Here Comes the Vampire Read Free

married to Remy.” As the words rolled out of my mouth, my mind registered the truth and my stomach hollowed out. My gaze zig-zagged to the tall, scrumptious police chief standing a few feet away. I stared into his green eyes and my stomach hollowed out. “We are, aren’t we? We’re,” I cleared my suddenly dry throat, “we’re actually married? ”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” my mother piped in. The poppppp of the champagne cork punctuated her statement and sent a bolt of pain right between my eyes. “Born vampires don’t get married.”
    Relief spiraled through me.
    “You’re committed.” She poured herself a glass of bubbly liquid. “Marriage is a human term. We born vampires commit to one another.” She held up her champagne in salute. “For eternity.”
    The room started to spin again. “I think I’m going to throw up.” I forced a deep breath. Not that I needed to breathe, but desperate times called for desperate measures and I needed all the help I could get. “This is definitely the worst night ever.”
    “Nonsense.” My mom set the bottle aside and took a sip from her glass. “I’ve waited for this night my entire afterlife. I finally have the perfect son-in-law. Priscilla Farquois will rip out her eyes when she hears the news. She just knew her darling Beatrice would pledge her loyalty first, but we beat her to the punch. I can’t wait to get back and startdthck and planning the party. I’ve talked with Remy’s mother and she’s thrilled. She’s already called the Fairfield Country Club about the reception and set up a meeting with their special events coordinator...”
    My mother ranted on between swigs of champagne and I closed my eyes again and tried to get a grip.
    Committed.
    I was freakin’ committed .
    Not that I had anything against pledging my undying loyalty to another vampire. I’d always pictured myself getting hitched and settling down one day. But not with Remy.
    Not that he wasn’t hot. He was tall with green eyes and a smokin’ body. And he knew his Gucci from his Gap. And he had a big enough bank account that I wouldn’t have to worry over a credit card bill ever again.
    But the thing was, we were friends. I’d seen him with marbles up his nose and he’d seen me in bloomers and buckled shoes. We grew up together in the old country (i.e. the French countryside). He threw spiders at me like an annoying older brother and I nailed him with rocks a la the typical pain-in-the-ass kid sister. The point—we’re practically family . Minus the DNA, of course. And the guilt. While I can tolerate a conversation every now and then, I wouldn’t want to get hot and naked with him.
    Not that sex was everything in a relationship.
    Okay, so sex was everything for us born vamperes. Our entire existence revolved around the big S. We were conceived via sex. We stopped aging when we lost our virginity. Even our value as vampires was based on the ability to do the deed. A male BV’s attractiveness was measured by his fertility rating. Meanwhile, a female BV boasted a little digit called the Orgasm Quotient. The higher the number, the more fertile the female, and therefore, the more sought after. Sex was everything to us.
    But sex with Remy ?
    We’re talking major ick.
    Even more, I already had a significant other. I’d come out of the coffin with Ty and introduced him to my parents just a few weeks ago (hence the Xanax). My folks were still in denial, but that didn’t make the truth any less true.
    Ty and I were officially together.
    A bonafide C-O-U-P-L-E.
    And I’d had sex with someone else.
    I think .
    My brain did a quick skid and shifted into reverse until I was back at the hotel bar where it had all started. I remembered the first screaming orgasm. The second. The third. A few rounds at the roulette table. A fourth drink. A fifth drink. Things got really blurry after that and I saw only bits and pieces. A fat man in a white jump suit. A woman playing an organ. My mother