Page 10 of Bite at First Sight

30 September 1823

Damn her. Rafe gnawed the end of his cigar as he watched Lady Rosslyn’s cook, who had also served as her housekeeper, begin another spat with William on the state of the kitchen. Ten subordinate vampires dashed around the place, sweeping and dusting and polishing as they eyed the cook with hunger. Cassandra herself was upstairs with Anthony in one of the larger guest suites, supervising the unpacking of her laboratory, cheerfully oblivious to the further havoc she’d caused.

Did she truly not comprehend the fact that he could kill her at any moment—and might have to, whether he liked it or not? Or was she flouting his threat, determined to vex him until her last breath? He could admire the latter. The former…he could not bear to contemplate it.

At least he only had one more human to contend with. The remainder of Lady Rosslyn’s staff did not question or protest their abrupt dismissal. They’d taken one look at Rafe and accepted their severance pay and references with unconcealed relief. He absently rubbed the ridge of scars on his cheek. His monstrous appearance could be beneficial at times.

And with no lady’s maid, Rafe would have to be the one to assist her in dressing. He sure as hell wouldn’t allow anyone else to touch that silken flesh. A tremor of anticipation filled him at the thought of the pleasure…and torment of that chore.

“May I have a word with you about tonight’s menu?” the cook interrupted his fantasy.

Rafe waved her off. “That matter should be addressed to the countess…” He paused, seeing merit in an excuse to speak with her. “I will fetch her.”

Yes, he asserted, it would be good to make certain she was not causing any mischief. Not because he wanted to gaze upon her regal features and sea-green eyes. After all, the menu did need to be seen to.

Quietly he opened the door, taking a moment to covertly admire the curve of her backside as she removed a stack of books from a crate. At the sight, Rafe’s body quickened in lust. If only… He shook his head. To want the impossible was foolish.

Clearing his throat, he took small pleasure in her wide gaze and pink cheeks as she whirled around to face him. “Your cook would like to discuss tonight’s menu. As I and my people can eat very little, I feel the task should go to you.”

“Very well, Don Villar.” She nodded briskly before holding up a ghastly sharp device. “But first might I have a sample of your blood?”

Rafe scowled. “Persistent wench, aren’t you?”

An unreasonable wave of anger washed over him. Couldn’t she see him as more than a specimen? He didn’t expect her to view him with as much admiration as he did her. But at the very least, couldn’t she see some semblance of the man before her?

“You said there’s a possibility you may make me into what you are. If that is the case, I need to understand more of what I would become.” Cassandra continued to argue, heedless of his darkening mood. “I want to know why you need to drink blood to survive. I want to know how you are stronger than ten men and can move as fast as a hummingbird. I want to know how you healed the puncture wounds on my neck and why the scars on your face and arm are not healed.” Her eyes darkened to deep pools of compassion. “The sun burned you, didn’t it?”

Rafe nodded stiffly, not wanting to think again of that terrible day. Some nights he could still feel the scorching celestial flame.

“I need to learn these things, Rafael,” she pleaded. Her lower lip trembled. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind? Anything I can bargain?”

The sound of his name on her lips made his pulse skip. The utter passion and desperation in her voice struck a chord deep within him. Anything… The word held tempting possibilities.

“Perhaps,” he said gruffly. “Allow me to think a little longer on the matter. For now, go speak with the cook. I need to hunt.”

* * *

As Rafe stalked the London streets, he did indeed think about her offer to bargain. He also thought of her lush lips, silken hair, and tempting figure. He lingered in the chill night air, hoping to cool the heat Cassandra had ignited within him.

When he returned shortly before dawn and escorted her to his bedchamber, the heat refused to abate. As his fingers unfastened the delicate buttons on her gown, revealing creamy, tempting flesh visible through her thin chemise, his desire became an inferno.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t rather that I summon Mrs. Smythe for this?” she asked, peering shyly at him over her shoulder.

Rafe shook his head, loathe to give up this enticing duty. “Your housekeeper cook is not a lady’s maid, and I want her in here as little as possible for her own safety.”

Too soon he finished, and Cassandra fetched a voluminous nightgown and ducked behind the privacy screen to remove her stays, stockings, and garters. He ran his tongue across his fangs, tantalized by her delectable silhouette behind the thin barrier. When she emerged, she hurriedly climbed into his bed and yanked the covers to her chin.

Despite such maidenly modesty, she eyed him fearlessly. “Have you given any thought to bargaining with me?”

“I have, but as I have not determined what exactly I will ask for, we may discuss it tomorrow.” Extinguishing the lantern, Rafe stretched out once more on the floor, wishing he could join Cassandra in the bed, if only to feel her warmth next to him.

* * *

1 October 1823

Cassandra leaned over the microscope, cursing under her breath. She needed more light. If only this dratted room had windows and she was allowed to work during the day. Squinting into the eyepiece, she frowned. Higher magnification would also aid her in analyzing her own blood and comparing it to the vampire’s… That is, if Rafael would consent to allow her to study him. Thus far he had refused, but she was determined to change his mind.

A knock on the door pulled her from her reverie. Anthony poked his head in the room. He’d been perfectly willing to volunteer as a test subject, but Rafael had forbidden it. “You have a visitor, my lady. Mrs. Smythe says she came earlier as well. The woman refused to give her identity, though she insisted you should be expecting her.”

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