Love Bites And So Do I Paperback

ISADORA

The problem with starting over? It requires admitting you’ve failed in the first place.

Not that I was admitting anything, of course.

No, I was simply reinventing myself. Which any self-respecting vampire heiress would do after her entire world collapsed thanks to her cheating, egotistical ex-mate dragging her and her family into financial ruin.

Some called my situation a scandal—okay, everyone called it that—but I preferred to think of it as an opportunity. A chance to remake myself. To learn who I was outside of a hundred-year-long mate bond that had utterly screwed me over.

And that was how I’d ended up in this charming supernatural town called Eternity Falls, staring up at a building so run-down, I bet even the rats had abandoned it. I studied the building’s fading paint, the haggard shutters, the broken windows, and smiled. This place was far from perfect, but it was exactly what I needed. A new place to call home. A new beginning.

A few feet away, an older vampire—sharp-eyed, gray at the temples, and clearly appalled by this entire situation—cleared his throat.

“Miss Laurent…”

Ah, I was already Miss Laurent again. Guess news had spread of my rapid separation from my mate.

“…are you quite certain about this purchase?”

I faced Claude Delacroix, the unfortunate solicitor tasked with overseeing this acquisition’s legalities. His expression had settled somewhere between mild concern and the dawning horror of a man realizing he was complicit in something profoundly foolish.

I might have let it slip that my parents weren’t exactly supportive of this purchase—or even knowledgeable. Or hell, solvent. My ex-mate saw to that when his company went up in flames and took my family’s fortune—along with my trust fund—with it. But hey, that was what bank loans were for, right? Not that I had any experience in such things.

“Yes,” I said, clasping my hands in front of me. “I believe I am.”

Claude inhaled slowly, likely counting backward from ten. “It’s just…Eternity Falls is a rather peculiar place.”

“So I’ve heard.” From what I’d learned, humans didn’t know about this town. They had a strictly paranormal rule. And I was A-OK with that.

Claude continued, “And well, you’ve gained something of a reputation.”

I arched a brow. “Have I?” I was well aware of the circulating rumors. One didn’t exist in society without hearing them. People—whether paranormal or human—weren’t exactly discreet.

Claude coughed. “Your departure from New Orleans was…notable.”

“Ah.” I offered him my most charming, not-at-all-unhinged smile. “You mean when my mate’s company collapsed, thereby destroying my family name? Or do you mean the subsequent spectacle when I announced, in front of several hundred guests, that I would rather drink swamp water than stay bonded to a cheating bastard who possesses the moral integrity of a sewer rat?”

Claude winced, clearly pained. “It was a very public event.”

“Was it? I hadn’t noticed.”

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Gods help us all.”

When I showed no inclination to change my mind, Claude sighed, then reached inside the folder he held and extracted a small stack of paperwork. “Shall we finalize the sale, then?”

I faced my newest investment and said, “Yes. Let’s make it official.” And preferably before I started questioning my recent life decisions. Again.

He handed me a sleek black pen, and then the papers.
I frowned. “Shouldn’t we go inside? Surely, a table would make it easier to sign them?”

“Oh.” He gave a frantic laugh. “Here is fine. You may use my back.”

His…back? I blinked at the solicitor, then chuckled. Ah. Clearly, dear Claude would do anything not to step foot inside this bar. Curious.

Taking the pen, I gestured for Claude to turn, then pressed the paper against his back and signed my name with a slight flourish.

“Well,” Claude murmured after I handed him the signed contract. “Congratulations, Miss Laurent. You now own…” He hesitated and glanced up at the sad excuse for my bar. “…this.”

I beamed. “Thank you, Claude. Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”

He winced but gave a polite nod. “You’ll need permits to reopen, of course. And an inspection. The council must also approve—standard for all new businesses,” he added quickly, like I might accuse him of targeting me specifically. “And you’ll want to deal with…the prior tenants.”

I lifted a haughty brow and gave him the kind of look my father used to use when someone dared to serve him lukewarm blood. “Come again?”

Claude shifted uncomfortably. “The unresolved occupants.”

Ah. Understanding dawned.

“Ghosts,” I said.

Claude gave a tight smile. “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat.

So, my new residence and business was haunted. Lovely. I supposed that explained the suspiciously low price tag attached to the building. And perhaps why the previous owner had been so eager to sell.

