From Fear to Eternity: An Immortality Bites Mystery Page 2

“Tasha Evans here?”

  Color me starstruck. Tasha Evans was a stunningly gorgeous redheaded movie star infamous for her many tattoos, her two Academy Awards, and her long list of relationships with some of the hottest lead actors in Hollywood. Back when I wanted to be an actress, I aspired to be just like her.

  I was a total fangirl.

  “I’m not surprised she received an invitation to an auction like this,” Thierry said. “I’ve heard rumors in the vampire community that she’s an avid collector of supernatural items.”

  I tore my attention away from the actress to stare at Thierry. “Whoa. Are you saying that Tasha Evans is a vampire?”

  He nodded. “She is indeed.”

  Come to think of it, she really hadn’t aged a day in twenty years. All this time, I’d just assumed she had a fantastic plastic surgeon.

  The tabloids would love this little piece of gossip.

  “I see the Darks are here as well.” Thierry’s words were now coated in a layer of disapproval. “Frederic and Anna Dark, the couple to your left in the corner looking deeply morose.”

  I glanced over where he gestured to see two people with impossibly pale skin, pitch-black hair, and black eyes. They wore black from head to toe to finish the monochromatic look.

  “They’re rather . . . dramatic.” They were the physical representation of what most people expected when you said “vampire.” Very Goth, very pale. And they were immersed in some deep conversation with each other as they ignored the rest of the cocktail party.

  Thierry’s gaze didn’t shift from the couple. “They are part of a faction of vampires who consider themselves purified. They like to avoid the sunlight completely, they sleep in coffins, and they only go out at night. They would never consider drinking animal blood or the synthetic concoctions. In fact, to drink blood except from the vein is appalling to them. For them, vampirism is a religion and they’d prefer if all other vampires worshipped as they do.”

  I couldn’t help but grimace at the picture he painted of the couple. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

  The server returned with a tray of champagne and one highball glass filled with cranberry juice. Thierry thanked her as he took it off the tray and handed me a fresh flute of the bubbly.

  “Should we make a toast?” he asked.

  “Sure. Here’s to having this night end without any unpleasantness.”

  “That’s not a toast. That’s wishful thinking.”

  “Wishful drinking, really. Cheers.” I clinked my glass with his, and then something caught my eye—a woman who’d just walked into the room. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. “Thierry. You will not believe who’s here.”

  His dark brows rose with curiosity, and he turned to look as I swallowed down the entire glass of champagne in one gulp.

  “This is rather unexpected,” Thierry said under his breath.

  That was an understatement if ever I’d heard one.

  “My dear Sarah! My darling Thierry!” She made a beeline toward us and clasped my face between her hands before kissing me noisily on both cheeks. Then she did the same to Thierry. “What a wonderful surprise to see you both. It’s been much too long!”

  She rivaled Tasha for being the most beautiful in the room. Where Tasha was fiery elegance, this woman was raven-haired, couture-styled, Louboutin-pumped, with the face of an angel and the body of a lingerie model. She wore a black dress that fit her like a second skin while still looking utterly and flawlessly elegant.

  It was Thierry’s ex-wife.

  “Veronique.” A smile—which looked more like a grimace—drew Thierry’s upper lip back from his teeth. “You look as lovely as always.”

  “I do try.” She flashed me a killer smile. “As does your darling little girlfriend.”

  “Wife,” Thierry corrected. “Sarah and I were married almost a month ago.”

  “Married?” Veronique’s look of shock at this announcement was very nearly comical.

  Veronique and I were already well acquainted. We’d met back when Thierry was still married to her, though estranged. She was not only his ex-wife, but also his sire—the one who’d turned him into a vampire in the first place. They’d met during the Black Death plague in Europe six and a half centuries ago and had been together on and off ever since.

  I still didn’t think Veronique had gotten over her shock that her husband’s brief “fling” (as she’d once called it) had turned into something way more than either of us could have predicted. Not that she really cared either way. If there had been any real love in their marriage, it had died around the same time as Shakespeare.

  “Well,” she said, clearly taken aback by this announcement. “Congratulations to both of you. How wonderful.”

  Thierry met my gaze and slid his arm around my waist to draw me closer to his side before returning his attention to her. “Thank you. We’re very happy.”

  “Happy?” She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I had no idea you were capable of that particular emotion, Thierry.”

  “No. You wouldn’t.”

  I decided to cut in with a smile. “It’s really great to see you again, Veronique. I mean that. And it hasn’t been that long. Only a few months.”

  “Long enough for major life-altering events to occur. Goodness, my dear. Married! To my husband!”

  “Ex-husband.”

  “Of course.” Her red-glossed lips curved. “Jacob, darling, please join us.” She beckoned to a man in a gray pin-striped suit. “I must introduce you to a couple dear friends of mine.”

  The man’s grin had a greasy quality to it, as if he’d had a few too many drinks already. He was in his fifties and had hair that was thinning enough that he’d attempted a comb-over to camouflage it. “Veronique, my sweet, any friends of yours are certainly friends of mine.”

  “This is Sarah Dearly and my former husband, Thierry de Bennicoeur. Sarah and Thierry, this is Jacob Nelson, my beau.”

