All's Fair in Love and Blood

1. A Most Inconvenient Marriage

Chapter one

A Most Inconvenient Marriage

Nicolette

B reathe, breathe, breathe, I reminded myself. You just have to get through this.

“She’s going to fall in those heels,” I heard someone whisper, and I had to admit they were probably right—I wasn’t the most coordinated person on the planet.

“I didn’t even know she had a figure,” someone else tried—and failed—to whisper.

“Wow, she’s beautiful. How did that happen?” another wondered.

I wanted to stop mid-aisle, spin around, and announce: Listen up.

I’m having a full-blown nervous breakdown here.

The devastatingly handsome groom all you rude wedding guests are drooling over?

He’s a vampire. Yes, you heard me right—a freaking vampire, and he forced me into this marriage.

So maybe keep your commentary to yourselves. PS: Thanks for noticing I have boobs.

The loose scrubs I’d worn all through medical school and residency hadn’t done them any favors, and I’d been too busy to care, but the plunging neckline of this gown—along with the pearls, diamonds, and sleeves that screamed “expensive hostage situation”—pushed them to the forefront today.

The dress was a gift from the groom, though “groom” was a generous term.

He was less husband, more bloodsucking, company-stealing fiend.

Correction: plasma -sucking, company-stealing fiend.

Who knew that the plasma therapy that Hart Labs, my family’s company, had discovered to treat porphyria, commonly known as “vampyre disease,” would be a magic elixir for actual vampires?

It made them almost human, giving them the ability to be out in the sunlight and temporarily curing them of their lust for blood.

It was my mother’s discovery. Her greatest one. And the one the world would know her for.

I swallowed down the hurt still echoing within me from the tragic car accident that had taken her life just last year.

The memory still rang in my ears—metal, glass, and a man’s voice I couldn’t place.

It was right before the vampire had entered my life.

I vowed I would do my best to continue her legacy and use science to better the world and .

. . if possible, free myself from my groom.

But first, I had to marry the oh-so-hot and sexy ruthless jerk I hated with everything that I was and am .

. . otherwise known as Julian Rossi. He was waiting for me by the altar, looking as dashing as ever in a black tux.

His unusual pale-blue eyes, an effect of the plasma, roved over my entire body, from my red hair done in an elegant French twist to the plunging neckline of the dress.

Julian seemed most interested in that. He’d better get a good look because it was the most he was ever going to see of me.

Did it seem wrong to anyone else that he could stand so casually next to the priest in such a holy place, knowing that he was coercing me into this complete sham of a wedding? It was only months ago that he’d delivered his threat: marry him and hand over Hart Labs, or my father and I would die.

It was common knowledge that one day Hart Labs would be mine, even though I wasn’t all that business savvy, to the dismay of my father, who was gripping me tightly.

Like my mother, I preferred the lab over the boardroom.

But regardless of how much I did or didn’t know about the corporate side of things, none of my business classes ever taught me what to do if a vampire infiltrated my company and, instead of just waging a hostile takeover, threatened me with death if I didn’t marry him.

Not that he couldn’t stage a takeover. He’d acquired voting control by pressuring the board and throwing money—lots of money—around.

But apparently the Rossi family, if you could call them that, figured they would draw less attention to themselves by marrying into company ownership rather than taking it by force.

This path offered public legitimacy and guarded the secret of what they really were.

I suppose I wouldn’t want anyone to know I was a nightmare come to life either.

As a doctor of clinical pathology, I had a hard time believing they existed, but now I’d seen enough to know vampires were indeed real.

It was a shame they didn’t sparkle like in the movies—and that you couldn’t kill them with a stake through the heart.

The media had really let me down in that regard.

Despite all this, I smiled the most genuine-looking smile I could conjure because it was imperative that I made everyone believe this horror show was a fairy tale wedding.

I especially had to convince the Rossis, each of whose piercing blue eyes I could feel watching my every move as I walked down the aisle.

Particularly Cyrus’s—Julian’s “brother” who was standing next to him as his best man.

