PG Forte: Here's a snippet from one of my current WIPs. Dancing in the Dark is scheduled for release in September in connection with Rejected by the Immortal, A Limited Edition Vampire Rejected Mates Collection (available for preorder: https://books2read.com/rejectedimmortal).
“Pierre, can you speak?” Armand asked as he helped ease the other man down to sit on the stoop. He crouched before Pierre and reached for the collar of his coat, fearing what he would see, but needing to know the extent of the damage. “Can you breathe? Talk to me. How badly are you hurt?”
“Armand?” Pierre opened his eyes and peered groggily at him. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”
“I don’t understand,” Armand muttered. He sat back on his heels and stared in confusion at Pierre’s undamaged throat. There was no blood, no wounds, no marks of any kind, just perfectly pink skin, a little damp, and slightly flushed with heat, but completely intact. Armand stroked his fingers over the surface. "C'est impossible."
“Stop that!” Pierre batted Armand’s hands away. “Are you mad? Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“Your neck. I-I saw it. You were hurt.”
“Hurt?” Pierre repeated, struggling to stand, but waving off Armand’s assistance. “What are you going on about? I’m perfectly fine.”
Armand rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can see how fine you are. I'm sure you always collapse on your way home. Tell me, who was that…that man who was here with you just now?”
Pierre frowned. “Nonsense. I did not…collapse. I was merely— Wait, what man? Who are you talking about?”
“The man who just left, of course. Who else?”
“Why are you bothering me with all these questions?” Pierre shrugged as he put his clothes back in order. “How am I to know who you’re talking about? I only just got here myself. Was it a vagrant?”
“I'm not judging you, Pierre. I promise. I have no interest in what you do, or with whom you do it. It makes no difference to me at all. But I saw you—both of you—here, together, in the doorway. Is he... Do you know him well?”
“Va chier,” Pierre said with a sneer. “What a very sordid imagination you have. I—” He broke off abruptly, swaying dangerously on his feet. “Tabarnak. I don’t feel very well.”
“You are hurt.” Armand grabbed Pierre's arm to steady him. “I knew it! What did he do to you?”
“Idiot.” Pierre pulled away again. “No one ‘did’ anything to me. I'm just a bit drunk, I think. I… Yes, that’s right. I stopped at a bar tonight, if you must know, on my way home. I suppose I had one too many. A regrettable mistake, but one that does happen, occasionally.”
Armand frowned at the absurdity. “Stopped at a bar? Bah. You did no such thing. Why, we've only just come from the theater. You were no more than a few minutes ahead of me. Besides, there’s no place open within several blocks of here.”
“Well, you would know about that, I suppose.” Pierre pushed away from the building and took a few staggering steps along the sidewalk. “And far better than I. But what difference does it make? The fact that I’m feeling a little unsteady is proof that I must have had more to drink than was good for me. So, obviously, I had to have stopped somewhere along the way. N'est-ce pas? The fact that I don’t recall where, exactly, merely underscores the point. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get home to my wife.”
“Good idea,” Armand said as he fell into step beside him. “I’ll walk you there.”
Pierre glared at him. “Piss off, Renaud. I don’t need a babysitter.”
Armand shrugged. “Too bad for you. T'ant pis por toi. Because you have one all the same.”
The trek to Pierre’s house was uneventful—if tiresome, due in large part to Pierre's continued crankiness. Armand was tempted more than once to leave the annoying bastard to find his own way home. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Awareness crawled across his skin, and he couldn't shake the feeling that they were being followed. His nerves had him jumping at shadows and glancing over his shoulders to the point where Pierre snapped at him, demanding that he stop being so twitchy.
“And you’re absolutely certain you don’t recall anything that happened to you after you left the theater?” Armand asked, returning once more to the subject. “Anything unusual, I mean?”
Pierre snorted in amusement. “Why, yes, now that you mention it. It seems there's this pervert who's become fixated on me—quite without reason. He approached me on the street tonight and would not leave me alone.”
“You've remembered something? Bon. What did he say?”
“Oh, some absurd tale.” Pierre shrugged dismissively. “First, he insisted I was injured in some way, and that he was coming to my aid. Next, he claimed that I’d been attacked by some fantastical creature, a vampire, if you can imagine. And then he insisted on accompanying me home.”
“Crosseur,” Armand grumbled crossly. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re hardly my type.”
“Vraiment? Well, that’s a relief. And here I thought everyone was your type?”
Once Pierre was safely home, Armand hailed a cab to take him back to his own apartment. It was an unusual expense—and one he found very hard to justify, given the unsettled state of his career. But he incurred it all the same. The streets didn’t feel safe tonight.
Over the next few days, Armand continued to keep a close eye on Pierre. But rather than show any ill-effects, he seemed stronger and more fit than ever before. Could this be the result of his encounter with the vampire, Armand wondered. And if so, was it perhaps possible that the creature who’d not only healed the wounds on Pierre’s neck, but left him in better shape than he’d found him, could perform a similar miracle with Armand’s injured leg?
If a little bloodletting would save his career, Armand was all for it.
With that in mind, he began to take his time walking home at night, intentionally loitering at all the darkest and most deserted intersections, even issuing softly-voiced invitations. “I know you’re out there, bloodsucker. Come and show yourself.” But though he occasionally felt that same, eerie sensation of being watched, no one took him up on his offer. He never caught another glimpse of his mysterious stranger until the night of New Year’s Eve.
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