When Sarah Solomon took refuge in an old cottage in the woods, she knew it would only be a matter of time before the monsters came a' calling.
Cursed with a power she neither wants, nor knows how to harness, Sarah has become a target, but who is he...
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Okay, not might just have been the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes upon.
Probably. Most likely. Way up there in the highest of percentiles.
Sébastien Dufort was tall, with an athletic build – the kind humans have when you know they run ten kilometres before breakfast with ease and shun every kind of sugar known to man. His soft chestnut hair was cut in a way that was so effortlessly cool, that it was obvious no matter how he styled it, he would always look like a Vogue photoshoot. His eyes were a startling blue, in that annoying fictional vampire way, and although his look was casual – a plain black shirt and tailored pants – I could tell his clothes oozed designer, undoubtedly all French cut. As Michael climbed the few steps to greet him at the doorway, my eyes were drawn to Sébastien's bare feet. Ordinarily, feet were really not my thing, but I could imagine the gods inventing new myths about Sébastien Dufort's feet. Choirs of angels exalting the Heavens every time he walked. Bards writing sonnets.
I think I was still staring at his feet, when I heard Michael call my name.
'Huh? What's that?' I said, looking up to see Michael glaring at me and Sébastien smiling, his lips slightly parted, as if he knew exactly what I'd been thinking.
'Sarah, this is Sebastien Dufort, leader of the Parisian den. Sébastien, this is... Sarah Solomon,' Michael said. God, it sounded as if even saying my name disgusted him.
'Leader of nothing,' I said, with a brash grin that belied the flickers of nerves I felt standing on the doorstep of an actual vampire den.
With a move that not only sent my already-frayed edges unravelling, but which also seemed to astonish Michael, Sébastien stepped forward and grasped my hand in greeting, bringing it to his mouth and planting a soft kiss to my knuckles.
It was just a kiss. One small press of his lips upon my skin. Yet my heart picked up a maddening beat that I was sure must have sent shockwaves across Paris.
'Mes excuses, mademoiselle,' he said softly, his mouth still hovering so close to my skin that I could feel the faint tickle of his breath. 'I took your hand without even asking if you were comfortable for me to do so. Forgive me?'
I stared at him, until I realised my own mouth was still open and he was now looking at it, a glint of something hot and weighty in his eyes. I closed it abruptly, swallowing hard and doing my best to regain my composure.
'Sure,' I managed to mumble. 'I mean, it's fine.'
'Is it?' he said, holding up my hand and running his thumb along the knuckles. My curse raged at me, although I couldn't deny the pleasant vibration that coursed up my arm and nestled between my shoulder blades.
'I cannot begin to understand how it feels for a Sensor to be in such close proximity to my kind,' he continued. 'It is not something we can experience. We can only be the cause of it. I have been told how it feels, naturellemente, the bad and the good...'
