“[Sands’s] trademark humor and genuine characters…keep her series fresh and her readers hooked.”
The third book in her phenomenal Argeneau vampire series, Single White Vampire by the incomparable Lynsay Sands is an unadulterated delight! This paranormal romance classic follows the romantic adventures of a dark and handsome immortal who writes paranormal romances, and who’d love to sink his teeth into his sexy new editor. When it comes to red hot vampire love stories, New York Times and USA Today bestseller Lynsay Sands is Queen of the Night!
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Single White Vampire
By Lynsay Sands
Copyright © 2003
All right reserved.
Thursday, September 12th
"Luc, you have unopened mail here from weeks ago. Don't you
read your mail? And what is this box?" She lifted the heavy
box as if it were feather light and gave it a shake.
His brother Bastien burst out laughing, but Lucern merely
rolled his eyes at her hen-pecking. No matter how old he got
his mother was likely to interfere and hen-peck. It was
something he'd resigned himself to long ago. "I'll get around
to it eventually," he muttered. "It is mostly nuisance mail or
people wanting something from me."
"What about this letter from your publisher? It's probably
important. They wouldn't send it express if it weren't."
His scowl deepened as she picked up the Fed Ex envelope and
turned it curiously in her hands. "It is not important. My
editor is just harassing me. My publisher wishes me to do a
"Edwin wants you to do a book signing tour?" She scowled at
this news. "I thought you had made it clear to him from the
start that you weren't interested in publicity?"
"Not Edwin. No." He wasn't surprised that she recalled his old
editor's name. His mother had a perfect memory, and he'd
mentioned Edwin many times over the ten years that he'd been
writing for Roundhouse Publishing. His first works had been
published as historicaltexts and were used mostly in
universities and colleges. Those books were still in use and
were celebrated for the fact that they were written as if the
writer had actually been there experiencing all he wrote.
Which, of course, he had. That was hardly public knowledge,
Lucern's last three books, however, had been autobiographical
in nature, recounting the stories of how his mother and father
met and came together, then how his sister Lissianna had met
and fallen in love with her therapist husband, Gregory. The
latest story, the one published just weeks ago, covered the
story of his brother Etienne and Rachel Garrett.
Lucern hadn't meant to write them, they'd just sort of come
out of him, and once he'd written them, he'd decided that they
should be published records for the future. After gaining his
family's permission, he'd sent them in to Edwin, his editor at
the time. That man had thought they were brilliant works of
fiction and published them as such. Not just fiction, however,
but paranormal romance. Lucern suddenly found himself being
sold as a romance writer, which was somewhat distressing for
him, so he generally did his best not to think about it.
"Edwin is no longer my editor," he explained. "He died last
year. His assistant was given his title and position and has
been harassing me ever since." He scowled again. "The woman is
trying to use me to prove herself. She is determined that I
should do some publicity events for the novels."
Bastien looked as if he were about to comment, but paused and
turned toward the door at the sound of a car pulling into the
driveway. Lucern opened the door and the two men watched with
varying degrees of surprise as a taxi pulled to a stop beside
Bastien's van in the two lane driveway.
"Wrong address?" Bastien queried, knowing he wasn't big on
"It must be," Lucern commented, then narrowed his eyes when
the driver got out and opened the back door for a young woman
to slip out.
"Who is that?" Bastien sounded even more surprised than Lucern
"I haven't a clue," he muttered as the taxi driver retrieved a
small suitcase and overnight bag from the trunk of the car.
"I believe it's your editor," Marguerite announced.
Both men swiveled to peer at their mother. They found her
reading the now open express letter.
"My editor? What the hell are you talking about?" Lucern
marched back to snatch the letter out of her hand.
Ignoring his rude behavior, Marguerite moved to Bastien's side
to peer curiously outside. "As the mail is so slow, and
because the interest in your books is becoming so widespread,
Ms. Kate C. Leever decided to come speak to you in person
about these matters. Which," his mother added archly, "you
would know did you bother to read your mail."
"She's quite pretty, isn't she?" The comment, along with the
speculation in his mother's voice when she made it, were
enough to raise alarm in Lucern. Marguerite sounded like a
mother considering taking the matchmaking trail.
"She's contemplating matchmaking, Bastien. Take her home.
Now," he ordered. His brother burst out laughing, moving
Lucern to point out, "After she has finished with me, she will
focus on finding you a wife."
Bastien stopped laughing at once and grabbed his mother's arm.
"Come along, mother. This is none of our business."
"Of course, it is my business." Marguerite shrugged her elbow
free. "You are my sons. Your happiness and future are very
much my business."
"Perhaps, but I don't understand why this is an issue now. We
are both well over four hundred years old. Why, after all this
time, have you taken it into your head to see us married off?"
Marguerite pondered that for a moment before saying, "Well,
ever since your father died, I've been thinking-"
"Dear God," Lucern interrupted, drawing his mother's curious gaze.
