Page 6 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)

When Vampires Get the Sniffles

Kane

T he Charlotte skyline glittered beyond my floor-to-ceiling windows like perfectly ripened fruit ready for harvest. Usually, this view from the top floor of Kane Industries satisfied my need to survey my domain.

Today, it only reminded me how one small witch in a flower shop had managed to bring the most powerful vampire on the East Coast to his knees. Literally.

I rubbed the spot on my neck where she'd bitten me. The indignity of it all.

The quarterly reports scattered across my mahogany desk (imported, like everything else in my office) lay forgotten as I remembered the way her green eyes had widened just before I’d leaned in and she'd sunk her teeth into me.

In all of my existence, no one had ever dared.

More surprisingly, no one had ever succeeded in knocking me unconscious.

Yet somehow this slip of a witch, who looked like she'd apologize to a houseplant for underwatering it, had managed both.

Insufferable woman. Fascinating woman.

My fingers traced over the edge of the report from my intelligence team about her business.

Floramancy had grown from a tiny shop in the magical hub of Charlotte's supernatural suburb in just three years to a thriving business that worked with so many companies I can’t imagine how she is doing it all herself.

The file detailed her client list (impressive), her specialties (concerning), and her recent innovations in protection spells (extremely concerning, given yesterday's evidence).

I definitely wasn't lingering on the surveillance photo showing her laughing with a customer, dimples on full display.

A knock interrupted my absolutely-not-brooding. "Enter."

Margaret strode in, her heels clicking against the marble floor with the precise rhythm that had kept my empire running smoothly for over a decade.

One of the few humans I trusted with my true nature, she'd earned that trust by being unflappable in the face of the supernatural – and unimpressed by my attempts at intimidation.

"Sir," she said, dropping a fresh stack of files onto my desk. "We have a situation."

I arched an eyebrow. "More concerning than my impromptu performance art piece at yesterday's board meeting?"

"Actually, yes." She tapped her tablet. "We have fifty-seven vampires out sick today. Just from this building."

That got my full attention. Vampires didn't get sick. We were technically dead…ish – illness wasn't supposed to be an issue. "Symptoms?"

"Fatigue, disorientation, and..." she checked her notes with a frown, "an unusual aversion to fruit. Three were caught trying to break into the butcher's district last night."

I stood, moving to the window. The sun was setting, painting Charlotte in shades of blood orange. Fitting. "The processing plants?"

"Similar reports coming in from Durham and Atlanta. It seems to have started yesterday." She paused. "Sir, the last time something like this happened—"

"Was during the Great Transition, yes." When a witches curse had first forced our kind to transition into blood sucking monsters until the witch had died.

The memory of those dark days still haunted our histories.

"Get me numbers from all facilities. And have Dr. Chen start testing immediately. Quietly."

"Already done. Though she said preliminary results won't be ready for a while." Another pause. "Should we postpone your dinner plans?"

I turned back to fix her with my most intimidating stare. The one that had once made a dragon shifter stammer. "Why would we do that?"

"Well, with a potential crisis brewing..." Her lips twitched. "Though I suppose being knocked unconscious again might be a welcome distraction."

"Margaret."

"I took the liberty of having Legal draft a 'no biting' contract for you both to sign before appetizers."

"You're fired."

"Of course, sir. Will that be before or after your date with the witch who managed to take down the country’s most feared vampire with a protective ward gone wrong?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "It wasn't a ward. It was..." Actually, I still wasn't entirely sure what it had been. Another mystery about the infuriating woman.

"Mm-hmm." She tapped something into her tablet. "Shall I have flowers sent to Floramancy? Perhaps a lovely arrangement to apologize for threatening their business?"

I gave her my flattest look. "Are you suggesting I send flowers... to a florist?"

"Well, when you put it that way..." Her smirk grew. "Though given how your last encounter went, perhaps a helmet would be more appropriate?"

"Don't you have some firing paperwork to file?"

"Right after I brief the executive team. They're waiting in the conference room." She headed for the door, then paused. "Oh, and sir? You might want to change your tie. That one has raspberry juice on it."

The door clicked shut before I could respond.

I glanced down at my tie, then quickly changed it to a deep burgundy silk.

Not because I was wondering what Willow would think of it.

Purely because it better suited my position as vampire king.

Something that I needed to be clear about when we had our dinner tonight.

The walk to the conference room gave me time to compose myself.

This was purely business, I told myself, even as the mating bond hummed beneath my skin, drawing me toward her like a lodestone to true north.

A simple dinner to establish boundaries and ensure she wouldn't accidentally expose the supernatural community with her chaotic magic.

