existence of vampires a big secret from humans—worldwide. Anything that risked that secret needed attention and a swift resolution.

  The Ring also had their own police force, called enforcers. Or perhaps assassins would be a better descriptor. They were vampires who were also vampire hunters. They took care of problems if and when they escalated.

  Just because vampires didn’t automatically become evil fiends after sprouting fangs and developing a thirst for blood, it didn’t mean we were all good, either. I’d met a bad one recently—a serial killer who’d nearly added Thierry and me to his list of victims. But he’d been stopped. Permanently.

  Sarah Dearly lives to bite another day.

  That was just a joke, of course. I rarely do more than nibble.

  I’d met a few people from Thierry’s very long and—at times—notorious past. So far, they were mostly horrible people who disliked him due to some lingering grudge. My hopes that Owen would be different were modest at best.

  “Thierry de Bennicoeur…,” Owen began as I tensely watched him approach the table from the corner of my eye. “It’s been a hell of a long time, dude.”

  I blinked. Dude?

  I turned fully to get a look at this vampire as he clasped Thierry’s hand and shook it vigorously.

  “Good to see you again, Owen,” Thierry said.

  Owen Brumley looked a whole lot like a male model crossed with an A-list actor. With blond hair and flashing green eyes, he was at least six-three, and had the muscled physique of a personal trainer. Standing next to my already extremely GQ-esque husband…it was quite a sight.

  Holy hotness, Batman. Times two.

  I didn’t know why this surprised me. I’d met my share of good-looking vampires since I was sired into a life of fangs, blood, and nonreflection by the ultimate blind date from hell seven months ago.

  “And this”—Owen flashed me a killer smile that revealed the small but pointy tips to his fangs— “must be Sarah Dearly.”

  “However did you guess?” said the previously mute brunette.

  “Thierry told me over the phone that you were drop-dead gorgeous. Call it a hunch.”

  I glanced at Thierry with surprise. “You actually used the words drop-dead gorgeous to describe me?”

  He was the only one of us who wasn’t smiling. “I certainly could have. However, Owen sometimes tends to make things up to be amusing. This is one of those times.”

  It wasn’t said with fondness.

  Call me crazy, but I had a pretty good hunch why Thierry didn’t want me to have much to do with Owen. The guy was a serious lady-killer. However, with that leering edge to his gaze, it didn’t make me want to start swooning over his good looks, even though every other woman in the café was currently checking him out with blatant interest.

  “Hey, Owen,” a blonde said with a sultry smile as she moved past us on her way to the counter.

  “Lydia,” he said smoothly. “Looking good today.”

  She giggled. “You too.”

  When she was out of earshot, Owen turned to me and whispered conspiratorially, “But not nearly as good as you look, Sarah.”

  I think I was the only woman within a thirty-foot radius who wasn’t drooling right now. Still, I would reserve my judgment for when I’d known this guy for more than two minutes. First impressions could sometimes be deceiving. “Gee, thanks.”

  Thierry’s expression had darkened and he gestured for Owen to take a seat. “Why don’t we get to the point?”

  Owen slid into a chair. “No small talk for an old pal? Thierry, you haven’t changed at all over the years, have you?”

  “I’ve changed,” he said tightly. “More than I ever would have thought possible, actually.”

  Owen’s gaze flicked to me again. “Maybe you’re right. And what a wonderful change it is. Tell me, Sarah, how on earth do you put up with Monsieur de Bennicoeur’s dour ways? You must feel as if you’ve married a high school principal.”

  I shrugged. “Guess that’s my type. The dourer the better, I say.”

  “I’m not dour,” Thierry said dourly.

  Owen grinned. “Congratulations on your nuptials, by the way. I think it’s fantastic.”

  “Do you?” Thierry gave him a skeptical look before his expression finally eased. “Well, thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “Can’t believe you also committed yourself to the Ring, though. They must have had some serious duress involved to get you back into the fold. When I finished my term with them I was happ
y to finally be free. But good luck to you.”

  Thierry didn’t reply to this and I wasn’t going to touch this subject with a ten-foot wooden stake. In a nutshell, the Ring—while a necessary entity—was a shadowy and mysterious organization that did shadowy and mysterious things. Thierry had been an original founder but left a century ago to pursue other interests. Very recently—like less than a week ago—he’d taken a job as a consultant—a job that required him to sign on the dotted line. In blood. It was part of a blood-magic spell that bound him to the Ring for the next fifty years.

  He’d done it because they’d threatened to kill me if he didn’t. So yeah, duress was a good word. He had yet to admit this to me in so many words, but I knew it was the truth. He’d sacrificed his own future to save my life and he’d never wanted me to know.

  It made my heart swell every time I thought about it. I would love him forevermore for that. For-ever-more.

  And I didn’t trust the Ring as far as I could throw them. I had a very good memory, and this matter, as far as I was concerned, was nowhere near resolved.

  “So…,” I said after silence fell at the table. “What’s happening in Salem? You’re the guy with all the answers, apparently.”

  Owen gestured for an eager waitress to bring him a cup of coffee. “Not all the answers, I’m afraid.”

  “All I was told was that there have been some disappearances,” Thierry said. “Here in Salem. Tell us more.”

  He nodded. “A few vampires have gone missing while visiting town. Nobody would have thought anything strange about it, but they’ve been clustered, all in less than a month. One of these vampires is the mistress of a Ring elder, thus the quick response.”

  “Do you suspect vampire hunters?”

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. Hunters steer clear of Salem. That’s why I like it here so much.”

  I frowned. “Why do they stay away from here? They seem to congregate everywhere else to make our lives difficult.”