Bite me tender a monster.., p.1
Bite Me Tender: A Monster Romantic Comedy, page 1
BITE ME TENDER
ZORA BLACK
BITE ME TENDER
By Zora Black
Copyright © 2023 by Zora Black
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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CONTENTS
1. Belladonna
2. Chris
3. Belladonna
4. Chris
5. Belladonna
6. Chris
7. Belladonna
8. Chris
9. Belladonna
10. Chris
11. Belladonna
12. Chris
13. Belladonna
14. Belladonna
15. Chris
16. Belladonna
17. Chris
18. Belladonna
19. Chris
20. Belladonna
21. Chris
22. Belladonna
23. Chris
24. Belladonna
25. Chris
26. Belladonna
27. Chris
28. Belladonna
29. Chris
30. Belladonna
31. Chris
32. Belladonna
1
BELLADONNA
Five years ago…
The excitement of the crowd is so palpable I can feel it on my skin. It sends electric tingles down my arms and across my shoulders. It runs through my spine and straight down my legs, weakening my knees.
For a moment, I feel hopelessly dizzy. My stomach turns over and my vision blurs. I desperately take a deep breath and hold it, staring at the ground while I try to regain my composure.
It’s okay, everything’s okay, you’re okay.
Someone bumps my shoulder, and it forces me to look up. I’m stuck in a thick crowd, a raggedy line of people queued up before a huge iron gate. Every single face in the crowd looks like a nightmare—creatures born of a darkness beyond imagining. They leer and growl, their strange, dark clothes and fearsome expressions betraying eternal, never-ending menace.
I can’t help it. A big grin stretches across my face.
This is definitely my kind of nightmare.
Far off, there is a clash of sticks against cymbals. The crowd roars and screams. The people around me start shoving and pushing to get through the gate. The concert has started, and no one wants to miss a single beat.
Someone jostles me in their hurry to get to the front, and instead of shrinking away, I plant my feet and shove back. The other girl gives me a glare, but instead of looking upset with me, I see her face soften into frank admiration.
“Nice outfit!” she says. A warm feeling spreads through my chest and even though I’m still breathless with anxiety, my grin widens.
“Thank you,” I whisper, having trouble finding my voice. Even though this is my scene, the scene I desperately want to be a part of, I’ve spent most of the day struggling with imposter syndrome.
And losing.
This girl really has it all. Purple fishnets, a black silk corset and a shiny leather mini skirt. Her hair is streaked with white against black and purple layers. She is the epitome of a goth queen.
“No drama,” she says, grinning. Her eyes flick over me one more time and I detect no sarcasm or teasing—she really does like my outfit.
The black and red mini dress is not something I ever thought I’d have the courage to wear. The neckline plunges, the skirt is ridiculously short and has a deep split up the right thigh almost to the hip. The bright red satin covered by a black lace filigree of spider webs isn’t subtle in the slightest.
I was worried that I’d turn out looking like a poser, especially when I decided on chunky, knee-high boots to go with it. It’s almost too sexy, as well as enhancing the stereotype to such an extent it could be satire.
But she likes it. She didn’t laugh at me.
As the massive crowd shuffles through the gate, I let myself look around a little. I can see lots of guys and even a few girls shooting me appreciative looks. One guy holds my eye a second too long and it makes me blush and look away.
The crowd is moving faster now as we approach the stage. I’m so excited I can’t even tell which band is playing, but I know there is an excellent line up of goth and emo bands set for the night. As I bounce a little to get a good look, I realize it’s just a local group opening up, not a big name.
Since the crowd is mostly gravitating towards the stage—most likely to start a mosh pit—I fall back a little, drifting back to the refreshment stands. As I pass by one of the trucks I catch a glimpse of myself in the polished metal and feel another boost of confidence.
My black lipstick might be a bit much, and my hair looks like golden silk. I was worried my natural color wouldn’t match the outfit, especially when I saw the girl with the violent purple streaks.
It all works. Don’t worry. You look great, girl!
There is plenty of space around the food trucks and I sway idly to the music as I wait in line for an energy drink or something stronger.
I’m getting close to the counter when a tall guy in a trench coat gives me a shove. I stagger on my high heels, and I don’t even have enough breath to shout as I suddenly spin towards the ground. I’ve got my teeth clenched for the impact when someone grabs my arm.
“Hey,” a deep voice cuts through the chatter of the crowd and the music that saturates the air. I lean into the pressure on my arm, getting my balance so I can stand up straight. “Are you okay?” The voice cuts through all the other sounds again. It resonates through me, as if he could touch all the secret parts of me just with his words.
“I’m—I think I’m okay,” I stutter, looking up towards the guy who is still holding on to my arm.