Ironic that his name meant “sun,” since every time I was around him, I felt a chill go down my spine.

His ethereal appearance hung in the air like a mystery I didn’t wish to solve.

His olive skin, contrasted by the blue eyes, gave him a presence even more commanding than Julian’s, and that was saying something.

Honestly, I hated Cyrus even more than Julian. He’d assumed my mother’s position as chief medical officer of Hart Labs, and that seemed like a deeper betrayal to me. But I would never say those words out loud. Every glance from him reminded me that he was no one to be trifled with.

I took another step forward in the stupidly high heels I was wearing and came down wrong on my left ankle and twisted it. “Ouch,” I squeaked while several guests gasped.

“Are you all right, Nicolette?” Dad gripped my arm tighter, steadying me. His voice was taut with worry.

The answer to that was no. No matter how beautiful the cathedral looked, with hundreds of candles burning brightly and thousands of white roses splayed across everything from the ends of the pews to the organ, this was an ugly situation that frankly terrified me.

All I’d ever wanted to do was help cure people through plasma therapies. Keeping the undead alive and well was never on my radar. Nor was being married to one.

And let’s be real: Dad and I were disposable humans.

Julian was surely only buying time until he could make our deaths look natural.

I wasn’t sure how many months or years that bought us.

But I’d come to the terrible conclusion that .

. . well . . . I could hardly even think about it.

Especially in church. But the truth was: I was going to have to kill my groom before he killed me.

It really brought new meaning to the whole until death do you part vow.

As a doctor, I’d sworn to uphold the Hippocratic oath—but surely vampires weren’t included in that fine print. It’s not like I wanted to kill anyone. I just wanted to survive.

Besides, I wasn’t even sure I could kill Julian. Apparently killing a vampire is so difficult that it usually takes another vampire to do it. How? No clue. Julian wasn’t exactly eager to share those trade secrets.

Once again, Hollywood had gotten it all wrong. No sparkling immortals. No handy wooden stakes. Just me, trapped in a nightmare marriage with a plasma-sucking fiend who looked far too good in a tux.

But . . . if plasma could cure them of certain traits, maybe it could harm them too. Often, the same therapies that helped could also hinder, given the right adjustments. All I had to do was figure out which one of the over three hundred plasma proteins would do the trick. If any.

And could it really be considered murder if the victim had already sort of died?

Maybe I was ridding humanity of the greatest threat it had ever known.

That had to be heroic. These are the things I told myself to assuage my guilt.

Because the truth was, I wasn’t some femme fatale plotting revenge.

I was a nice, nerdy girl who loved crossword puzzles, chess, and binge-watching the extended editions of The Lord of the Rings . Hardly the résumé of a vampire slayer.

And here I thought Julian was a hypocrite for standing before the priest. At least I had some remorse about it. Not to mention I was trying to save my father’s life. That had to count for something. I hoped.

“I’m fine,” I lied . . . in church, no less.

Dad patted my hand.

One positive that had come out of all of this was that my dad had been the most paternal he had ever been in my entire thirty-two years. Wallace Hart had never been father-of-the-year material. Growing up, he seemed to care more about the company and profits than he did about me, or even my mom.

As we continued our descent toward hell, Delia, who was my mother’s best friend and the county medical examiner, caught my eye from the front-row pew, looking as if she wanted to rush to my aid and get me an ice pack.

I nodded to let her know I would survive.

Delia exhaled, relieved. I gave her a weak smile as I admired her perfectly smooth skin that she had once kept covered at all times.

And she no longer needed to walk with a cane.

Her muscle weakness had vanished. It was for her that my mother had made it her life’s goal to help treat porphyria.

She’d wanted to give her dearest friend a new lease on life, and she had.

Delia even looked much younger now than her fifty-five years, even if she wore tons of makeup. I supposed it was a generational thing.

I’d always loved Delia. She had the best stories from her years as a medical examiner—some gruesome, some hilarious, but always intriguing. Now that my mother was gone, I loved her even more.

She’d been the one to help me dress in the bridal suite just moments ago, her hands steady even as her expression seemed to question me.