  “Charmed, charmed. Yes, I definitely recognize the name. Very clever, Veronique!” Jacob enthusiastically clasped both of our hands in turn. “Are you looking forward to the auction?”

  “I am,” Thierry said. “Although I’m not yet clear about who sent the invitation.”

  “I have no idea who it might be, either,” Veronique said. “Not that it really matters. We’re here and it is set to be a lovely evening.”

  Debatable, I thought. Definitely debatable.

  This evening would be lovely once we were finished here and on our way back to the hotel.

  The guests talked and drank and nibbled at hors d’oeuvres delivered on trays by both the blond server and Thomas the butler. A grandfather clock in the far corner told me it was already quarter after nine. The auction was supposed to start at nine.

  “Show them the book, my sweet,” Jacob suggested with barely restrained glee.

  “Oh, darling, I don’t want to brag.”

  “You have every reason to brag. It’s incredible. You’re incredible, and everyone should know it.”

  I exchanged a wry look with Thierry. These were words Veronique would certainly appreciate, no matter who delivered them.

  “What book?” I asked.

  “Veronique’s novel,” Jacob said. “It came out yesterday, and with the pre-orders and Internet buzz I have every confidence that it will make a very strong showing on the New York Times list next week.”

  “You wrote a book?” Thierry asked, surprised. “I didn’t even know you read books.”

  “There are many things you don’t know about me, Thierry. Perhaps this is only one of them.” Veronique shrugged an elegant bare shoulder. “What can I say? I was inspired to tell a fictional tale. It came out of me in a rush of creative magic, if you will. And before I knew it, I was finished. All I needed then was a publisher.”

  “And that’s where I came in.” Jaco
b’s chest puffed out with pride. “Little did I know when I met Veronique that this beautiful woman had penned a page-turner that I had to get on the shelves in record time. And we succeeded, didn’t we?”

  “We certainly did. And I just happen to have a copy with me tonight.” Veronique fished in her large Louis Vuitton bag and handed me a thick hardcover novel that had to be at least six hundred pages long. It weighed approximately the same as a phone book.

  The cover featured an artfully photographed black silk scarf on a glossy red background. I stared at the title with disbelief. “The Erotic Memoir of a Vampire.”

  “Catchy, isn’t it?” Jacob grinned. “Brilliant from cover to cover. And hot like you’ve never read before. My fingers are still singed from it! Whew! Thierry, you’ll be pleased to know your name is utilized in many chapters. Quite an honor, don’t you think?”

  “Mmm. And this is a novel, you said?” Thierry gingerly took the book from me to glance at the back cover, which was a full-color photo of Veronique.

  Jacob laughed. “Well, it’s not a real memoir, of course. After all, there are no such things as vampires.”

  Veronique patted his arm with the same affection she might offer a precocious toddler. “Of course there aren’t, darling.”

  A seven-hundred-year-old vampire’s new boyfriend didn’t believe in vampires. Okay.

  I took the book from Thierry and opened it to read the description on the cover flap. This “novel” was about a seven-centuries-old vampire and her many adventures, including those with her original sire, Marcellus, and also her equally ancient husband, Thierry.

  You’d have thought she could have at least changed the names. But, no, of course not.

  I grimaced. “Does this actually say ‘tall, dark, and fangsome’?”

  “You can have that copy, my dear,” Veronique said. “I’ll sign it for you later. Happy reading.”

  My very own copy of my husband’s gorgeous first wife’s erotic memoir, thinly disguised as fiction. Just what I’d always wanted.

  I suddenly felt an intense desire to clear my head. “I think I need some ice for my drink. Very, very badly.”

  “Ice for champagne?” Thierry glanced at me with concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Great. Um, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I pulled away from him, tucked the book under my arm, and departed stage left.

  “Excuse me!” I called after the blond server, but she slipped around a corner up ahead. Following her through another set of doors, I found myself in a huge, stainless-steel sea of a kitchen. Nobody was in there, and the blonde had already vanished.

  At least I was away from the party.

  I pressed my back against the wall and stared at the cover of the book again with dismay.

  Was I crazy to let this bother me?

  Yes.

  Did it bother me anyway?

  Uh-huh.

  This book was concrete proof that Thierry had had a whole other life before he’d met me. And he kept his secrets close to his chest probably for a very good reason—because learning too many of them too quickly would mess me up, especially when they involved a long-term relationship with a beautiful woman who’d just given me a whole volume of proof that she had more in common with him than I ever would.

  But that was then, and this was now. Despite our differences, what we had was real, and I knew it. I didn’t question it anymore. Veronique didn’t threaten my relationship with Thierry, and I wasn’t jealous of her.

  So why exactly was I freaking out?

  It was a silly knee-jerk reaction. That was all. And it was passing as quickly as it had arrived, which was a major relief.

  After a few more minutes, my head had cleared, and I felt way better. Since I’d come here to get some ice, I decided to follow through with that plan. I moved toward a large refrigerator and opened the top freezer section.

  However, instead of ice cubes, the severed head of a man looked out at me.

  My empty champagne glass fell from my grip, shattering against the ceramic tiles, and I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming at the sight before me.