Even though the crowds are screaming, and the band is raising hell with every instrument in existence, silence seems to fall around us. As his dark blue eyes meet mine I feel my heart skipping in my chest, fluttering against my breastbone.
I’m very aware of his warm hand on my arm. His grip is gentle, but his touch is firm. He smiles, just slightly, and my gaze darts to his perfect bow shaped mouth. Curls of unruly black hair fall across his forehead, enhancing the paleness of his skin.
“Are you alright?” he asks, again.
I nod quickly, wondering if my throat will open up enough for me to speak. My lips are numb, so I probably couldn’t talk, anyway. Talking would require having something to say. My mind is blank, utterly empty. Excitement like nothing I’ve ever known is charging through me, tightening my chest and making my knees weak.
“That guy is lucky he took off,” the dark stranger mutters. “I was more worried about helping you up than chasing him down, but it was so rude, what he did. I don’t get how anyone could be in so much of a hurry. Are you really okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice coming out husky and smooth. I thank all the gods in existence that my anxiety attack is manifesting as a smoldering sexy calm. I hope.
“I’m Chris,” he says, smiling. He lets go of my arm and holds out his hand for me to shake.
I wrap my fingers around his and give a firm squeeze. “I’m Sarah,” I answer, grinning. I’ve only been looking into his eyes for a matter of minutes, but somehow, it’s like I know him. Even crazier, it feels like he knows me. It’s almost as if his eyes can see right through me, and he likes what he sees.
“Would you like to get a drink?” he asks. “I mean, obviously, you’re here to get a drink, but would you like to… with me?”
My grin stretches so far that my cheeks hurt. I can see signs of confidence and wealth all over this guy. The fine cut of his clothes, the understated but obviously expensive watch and the calm that emanates from him.
This is a man used to getting what he wants. But he’s being so respectful, almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid I’ll say no. This rockets my confidence up high in a way nothing else could.
“Sure,” I agree, letting him lead me over to some benches where I wait until he comes back with two cherry sodas. He sits down close to me and instead of feeling intimidated, I feel relaxed and confident, as if I really can’t go wrong here.
The crowds swirl around us, bands come and go. I don’t notice. The only thing I’m noticing is Chris. We talk about music, movies and books, but I find it hard to follow.
There is something about the way he looks at me that mesmerizes me. There is a vibe about him like nothing I’ve ever felt before. When silence falls around us, Chris suddenly stops and looks around. I do too, surprised to find that the silence is real, and not just me stuck in my own little world. The band is packing up and the crowds are leaving.
“Oh, wow,” I say, standing up. “I didn’t realize how late it was!”
“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks, anxiously. “I can take you anywhere you want to go.”
I look back at him, drowning in those deep, dark blue eyes. The gentle, warm pressure of his hand on mine feels like a nuclear bomb about to go off. It will obliterate me. I’ll dissolve into him. What bliss. “Ah, no,” I reply. “I’m not in a hurry.”
All I want is to stay with you.
The way his eyes flash, it’s as if he heard my thought. “I’m staying in a camper nearby,” he says. “Do you want to come o
I nod eagerly, boldly wrapping an arm around his waist as we make our way across the grounds. He puts his arm across my shoulders as we approach the camping area not far from the stage.
“I thought these were just for the bands,” I say, looking up at the fancy trailers. Chris shrugs.
“Plenty of people follow the music. I’m lucky enough to have my own trailer.” He unlocks the side door on a huge truck and beckons me inside. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but when I get inside and see how big it is, my breath catches in my throat.
“You like it?” he asks. I nod quickly, looking around at the expensive furnishings and ample space. At the end of the hallway, there is a massive king-sized bed covered with a red velvet comforter. I take a few steps towards it, barely even aware of my actions.
“Sarah,” he whispers, my name as light on his lips as a prayer. “What do you want?”
Arousal streaks through me, throbbing deep between my legs and making my nipples harden against the fabric of my dress. I feel Chris’ hands on my waist as he turns me around.
“What do you want?” he asks again. I’m hypnotized by his gaze. His lips are so close to mine I can almost feel them.
“I want you,” I whisper. I’ve never wanted anything more. His lips finally touch mine and my body trembles through every cell. I surrender and let him take me, knowing that no matter what happens now, I will never be the same again.
2
CHRIS
Present day.
The angle of the sunlight through the blinds makes lines of neon on the far wall, signaling to me that the afternoon hour has grown late. I’m not in an especially big hurry, but I do want to get downstairs and open the bar soon. My regulars will be waiting.
I hum softly to myself as I put on a clean shirt and my favorite watch. I’m the boss, so I could go naked if I wanted to, but I still like to dress neatly. It might be a very small bar in an equally small town, but it’s all mine and I am very proud of it.
I head down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I don’t have to hurry—I don’t even have to be here at all, really. The kind of money I have in the bank gives me the freedom to go anywhere I choose.