After a brief contemplation, I shrugged. Ghosts hardly frightened me. In the paranormal hierarchy, they ranked closer to pests, whereas I, a vampire, sat at the top. It wasn’t like they could harm me.

“One would assume Eternity Falls has specialists for such inconveniences?”

Claude nodded. “The Ravenspells.”

Of course. The local witch family. As this was my first night in Eternity Falls, I hadn’t yet met any of the Ravenspells, but their reputation preceded them. I’d heard a mixed combination of glowing praise, hushed warnings, and read one report about a local werewolf who had spontaneously lost all their fur. Most suspected a curse, but no one could confirm, because the wolf in question soon vanished from society.

The Ravenspells were one of three legacy families within Eternity Falls. The kind with deep roots, deeper pockets, and absolutely no interest in sharing power.

The other two families were the St. Germains, a vampire dynasty with old-money charm, and the Wolfes, a werewolf clan best described as equal parts scandal, brawl, and soap opera.

Together, the three families owned the town. And according to Claude, who’d happily informed me of all the power dynamics at play here, the rest of us were simply the background characters in their ongoing, century-spanning drama.

Not that I had any intention of playing along.

My family name might be in tatters, my fortune reduced to a number the bank laughed at, and my love life currently starred a villain, but I refused to let anyone cow me. I was a Laurent, no matter the current state of things. My family may never reclaim their standing in society, but that hardly meant I couldn’t make something of myself.

Starting here.

With this…haunted, half-rotted bar.

How hard could it be?

I reached for the door, ready to step bravely into this bold new chapter of my life, when a strange sound stopped me. Had Claude just…squeaked?

I paused, hand on the door, and glanced over my shoulder. Claude stood behind me, the poor thing’s hands tugging at his tie and smoothing his lapels—all nervous tics, I presumed.

“Is there a problem, Claude?” I asked.

Claude blinked rapidly. “I thought, perhaps, Miss Laurent, that it might be best if you waited until morning to—ah—enter.”

“The morning,” I repeated drolly.

He eagerly nodded.

“Mm-hmm. And where exactly do you suggest I stay until then?” I lifted my wrist up just enough for the soft moonlight to catch my watch. It was a vintage Cartier. A limited-edition Tank Louis with black sapphires and a blood-red leather strap. My mother had gifted me this beauty for my bicentennial birthday. Sadly, it was the only valuable possession I had left.

“Sunrise isn’t for another ten hours,” I said. Vampires weren’t affected by sunlight, but I certainly needed somewhere to sleep. “Where do you expect me to stay in the meantime?”

“Oh, I—I’m certain one of the inns might have space—though they normally don’t. With the Harvest Moon approaching, the wolves have probably booked it all—but—”

“Claude.”

He stopped mid-ramble.

I smiled again. “Sleeping on the sidewalk in front of my newly purchased, questionably haunted property is not an option. So, I’m going inside. However, if you wish to flee in terror, please just do so with dignity.”

His shoulders sagged. “Very good, Miss Laurent. Enjoy your new home.”

With that, he delivered a polite but jerky bow, then turned on his heel and fled. So fast, in fact, the poor dear nearly tripped over the cracked cobblestone.

“Men,” I muttered, before pushing open the bar door and revealing my new domain.

And oh. The inside was a damn catastrophe. I supposed I deserved it. I had bought the place sight-unseen, after all. Some spontaneity was nice after two hundred years of life. But perhaps I’d gone a little overboard this time.

The smell was the first thing I noticed. The entire place reeked of musty wood, expired alcohol, and was that…? Yup, the distinct tang of something long-dead. A lovely aroma. Truly.

I drew a deep breath of clean air before stepping inside, grateful vampires didn’t have to breathe. We could go hours without, if the need presented itself. Which it just had. Extensively.

Braving a few steps, I slowly took stock. Across from me, running the back length of the wall, was a battered bar, likely from many years of pouring drinks. Behind that was a series of shelves, each lined with cracked bottles and broken glasses. Booths lined the other three walls, their cushions looking like something with claws had eviscerated them. Overturned tables, scattered seating, broken flooring, cracked walls… And on top of all that lay a blanket of dust that had my nose twitching.

I ventured behind the bar and started rifling through the drawers. One creaked ominously, another resisted my efforts entirely, and a third contained a mouse skeleton.

“Oh, lovely,” I muttered to myself.

