Page 44 of Don't Bite The Boss

But the hand continues to stroke my hair.

Sniffing, I raise my head, frowning, and look down into soft, chocolate eyes.

“You’re dead,” I whisper in shock.

“I feel dead,” he whispers back.

Screaming, I launch myself from the bed as Christopher, Serena, Nick, and Charlotte rush into the room.

18

I lay on the day lounge of his small sloop, the faint lap of the water slapping the side of the boat in a regular motion, like a heartbeat.

The moon picks up the light streaks in his hair as I trace his fangs with my fingertip.

His turning, his survival from his horrific wounds, is still something we have yet to understand, although Christopher and Serena are working on it, now they have access to many of Solomon’s well-kept vampire records. It was something to do with his blood link to his twin, that’s what we think, but Tristan maintains my fang nicked him when I kissed him hard on the plane, on the way to the wedding. He said he’d felt sick for much of the week leading up to the wedding, and particularly off-colour on the day of, but had put it down to nerves.

“How do you feel knowing I am a vampire? Do you still find me irresistible?” he asks now.

“I’ve bitten you enough since the wedding, haven’t I?” I quip.

“Yes,” he laughs, “and if I knew how much I’d like it, I might not have fought you off at all in the past.”

“Tristan,” I roll my eyes, “I wasn’t planning on giving you love bites then, I wanted to eat you.”

He laughs. “So, now that you can bite me at will, tell me, have you finally forgiven me?”

“Yes, mostly.”

“Mostly?” he raises one quizzical eyebrow.

I know what Tess would say if she were talking to me right now, which she isn’t, since the whole ‘Orson or your life’ stunt. She’d tell me to let bygones be bygones, to love while I can.

Losing him had shown me she was dead right.

But I don’t want to think morbid thoughts now, of when I thought I’d lost him, or get sad again over Tess’ isolation and refusal to see any of us.

But he reads my mind, somehow, as he does so often of late.

“You’re worrying about Tess again.”

“Yes,” I smile, “I need to go find out how she is. Valerie says she isn’t suicidal anymore, but still, it’s unlike her to isolate herself from me, from us.”

“We can go tomorrow,” he suggests.

“Yes,” I nod, “let’s. I’ll text and let Serena know later tonight. That’ll be a relief to her, she can focus entirely on mopping up the minions.”

Tristan frowns. “When I spoke to Christopher earlier, he said he was appalled at how embedded Solomon was in the underworld, ashamed that their businesses were linked for so long. He had no idea.”

“I know,” I sigh. “But Christopher is not alone, Solomon had many legitimate business partners to cover up his other ‘interests.’ He also had plenty of corrupt partners, from government officials to judges and the aristocracy. He’s always fulfilled the sinful needs of the wicked; children, drugs, slaves, organs, anything money can buy. It will take a long time to wash away his stain from the Earth.”

“I feel for Nick,” Tristan shakes his head, “I don’t think he and Charlotte are ever going to find out what happened to his father.”

“No,” I grimace. “He never made it to the wedding, but, according to Charlotte, he did make it to Italy. Which most likely means he was waylaid by minions or taken by the Cosa Nostra. Still, it will assuage some of Nick’s sorrow snacking on mafia the length and breadth of Italy.”

“Maybe,” Tristan muses, turning my face back to his, “and maybe the house of cards will crumble for us all tomorrow. But tonight, tonight is for us.”

“Mmmm,” I look into his chocolate eyes, “there is still the little matter of all the models you were photographed with every night while I was nursing a broken heart in Minnesota,” I say in a fake sulky voice.

“I told you, they meant nothing,” he shakes his head, “but I will make it up to you any way I can.”

“Well, this evening was a good start,” I smirk, “but there may need to be a great deal more before I amcompletelymollified.”

“More of this?” he says, pulling me back to him and rolling on top of me once more.

“Again, already, Mr Bear?” I smirk as I feel my stomach tighten once more in lust.

“Again, and again,” he says, staring down into my eyes, “however long it takes before you really forgive me, and agree to become Mrs Bear.”

“Oh.”