  A severed head. In the freezer.

  And that wasn’t even the freakiest thing about it.

  A second later his eyes popped open.

  “You!” he blurted. “You have to help me! I’ve been murdered!”

  Chapter 2

  Doing an uncanny impression of a bat out of Hell, I ran out of the kitchen and back to the party, scanning frantically to find someone to help—to find Thierry and tell him what I’d just seen.

  A severed head.

  A talking severed head!

  “Darling,” Veronique said as I zipped past her, “we really must catch up.”

  “Absolutely,” I assured her. “Soon. Very soon.”

  Soon wasn’t now. I didn’t want to panic anyone about what I’d seen, but I knew Thierry would know what to do, what to say.

  However, it was the strangest thing. With every step I took, the memory of what had happened in the kitchen faded. Faded.

  Faded.

  Until by the time I spotted Thierry it was like a wisp of smoke that had dissipated in the air. Gone.

  Why had I felt the driving need to talk to him?

  I had absolutely no idea.

  Still, after setting Veronique’s book down on the nearest table so I wouldn’t have to keep carrying it, I followed him as he moved through an archway and out of the parlor, into the hall. He was with Atticus and they walked until they turned a corner and were out of sight, but I could still hear them.

  “Why are you here, de Bennicoeur?” Atticus asked.

  “I received an invitation which intrigued me. I assume the same happened for you.”

  They were calm questions and answers, but there was something in both of their tones that stopped me from marching right up to them. I stayed where I was, behind the corner, and considered going back to the parlor.

  For some strange reason, my heart was pounding hard and fast like I’d just run a marathon. Maybe Veronique’s book had upset me more than I thought it had.

  “How long has it been since I last saw you?” Atticus asked Thierry. “Has it been a century already since you stepped down from your position with the council?”

  “Approximately.”

  Small talk between two people who hadn’t seen each other in ages. I wasn’t going to eavesdrop any longer. I wasn’t that rude.

  Atticus’s words held a light Mediterranean accent. Thierry had once spoken French, as well as many other languages over the years, but there wasn’t a trace of an accent anymore when he spoke.

  “How incredible that so much time has passed in the blink of an eye,” Atticus said. “So much that I even forget why you stepped down as leader.”

  “I find it hard to believe that you don’t remember.”

  “Ah, yes.” There was now a smile in Atticus’s voice. “Your very dangerous addiction is no longer as troublesome to you as it once was, I hope?”

  “I have it under control.”

  “That’s good to hear. I wouldn’t want to have to mark you down as a danger.”

  “No, wouldn’t want that.”

  “I’m sure you’re rather angry with me,” Atticus said when silence fell. “But I felt I had no choice in what I did.”

  “I disagree. There were plenty of other choices.”

  “You wouldn’t have agreed to join our ranks again if pressure hadn’t been applied.”

  So, the rude eavesdropping thing I wanted to stop? Scratch that. I was officially eavesdropping. The wall was cool against my palms as I pressed against it, straining to hear more of this enticing exchange.

  “I didn’t appreciate it, Atticus. I knew it came from you and not the other
s. And it wasn’t even necessary. I was ready to return to the Ring without any ultimatums issued. I’d become extremely disenchanted with civilian life and needed a change, something to occupy my time for the indeterminate future.”

  “I’m so pleased it’s all worked out for the best.”

  “Threatening Sarah, though, was excessive. Even for you.”

  I could barely believe what I was hearing. It had been a threat leveled specifically toward me that I knew had forced Thierry’s hand in taking the position as consultant. He’d just refused to admit it to me in so many words.

  Proof. Finally some proof!

  Which didn’t make me feel much better about the whole situation. But now I knew Atticus was the one directly to blame for it. I surely wouldn’t underestimate him, but anger ignited in my chest at the thought that he would threaten me to try to control Thierry. This jerk didn’t even know me.

  “Unfortunately,” Atticus said, “excessive is often what’s required. I’ve heard that you’re deeply smitten by your new bride.” He chuckled softly. “Which, I have to admit, stuns me greatly. Thierry de Bennicoeur, enamored of a mere fledgling. I never would have guessed it. You fooled me.”

  “I fool many.”

  “She is a pretty little thing, I’ll admit, but when I heard the news that you’d become seriously involved with her, I didn’t believe it. I mean, knowing your previous views on romance.”

  “I didn’t have any views on it at all.”

  “Exactly. You’ve changed.”

  “Perhaps not nearly as much as you might think.” Thierry was now the one to laugh, but it was a sound that held very little humor. “Atticus, there was a time when you knew me very well. Do you honestly believe I could be so wholly taken in by a fledgling a fraction of my age with a temperament so completely different from my own?”

  “You’ve changed your life for her. You’ve brought her along on two assignments so far. You married her.”

  “Sarah has certainly proven to be an amusement to me. But I’ve lived long enough to know that such amusements have short shelf lives. I choose to keep her nearby for as long as she entertains me with her starry-eyed views of the same world I’ve grown so jaded about. After that, I will move on. Which is why your threat against her was so ridiculous to me. Did you really think someone like her could mean enough to me that it would truly make any difference?”