Honeymoon Bite (Golden Vampires of Tuscany)

  Honeymoon Bite

  Sharon Hamilton

  Copyright © 2012 by Sharon Hamilton

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Dedication

  I want to thank my friend and early critique partner, Tina Folsom, for helping me bring my vampires to life. To my Street Team for adopting this author and helping to spread the word. You guys are the best friends a writer could ever wish for in ten lifetimes.

  Thanks to my Tuesday Group: Arletta, Kent, Robin, Ronn, and Shane. And to Marlene Cullen for bringing us together in the first place. To Pam and Rochelle for their critical eyes.

  Also to my husband for his immortal support and for putting up with the interference from other family members who said, “She’s writing what?”

  Chapter 1

  Anne looked down on the sleeping form of her new husband and, God help her, he looked like the first man she would murder. Nestled into his arms was the naked body of her maid of honor.

  This made the second time today the bride had caught them together. First was at the reception. In the bathroom.

  Monika’s dress and Robert’s tux were trampled and splayed over the chair and floor, along with a spilled bottle of champagne, cream satin shoes, a long taffeta slip, a hot pink push-up bra, and Robert’s new black socks.

  “Not exactly what a bride wants to see on her wedding day.” Anne spoke without emotion. These weren’t the soft lilting tones she’d gushed when reciting her wedding vows that afternoon. Her statement caused the reaction she’d hoped for. Monika bolted up, her eyes crossed but wide open. She clutched a sheet to her chest. Robert scrambled to the floor.

  “Don’t bother to put your pants on,” Anne delivered.

  “Honey—Anne,” Robert said in his I’m-so-sorry-I-got-caught voice. His tanned face used to melt her insides, like when he smiled and it was if the sun had come out from behind the clouds. But today his charm wasn’t going to work. The bride had murder on her mind.

  “I’m so glad you’re all right. We were—” Robert began.

  “I’m fine. I can see how worried you are. Touching.” Taffeta and satin rustled as Anne reached down to the handle of her wardrobe roller, stuffed to bursting with brand new clothes for her honeymoon, most with tags still on them. She made sure her money, passport, and airline tickets were still zipped into the top pocket.

  “Your dress, Anne.” Her former best friend pointed to the red stains down the front. “Is that blood?”

  “Catsup. Not blood. Not yet.” Anne saw them both flinch.

  “Now wait just a minute.” Robert climbed back into the bed and put his arms around Monika, but he’d tucked his body safely behind hers. “I’m sorry about all this, Anne. I’ve been a fool.”

  Monika turned around and looked at him in a drunken gaze. Maybe she was wising up already.

  “No. It wasn’t going to work, you asshole. Don’t you think your timing sucked? Couldn’t you have done it before we did all this?” Anne lifted her skirts as if to curtsy. Robert relaxed and hung his head on Monika’s bare shoulder.

  Anne grabbed a black rain slicker and rolled her the bag that contained her trousseau out to the hallway. Whispers came from her bedroom. Unzipping the bag, she extracted the red and black outfit she had planned to wear on the plane—the one with the plunging neckline. She locked herself in the bathroom, then shimmied out of her bridal gown and slipped into her new things. Her feet found a comfortable home in her favorite pair of black Crocs, the ones decorated by her bachelorette buddies with little bride and groom charms surrounded by red hearts.

  No way.

  She grabbed Robert’s toenail nippers from the vanity and snipped off both the bride and groom, but left the red hearts there. Romance wasn’t dead. But her marriage sure was.

  Robert stood in the hallway, clad only in his shorts. “Where are you going?”

  “On my honeymoon. I planned it. I paid for it. I’m going.”

  She descended to the ground floor of her house, and then realized her wedding gown was still draped over her left arm. A convenient row of black plastic garbage cans out at the curb for an early morning pick up became the gown’s final resting place. The nuclear tufts of stained and shredded white organza looked like tissue paper stuffing for a tall wedding present.

  The limo driver waited by the opened door and cast her a smirk.

  Second leg of Plan B.So far, so good.

  Anne dove in the back seat of the limo and allowed herself to be swallowed by the groaning black leather. She hunched down, bent her knees, closed her eyes, and leaned her weary neck against the headrest as the driver sped towards the San Francisco airport. They rushed down the freeway, leaving the bucolic countryside of Sonoma County behind and entering the thickening traffic and congestion of the Peninsula. Her driver kept looking at her even after she’d told him, for the second time, she would still be going on the honeymoon but without the groom.

  A glance in the mirror fished out from the bottom of her carry-on confirmed most of her mascara was now located on her cheeks and chin, so she squirted a drop of lemon-scented hand cream into her palm and used it to wipe off the black excess. The driver sneezed, then apologized.

  Today, she’d rather smell good than look good. She wasn’t going to let a man touch her for, well, it would be years. She was sure of it. Maybe never.

  A group of high school kids first stared at her behind tinted black windows, then began a quadruple moon, butts pressed to glass. She eyed their suspicious happiness.

  Perfect.

  She sighed.

  Life goes on.Nobody cares. Get used to it.

