Dating a Vampire Read online

  Witch Harper Clarke is pretty sure misfortune follows her around like a bad smell. Her spells end in disaster, her dating agency for supernaturals has an embarrassing lack of clients, and her love life is a washout. So, when a vampire signs up to the agency and she can’t find him a match, she agrees to date the vamp herself.

  Charmer Damon Vertefeuille has it all: power, status, and wealth. Becoming a vampire to get his errant brother out of trouble isn’t what he expected. Newbie vamps aren’t supposed to be dangerous, but one look at his witchy date and he has a sudden desire to sink his fangs into her pale flesh.

  Thing is, she wants his bite.

  Chemistry sizzles, but when Damon’s brother threatens to tear them apart, the lines blur between loyalty, love, and dark desires.

  DATING A VAMPIRE

  Love Bites: A Dating Agency for Paranormals, #1

  Abbey MacMunn

  Published by Tirgearr Publishing

  Author Copyright 2020 Abbey MacMunn

  Cover Art: Cora Graphics (www.coragraphics.it)

  Editor: Lucy Felthouse

  Proofreader: Jessica Corra

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not given to you for the purpose of review, then please log into the publisher’s website and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting our author’s hard work.

  This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  Publishers and authors are always happy to exchange their book for an honest review. If you have obtained a copy of this book without purchase or from the publisher or author, please consider leaving a review on one of the vendor sites, as reviews help authors market their work more effectively. Thank you.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thanks to my beta readers, Amanda Morgan, Bel, and Iesha Carson.

  And a heartfelt thank you to Tirgearr Publishing for their support and encouragement.

  DATING A VAMPIRE

  Love Bites: A Dating Agency for Paranormals, #1

  Abbey MacMunn

  Chapter One

  “Does my bum look big in this?” Harper Clarke twisted her torso, casting a critical eye over her appearance in her bedroom mirror.

  “You look fantastic,” said Zarya. “Stunning, in fact.”

  Coming from Zarya, who had no trouble getting any man she desired with a mere flutter of her eyelashes and that haunting siren song of hers, it was indeed a compliment of great magnitude, but Harper still wasn’t convinced. “This is supposed to be my lucky black dress, but I don’t remember it being this tight the last time I wore it.”

  “Lucky? That would be a first for you,” her friend jibed. Then she choked on her drink.

  Karma.

  “Yeah, okay, so I’m not the luckiest of witches, but I can live in hope, can’t I?” She grabbed a cushion off her bed and threw it at Zarya. “I thought best friends were supposed to be supportive.”

  Zarya fended off the cushion assault with her arm. “I am. I said you look stunning, and you do.”

  Harper drained her glass of prosecco. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. So, who are you going on a date with? A Fae? An angel?” Her eyes widened like an excited child. “Ooh, a werewolf, maybe? I’m a sucker for an alpha male. Does he have a friend?”

  “No, he’s not a werewolf; he’s a vampire.”

  “A vamp? Are you mad?”

  “No, I’m not mad. His paperwork says he only turned four months ago, which means he won’t be dangerous.”

  “What paperwork? Wait…” It didn’t take her long to suss it out. “Oh my God, he’s a client from your dating agency, isn’t he?”

  Bingo. Harper might have known she couldn’t keep a secret from her friend for long.

  “No… yes. He might be.” She glanced at Zarya, noting her disapproval. “Don’t pull that face at me. I know it’s not exactly professional, but I haven’t been on a date in goodness knows how long, and he sounded so charming on the phone, and not at all ‘Vlad the Impaler’—”

  “Wait, you arranged a blind date with a vampire?” she interrupted. “What if he is dangerous, or worse, ugly?”

  “Vampires are never ugly, everyone knows that.”

  “Yeah, in the more recent movies. This is the real world, where we supernaturals have to live surrounded by the magic veil because woe betide the humans ever find out we live amongst them. We have the movies to thank for that,” she said, setting her lips in a tight line.

  Harper held up her hands, refusing to get into the same old argument.

  Zarya thought the humans should know of their existence, and although some did know, and were, on the whole, accepting of most paranormal beings, Harper came from a long line of witches, ancestors who had suffered at the hands of humans who feared their kind.

  No, the humans were not ready to know that things really did go bump in the night.

  “Calm down, Zar, don’t get on your soapbox. Not now, when I have a date with a newbie, not-remotely-dangerous vampire. As for being ugly, there’s only one way to find out.” She held up two lipsticks. “Which one—ruby red, or pink mist?”

  “With those crazy colours in your hair, I’d go with the neutral pink mist—less to clash with.”

  Harper peered in the mirror; she had to admit she’d outdone herself this time with the array of pastel colours in her hair. She thought it would be fun to sprinkle fairy dust into the hair dye, going for an ‘enchanted forest nymph’ look, but she’d ended up looking more like an explosion in a toy unicorn factory. Still, it was different, and she kind of liked it.