"What did I say?"
"That is exactly how Lissianna ended up working at the shelter
and getting involved with Greg. Dad died and she started
Bastien nodded solemnly. "Women shouldn't think."
"Bastien!" Marguerite Argeneau exclaimed.
"Now, you know I'm teasing, mother," he soothed, taking her
arm again and-this time-getting her out the door.
"I, however, am not," Lucern commented as he watched them walk
down the steps of the porch to the sidewalk. His mother
berated Bastien the whole way, and Lucern grinned at his
brother's beleaguered expression. He would catch hell all the
way home, Lucern knew and almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
His laughter died, however, as his gaze switched to the blonde
who was apparently his editor. His mother paused in her
berating to greet the woman. Lucern almost tried to hear what
she was saying, but decided not to bother. He doubted he
wanted to hear it anyway.
He watched the woman nod and smile at his mother, then she
took her luggage in hand and started up the sidewalk. Lucern's
eyes narrowed on the luggage. Dear God, she didn't expect to
stay here with him, did she? There was no mention in her
letter of where she planned to stay. He decided she must
expect to stay in a hotel. She would hardly just assume that
he'd put her up. The woman probably just hadn't stopped at the
hotel yet, he reassured himself, his gaze traveling over her
Kate C. Leever was about his mother's height, which made her
relatively tall for a woman, perhaps 5'10. She was also slim
and shapely with long blond hair. She appeared pretty from the
distance presently separating them. In a pale ice-blue
business suit, Kate C. Leever resembled a cool glass of ice
water to him. A pleasing image on this unseasonably warm
The cool image was shattered when the woman dragged her
luggage up the porch steps, paused before him, offered him a
bright cheerful smile that lifted her lips and sparkled in her
eyes, then blurted, "Hi. I'm Kate Leever. I hope you got my
letter. The mail was so slow and you kept forgetting to send
me your phone number, so I thought I'd come visit personally
and talk to you about all the publicity possibilities that are
opening up for us. I know you're not really interested in
partaking of any of them, but I feel sure-once I explain the
Lucern stared at her wide, smiling lips for one mesmerized
moment, then gave himself a shake and considered her long,
obviously practiced speech. Reconsider? Was that what she
wanted? Well, that was easy enough. He reconsidered. It was a
"No." He closed his door.
* * *
Kate stared at the solid wooden panel where Lucern Argeneau's
face used to be and could have shrieked with fury. The man was
the most difficult, annoying, rude, obnoxious-She pounded at
the door-Pigheaded, ignorant-The door whipped open and Kate
quickly pasted a blatantly false, but wide-she should get
marks for effort-smile on her mouth. The smile nearly slipped
off her face in surprise when she got a look at him. The man
was a lot younger than she'd expected. Kate knew he'd written
for Edwin for a good ten years before she took over working
with him. Yet he didn't look to be more than thirty-two or
-three. That meant he'd been writing professionally since his
Aside from that, however, he was also shockingly handsome. His
hair was as dark as night, his eyes a silver blue that almost
seemed to reflect the porch light, his features were sharp and
strong. He was tall and surprisingly muscular for a man with
such a sedentary career. His shoulders spoke more of a laborer
than an intellectual. Kate couldn't help but be impressed by
his good looks. Even the scowl on his face didn't detract from
it. Without any effort on her part, the forced smile on her
face took on some natural warmth as she said, "It's me again.
I haven't eaten yet, and I thought perhaps you'd join me for a
meal-on the company-and we could discuss-"
"No. Please remove yourself from my doorstep." Lucern Argeneau
closed the door once more.
"Well that was more than just a no," she muttered to herself.
"It was even a whole sentence really." Ever the optimist, she
decided to take it as progress and raised her hand to pound at
the door again. Her smile was somewhat battered, but still in
place when the door opened this time. This time, he didn't
speak but merely arched an eyebrow in question. Trying to make
her smile a little sunnier, she cleared her throat and said,
"If you don't like eating out, perhaps I could order something
"No." He started to close the door again, but Kate hadn't
lived in New York for five years without learning a trick or
two. She quickly stuck her foot forward, managing not to wince
as the door banged it before bouncing back open.
Before Mr Argeneau could comment on her gorilla tactics, she
said, "If you don't care for take-out, perhaps I could pick up
some groceries and cook you something you like." Then, for
good measure, she added, "That way we could discuss your fears
and I might be able to alleviate them."
He stiffened in surprise at that suggestion. "I am not afraid."
"I see." Kate allowed a healthy dose of doubt to creep into
her voice, more than willing to stoop to manipulation if
necessary. Then she waited, foot still in place, hoping that
her desperation wasn't showing, but knowing her calm facade
was beginning to slip as the man pursed his lips and took his
time considering her. His expression made her suspect he was
measuring her for a coffin, as if he might be considering
killing her and planting her in his garden to get her out of
his hair. Kate tried not to think about that possibility too
hard. Despite having worked with him for years as Edwin's
assistant and now for almost a year as his editor, Kate didn't
know the man very well.