  How could she have been so naïve? She pondered the events of the day. The wedding had been perfect. Even Robert seemed to get into it a little. They had kissed during their first dance, a nice, long, languid kiss that was probably done to impress the ladies, she realized in hindsight. He had that cat-that-ate-a-hundred-dollar-koi look to him, with those baby blue eyes of his that roamed all over her body when she turned and caught his expression. He was saying something to his friends who were also giving her close inspection.

  Had he ever loved her? Just a little? The chill in her heart sent an arctic telegram to her eyes and froze her tears in place.

  Does it matter?

  Later it had been time for the cake cutting, but there was no Robert anywhere. No one could find him. As Anne looked around the guests, she’d noticed Monika was missing as well. That’s when she got a bad feeling.

  She was on her way to check the downstairs dressing room again when she thought she had heard something. With her ear to a bathroom door, she recognized the familiar grunts of her handsome groom and the heavy breathing from a well-used partner. The smooth glass doorknob rattled as she slowly opened the bathroom door. It had to be do
ne. She had to see it. See the reality of it, that her husband’s faithfulness had lasted less than three hours after they had taken their vows.

  Robert was banging Monika in her pale blue gown, her cream slipper-clad feet bouncing in the air while he humped her. Her pert little ass was cradled in the shallow lavie. Monika’s eyes grew the size of grapefruits when she saw Anne, and she struggled to sit up. But Robert would have none of it. He was far too focused on the home run, pumping with thrusts that sent Monika’s body bouncing between tufts of egg white chiffon.

  It was not the ending to her wedding day Anne had expected. She closed the door and heard panicked voices on the other side.

  She whipped out the hundred-dollar bill her Uncle Osborne had given her earlier in the day, and with her clutch deeply embedded in her armpit, hailed the sleepy limo driver. Robert had hired one of his regulars to take them first to the house and then the airport. The man had been clearly surprised.

  Bet he knows more about my husband than I do.

  She had time to kill, and that was exactly the right way to put it.

  “Just drive, but get me back to the house before five to pick up my things.” She gave him the crisp Franklin bill.

  “No, ma’am. I’m paid for the whole three hours until your flight. I’ll take you anywhere.”

  Can you find me a new groom? Someone who isn’t a serial cheater?

  “Then just take the hundred as a tip. Oh, and go inside and get me a bottle of champagne, one that’s opened.”

  While waiting in the purring limo, Anne found her tears were threatening rebellion, but a look to the crowd of happy revelers made her suck it up. The driver appeared with two bottles of champagne, one corked and draped with a freshly starched white napkin. Several family members had spilled out on the steps behind him and stood there gawking, as if watching a traffic accident.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as she zeroed in on the frosty neck of bubbly. She took a swig that wound up mostly in her nose.

  Her driver stifled a laugh, then commanded their ship out onto the highway, speeding through lush green vineyards arranged in rows so unlike her life right now.

  Anne fiddled with the wedding band, but it was stuck. She’d have to get it cut off as soon as she got back.

  She’d starved herself for days and now she wanted a burger, one with bacon and guacamole, so she had the driver pull into Burger Palace. With her white dress flowing behind her like froth from a waterfall, she ran barefoot into the popular spot, then stumbled on her shimmering skirt, almost doing a face plant at the order counter.

  She managed to get out her order, then sat down and waited for her number to be called, layers of the flounce partially covering an older gentleman on her right, who maintained a brittle smile, and a young boy leaning into his mom on her left, who didn’t. In fact, his mother quickly shuttled him elsewhere. Anne twirled her dark brown ringlets, still entangled by tiny crystal clips, and studied the faces in the room all turned toward her. Strangers stood, mostly in shocked silence, or whispered among themselves. Someone tittered.

  A bride can’t have a burger on her wedding day?

  Except this scene had been just bizarre. Checking outside, she was relieved to see her limo driver still maneuvering for a parking spot that didn’t block the parking lot entrance.

  “Number sixty-seven,” the loudspeaker squawked.

  Yep, that’s me. Number sixty-seven. She wondered what it would feel like to be a number one as she paid for her burger and fried zucchini.

  Just for a day, or a night of love. To be cherished and maybe even worshiped, just for a day.

  For once in her life, she’d like not to have to share a man with another woman, or worse yet, another man. Was that too much for a girl to hope for?

  She got back in the limo, where the driver watched her eat in the back seat, the bottle of champagne wedged between her legs. She dripped catsup down her front and ate pickles from her lap after they fell from the oozing burger, then directed the driver to take her back to her husband and former best friend for the showdown.

  But the burger had tasted heavenly. Sinful. It was probably the closest thing to being a bad girl she could ever be.

  Well, that had brought on a wave of tears. She’d had a good, satisfying cry, in her wedding dress smeared down the front with hamburger sauce, on her wedding day.

  “It says Anne Balesteiri. You are recently married?” The Homeland Security officer, who looked like he could play for the Forty-Niners, checked over her passport and ticket.

  In a cruel twist of fate, Robert’s mother, the elder Mrs. Balesteiri, had gifted them the tickets and had used Anne’s new married name.