I tried to ignore the persistent ache in my chest, the one that had appeared the moment I'd first materialized in her shop.

She had to feel it too – the pull, the certainty, the rightness of it.

Every paranormal being knew the signs of their fated mate.

So why was she fighting this? Why had she literally bitten me to push me away?

The fact that I couldn't stop thinking about her dimples and the way her dress had fit yesterday was.

.. well, probably relevant, given she was apparently my destined match, but entirely unhelpful at the moment.

My executive team was already assembled around the massive conference table when I arrived. Each member had been carefully chosen over the centuries, their loyalty proven through decades or even centuries of service.

Lucius, my VP of Agriculture, was examining a piece of fruit with the intense focus of someone whose family had cultivated vampire-sustaining orchards since the 1800s.

Beside him, Remy shuffled financial reports with his usual precision, while Roxana, my Head of Distribution, argued with Marcus from Marketing about shipping routes.

Victor, my Head of Security, sat reviewing reports with a deepening frown, while Sophia from R&D was practically vibrating with what I suspected was either exciting research news or too much coffee. Knowing her, probably both.

I cleared my throat and the room fell silent. "Status reports. Victor, start with security."

He stood, tablet in hand. "Sir, the illness situation is spreading faster than anticipated. We're now at nearly two hundred cases across all facilities, all starting within the last twenty-four hours. Symptoms are... troubling."

"Elaborate."

"Increased aggression. Rejection of normal fruit sustenance. And..." he hesitated, "three incidents of employees attempting to access blood banks."

The room erupted in whispers. I raised a hand for silence. "Sophia?"

Our lead scientist adjusted her glasses. "Preliminary tests show cellular degradation similar to historical records from the pre-Transition era. It's as if..." she swallowed, "as if they're evolving."

"Impossible," Lucius cut in. "The Transition is irreversible. We've spent centuries ensuring—"

"Clearly not impossible," I interrupted. "Since it's happening. Sophia, solutions?"

"We're working on it, but without knowing the trigger..." She spread her hands helplessly. "We need more time."

"Time we may not have," Victor added grimly. "If this spreads—"

"It won't." My tone left no room for argument. "Double security on all facilities. Anyone showing symptoms is to be quarantined immediately. Humanely," I added as Victor opened his mouth. "They're sick, not criminals."

"And the human population?" Roxana asked quietly. "If this continues to spread..."

I stood, letting my authority fill the room.

"We maintain order. We find the cause. And we protect both our people and the humans.

That's what we've always done. This will not become a vampire hunting situation again. Worst case scenario, our security team can train them on how to handle their bloodlust. They’ve all been through it themselves. "

They nodded, some more confidently than others. I continued issuing directives, making sure each department knew their role in containing this situation. Only when I was satisfied did I allow the meeting to end.

As the last executive filed out, the subtle blue glow of my watch pulsed. "Sir," Atlas's crisp voice emanated from my office speakers, "might I suggest reconsidering tonight's dinner plans?"

"Already decided. I'm going."

"With all due respect, the current situation requires careful consideration. If you were to begin transitioning during dinner—"

"The witch may have answers we need." It was a perfectly reasonable justification. It had nothing to do with wanting to see those dimples again. "Besides, I'm hardly in danger from one small florist."

"May I remind you of the bite mark currently adorning your neck?

The same neck, I might add, that hasn't borne a scratch in all your centuries? Also, I’m more concerned for her safety than yours.

" A holographic image of my reflection appeared from my watch, highlighting said mark.

"And given the current crisis, there's no way to predict who might transition. Even you, sir."

I adjusted my tie, dismissing the hologram with a wave. "Your concern is noted, Atlas."

"As is your stubborn insistence on pursuing a witch who seems remarkably skilled at causing you bodily harm." A pause. "Though I suppose if you do transition, she's proven quite capable of handling herself."

"Shouldn't you be running probability matrices on containment protocols?"

"I'm an advanced AI, sir. I can multitask between protecting the vampire population and questioning your questionable romantic choices."

Alone again in my office – well, as alone as one could be with an AI watching through every security camera – I found myself back at the window, watching the last rays of sunlight fade from the city.

In a few hours, I'd be having dinner with the most intriguing woman I'd encountered in centuries.

Meanwhile, my people were falling ill with a mysterious condition that threatened everything we'd built.

I straightened my cuffs, checking my reflection in the window. The burgundy tie did look particularly good against my black suit.

"Sir," Atlas chimed in one last time, "might I suggest wearing something Kevlar-lined? Just in case?"

"Mute."

Besides, what could possibly go wrong over one dinner?