  “You definitely don’t want to wear the red lipstick,” Zarya continued. “As in, anything to remind him of the colour of blood.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Harper put the red lipstick back on her dressing table—she preferred the pink anyway. “I’ve spoken to him several times. Apparently, he had some questions about the forms I sent him to sign up to Magik Dates.”

  “I told you all that paperwork was antiquated and far too formal,” her occasional employee/bookkeeper friend told her. Occasional on account of Zarya being an ocean priestess and having to travel the seas for months at a time.

  Harper held out her empty glass. “I know. Any more wine in there?” she asked, nodding at the bottle.

  Zarya poured the last of the wine into their glasses. “I know you’re a hundred years old, Harper, but you need to stop acting like a granny and move into the twenty-first century. No one can be bothered to fill out forms and wait for snail mail these days. You need to get the agency online with a website, and an app people can use on their mobiles.”

  “Says the ocean priestess who doesn’t own a phone.”

  “Phones don’t work at the bottom of the ocean, and my tail doesn’t come with pockets.” She wriggled her toes and admired them, like she always did when she chose to transform her tail into long legs. “And it’s mermaid,” she corrected.

  Harper laughed, but joking aside, she suspected it was why her dating agency was failing. Big time. She was down to only ten clients on her books. Ten, and none of them were matches for each other—another reason she’d agreed to date the vamp. She didn’t have a suitable match, so rather than lose a client, she’d flirted a bit and it had worked. She had to face it, she needed new clients from the supernatural world, and lots of them. “I’ve been thinking about gett
ing a website designed for Magik Dates for a while now. I did some research, and there isn’t an online dating agency specifically for supernatural beings.”

  “Fab, that’s your USP then.”

  Harper frowned. “My what?” she asked, imagining some sort of computer virus thingy. Computers were not her forte.

  “Unique Selling Point; something that makes your business different from another. I did a course on it once.”

  “Oh.” Maybe she should take the course too. She focused. One thing at a time. “I’ve got an appointment next week with some kind of techno-wizard website designer who’s going to help me set up the agency online.”

  “A wizard, as in a real one? Or is it warlock? What do you call a male witch, anyway? Wizard always reminds me of Harry Potter, and a warlock makes me think of a demon with powers only used for evil.”

  She shrugged. “Either, I guess, but it’s female witches who have more power.” Except for her, unfortunately. “And the tech guy is a vampire.”

  “Another vampire? Why the sudden interest in bloodsuckers?”

  “No reason.” Harper applied her lipstick. “Anyway, hopefully, once the new website is up and running, I’ll get more clients.”

  “Good for you. Maybe your luck is about to change, starting with your date with the vamp tonight. What’s his name?”

  “Damon…” She pressed her lips together, pretending to touch up her lipstick while donning her best serious face. “Salvatore,” she finished.

  Zarya choked again, spluttering the last of her wine down her chin. “No way! A real live—or technically undead—vamp with the same name as that gorgeous guy from The Vampire Diaries? You have to be kidding.”

  Harper couldn’t hold back her laughter a second longer. “Of course I’m kidding, but it was so worth it to see your face. Talk about pot, kettle, getting all riled over inaccurate portrayals of supernaturals on TV and in the movies. And you have dribble on your chin, by the way.”

  “I do not.” She checked her chin all the same. “Just because I don’t approve, doesn’t mean I don’t watch them.”

  Harper rolled her eyes in despair. “And I thought I was the gullible one here.”

  “I’ll get you back, you know.”

  She knew.

  “So, what’s his real name?”

  “It is Damon, funnily enough, but his surname is something French-sounding I can’t pronounce.”

  “French? Ooh, la, la. Very chic,” Zarya said, failing epically in her attempt at a French accent.

  “That’s terrible.”

  Zarya grinned. “Maybe I could break my rules for a French vampire. You know I have a thing for accents too.”

  “Damon is my date, remember?” she pointed out to her man-eater friend. “He doesn’t have a French accent, not much of one anyway, more well-spoken English with a few sexy Rs rolled in for good measure.” She glanced at her watch. Time to go. “Not the type who likes to be kept waiting, I would imagine.”

  “You best get going then,” Zarya replied, laughing. “If this Damon guy is one-tenth as good looking as Damon Salvatore, you’re going to be one lucky witch.”

  Harper checked her appearance in the mirror one last time, then spoke to her pet frog. “What do you think, Prince, is my backside the size of Jupiter?”

  Prince croaked from inside his glass tank positioned on a shelf to the side of her bed.

  “Thank you, Prince.” She smiled at her frog—she couldn’t understand him, but he was a cute fellow with big bug eyes. She’d even kissed him once, to see if he’d turn into her very own real-life prince, but alas, her frog hadn’t become her gallant prince, and his slimy skin hadn’t tasted too good either. Not to mention the nasty rash that appeared on her top lip shortly after. For a whole week, she had to go around looking like she’d had an accident at the waxing salon.

  Zarya shook her head. “So, you listen to a frog’s opinion over mine? You do know it’s weird to keep a frog by your bed, even for a witch?”

  “He likes it there.”

  “Still weird.”

