Kiss of Crimson by Samantha Coville (best love story novels in english txt) 📕

exquisitely painted hand fan, batting those ridiculously thick, patently false lashes that were starting to peel from the corner of her left eye.

That was the thing about the newly turned. Those who had been reborn before the turn of the century still remembered what it felt like to be hunted down like rats on a ship.

We learned to hide, make ourselves as human as we possibly could.

Now that vampirism was suddenly in vogue, those turned in the past fifty years had taken it onto themselves to drape themselves in eye-poppingly costly fabrics of silk and ermine, dressing like a reject from a colorful renaissance art piece. They looked more like the old ones, than the old ones did.

I rather prided myself upon passing my first century and well onto my way of hitting the second century milestone. There is precious little to celebrate, sadly. Not when there were vampires who were over a millennia older than me... nay, even two millennia.

A shudder ran through me.

In the corner of my eye, Jardin scratched his right earlobe. The signal. I nodded imperceptibly and excused myself with not a little relief as I made my way towards him.

I had been surprised that Madame Leona Hart had extended an invitation to Jardin, her rival, to attend this little gathering. I had been ever more surprised that he had accepted. His thinking was that she did it as a way to get a feel for who he knew and to make a show of her own connections. Jardin was hoping to seize the opportunity as a chance to send his plus one, me, to do some reconnaissance.

There was a hint of a smile in his voice as I paused next to him, an ear gently inclined in his direction. "You appeared as though you required extrication out of a somewhat uncomfortable social situation."

"My thanks, sir," I replied, making as though I were inspecting the platinum and emerald cufflinks, taken from Jardin's extensive jewelry collection. "Any longer and I may have been tempted to rip her head off."

"No court of our kind would've judged against you." He slanted a glance in her direction as she tried valiantly to gain the attention of another vampire who was less forgiving than I of her gauche attitude. "I recognize her as one of Haswell's lot. An idiot begets an idiot, as one would say. Or should, in any case. Am I right in assuming you got absolutely nothing of value from those polluted lips of hers?"

"None whatsoever."

He clicked his tongue. “A pity. And nothing about Haswell himself?”

“Only that the latest supply of blood from one of their usual donors has turned his stomach sour and now he farts like an ox.”

A guffaw burst free, garnering looks of censure from those around us, and he hastily brought a silken napkin to his mouth, his shoulders shaking slightly.

A few moments later, he pulled the napkin away and cleared his throat, giving me a look of mild reprimand. “Perhaps next time a warning would be apt. I didn’t know you had it in you to be a comedian, Arden. Truly, hidden depths.”

I inclined my head to one side humbly. In truth, I was pleased to amuse him.

He is, after all, my Master, my Raison d’tre.

I owed him much.

I owed him my life.

He cleared his throat again and took a delicate sip from the tiny snifter of blood in his left hand. The bouquet from the crimson liquid made my nostrils flare, but I refused to imbibe.

I had not come to enjoy myself; I had come to work.

Finishing the sample, he placed the empty glass upon the tray of a passing waiter and then nodded to the other side of the room. “Do you see the woman in red? The one with the sapphires around her neck? She’s with the man in that ridiculous white linen suit and the other woman in sea-foam green.”

“Indeed, sir,” I replied, watching the woman in question laugh at something, her delicate stem of a neck arching gracefully, a small white hand pressed to her more-than ample bosom that appeared to be dangerously close to popping free of her tight red bodice.

“That, Arden, is a certain woman by the name of Tabitha Yeats.” His dark eyes narrowed as he grabbed another tiny snifter from the, this time, full tray of another passing waiter. “I’ve heard rumors of her connection with Leona Hart. Perhaps it is time to test just how deep her alliance runs with our little provincial blood trader. I would love to know what she knows.”

“She’s certainly a damn sight easier on the eyes than that twit you rescued me from.”

She was beautiful in a sophisticated way, with black liner artfully winged at the ends to give her blue eyes a catlike playfulness, lips artfully darkened with a dark purple-ish tinge that almost looked bruised.

It was a good look with her pallid skin and her wispy blond hair that she had teased up into a carefully arranged bun that was meant to look absolutely careless and yet perfect at the same time.

“I tried to get close to her about an hour ago, and she wouldn’t give me the time of night.” He shrugged his broad shoulders and brought the snifter up to his nose. He took a deep breath of the dark red liquid, his dark brown eyes closed, a look of pure delight clear on his weathered face. “Perhaps you can break the nut that I cannot.”

His eyes opened slightly, and suddenly the image of a resting cobra rose in my mind.

“That is, after all, one of your many gifts, no?” His lips twisted into an odd, almost sarcastic facsimile of a smile. “Put that handsome face to work, my boy.”

I took his closed eyes as dismissal and turned towards the woman, nervously smoothing a hand down the front of the borrowed French-tailored suit Jardin had supplied for me.

It fit me perfectly, which was more than a little discomforting. Jardin was wider in the chest