  “Just today, as a matter of fact.”

  He looked around to see if he had missed the other half of the happy couple.

  “I’m traveling alone,” Anne wheezed and gave a casual cough, batting her eyes at Mr. Homeland Security Charles Atlas. Raising her chin, she added, “My husband will join me soon,” she said with emphasis on husband.

  “You’re going to have to get that changed.” He fingered her passport.

  “First thing when I get back, don’t worry.”

  She was itching for a shower to wipe off all the traces Robert had ever been in her life.

  The flight to New York was uneventful, except they upgraded a Realtor to the first class seat her husband was to have. Anne wanted to sleep, but the woman just liked to hear herself talk. The stewardess must have guessed Anne’s pain from the state of Anne’s makeup and her red eyes, because she kept Anne’s wine glass filled. In time, the drone of the Realtor’s voice merged with the drone of the plane engines, and Anne gratefully fell asleep.

  She woke up when the tires hit the tarmac at JFK with a jolt. Her neck was stiff and drool had dried down her chin. After exiting the plane, she hobbled to a nearby women’s restroom and washed her face, reapplying makeup and deodorant. With soapy fingers, she tried removing her wedding band, but it was no use. The detritus of her marriage was going to have to stay for a while.

  Her carefully coifed curls were tamed, secured with a red scrunchie. She added red lip-gloss and lots of blush. She was a desperate woman, after all. Who but a truly bad person would leave her five thousand dollar wedding gown in a garbage can on the street? She added more red to her cheeks.

  Better.

  Her cell phone had practically been glowing with calls and messages. Her brother wasn’t someone she could ignore. After texting him, saying she was on her way to Tuscany, by herself, she asked him to return all the wedding gifts.

  Sam: Sis, u OK?

  Anne: *&^&*^*%

  Sam: LOL That’s my baby sister. Now I’ll stop worrying.

  Anne: Shred the license.

  Sam: ??

  Anne: The wedding license from the minister. I didn’t sign it. It goes away.

  Sam: It never happened. Consider it gone.

  Anne: Tnx. Luv U. ttfn.

  She flipped her phone shut and turned it off.

  With a pounding headache, she boarded the nonstop to Genoa at midnight. The glittering lights of New York moved beyond her line of sight in the tiny window at her side. She adjusted the air, turned off the reading lamp and, all alone, in the dark, under the skimpy green airplane blanket, began to cry herself to sleep.

  The pink Italian sun timidly poked its afternoon nose into Anne’s heart as she exited the airport in Genoa. She was transported to the Swiss Hotel, and within minutes was standing with her bag in the middle of the bridal suite. She took a shower and fell asleep under the cool sheets and heavy damask comforter.

  Anne awoke a couple of hours later to a bright orange and purple sunset that bathed the already warm colors of the ancient village square around the corner from her hotel. She passed by open-air cafes crowded with locals, noticing couples holding hands all around her.

  Is the whole world in love except me?

  Violin music called to her from a neighborhood gypsy café a block off the square.
She was going to wait in line, but flickering candlelight that illuminated a chapel at the end of a cobblestoned street caught her eye. She changed course and entered the sanctuary of light as a heavy bell rang, startling her.

  Inside, the lonely violin music echoed off carved stone columns in the narthex. The floor was travertine and heavily veined marble in shades of grey, black and sienna. At the front of the church a couple sat, whispering with a priest, their heads bowed. She dipped her fingers into the cool water of the sacristy and, as if they could hear the droplets coming off her fingers, the trio looked up at her.

  Anne moved to the side, where a table was covered in garnet-colored votive candles. She lit a votive, and using a stubby yellow pencil from a basket filled with scraps of paper, she wrote her prayer, folded it once, and slipped it under a votive. Her last view up to the nave as she left the chapel was that of the three figures, now standing, ready to leave.

  As she wandered the streets of Genoa, the scent of citrus blossoms filled the night air. The dark streets felt oddly safe and familiar. She turned a corner and slammed into someone. She gasped and looked up to see a woman with jet-black hair, dark eyes, and a muscled and toned body. She wore the strong perfumed scent of a woman, and her lips were neon red.

  Anne was about to apologize for her distraction when the woman’s lips pulled back in a smile, revealing two large white fangs.

  Blood pounded through Anne, through her head. Sound muted. Her vision narrowed to focus on the sharpness and angle of the woman’s fangs. Her mind eliminated all other thoughts but the terror and havoc those fangs could cause. Her body refused to move. Blotches appeared before her eyes, as if she were having a cluster migraine.

  “Your mistake to cross my path tonight, human. Now you’ll pay for it with your life.”

  The woman’s words echoed through the empty night but Anne couldn’t make sense of what the woman’s words. She couldn’t run. Could only struggle to suck in oxygen. The vamp seized her body, then tossed her high in the air to let her fall to the ground. A sharp snap and pop sounded and pain shot through Anne. Her mind struggled to make sense of the attack, but all she knew was that something was broken inside her. Bones. Free will. Both.