  “Says the ocean priestess, sorry, mermaid, who lures men into sleeping with her with her siren song.”

  “I don’t lure them, they come of their own free will. Anyway, what did the handsome Prince say?”

  “I’ll tell you later; after my date.” She headed for the door of her basement flat, smoothing down her black dress. It remained to be seen if it was still her lucky dress or not.

  Her luck had to change sometime, right?

  Zarya followed her to the door. “Have a fab time, Harper, and I want to hear all the juicy details when you get back.” She paused, her expression serious for once. “Be careful, okay? He is a vampire, after all.”

  “I will. I’m not completely naïve. If I get even an inkling he wants to have me for dessert, then I’ll use this.” Harper showed her the crystal vial dangling from a chain around her neck. “It’s got a spelled sleeping powder inside. I got the recipe from The Wicked Witch of the West, aka, my mother. It’s powerful stuff, this—it can knock out any magical creature, even a vamp, for hours.” She didn’t mention to Zarya she wasn’t sure it would work since her magic potion-making skills left a lot to be desired.

  “Let’s hope you don’t need to use it.”

  “Like I said, he’s a newbie—it’s the ancient vampires who are more dangerous.” She slipped on her jacket, stuffed her keys in the pocket and hooked her huge handbag over her shoulder.

  Zarya pecked her cheek. “Bye, Harper.”

  “Bye, Zar, don’t wait up.”

  * * *

  Harper paid the taxi driver and stepped out of the car.

  She looked up at the impressive architecture of the Mayfair restaurant and swallowed.

  Oh, shit.

  Sudden panic swept over her entire body. She questioned her sanity. A blind date with a vamp? Perhaps she was mad.

  The building loomed before her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date, and certainly not to a posh place like this; a chic, high-end French bistro.

  What did she know about French cuisine? What if the menu was in French? Fromage frais was her limit on the language—and brie, that was French, wasn’t it? Not that she’d ever tried it; good old English cheddar was her favourite. And didn’t they eat frog’s legs? She shuddered at the thought. Poor little things; frogs were funny creatures once you got to know them.

  Harper took a deep breath. She was here now, and her date might be a sophisticated vampire, but no one deserved the humiliation of being stood up—and she would know.

  She entered the building, her legs made of jelly, but her head held high.

  “Can I help you, mademoiselle?” asked a man standing behind a podium. He offered a kind smile, not at all stuck up as she’d feared.

  “Hello, I’m here to meet Mr…” Uh-oh, first stumbling block. “Mr Ver-tur-foy.” She crossed her fingers, praying she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself, and thanking her witch sense she’d thought to google how to pronounce his name on her way here.

  He nodded. “Ah, yes, Monsieur Vertefeuille is expecting you.”

  Phew. Harper released the breath she’d been holding—she’d pronounced it right. Maybe her luck was in after all.

  The man led her through an ornately carved door.

  The delicious aromas of garlic and warm bread greeted her as she took in the spacious room, transporting her into what she imagined she’d see in a chic restaurant in Paris—not that she’d ever been anywhere but the UK. Decorated in an elegant baroque style, striking artwork of Parisian buildings and nineteenth-century gilt mirrors adorned the panelled walls, and stunning, vibrant floral displays and bronzed sculptures dotted the room.

  The crowded restaurant was filled with sophisticated diners; well-dressed men in immaculately cut suits and women with perfect, coiffured hairstyles, and wearing classy, expensive dresses, their throats and wrists dripping with jewellery, the diamonds sparkling in the soft lighting.


  She followed the maître d’, instantly aware of the stares from the other diners stabbing at the nape of her neck like tiny needles.

  Uh-oh, second stumbling block. She didn’t fit in here with her tousled, multi-coloured hair and cheap, off-the-peg dress which had seen better days, and now seemed tighter than ever.

  Her steps faltered, but only for a second. She could cast a spell on the whole lot of them and watch them feeding like pigs at a trough if she so chose… at least she could if she learned how to.

  She smiled—everything would be fine if she kept smiling—and imagined them naked instead; it always seemed to work when her insecurities took hold.

  Harper followed the maître d’ as he led her towards a man sitting at a table in the corner of the restaurant.

  Her pulse rate rocketed. Please let him be my vampire date.

  The strikingly handsome guy had dark, burnt umber hair, styled to complement the soft waves, some of which tumbled onto his forehead. Designer stubble, trimmed to perfection, peppered his angled jaw and, from what she could see in the dim lighting, his eyes were even darker than his hair, glinting softly with something mischievous yet surprisingly kind.

  Whoa, dead sexy. Literally. She almost laughed at her own joke.

  She noted his impeccable navy suit covering his broad shoulders—she always did have a thing for broad shoulders—and crisp white shirt, worn without a tie, both of which probably cost more than she made in a year—heck, in five years—and his demeanour was casual yet refined, the epitome of suave and sophisticated.

  He sat there surveying the room, aware of everything and everyone around him, as though he was the king of all he surveyed. Perhaps he owned the place. He certainly seemed comfortable here.