Page 37 of The Biting Bargain

"Are they all that intense?" she whispers to me.

"They're not intense," I hiss again. "They're vampires. No need to be so wound up."

She blushes while I suppress another growl. She looks intimidated enough that I'm tempted to end the night early and take her back to the safety of my mansion.

Which is total bullshit. Why do I care if she's uncomfortable? She's just another of many servants. She’s not even a comma in a footnote in the Renard family history. She’s a tool. In a few weeks time, when all this is done and over with, and my counter-course successfully reinstated, I won't even think about her anymore, probably have trouble remembering her name.

She's only human. Just the next meal.

Which I can't wait to devour, by the way. The scent of her blood in my nose grows more seductive by the second. Her taste was intoxicating. Close to addicting...

"Is that you, Renard? Who in Drakul’s name let you in here?"

I freeze, my insides clutching into a steel-ball.

"If it isn’t our favorite upstart," I sneer, turning to face Stellan DiAngelo.

The blond bastard lounges on one of the sofas next to the wall, his mouth twisted into his trademark grin, one hand caressing his companion's bare shoulders. She is draped halfway over him, her dress and hairstyle just rumpled enough to let everyone know that there are definitely perks to this companion-master relationship.

Masses of perks.

"And here I thought this was an exclusive club." Stellan eyes me with disparaging amusement. "Apparently they let anyone join now."

His provocation is so unimaginative I don’t even bother to answer. Stellan is just an ordinary proletarian, and he knows it. The DiAngelos are nouveau riche, bitten and turned after the French Revolution. They made a fortune smuggling booze during the Great Depression, and still rest on it today.

"You came in lovely company, though." His gaze settles on Polly, who is visibly tensing up next to me. "Nice to see you again,Bellissima."

His business card comes back to my mind, but one look at Polly is enough to assure me once and for all that she isn’t working for that cretin. Her eyes are wide, she’s gone pale and her scent is suddenly tinted with cold panic.

This man scares her more than all the vampires gathered here.

My beast snarls menacingly and has me placing my hand on the small of her back once more. She casts me a glance, just a brief flash of her eyes. She could just as well have shot me with a silver bullet. Her gaze chases through my body like a bolt of lightning striking a tree.

Stellan faces his companion with a bored sigh. She purrs and giggles, nestling against him, and I turn on my heel to go somewhere else where the air is less congested.

Polly follows me with quick steps, staying close.

ChapterSixteen

Polly

Next timeI have the brilliant idea to get involved with vampires, do me a favor and shoot me.

I really thought I had this under control. But actually I’m like a guinea pig that marched into a lion's enclosure. A tiny, 1-pound meat potato, against an entire snake pit. Vincent's world is not for humans. This place is crawling with predators in fine couture.

As the evening progresses, we traverse from one illustrious salon to the next. There are plenty of other companions trailing behind their masters, all of them far more deserving of the title. Vincent keeps having the same conversations with the gorgeous, filthy rich and beautiful of his kind — without him, I'd be eaten within five minutes. People stare at me like I'm just an interesting little snack in between meals.

Eyes on the prize, Polly. You pull this off, you can pay off Patrick's mob buddies.And Dad gets a new fridge. And Grandma gets her Caribbean cruise. And I could maybe, somehow, kind of, possibly enroll in that design school that is way beyond my stage…

Well, at least I’d have the money for it.

We descend another wide staircase into the lower level of the mansion. Another sweeping double door opens for us — and suddenly this is a completely different party.

"Here we are," Vincent mutters as we enter.

The sprawling room is a veritable casino, time-traveled here from centuries long gone. Illustrious vampires cavort at gaming tables, rolling dice and throwing cards on green velvet. Dealers rake in chips. Silver balls are clacking across roulette spinning tops. Here, too, people sip suspiciously red-colored drinks and suck on mouthpieces of hookah pipes, filling the air with puffs of heavy, white smoke. And here, too, I immediately feel the hunting eyes on me.

Yet, something is different from upstairs.

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