Page 3 of Toadstools and Vampire Kisses

His brow furrows further, making his blue eyes appear all the icier for it. Does he even know how to smile? It seems doubtful at this stage. Who responds to someone smiling with a scowl, anyway? Never mind not bothering to even introduce himself.

“Francesca!”

I turn at the sound of my mother’s voice. A vision of elegance as ever, she hurries up to me with the brisk click of her dangerously high heels, her brown eyes dancing in delight. She wraps her arms around me in a tight hug, and the familiar notes of rose and wisteria in her perfume waft around us, reminiscent of my childhood. Pulling back, she pats my hair fondly in an attempt to smooth the curls and smiles.

“My lovely Fran. A vision as ever,” she claims, cupping my cheeks. “I have missed this dear face.”

I bite back an amused snort, knowing that there’s no arguing with my mother who always sees exactly what she wants to. “If you say it then it must be so.”

She gives me a crooked smile and nods imperiously. “Naturally. So glad to see that you finally realize that. I keep telling you that a witch is as powerful as her word, if you would but listen.” She looks past me, her slender brows arching in surprise. “And who are your friends? Are they the reason you are loitering here on the steps?”

Friends?

I glance back curiously and see that another has joined the other behind me. Whereas my rescuer turned accoster is all dark hair and pale eyes with sharp, stoic features, his companion has a rounder, friendlier face. Blonde hair cut in a fashionable, carefree style, his brown eyes crinkle at me with silent laughter that almost draws me in—except there is a hint of danger behind the laughter that I’d be stupid to ignore. He moves forward with an inhuman elegance that at once beguiles and sets me ill at ease, offering my mother a small bow.

“Katherine Durmont, I presume?” His smile widens at her nod, flashing sharp fangs. What are vampires doing here? At my side, I can feel my mother straighten into a more formal posture, her attention trained on the two men. “Pardon our poor manners for not introducing ourselves promptly. I am Jack Bell, and this is my cousin Reynard Bell.”

“Ah, yes, you are those who have come as guests sent to pay the respects of Queen Isadora.” My mother smiles politely. “I confess, I don’t know what interest your queen has in our coven, or what amusement vampires will find at a Witch’s Ball, but you are welcome. My staff is prepared to see you to your quarters in the south wing. I just have one rule, gentlemen: I know what vampires have gotten up to in my city since you have come forward. Do not attempt such things in my house.” Her eyes shimmer with a glow of power, and Jack’s smile fades in response. “I do hope we have an understanding.”

Jack’s brow furrows. “Of course. Isadora has recently been made aware of the recent transgressions, especially in targeting witches. It should be said that she disapproves greatly. Naturally, it is something that our coven is correcting. For this reason, we are here as a show of goodwill on behalf of our queen.”

“Naturally,” my mother echoes, tucking my arm through hers. “Shall we see you tomorrow then?”

Jack inclines his head. “As long as the curtains are drawn, we will be awake and ready to join the festivities by late afternoon. You will find that our need to sleep has been greatly exaggerated,” he adds with a sharp smile.

My mother doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash. She looks every inch a queen herself with her silver knee-length skirt and suit-jacket and pearls. From her perfectly coifed hair to her designer shoes, she radiates a power that commands respect. Apparently even from the vampires as the two men incline their heads deferentially to her. She gives them a cool smile and pats my hand.

“Perfect. Well, come along, Fran, let’s get you settled. There is much to do!”

She draws me toward the house, our vampire guests practically forgotten as she beams happily once again. I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder noting that neither vampire has moved. Instead, their eyes follow us, and I repress a shudder. Damned vampires.

Though I left the city to get away from them, I sure as hell didn’t expect to find them invading the coven house. Just what exactly is going on? And do I really want to know when I’m planning on running back to my quiet cabin in the woods at the first opportunity to do so?

ChapterThree

REYNARD

Iglare impatiently at my cousin as I drop down on one of the twin beds in our assigned room. There is no privacy to be had in this place, but I did not expect there to be. We were strategically placed in a wing where we can be forgotten about far from the witches gathering.

Jack grins over at me as he unpacks his clothes, storing them carefully within the drawers. The faint scent of lavender teases my nose from the sachets packed inside. It is an old custom and surprising, since I was under the impression that most humans of this era had done away with such things, but oddly pleasing.

“Do not look so gloomy, cousin. It’s a party, after all. No one is going to know what to do with a vampire that skulks around with a perpetual glower on his face.”

I ignore his commentary on my disposition and raise an eyebrow as I recline on the bed. “Just why are we here, Jack?”

He shrugs. “Isadora is interested in the witches. She has been since we caught rumor of the strength in the mingling of witch and vampire blood. That she wants more of her coven to find mates among witches is hardly a secret.”

I snap upright and stare at him. “What? We assured Madam Durmont that our coven was not involved in this.”

“We are not… not as of yet, anyway.” A thoughtful look crosses his face, replacing his infuriating smirk. “Funny how the rogue vampires were the ones to stumble across it first. They always struck me as the sort to kill their prey rather than mate with them. If not for being forced under threat of death to reform their hunting habits, we would be worrying about dead witches. Still, I never imagined that they would linger around their prey long enough to mate them. Most rarely even bother to mount those who they lure, their interest solely fixated on their need for blood.”

“So we are what? To invade the gathering of a witch’s coven all pinned on the hope that someone draws the interest of a witch?” I demand, barely able to restrain my derision.

It is a ridiculous assumption. Witches stick to their own, preserving their magic in thorough records of bloodlines nearly as extensively as we vampires and therianthropes keep our own records.

My cousin’s smirk returns. “Not quite. You forget, cousin, that vampires have unique tools of persuasion.”

I sneer in distaste. Without a doubt, our abilities that allow us to hunt our prey so that they experience no pain or terror, or retain any memory of the event that might frighten them as we take what we need, is our greatest strength. For some, this includes the allure, a sensual magnetism than many of our species are gifted with. On principle alone, I do not begrudge those who use it to hunt, but this of which he speaks—intentionally seducing and copulating with those who are allured—turns my stomach. Especially if that includes intentionally seeking to establish a bond without consent. It leaves a foul taste in my mouth.

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