Page 36 of The Biting Bargain

Did you know that?

Most extraordinary!

Of course they knew I was coming, that’s the main reason they’re here, so as not to miss one single shred of gossip. (That’s vampires for you — as centuries pass us by we get terribly bored.) And of course, I know all the ladies and gentlemen gathering in the sprawling vestibule, sipping blood and champagne from glass goblets. Some of them have brought their own companions, all of them beautiful human drones dressed in the finest couture. They stand dutifully leashed next to their masters or mistresses, eyes downcast.

I grit my teeth.

"Why is everyone staring?" Polly whispers next to me between clenched teeth. Of course, everyone is studying her; most likely no one anticipated me bringing a companion on my first night here.

Her scent is laced with suppressed fear.

"Stop fidgeting," I hiss, but can’t help stepping a little closer to her. For what, I don’t know — I sure as hell won’t give her any comfort.

Still, the urge is there, loud and clear, to protect her.

Whatever.

"Bet they don't wanna miss the newcomer's companion falling flat on her face at the first chance she gets, huh?" she murmurs, kneading her hands.

She might even be right about that. But I don't like how pale she has become around the nose. Without further ado, I pluck two glasses from the tray of a passing waiter, champagne for her and blood for me — I damn well need it, the few sips I took from her earlier did nothing to quench my desire — and hand her the glass, leaning in.

"You won't fall," I say next to her ear. "I'll make sure of that. Now thank me so the others can see what a good little drone you are."

A small crease appears between her eyebrows, but she forces her lips into a sugary smile. "Thank you, sir," she croons louder than necessary.

A ripple of approval moves through the crowd watching us. This works even better than my original plan.

Instead of billionaire Vincent Renard, I show up here as playboy billionaire Vincent Renard, a demure little companion at the end of my leash.

But even more than that I feel her words reverberating through me.

Thank you, sir.

Damn, I like the way she said that…

I watch her drink, throat moving with each sip. She looks absolutely delectable. No wonder the entire room is staring at her, furtively behind fans, or obviously blatant, with insinuating grins over crimson-filled glasses.

There’s something about her you just have to look at. The bite marks on her forearm spring to my eye, two glowing red pinches on her skin.

Mine, the shadow inside me snarls, and I squash it down at once, clenching my fist so hard my fingernails bite into my skin.

"Let’s mingle," I grit out, tugging gently on her leash.

She nods, following me through the crowd of illustrious vampires and their drones, a sea of tuxes and haute couture, as I dive into my specialty: networking.

My father, the now ancient Marquis de Renard, has spent the last nine centuries keeping his empire together. He taught his two sons — that is me and my unnerving big brother Gabriel — all he knew about business, which was mostly how to fight and gut an enemy, first from the shadows and, if you couldn’t avoid it, in open combat. But the complex science that is networking I’ve learned frommaman, the only person in the family who knows about my curse.

No one has mastered the art of backstabbing across three corners using only information like mother dear.

Because, indeed, information is a much sharper blade.

We do a few rounds. I engage in polite chitchat with the most important people I can spot in the room, in order of their rank.

The Reichsmarschall von Schneider has gained weight. The Vicountess DuBarry has shown up tugging two male companions along on golden leashes — the decadence in her noble house has obviously not abated. The Swedish Count Aarholt is eyeing Polly through his monocle. She shrinks noticeably back, looking down.

I suppress a growl. She should know that she has nothing to fear — it is taboo to touch another vampire's drone. A duel would ensue, and immediately. (Yes, our ways are old-fashioned, but it has worked just fine for thousands of years. If you can call a shark tank full of predators working, that is.)

Still, a protective urge has me placing a hand on the small of her back, leading her away.

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