The Vampire's Cursed Kiss (Shadowvale Book 2) Read online

  Shadowvale isn’t your typical small town America. The sun never shines, the gates decide who enters, magic abounds, and every resident bears some kind of curse.

  Vampire Constantin Thibodeaux was cured of his sun “allergy” when he moved to Shadowvale. Now he runs the local bookstore, which is really just a sideline to filling his own library. Books, unlike people, are far more forgiving of his prickly nature. But he doesn’t care if people don’t like him. He is who he is. And he’s happy. Well, he’s content. Okay, he’s…fine.

  Sprite and all around party girl Andromeda Merriweather loves her carefree life—or at least she did until her sister cursed her into a magical time out. Thankfully, she’s just been set free by a totally hot, but kind of grumpy vampire. Too bad this handsome grouch now holds the key to her freedom, something she’ll only get if he agrees to abide by the rules of her curse.

  Constantin isn’t interested in the terms and conditions Andromeda gives him, until he needs her to be his temporary girlfriend to shut his brother up. Then Constantin agrees. But what happens after a surprisingly fun evening creates brand new problems for both of them. Sure, two opposites can attract, but will that attraction last? Or are they both too cursed to give love a chance?

  The Vampire’s Cursed Kiss:

  Shadowvale, Book Two

  Copyright © 2019 Kristen Painter

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-941695-44-9

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  Table of Contents

  THE VAMPIRE’S CURSED KISS

  About the Book

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  About the Author

  Other Books by Kristen Painter

  Many thanks to…

  Chapter One

  The shop’s front door opened, and gentle chimes rang through the Gilded Page, alerting Constantin Thibodeaux that someone had entered his bookstore.

  He looked out from between the two rows where he was inspecting his inventory. And the shelving skills of his only employee, Fletcher. Whose skills were…fine. But there was always room for improvement.

  At least the young vampire was good at getting coffee, something he was doing at the moment. The Black Horse bakery had recently begun serving some of the best Constantin had tasted in a long while, and as a favor to him, they’d started stocking a blend with chicory. Nostalgia wasn’t always something he gave in to, but the coffee reminded him of his long-ago life in New Orleans, and he liked that.

  He didn’t even mind that, unlike everything else in the bakery, the coffee wasn’t free. Spending money on coffee wasn’t an extravagance. Especially when it was good coffee.

  But the chimes hadn’t sounded because a customer had come in. It was Arnie, the delivery man. Constantin didn’t need to see Arnie to know it was him. He recognized the young man by the particular scent of his blood. Humans were easy to single out that way. At least for most vampires. The Thibodeauxes were no exception.

  He came out from the rows to greet the man. “Hello, Arnie.”

  “Hello, Mr. Thibodeaux.” Arnie wheeled the stacked dolly into the shop. “Big shipment today.”

  “Yes, an estate sale I won in an auction.” Constantin had been looking forward to the arrival of this particular allotment since he’d found it for sale online. Winning the auction hadn’t taken much—there’d been only a few other bidders, from what he could gather. And none with pockets quite as deep as his. He did a quick count of the boxes. “Is that all of it?”

  “No, I’ve got three more in the truck.”

  “Excellent.” Constantin rubbed his hands together. Although he prided himself on a shop stocked with a good assortment of new books, his true love was the rare and unusual. He had quite a few customers who appreciated the same, but then, Shadowvale was home to a large populace of supernaturals, many with the funds that made such indulgences almost commonplace.

  Because of that, his shop did fairly well. Something that pleased him. He liked not relying on family money whenever possible, and he hadn’t for many years now.

  This lot had been purchased without the chance to inspect it personally, but he trusted the auction house’s pictures and descriptions. According to what he’d seen online, there were several books in the assortment that would make the price he’d paid well worth it.

  If he decided to sell them.

  He sighed. Keeping the best and most interesting for himself was indulgent. He tried to temper that instinct. To keep himself from going down the path that so many of his kind did. His brother was a prime example. Whatever Valentino wanted, he got.

  To Constantin, that seemed like a character flaw. His brother didn’t agree. But then, Constantin and Valentino hadn’t seen eye to eye in many years. They were cordial, but their relationship was a very shallow one, something Constantin was fine with.

  Unfortunately, keeping the best books for his personal library also didn’t exactly improve the store’s bottom line. Fortunately, turning a profit wasn’t completely necessary.