I quickly closed the drawers and deemed that a problem for another day. I pressed onward. The ad had listed an upstairs loft, which was where I planned to live. But if it was anything like the downstairs, perhaps I would find a park bench to sleep on. Surely, that would be better than sleeping next to skeletons.

I guess there was only one way to find out.

I climbed the creaky stairs and was dismayed to find the loft was, in fact, worse than downstairs. The whole place was smaller than my old suite in the French Quarter. Then there was the ceiling. It slanted downward at the back and forced me to duck to peer out the drab, dingy window.
On the floor, right in front of the window, sat a sunken, narrow mattress—sans bedframe. I’d never personally slept on anything twin-sized before, but it looked like that was about to change.

Next to all that sat an old vanity with a mirror so thickly covered in grease and grime, it couldn’t reflect an image. Thankfully, that didn’t matter since I was a vampire and had no reflection to speak of.

All in all, the room had potential. Maybe. Hopefully. If you squinted. Or had a head injury.

At the end of the day, all that really mattered was this place was mine, and no one could ever take it away from me.

First thing tomorrow, I’d replace the mattress—

I stopped, then sighed. I couldn’t replace the mattress. Because I had no money. I’d sunk every last cent I had into this purchase. Because while I was technically a vampire heiress, I now had to add the word former onto that title.

Hell, I didn’t even have enough funds to replace the wardrobe I’d lost or buy myself blood. Things were looking…bleak. I’d used the last of my credit to secure this building—through a disreputable bank with chokingly high interest rates, no less. The indignity. I hadn’t so much as glanced at an interest rate in my entire life until this month, and now I’d shackled myself to one like a debtor in a cautionary tale.

Thanks to Trystan.

The vampire I’d trusted with my heart, my future, and, apparently, the key to my family’s financial ruin.

He wasn’t just unfaithful. He was a liar with a gift for numbers and an appetite for fraud.

He’d used my family’s name—our legacy—to court high-profile investors and pad his books. Opened half a dozen shell companies, rerouted funds through shady holding accounts, and spun it all into a gleaming blood-distribution empire that never actually existed beyond the glossy pitch deck.

My parents hadn’t invested everything, but they’d put in enough—along with public endorsements, connections, and reputational capital—to go down with the ship when the truth came out.

Then, to make matters worse, Trystan vanished two days after the investigation began.

The rest was a blur of lawsuits, frozen assets, auctioned estates, and social invitations that stopped arriving overnight.

I was radioactive.

And broke.

So, I’d taken a leap. I’d walked into a bank and signed my life away on a loan to buy a bar sight unseen in a town far, far away from my society, Trystan, and even from my family.

I’d desperately needed a fresh start.

I couldn’t buy a new mattress, not until the bar started making profit. So, it was time to triage and come up with a plan that eventually earned me a new bed, new furniture, and a new life.

First, I needed to sanitize the bar. Possibly with bleach. Maybe with a little fire. Then I needed to convince the town council that I was a serious business owner and not a walking scandal in stilettos. Hopefully, that led to me making money, preferably before the loan interest started strangling me. And lastly, do not cry.

Thirst hit me, so I made my way back downstairs, in search of something to drink before retiring for the night. I didn’t expect much, but maybe I’d get lucky.

As I crossed the floor, the chandelier above suddenly jerked and swayed, even though there wasn’t any breeze. I paused, then glared up at the dusty light fixture. My first ghost, perhaps? It’d sure taken them long enough to make an appearance if so.

“If you drop on me, I will melt you down and turn you into earrings.”

The chandelier instantly froze, confirming my suspicion.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I muttered.

Eyeing the chandelier, I tucked behind the bar and searched the shelves. Miraculously, I found a single bottle of dark red liquid, and when I popped the cork, I was relieved to find it smelled more like bloodwine than poison. Thank goodness.

We vampires were an interesting breed that way. We didn’t require food, but we could enjoy a drink now and then, so long as it was paired with blood. Without that key ingredient, any form of liquid sustenance we put in our mouth was little more than ash on our tongues.

I poured a generous glass, lifted it in a silent toast to the empty room, and took a sip.

It wasn’t bad. A little sharp, a little aged. Like me.

“To fresh starts,” I muttered. “And questionable decisions.”
Somewhere upstairs, the plumbing creaked and groaned like a disgruntled monster.

I smiled into my glass.

The ghosts could complain all they wanted.

I’d survived far worse.