Chapter 1

One

“My sister and her fiancé have been kidnapped.” A breathless, husky voice half blurts, half purrs. The squeal of the door hinges I purposefully don’t oil, the tap of her heels, the swish of her sequined party dress, and the rapid pattering of her heart coming down the barren hall of my office suite announced her presence long before she boldly pushed her way into my sanctum without knocking. I lift my attention from my ledger, taking in the quivering dame dripping rainwater all over my office floor. Five feet six inches of rubied curves tremble before me. Black satin gloved fingers splay over my mahogany desk she angles her buxom cleavage directly into my line of sight.

Beneath her pale, creamy skin, her heart pumps blood the color of her gown. My nostrils flare as the heady scent of her perfumed body heat fills the small space between us. Whatever concoction she chose, she smells like tropical fruits and flowers that only bloom in under a foreign moon. Her entire get up is a calling card for the blue blood that snakes under the perfect swells of the breasts invading my personal space.

“Well? Why are you still sitting there?” she demands, slapping one gloved hand on my ledger. I stare at the wet handprint and smeared spots of once pristine figures and contemplate eating her.

Oh yeah. This broad is definitely upper crust. How dare she waltz into my digs and demand I jump at her command? The Queen of England tried that once. Tried to make me bite her dimpled thighs. They may have been pretty, but her cunt smelled like the spunk of a hundred noble men left to rot in the midday sun.

She also farted and grunted like a rutting pig every time she came.

Disgusting.

“Well, Doll Face,” I add the endearment in a tone that indicates I think she’s anything but, “I’m sitting here because this office belongs to me. Did you see the sign out front? The gold lettering on the door? That’s my name. This is my agency. Thus, I’ll sit here until kingdom come if I choose too.” I own the whole fucking building, but I think my point has been made.

Hatred radiates from her whole chest. Her displeasure burns like the sun, and I’m surprised to find myself basking in the heat. Her upper lip slides up, over her pristine teeth, so white they glow in the low light of my office. “Listen, you washed up, self-glorifying prick. I don’t have time to measure dicks. Pun intended. I was informed that you were the best. Cost is no issue. We start tonight.”

An odd, somewhat fluttery feeling burbles in my gut. Unfurling like butterfly wings, it rolls up my midsection and explodes. My head tips back as I roar. A single, blood-tinged tear rolls down my right cheek, and I sink back in my chair as I lift my hand to catch the offending waste on the edge of my index finger. I pop it my mouth and take my sweet time drawing out the digit, enjoying the view of her chest heaving and blowing like a thoroughbred after a rough mile and a quarter.

The last time I laughed this hard was a similar situation. I love an uppity bitch who thinks she’s better than me. Especially a human one.

I should shoot of this chair, strip the front of her dress down, and sink my fangs into her glorious ripe globes. Just to see if a drop of her pedigreed blood, licked off the hard bud of her nipple would taste as good as she smells. But I’m a professional. An experienced, discerning vampire whose had many lifetimes to learn the patience one must possess to deal with wealthy female clients. Unfortunately, the multitudes of lessons haven’t really stuck. “Is your father well? Because your mother must be an absolute nightmare.”

She stiffens, a small squeak escaping before she shuts her rage down. Calm descends over her puss like a pall, years of etiquette trainings swooping in to rescue me from the temperament issues her male predecessors haven’t managed to breed out. Her shoulders and spine straighten, and she removes her hands from my desk.

But she doesn’t take a step back.

“Sir,” she purrs. Not like a kitten. No. She’s a lioness. “I would like to engage the Fyndemfürst Detective Agency’s assistance in locating my sister and her fiancé. I’m prepared to pay a handsome deposit and fund a large incidental budget. My patronage, of course, is contingent upon exclusivity until the time she and her captors are located.” The sound vibrating up her throat caresses my ears, sliding down my body like melted butter. Her voice is like raw silk; like a hundred-year-old scotch and the finest Cuban cigar took down a hookah loaded with opium. Rich and elegant, with a wild mystery that wraps around my cock and squeezes.

I clear my throat, saying nothing, hating to give her any concession. Her lips quirk, her forehead smoothing into what I imagine is the start of the kind of gloating, victorious sneer wealthy human trophy wives spread on when they win the small victories that make the cash wrapped, golden bars of their cages tolerable. But she manages to rein it in. I make a mental note to tell her father the ghastly sum he must have spent on finishing school was almost worth it. “It’s not that simple, Doll. I need to interview you first.”

This woman really wants to find her sister. Only time will tell if her desperation is born of love or a darker, more personal reason.

“May I?” she asks, indicating the chair.

“Of course,” I answer swiftly, leaping out of my chair to come ‘round the desk and pull out hers. Keeping my speed visible, I tamp down the rising urge to play with the woman my fangs have judged as food. She steps to the side, not looking down once before gracefully slipping down to perch on the edge. She folds her legs under, crossing her slim ankles. Straightening her spine, her hands rest upon her jeweled clutch. My lips twist into a half grin of admiration. Her black hair still holds some semblance of the sensuous waves it was originally styled in, even as it drips cold rain down her arms and back. Hers eyes are rimmed in smudged kohl, but her expertly applied Dior 9 lipstick remains intact. She may be bedraggled and unstable with anxiety, but I see the strong constitution inhabiting her shapely frame. My regard grows enough to for wrangle past my desire to rip out her throat for a quick snack.

“I don’t have much left for chin,” she says quietly. Her slim shoulders slump, as if her confession took out the last bit of gumption she had. Her head tilts to the side as she brings up her hand to rub her forehead, exposing the thrum thrum thrum of her pulse in her wrist and neck. A wave of hunger washes over me. My fangs lengthen, sliding through my gums, a physical reaction just as worrying as the stiffness plaguing my cock.

Abruptly I turn, taking a steady breath, willing my fangs to retract back to a passable length. I don’t eat random strangers. Meeting my strict requirements to be bitten is virtually impossible for someone unknown to me.

Her gaze tracks me, once I’ve turned my back to her, as I pick up the cashmere throw draped over the back of the chaise lounge to my left. Draping it over her shoulders, I pretend not to notice the grateful sigh that gusts from her cupid’s bow mouth. “Tell me about your sister.”

As soon as I’m seated, she begins to talk. I know before she draws a second breath that I’m taking her case.