  Arnie carefully unloaded the boxes, then went out to the truck for the rest. Fletcher passed him as he was headed out. Fletcher had a large coffee in each hand, but he also held a small bag from the bakery.

  He set Constantin’s cup on the counter. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you. What else did you get?”

  Fletcher glanced at the bag. “Blueberry scone for my break. Fresh out of the oven.” He shrugged. “Hard to say no.”

  Constantin swallowed a comment about impulsive behavior. That would be calling the kettle black when he’d just decided some of the new books would be joining his own library.

  Fletcher looked at the boxes. “New shipment, I see. Do you need me to inventory them?”

  “No, I’ll handle these. The shelves still need to be dusted, and there’s a bulb out in the cookbook section.” Constantin sipped his coffee. The subtle bitterness of the chicory tasted like home.

  Fletcher nodded. “I’m on it.” He stuck the bakery
bag under the counter, then took the feather duster out and went to work.

  Arnie returned with the last of the boxes, and when they were all stacked next to the front counter, Constantin signed the delivery form and wished the man a nice day.

  He waited until Arnie was in his truck and driving off before lifting the entire stack of boxes and carrying them into his office. Wouldn’t do to show off his vampire strength in front of a nonresident human, even if the town’s magic had a way of muting the memories of temporary human visitors, such as delivery people. Somehow, the town allowed them to find Shadowvale, but then removed itself from their minds. Further proof of just how strong the magic was here.

  Constantin set the boxes on the floor in front of his desk, then went back for his coffee. He called out to Fletcher, who was on a ladder in the cookbook aisle. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

  He answered with a nod. “Yes, Mr. Thibodeaux.”

  Constantin went back to his office, shut the door, and inhaled. The smell of old leather and aged paper might not be the most pleasant aroma to some, but to him it was a balm that could right the most chaotic day. He put his coffee on his desk, then began opening the boxes to see what else awaited him beyond the few promised books mentioned in the auction.

  He took out a legal pad and inventoried the books one box at a time. In the first, a few philosophy books were mixed in with a handful of bound scientific journals. All very interesting. The high school might benefit from a few of the books. Or perhaps they’d be better off in the library’s reference section. Some were definitely sellable.

  Besides the folks who lived in Shadowvale, Constantin had amassed a select online clientele over the years, and a few of those names came to mind when he surveyed his new arrivals.

  He’d sell a good number of these books. Enough to recoup some of what he’d spent. That would keep Gracie Evermore, his bookkeeper, from cringing too much. Naturally, some of the others would go onto the shop floor to tempt the casual buyer.

  Reading was a very popular pastime in Shadowvale, something that made the town that much dearer to him. He’d always held that reading was good for both the body and the soul. If one had a soul.

  And while the popularity of reading in Shadowvale was impressive, being able to daywalk without fear of the sun’s harmful rays was the best thing about living here. At least for a vampire. Some considered Shadowvale’s perpetually overcast skies to be the town’s weightiest curse, but for the vampires who called it home, it was the town’s greatest asset.

  And one of the main reasons the Thibodeauxes had moved here.

  Another box held art history books and several coffee-table-type art books. A few of those would go on the shop shelves, but at least one would go into his personal library. As would the three plays by Shakespeare in the next box, except for the copy of Hamlet. The one he already had was in better condition.

  He kept going, managing to sort out a good handful of books to sell and a couple more that he thought would be of interest to some of his local customers in particular. He wrote their names on slips of paper that he tucked inside the front covers, then those books went on a designated shelf on the office wall.

  Those people would be called later and apprised of what he’d found. If they weren’t interested, the books would be moved to the shop floor.

  Finally, he was down to the last crate. It seemed to hold the oldest books, judging by how carefully they’d been packaged. They were all individually wrapped in brown paper.

  Undeniable excitement zipped through him. He was about to dig in, but the disarray of his office caught his eye. He frowned. He preferred order, especially in his personal spaces. So he delayed gratification to gather up the empty, flattened boxes and take them out to the alley behind the shop to the large recycling bin shared by all the stores on that block.

  With that done, he returned to his office to unwrap the final books, eager to see if there were any additional treasures among them. One by one, he stacked them on his desk and began to peel the paper off them.