And I choose to be here.
As I come through the service entrance to the main floor, I wave hello to the waitress and bartender who are getting set up for the evening. “Ready for tonight?” I call out to them.
“You bet!” Mark is a good guy. He’s only twenty-two but he knows how to make every cocktail in the book.
“Always!” Stella is here almost every night, but she never loses her enthusiasm for helping people, a rare gift in the service industry.
I pause by the window, rolling up the sleeves of my white silk shirt. The rays of the sun are almost horizontal now as it sinks towards the horizon. I’m always far more energized at night. I can stand the sun, but it’s not always comfortable for me.
I close my eyes briefly, enjoying the warmth from the pale gold light. My vampiric senses are coming alive as the night draws closer. I can hear mice in the roof and smell the damp in the aged wood. Even from across the room I can see the heat in Stella’s blood as she wipes down tables, preparing for opening time.
My need for blood isn’t overpowering right now. Even if it was, I wouldn’t attack innocent humans. The first hundred years or so are really difficult, but the thirst is something every vampire gets used to. I’m not sure exactly how old I am now, around three hundred, maybe. It’s very easy to lose count.
The warmth on my face cools slightly as the sun slips away from the window. Immediately all my senses are heightened. The thrill is just as spectacular now as it was the first night I ever felt it. My skin tingles, as if I could absorb information simply from the vibrations in the air.
I turn around and head over to the bar, making a little small talk with Mark. It’s midweek, so the bar most likely won’t be too busy tonight, but all of us like to make our customers happy.
I wipe glasses and stack them by the beer taps, still whistling the little tune that I can’t get out of my head. It’s weird, but I can’t place it, not exactly. In an attempt to distract myself I start the sound system with a bit of dark, moody metal.
Even though it’s still a little early, I decide to open the doors. The Murphy’s probably won’t be long, and Veronica is always around. Chet likes to get in a drink or two before it gets too late because he often shifts into wolf form at night.
Humming softly as I head towards the doors, I finally place the song. It was played by a small-time indie band at a concert I went to years ago. A concert where…
I shake my head a little, trying to focus on the present moment.
I’m still stuck in the past when I push the big double doors open. To my surprise the pale, dying sunlight is blocked by a tall man waiting right outside. He’s so close that without vampire reflexes I might have slammed the door right into his face.
“Hello,” I say, trying to sound welcoming. “Can I help you?”
The guy is definitely a stranger, and it makes me instantly suspicious. He has sandy hair and he’s wearing a decently tailored suit. The price tag wouldn’t come close to any of my own clothes, but it’s much fancier than most people in this town could afford.
“Yes,” the guy says, grinning. “Are you opening now? Would it be okay if I come inside and take a look around?”
Something about the guy’s enthusiasm sounds fake, but I can’t detect any malice in him. I tilt my head as I take in a deep breath to catch his scent. He appears to be human, and not a threat. “Sure,” I say, shrugging. “Come on in. It’s a little early, but the place should pick up in an hour or so.”
“You’re very kind,” the man says, walking past me. I expect him to head straight for the bar, but he doesn’t. To my surprise he wanders around, looking at the paintings on the walls and the high, almost gothic style ceilings.
Slowly, I head back over to the bar where Mark has everything set up for the night. He gives me a sideways look and I just shrug.
Stella stops wiping tables and heads over to the stranger. Her ready smile and genuine warmth come out for everyone, stranger or not. “Hello,” she says, brightly. Even though she’s older, with streaks of gray showing at her temples, she has a youthful exuberance about her that will never age.
“Hi,” the guy says, barely looking her way.
“Can I help you with anything?” Stella asks. “Get you a table maybe, or a drink?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” he says, waving at her a little. She turns towards me and pulls a face, shrugging with her whole body. I have to hold in a laugh as she walks past me towards the kitchen.
I’m starting to get worried I might have to throw him out. My regulars will be here any minute and the only reason I still run this place is to create a safe haven for my friends to relax. This guy might not be obviously dangerous, but he is beyond weird. Coming from someone like me, a statement like that lands him deep in the plains of peculiarity.
“Wonderful!” the guy announces. He turns away from the walls and strides over to the bar, taking a stool right in front of me.
“Can I help you with anything?” I ask, trying to figure out what this guy’s problem is.
“No, thank you,” the guy says, holding out a hand. “I’d like to introduce myself. I’m Joe Norden, and I’m a producer for the TV show ‘Nightwatch.’ I’d like to ask your permission to film here.”
“Right here?” I ask, surprised. “In my bar?”
“Well, yes, but all over the town, as well. Our influencer, Belladonna, goes to interesting and spooky locations to film attractions and meet locals. We cater to an audience with particular tastes. They like dark. They like scary. They like ghosts. You, my friend, have it all in just one building.”
