The Librarian's Vampire Assistant, Book 5 by Pamfiloff Mimi Jean

Author:Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean [Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Fiction, Romance, Vampires, Humour, Adult, Paranormal, Fantasy
Amazon: B08J5TSHR2
Goodreads: 55427488
Publisher: Paper & Silver, Inc.
Published: 2020-10-31T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I sorted through Lula’s collection of very strange outfits that look like they’ve come from a Halloween shop. The black dress I have on was the most conservative item in the closet, even with the plunging neckline and barely there back.

When Nice emerges from the bathroom, he has on a pinstripe suit that’s tailored to his gangly frame. His wingtips are shined to perfection, and his dark hair is neatly slicked back.

I do a double take. He looks like a well-to-do European gentleman out for a night on the town. Where are the fluffy lace collar and flowy sleeves?

He notices me staring and looks me over in turn. My blonde hair is back in a ponytail, and I have no makeup on, but he knows me well enough. My natural, no-frills look is how this librarian rolls.

“The dress will do. For now,” he adds. “But tomorrow we will ensure you have the appropriate attire for all occasions. Shall we?” He holds out his elbow, and I glance worriedly at the dormant Michael on the king-size bed.

“Do not be concerned; Nice made a deal, and zee Nice keeps his deals. Vanderhorsssthst will be fine.”

I nod with trepidation, knowing that the “deal” starts now whether I like it or not. From this moment forward, I am the property of Mr. Nicephorus, the ancient Byzantine general whose reputation for ruthlessness exceeds even Michael’s.

We exit the room, and I can only pray that Lula will return soon and nurse Michael back to vampire health.

Nice and I step into the elevator, and he hits the button for the lobby. The vibe in the air is all too familiar, him wanting something impossible from me—my heart—and me wanting to be anywhere else but here. Such as, glued to the toilet seat of an overflowing outhouse or swimming in a hot caldron filled with festering boils. Anywhere else.

I avoid eye contact as a strategy to keep my nerves steady. “So,” I say, “where are we going tonight?”

Nice straightens his black tie in the reflection of the stainless-steel elevator door and then says with a deep voice that has only one accent, “To the theater.”

I do another double take. Is he role-playing? Because he sounded like an almost normal person just now. No silliness. No inflection. Just a smooth, velvety voice with maybe a hint of an Italian accent.

Unsure if I should react, I say, “Uh…I like the theater. Which show?”

“Cabaret.”

Ah, thus the reason he was singing “Willkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome!” earlier. However, I still can’t tell what’s going on with his voice. To probe, I ask, “Is this your first time seeing it?”

“No, I go at least three times a year,” he says with the crisp, proper articulation of a gentleman.

Holy crap. What is going on with him? I can’t help staring.

“I bet you’re wondering,” he turns to me, all seriousness, “why I’m not speaking like a lunatic with a speech impediment.”

I nod slowly.

“Well, Miriam, one does not get to be as old as I am without learning a few tricks.

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