  He wasn’t disappointed. The first package contained a rare first edition C.S. Lewis that would definitely be going into his personal library. That one had been advertised in the auction. The next few books were valuable, but nothing that interested him. That was fine. He’d have more to sell.

  But the last book was so odd that he couldn’t help but keep it for himself. He took a seat at his desk and turned the worn hardback over in his hands. The brown cloth cover was tattered, but the title was still readable. He spoke it out loud, just to hear it for himself. “The Hidden History of Insane Asylums in 19th Century Europe.”

  Perhaps a little morbid. But his interest was piqued. History was something a lot of vampires enjoyed reading about, having lived so long and experienced so much of it. Always curious to read another’s perspective on something. Not that he’d had any experience with European asylums, but who had in modern times? No one he knew. Thankfully. He was about to crack the book and have a look through it when Fletcher knocked on his door.

  “Yes?”

  “Lena Scott is here. She said you left a message that her book was in?”

  “Ah, yes.” He got up from his desk. The book in question, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, was on the Purchased shelf. He collected the book and headed out to show it to Miss Scott.

  He smiled as he approached her. He wasn’t overly fond of witches—he wasn’t overly fond of anyone, if he was being honest—but as witches went, she was all right. There was really only one witch he had anything close to affection for. “Miss Scott.” He held the book out on his palm, displaying it for her to see. “Your first edition has arrived.”

  She smiled, eyes lighting up. He supposed she could be considered quite attractive. To someone who was interested, which he wasn’t. Not in the slightest. Not in her or any other woman. “It looks wonderful.”

  “It’s a pretty good version considering it was new in 1894.” He turned the book so she could inspect the back cover. “These are the original blue cloth boards, and as you can see, the color is still very bright. The gilding has also held up extremely well. The back has taken the bulk of the wear and shows some chipping. Plus, there’s a little rubbing on the spine, but that’s to be expected in a book of this age.”

  “Of course. Actually, I expected it to be a lot worse.”

  He opened the book with great care. “Well, there’s some foxing on the pages, too.”

  She looked at him. “Foxing?”

  “The spotting and browning that happens to paper due to age and deterioration. It’s pretty much impossible to avoid in old books.”

  She nodded. “That doesn’t bother me. I’m just happy to have such an amazing thing in my possession.”

  He started to hand the book to her, then stopped. “You’re not going to use this in some spell, are you?”

  “Why? Would that matter to you?”

  “I would just hate to see such a thing destroyed in the name of…witchcraft.”

  She laughed softly. “You say it like it’s a bad thing. It won’t be destroyed, I promise.”

  Which sounded to him like it was definitely going to be used in a spell. But she’d already put a sizable deposit down on the volume. He couldn’t very well cancel the sale now, not without creating ill will. “If you promise.”

  “I do.”

  With a sigh, he handed the book over. “Fletcher will wrap the book and ring you up. I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Thank you, I’m sure I will.”

  Fletcher, who’d been hovering nearby, came to take over the rest of the sale.

  Constantin wanted to return to his office and his books, but another customer, Emeranth Greer, walked through the door. Considering who she was, he liked to take care of her himself. In another reality, they might have been related.

  She waved at him. “Hi there.”

  “Miss Greer.” He stood by patiently to see if she needed anything. Sh
e was the niece of the most powerful witch in town and the only witch he cared for, Amelia Marchand. Amelia and the Thibodeauxes were forever connected by history, which helped him overlook Amelia’s being a witch. Her niece was one as well, but so new to the craft that he didn’t consider her much of a threat. “Looking for something to read or a gift?”

  “Something to read. A few somethings. I’m completely out. Any suggestions?”

  “New or classic?”

  “I don’t care so long as I haven’t read it before.”

  “Biography, thriller, mystery?”

  “I really wish you’d carry romance.”

  He made a face. “I already carry fairy tales.”

  She shook her head. “You know romance is, like, the most popular genre there is.”

  “I don’t believe in happily ever after.” Not after his own life had shown him differently. “Now, what can I point you toward that’s worth reading?”

  With a tolerant smirk, she sighed. “Whatever you’ve got that’s good. Four or five books should hold me.”

  He smiled. She was becoming a good, regular customer. It took less than ten minutes to supply her with an armful of books.

  Fletcher took care of her at the counter, leaving Constantin to say his goodbyes and at last return to his office.

  There was still some organizing to do, though. Calls to make and emails to send to a few customers about some of the new books that had come in, too.