A Venetian Vampire

“I do, but I don’t know how. I’ve always wanted to learn something like the tango.” She hooked her fingers on the backpack strap. The hardy weave and weight reminded her not to lose all caution. “I was on my way back to the hotel when I stopped for a quick drink. Not really dressed for dancing or partying. I’ll take a rain check, though.”

“Rain checks often go untended. How about another prosecco?”

“You’ll get me drunk.”

“Do you get drunk?”

“Not usually.” Vamps could consume a lot of alcohol with little affect on their sobriety. “But whiskey, straight from the vein, does make me sick. I learned that one the hard way.” She touched her chest. Never had she confessed such a personal detail about herself. It was too easy to be open in his presence. Relaxing into the conversation felt like stepping into his arms and settling in for a nice long snuggle.

“Vodka is my bête noire,” he offered. “I can’t stand a drunk bite. I prefer them healthy.”

“Me, too,” she agreed. “But I’m still learning, you know.”

She straightened and slid her hands down her ribs and to her waist, a weird habit she’d developed after putting on thirty pounds following her mother’s death. She still hadn’t lost the weight, but she had learned to embrace her curves. And use them to her best advantage.

A glance at Dante confirmed he was studying her with those mesmerizing eyes. Interested? If only she’d worn something more revealing than the pedestrian black turtleneck shirt and black leggings. Wow. Did she totally look like a cat burglar? What had she been thinking? Should have brought along a bright red scarf to tie around her neck after the deed had been done.

“So, tell me more about you, Dante. You are Italian, but I think the words you just used were French?”

“I am both. Italian on my mother’s side and my father was French. But I don’t mind speaking English. It is an interesting language.”

And her only option. “Where are you living?”

“I own a palazzo a short walk away, in the San Marco. It’s a vacation home. I spend most of my time in Paris. Though at the moment I am homeless in the City of Light. Sold my barge and waiting for my property agent to send me some new and interesting finds.”

“You lived on a barge? That sounds...actually, kind of smelly and wobbly.”

“You get used to shifting with the waves. And the Seine doesn’t smell that bad. It’s the tourists peeking in the windows all the time that made me decide to sell. This time of year they are like patrons peering in at the lone captive animal.”

Kyler laughed and leaned an elbow on the bar. Her body nudged closer to his. Their thighs hugged now. There was something electric about him, and it wasn’t the shimmer she’d felt with their handshake. The man oozed confidence and élan. Physically, he wasn’t her type. While muscular and seemingly strong, he was too pretty, too perfect. He could model for a top magazine, and women the world over would swoon.

She much preferred a man who looked average, acted average and wasn’t concerned about what others thought of him. An average Joe. Probably because that was all she’d ever dated. She’d never thought a man as handsome as Dante would give her a second glance. Yet she’d never ruled out flirting with any and all men. It made her feel sensual and alive.

“How long did you live in Paris?” she asked.

“Are you fishing about for how old I am? You can simply ask.”

She shrugged. “Okay. How old are you?”

“I was born in Paris in 1860. Well before Picasso.”

She quickly did the math quickly—over 150 years old. “I find it fascinating that immortality ages a person so slowly. It’s an amazing gift, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“But immortality does not mean you—we—can never die.”

“Yes, a healthy fear of stakes does serve a vampire a longer life. I am a youngster as far as living centuries goes. I love to experience everything. There are never days I would bemoan my existence.”

“I agree. Vampirism rocks.”

“There is so much to do in this world,” he continued. “So many adventures to be had. So many women to love.”

Of course, a man as attractive as him would not want for a girlfriend. But could he possibly be between lovers? “You have...many lovers?”

“At one time? Never. I am always exclusive. But if you are counting years, then of course I’ve had my share. I never kiss and tell, though. Each woman is a memory I forever cherish.”

“Sounds like I’ve met Casanova in the flesh.”

“Eh, he was too boisterous. Couldn’t stop himself from writing about his sordid affairs and sharing them with anyone who would listen.” He skated a finger around the rim of his glass, and Kyler sucked in a corner of her lip. The movement reminded her of a fingertip circling skin. “I’ll keep my secrets, thank you.”

Kyler was suddenly all about learning secrets. Or making new ones with a certain irresistibly sexy vampire. Her elbow slipped, and the backpack slid from her shoulder to the crook of her elbow.

“Shopping?” he said with a nod to the backpack.

“Sort of. Just a few trinkets.”

When she made to slide the strap back up her arm, he touched her again, wanting to help, and hooked the wide black strap over her shoulder. “That’s heavy for trinkets.”

“I should probably go,” she offered. Though the idea of walking away from such an intriguing man felt wrong. She enjoyed talking to him. But really, she shouldn’t risk sitting around with a valuable piece of art in her backpack. Or have him ask more questions she wasn’t willing to answer. “It’s getting late.”

“It’s just past midnight. Do you sleep much?”

She shrugged. “A few hours a night. I still cling to some of the more satisfying human rituals.”

“Six months you’ve been a biter?”

“Yes, though I’ve never heard it called that before. A biter?”

He shrugged. “A silly joke. It’s better than longtooth, yes?”

“Sure.” She’d heard that werewolves called vampires longtooth—a terrible slang word the vamps hated. She hadn’t experienced the whole vampire milieu long enough to know if it bothered her or not. Just owning fangs had taken a few weeks to become comfortable. Bite her lower lip much?

He tapped the goblet stem and asked, “Are you American?”

“Yes.” She turned on the stool, deciding to linger a little longer instead of the quick escape. “Is my accent that terrible?”

“The American accent is...quaint.” He smiled and his eyes glinted, full of moonlight. For a moment Kyler had to stop herself from leaning closer to him, sniffing, seeking his scent along the edge of his square jaw. “You’re a long way from home. Did your friend for whom you’ve gone on an art quest send you from the United States?”

“I’ve been living in Paris six months,” she said.

“I see. You were transformed immediately upon arriving?”

“Uh, yes. I don’t really want to talk about that.” She had to keep the theft a secret and any details about her transformation would ultimately lead to why she was in Venice.

“Sorry. I’ll change the subject. Have you taken a gondola ride?”

She glanced at the canal, which whispered by on the other side of a decorative iron railing laced with thick ivy. “It seems so touristy.”