In her less charitable moments, she had considered just what
kind of man he might be. Most of her romance authors were
female. In fact, every other author under her care was female.
Lucern Argeneau, who wrote as Luke Amirault, was the only
male. What kind of man wrote romances? And vampire romances at
that? She had decided it was probably someone gay ... or
someone weird. His expression at that moment was making her
lean toward weird. Serial-killer type weird.
"You have no intention of removing yourself, do you?" he asked at last.
Kate considered the question. A firm "no" would probably get
her in the door. But did she want in the door? Would the man
slaughter her? Would she be a headline in the next day's news
if she did get in the door?
Cutting off such unproductive and even frightening thoughts
right there, Kate straightened her shoulders and announced
firmly, "Mr Argeneau, I flew up here from New York. This is
important to me. I'm determined to talk you. I'm your editor."
She emphasized the last word in case he had missed the
relevance of that fact. It usually had a certain influence
with writers, though he had shown no signs of being impressed
She didn't know what else to say after that, so simply stood
waiting for a response that never really came. Heaving a deep
sigh, the man merely turned away and started up the dark hall.
Kate stared uncertainly at his retreating back. He hadn't
slammed the door in her face this time. That was a good sign,
wasn't it? Was it an invitation to enter? Deciding she was
going to take it as one, Kate hefted her small suitcase and
overnight bag and stepped inside. It was a late summer
evening, cooler than it had been earlier in the day, but still
it was hot outside. In comparison, stepping into the house was
much like stepping into a refrigerator. Kate automatically
closed the door behind her to keep the cool air from escaping,
then paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the dark
interior. Setting her bags down by the door, she started
carefully forward, heading for a square of light that suddenly
seemed so far away.
Lucern paused in the center of his kitchen and peered around
by the illumination of the night light. He wasn't quite sure
what to do. He never had guests. What did one do with them,
exactly? After an inner debate, he moved to the stove, grabbed
the tea kettle that sat on the burner and took it to the sink
to fill with water. After setting it on the stove and cranking
the dial on high, he found the teapot, some tea bags and a
full sugar bowl too. He set all of it haphazardly on a tray.
He would offer Kate C. Leever a cup of tea. Once that was
done, so was she, Lucern decided as hunger drew him to the
refrigerator. Light spilled out into the room as he opened the
door, making him blink after the previous darkness. Once his
eyes had adjusted, he bent to pick up one of the two lonely
bags of blood on the middle shelf of the large refrigerator.
Other than the two blood bags, there wasn't a single solitary
item in the cavernous white box. Lucern wasn't much for
cooking. His refrigerator had pretty much been empty since his
last housekeeper died.
Hungry, Lucern didn't bother with a glass, but-still bent into
the fridge-lifted the bag to his mouth and stabbed his fangs
into it. The cool elixir of life immediately began to pour
into his system, taking some of the edge off his crankiness.
Lucern was never so cranky as when his blood levels were low.
He jerked in surprise at that query from the doorway. The
action ripped the bag Lucern held, sending the crimson fluid
shooting out over him. It squirted in a cold shower over his
face and into his hair as he instinctively straightened,
banging his head on the underside of the closed freezer
Cursing, he dropped the ruined bag onto the refrigerator shelf
and grabbed for his head with one hand, slamming the
refrigerator door closed with the other as Kate Leever rushed
to his side.
"Oh, my goodness! Oh! I'm so sorry! Oh!" She screeched as she
caught sight of the blood coating his face and hair. "Oh God!
You've cut your head. Bad!"
Lucern hadn't seen an expression of such horror on anyone's
face since the good old days when lunch meant biting into a
nice warm neck rather than a nasty cold bag.
Seeming to recover her senses somewhat, the editor grabbed his
arm and urged him toward the kitchen table. "Here, you'd
better sit down. You're bleeding badly."
"I am fine," Lucern muttered as she settled him in a chair. He
found her concern rather annoying. If she was too nice to him,
he might feel guilted into being nice back.
"Where's your phone?" She was turning on one heel, scanning
the kitchen for the item in question.
"Why do you wish for a phone?" He asked hopefully. Perhaps she
would leave him alone now, he thought briefly, but her answer
nixed that possibility.
"To call an ambulance. You really hurt yourself."
Her expression became more distressed as she looked at him
again and Lucern found himself glancing down at his front.
There was quite a bit of blood on his shirt, and he could feel
it dripping down his face in rivulets. He could also smell it
sharp and rich with tinny overtones. Without thinking, he slid
his tongue out to lick his lips. Then what she'd said slipped
into his mind and he straightened abruptly. While it was
convenient that she thought the blood was from an injury,
there was no way he was going to a hospital.
Excerpted from Single White Vampire
by Lynsay Sands
Copyright © 2003 by Lynsay Sands .
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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