Chapter Seven

The dress was off-white, and covered in a variety of dainty, fine-lined roses. None of them black. A square neckline with a shirred bodice and capped sleeves. I paired the dress with a thin gold chain with small rose charms and a pair of slide-on sneakers. I'd tried my only pair of wedges, but they'd pinched my feet, and a girl can only sacrifice so much comfortability.

I took one last look at myself in the mirror, re-tying the bow that sat between my breasts, and making sure my hair sat the way I wanted it to. I'd broken out the mousse and hair dryer to turn my usually frizzy mane of hair into mostly defined curls. Lip balm and a spritz of some perfume Miranda had left over once, and I was ready to go.

I grabbed my messenger bag and my coat and started to step out onto the porch when I turned around. I headed back into my bedroom to my nightstand. I picked up the satchel of vervain and ash first, bringing it to my nose to sniff at it. There was a sweet, lemony scent to it, and the weight felt nice in the palm of my hand, but I couldn't imagine how I would use it in a life-or-death situation.

Putting it down, I picked up the bottle of Holy Water instead and held it up to the light. Swirls of barely visible silver flecks spun in the light. Better. I tucked it into my messenger bag and headed out. I'd just pulled off my street, my thoughts on Charlemagne and his proposal—was proposal too strong a word for it? – when my cell rang.

I put it on speaker and settled it on a divot in the dashboard where it balanced precariously. "Hey, everything okay?" I asked in greeting.

Miranda sniffed on the other end. "Have you seen the news?"

Ice dropped into the pit of my stomach. I sat up straighter in my seat, tension wiring through my body. "No, what's wrong?" I asked, tightening my grip on the wheel.

"You remember the police cars we saw earlier?" Miranda choked back a sob, wrenching my heart into pieces. "They found a body. Gemma Thibodeaux. We went to high school together, do you remember her?" She mumbled.

Gemma Thibodeaux. Gemma Thibodeaux. I blinked hard. My knuckles blanched as my grip tightened. A girl with dark hair, glasses, and pretty brown eyes. We'd been in an Honors English class together Junior year, the only two plump girls partnered up on a project about Dracula. "I remember." I said, my throat tightening. "Do they know what happened?"

"No, just that… that her throat was ripped out, or something, I don't know." Miranda's voice cracked. "She was such a sweet girl, who could do that?"

I swallowed against the lump forming in my throat. "I don't know." I whispered, shaking my head to myself. "Gemma was so… she was nice." I mumbled, heat prickling at my gaze. I hadn't known her well, hadn't seen her since a Mardi Gras Party a few years ago.

No, that wasn't true. She'd come to my first book signing. I autographed a copy of Sanguinem for her. She'd said she'd loved it. We made plans to go for coffee. We hadn't found the time. My chest tightened. We hadn't found the time. "I love you, Miranda."

"I love you too, Abby." She said softly. "Please, be careful, okay?"

"You too."

Silence filled the car a moment later. I'd been driving on autopilot, I'd barely noticed the streets around me. Not even the fairy lights that lit up the Quarter. Gemma Thibodeaux. I'm not overtly religious, but I said a silent prayer for her anyway. Maybe God or the Universe or the good angels and saints would hear me and take care of her.

By the time I turned onto the road for Vieux Jardin I knew I would say yes. Death is funny like that. It reminds us that we're human and time is both long and short and you can't always live it afraid of what might happen. Inhaling a sharp breath, I settled my nerves as the gates of Fortuna opened for me. Seeing the house lit up at the end of the row of trees comforted me.

I pulled Beatrice into her usual place in the front yard and cut the engine. Climbing out of the car, I took another breath of the night air. Gemma briefly flashed through my mind, and I tilted my gaze to the stars. "We'll have coffee soon." I murmured, before hoisting my messenger bag over my shoulder and heading for the door.

While it didn't spring open with Charlemagne's usual flair, the front door did open for me. I stepped into the house and shut the door behind me. I didn't see anyone yet, and that was fine, I wanted to speak to Charlemagne first. I took a step towards the stairs, skirting the calla lilies, when I heard a high, tinkling laugh. I turned my head towards it. Who was that?

I started in its direction, dropping my messenger bag and my coat on the couch, on the way towards Charlemagne's library. The door was partially open. Charlemagne was at his desk, dressed impeccably in a charcoal grey suit with a white undershirt, his hair loose around his shoulders. He was looking up at the woman of the high, tinkling laugh.

A curtain of chestnut curls kept me from seeing her face, but she was sitting on the edge of Charlemagne's desk, leaning on her palm. She wore an olive-green dress tight to the curves of her body. "Come now, Charlemagne, did you not miss me at all?" She cooed, an accent lilting off each word.

I pressed my lips tight together, trying not to make a single sound, as he leaned back in his chair. "Bianca." He said, the way the syllables of her name rolled off his tongue sent a sliver of jealousy through me. I wanted to take a step back. Turn around and bolt. His voice held me there. "Listen to me, hear me. I am taken."

The woman, Bianca, made a sound that was almost like a hiss. "The human girl?"

"The very one." He said, his mouth twitching around the edges. "But I suppose that is why Marcus invited you here, non?"

Marcus had invited her? I took a step back, bumping into the hard planes of a chest and feeling my heart jump against my ribs. A hand tugged me backwards away from the door, and if I'd been wearing the wedges I would have hit the ground hard. I blinked at Marcus as he bore down on me. "Aren't you the nosey, little human?"

Heat flushed through my face. "I—"

He bared his teeth at me, his index finger had come up to press between my collar bones, pressing me back against the wall. His face changed suddenly, the harsh planes of his cheekbones softening as his mouth pulled back into the veneer of a friendly grin. "Her name is Bianca Santorini. They were lovers for decades. Did you know that, little human?"

