Page 32 of The Biting Bargain

I spend much of the night catching up with the business I missed in the past few days, one eye on the surveillance video. There’s not much to see. She talked on the phone, then ate, and then, completely exhausted, fell asleep next to an empty pizza box.

Of course I keep an eye on her. I didn't become one of the most ruthless players in business because I blindly trusted random people, let alone let them into my house. So sue me.

However, about three hours in, I have to admit I'm acting weird. Staring at her like she’s the answer to all cosmic questions is acting weird. But asleep, there's something about her that won't let go of my mind. Her sleeping face and the way she's curled up on the cushions like a cat draws my eyes to her even though there's nothing at all to see. She’s only human. Only food. And also, she’s a plain kind of boring. It's peculiar and annoying, to say the least.

I massage my temples as I skim the background check Aidan sent me earlier. It always pays to have contacts at SILVANUS who owe you a favor and spill what information they can dig up in their files.

"Pollyanna Bukowski, 26, female, 5’3", 60 kg, allergic to pollen, witch. (Magic ability level 0.0)."

I huff, reading on. My companion is apparently not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, education-wise. Graduated from high school with a C average. Dropped out of business school after eighteen months, working odd jobs ever since. No criminal record.

Until recently she was cohabiting with a certain Patrick Threehorn, now she is single and living alone. This particular point has the shadow in me growl. Better to have no pesky boyfriend still in the picture. I don't like to share what’s mine.

I lean back in my leather desk chair, staring at her sleeping shape on the screen.

My little dove hasn't caught on yet, but she is — in fact — mine. Even if it’s just for show. The thought alone gives me a high even better than the one the confirmation letter of the Vergilii has caused.

Of course, it is not me wanting her, but that damned beast she released with her unintentional curse breaking. My taste is more refined; I prefer sophisticated women, not little girls who talk back all the time and look like a burst candy bag with a butterscotch topping. But the beast is affected, alright. It’s lurking in the background of my mind, rumbling and snarling — and starting to drool as soon as it gets her scent in its nose.

The beast is very clear in what it wants. And right now it wants to push her down and fuck her senseless until she sobs my name.

The logical consequence would be to just scratch the itch.

I’m going to lure her into my bed. And she will let herself be lured. That much I’m certain of. She might act all prim now — "Bite Only"and everything — but she has shown that she too would like nothing better than to just continue where we were interrupted at Club Sanguine.

Yeah, she’s going to let herself be lured.

Be mine.

I lean back, watching the screen where she is still sound asleep. Smiling despite myself.

For the first time since my wolf is back, I feel on top of things again. If I play my cards right, I will get everything I want.

I will reclaim my rightful place among the most illustrious vampire families. The name Renard will be restored to its former glory.

My furry little problem will also be dealt with. Aidan will have the counter course reinstalled and I won’t need a faux companion to hold my beast at bay. She will get her money and go her merry way. In a few weeks tops, things will be back to normal again. With me on top.

In the end, I get what I want.

I usually do.

So, nothing wrong with having a little fun in the meantime.

I could break into diabolical laughter at this point, but I have more class than that and just close my laptop. Screw "Bite Only". If I'm already in possession of a seductive little treat like her, I'm going to have a taste.

But on my terms, mind you.

ChapterThirteen

Polly

"Get the Valentino! Showcase her boobs!"

I have an out-of-body experience. The wall in front of me is all mirrors like a horror cabinet at the fair, turning the world into a kaleidoscope of dresses and fabrics of all colors and shapes. In the middle of it there’s me, wearing a silky crimson dress that hugs my chest perfectly and probably costs at least one of the two mortgages on Dad’s restaurant. Meanwhile, two stressed-out stylists and their army of assistants swirl around me like a hurricane right out of the fashion apocalypse.

In the last two hours, they've put me in one haute couture dress after another, each more beautiful and unaffordable than the next. And even before that, my first day on the job as a companion has turned out to be rather exhausting.

When Aidan called to wake me, it was bright afternoon — in vampire time it’s the early hours of the day — and I was shoved into a limousine and driven to a spa.

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