Michelle Rowen - 01 Bitten & Smitten by Michelle Rowen

Author:Michelle Rowen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-06-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Veronique de Bennicoeur was slightly over seven hundred years old, though she didn’t look a day over thirty. She and Thierry had met during the Black Death plague in Europe. She’d been a vampire first and Thierry’s sire. She currently lived in France, but word had reached her through the grapevine that there was trouble in Toronto, and she thought she might be able to lend a hand.

Her favorite drink was a martini on the rocks.

I listened to her give me the Cliffs Notes on her life with the poorest excuse for a smile frozen in place on my face. I was trying to decide, while listening to her go on about her fabulous life, who I wanted to kill more. Her or myself.

“So, what do you think?” Her voice was as beautiful as she was. She could have been a deejay. Or a phone-sex operator.

I decided. I was going to kill myself.

“Hmm? What was that?” I stood behind the bar, bracing the edge of it for support. I’d originally gone behind it to get myself a shot of whatever blood type was on tap, and Veronique had sat down across from me and ordered a martini. I only gave her one olive.

She smiled. “I just asked if while I’m in town, the two of us could go out for a girls’ lunch.

It’s so rare that I find another woman I feel I can really talk to. You’re an excellent listener.”

“Yeah? Wow. That sounds great.” Even I couldn’t coax enthusiasm into those words.

After a quick two-cheeked European-style kiss and a few words of greeting to Veronique, Thierry had disappeared into his office shortly after he’d let us in the club. George was lying down in a nearby booth concentrating very hard on healing, but I was pretty sure he had a curious ear open for our mostly one-sided conversation. What I was still doing there was beyond me, although I was sure that the bone-jarring shock had something to do with it.

Thierry had a wife.

Not something that had come up in casual conversation.

I was trying very hard not to freak out. It was difficult, but so far I was succeeding. He had a wife. Okay. He wasn’t currently living with this wife; that much I’d figured out. Well, I suppose when you’re married for six hundred freaking years you need a little time apart to help keep things fresh.

I’d done four shots of B positive with vodka chasers since we got back. They weren’t making me feel better. I guess B

positive didn’t live up to its optimistic reputation. I was starting to feel way claustrophobic. Since Thierry hadn’t said a word to me to explain what was going on, I was getting the distinct, stomach-churning impression that I wasn’t needed anymore. Gorgeous European über-wife had returned.

“I should go,” I said.

“No, dear girl, stay. I like you. And you make an excellent martini. ” She ran a French-manicured finger along the edge of her glass.

“Thanks. Um, no, I really have to take off.

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