Peering up at him, my eyes wide, and my heart thumping against my ribs, I shook my head. "We hadn't gotten to her yet." I said, watching him closely. "Why do I scare you so much?"

The friendly grin disappeared. He was a predator baring his teeth at me. His eyes had bottomed out, black eating green. "What did you just say to me?"

I started to open my mouth to repeat myself when I caught movement from the corner of my eye. Tall, blonde, and handsome, he wasn't Charlemagne, but he was willing to not let the mean vampire eat me. He curled his fingers in Marcus's jacket and bared his teeth. "Let go."

"None of this is your concern, Nickolas."

"But it is mine." The three of us looked up as Charlemagne stepped into the hallway. Bianca was close behind him, her fingers wrapped around his arm, the length of her body pressed into his side. She had affected the look of an easily frightened fawn. Hazel eyes wide and mouth slightly parted.

He stepped away from her to take the distance between us in mere seconds. "Abigail." He murmured, lifting a hand to slip his thumb along my chin to tilt my face towards his. "Are you well?"

Swallowing, I nodded my head into his hand. "I need to talk to you for a second." I blurted out.

"Of course." He dropped his hand to lace our fingers together. "Nickolas, see that Marcus and Bianca behave until my return."

Nickolas, who really was rather handsome in his light blue blazer and dark blue slacks, ran his fingers through his clean-cut blonde hair, an easy and genuine grin tilting his mouth. "My pleasure, boss." He said, a husky Louisiana accent rolling across every word from his mouth. "Darlin', I do hope we get to meet properly soon." He dropped me a wink before he clicked his heels together and gestured towards the living room. "Shall we?"

Okay, I definitely liked him better than Marcus. Biting my lip, I glanced up to find Charlemagne watching my face. I repeated after Nickolas. "Shall we?"

Charlemagne's features softened as he led me towards his library. It was my favorite room in his house. Octagonal, the shelves stretched far into the ceiling. He collected books of all kinds. From mystery novels, classics, bodice rippers, and computer manuals. Anything that caught and held his attention.

It was more lived in than any other part of Fortuna. He led me towards the worn, velvet green loveseat, and settled me onto the familiar divot. "You look beautiful, Abigail." He stood above me, his hand slipping along the curve of my neck. "I love this dress."

Heat flushed across my face. "Yeah?"

"Oui." He bent low to brush his nose along the length of mine. "I even like your silly shoes."

A grin twitched at the corners of my mouth. "Charley." I started. "We need to talk."

Charlemagne dropped his head in a quick nod before he was suddenly beside me, draping his arm across the back of my seat, and arranging himself perfectly. "Of course, but first, I must apologize for Marcus. He is… overprotective."

My brows rose at that. So many questions rose to my tongue, but I swallowed them. As curious as I was to find out why Marcus thought he needed to protect Charlemagne from me, I didn't want to talk about him. "Charley." I started, turning in my seat to face him. "I'm saying yes."

Charlemagne held my gaze, his eyes searching mine. "Yes?" He reached for me suddenly, his hands burning around my hips, my waist. "Are you sure?"

I dipped my chin in a nod. "I'm sure." I mumbled, and in that moment, I was.

Charlemagne dragged me into his lap until I was straddling him, aware of the hard planes of his body suddenly pressed against me and sitting between my thighs. Swallowing hard, I held his gaze as I ran my fingers up his chest before slipping my arms around his neck and leaning forward. "We'll still be friends, won't we?" I mumbled, taking a page from his book as I ran the tip of my nose against his.

He slid his hands along my thighs, his fingers curling in the hem of my dress. "Of course. I intend to be your best and closest friend, partner, confidant." He kissed the tip of my nose. "Lover."

Heat blossomed in the pit of my stomach and spread through my limbs. "Can I ask you something?" I asked, heart thudding against my ribs.

"Ask me anything."

"How long have you been...thinking about me like this?"

Charlemagne pressed a kiss to my chin, starting to follow the curve of my jaw. "Do you remember the first fight we had?"

I blinked and leaned back to look at his face. "Wait," My brows furrowed. "That was last year." I shook my head. That was how I'd learn not to press about his human life, or his Maker. He'd disappeared on me for five weeks, and when he'd shown back up as if nothing had happened, I'd lit into him. It was not a precedent I wanted set in our relationship.

He tilted his chin. "You yelled at me." Charlemagne said, shrugging his shoulders. "People yell at me all the time, but no one has quite put me in my place like you."

I was still trying to reconcile what he was telling me. "Charley, I've met at least five or six of your lovers since then." I breathed out.

His mouth twitched into a grin. "My futile attempt to excite you into jealous action." He murmured, leaning forward to kiss my bottom lip when I gaped at him. "I was starting to believe you would never come to your senses when you kissed me."

Miranda was never going to let me live down the fact that she'd been right. I rolled my eyes. "You could have said something. I think that's what most normal people do."

"Abigail." My name in his mouth brought my gaze back to him. "I think we both know that if I had not let you make the first move, you would have run from me."

I blinked at him again, searching his gaze. I wanted to deny it. But he wasn't wrong. I didn't even let myself think about all the ways Charlemagne mattered to me. If he'd pursued me, I would have firmly closed that door out of nothing more than fear. "I think you know me a little too well."

"I think it's past time you asked me to kiss you."

A warm thrill went through me. "Oh." I breathed out. "Kiss me."

Charlemagne lifted a hand to slip his fingers through my hair, his thumb brushing along my cheek. He pressed his lips to mine, tentative at first, seeking permission at first. I made a little noise, my eyes slipping shut, as I leaned into him. He deepened the kiss, and the taste of him set me alight.

I'd been right. He set me on fire.