© Vampires Love Garlic 2026 by Ashley Chapman. All rights reserved.

41

The Best

Heather

I’ve never seen so many limos.

The entire front parking lot, just beyond the entrance gates, is swarming with one limo after the other. Men and women in elegant clothes are getting out and, under my direction, making their way to the horse-drawn carriages lined up to bring them to the mansion. It’s easy to tell McKenzie’s human guests apart from the vampires. The humans are warm, pleasant, grateful. The vampires all but ignore me. They go where I tell them to, but otherwise I get hardly a glance.

“All right. I’m up here now. Go ahead inside, Heather. I’ve got this,” Marquis says, slipping through the gates and stopping at my side. He has a flute of champagne in one hand and a tumbler of bourbon in the other. “Damn, but if this isn’t the most crowded gathering I’ve ever been at. And look at you! Not even dressed yet!”

He looks me up and down.

I didn’t have time to get into my gown. I arrived at the manor two hours ago and haven’t been able to stop since. The kitchen needed last instructions. My dueling pianists needed to know how to set up. The oaks lining the entrance path had a few soft white Christmas lights that weren’t turning on. The Spanish moss in the mansion hadn’t been strung with lights yet, and not all the lanterns and candles had been lit. There was just too much to do to worry about my clothes.

“Into one of the carriages,” Marquis orders, setting his drinks down by the gate and hoisting me up into one of the horse-drawn carriages.

“But these are for the guests!”

“And you are one! Go get changed! You can’t be at a grand event like this and stay in jeans and a blouse!”

The carriage driver doesn’t mind that I’m human and dressed like I’m going shopping.

And as the horse pulls me toward the mansion, I give myself a chance to breathe and marvel at how gorgeous everything is.

I couldn’t have asked for better weather. It’s chilly, but I feel like I can see every star hovering over the mansion. The house itself is a thing of true beauty. Candles flickering in every window. Crystal chandelier light reflecting outside, sending shadows and flickers dancing across the lawn. Music, old songs from the 1940s, drifting out to welcome Kenzie’s guests. I can smell pralines, roasting meat, and to my amusement, macaroni and cheese.

We just couldn’t have a party here without all the Southern fixings.

I slip into the mansion from a side door and make my way upstairs via the staircase in the kitchen. I set aside one room for me, Marquis, McKenzie, and Narcissa to plan and prepare, and I open it to find Narcissa already inside.

“What is this you’re wearing?” she demands.

“Did Marquis send you up here?” I ask, lifting my garment bag off a gilded full-length mirror.

“He said you weren’t anywhere near ready for this.”

“I’m ready.” I laugh and unzip the bag. “Everything’s running smoothly. Decorations are done. Waitstaff is all accounted for and serving. Hosts are at the front door. The band’s playing. The weather decided to behave itself, and…”

“I mean you. You’re the belle of this ball! Why are you in jeans?”

I try to explain, but she takes the garment bag from me and orders me to strip.

Usually, I’d be nervous about anyone seeing me undressed, but Narcissa isn’t just anyone. She’s been with me through all the preparation, and I don’t need to be anxious around her, so I do as she says.

The gown she chose for me (I said it was pretty but too immodest, and she bought it) is fitted, a deep navy with sheer panels throughout and ivy patterns etched into the silk. It’s a one-shoulder piece, extremely elegant, with a slit that goes almost up to my thigh. It isn’t something I would normally choose, but it is gorgeous, and I close my eyes and sigh as she zips me into it. The fabric feels so smooth, so luxurious, and I can almost ignore that I can’t wear a bra under it. It wouldn’t work with where the sheer falls, and it’s designed to at least keep my breasts somewhat decent.

Narcissa pushes me down into a chair and sets to work on my makeup and hair.

She’s fast, and when I next look in the mirror, I hardly recognize the woman looking back at me.

She’s gorgeous.

I took the color out of my hair, wanting to look a little more formal for this, and my brunette waves fall in loose curls down to the center of my back. Narcissa pinned the left side of my hair back with diamond clasps, giving me just a little sparkle and a whole lot of elegance. She gave me a smoky-eye look, and my eyes look one hundred percent green tonight. I look… I look like me, if I was completely in love, with dreamy eyes and such a beautiful dress.

“Oh yes. I forgot,” Narcissa says quietly, moving behind me and putting her hands on my shoulders. “Someone gave me a gift for you.”

She holds a small black velvet box out in front of me.

I take it, and inside is a pair of dangling diamond earrings with tiny sapphires threaded between the stones.

“Narcissa!” I gasp. “I can’t… these… oh my gosh!”

“Not from me,” she says with a tease in her voice. “I told McKenzie you’d be in a navy gown. These are from him.”

She takes the box from me, pulls out the earrings, and carefully clasps them in my ears.

“Consider it a thank you, since you wouldn’t let him pay you for this.”

I don’t know jewelry, but I do know these earrings cost more money than what McKenzie originally wanted to pay me. I touch them, stunned by how delicate they are, how they sparkle.

“McKenzie’s going to die,” Narcissa says, helping me to my feet and looking me up and down. “You’re just flat out going to knock him dead. Stunning.”

“I’m not sure what to do now,” I say, clasping my hands together. “I feel I ought to be in the kitchen or something, helping.”

“You’ve already done everything.” She puts a hand to my cheek and smiles. “But if you really feel you should be helping somehow, find McKenzie for me. I want to see the expression on his face when he sees you.”

“Is he even here yet?”

“He’s been here, meeting with several of the heads of the families in one of the side rooms. They should be done now.”

“Cissa, I’m not even sure about going out like this.” I wave to my dress. “There’s skin, and…”

“Have you seen what the other women are wearing?” She laughs. “You’re exceptionally modest. Vampire females are all about exhibition. There isn’t a single young vampire woman out there who’s dressed as modestly as you are. I’d venture to say there isn’t a single human female, either. Just go. Stop thinking about the dress. The vampires are going to ignore you, and the humans won’t care.”

I nod, open the door, and step out.

The musicians are having a fine time, letting smooth jazz flood the whole mansion. Servers are carrying silver trays with full glasses. I didn’t know how to work blood wine with regular wine, so there isn’t any blood wine tonight. The vampires don’t seem too upset by it. Mayor Richardson is on the dance floor with his wife. Robbie is chugging down a glass of champagne. The real entertainment of the evening hasn’t started yet, but everyone seems content.

I make my way down the elegant staircase, letting my fingers glide over the smooth banister. Chandelier light is reflecting off the wood, and I enjoy it, knowing that the lights are going to dim in about an hour, bathing everything in romantic light and candles.

Everything is beautiful. Everything has come together perfectly.

I just wish I could wear heels to feel more elegant, but I’m just going to have to hope no one notices or cares that I’m barefoot.

I can feel Narcissa watching me from the second floor railing, but in a matter of seconds, I forget. There’s another pair of eyes on me, burning into me from across the room. I can feel his gaze before I see him, and my eyes flicker up to meet his.

McKenzie.

Standing at the end of the room, a glass of wine in hand, looking like complete sin in a black velvet coat, the collar upturned, his shirt unbuttoned underneath, and a shimmering waistcoat snug against his chest. He has a gardenia in his lapel, but it isn’t his clothing that has me captivated.

It’s his eyes. Never in my life have I seen such a dark, desiring look in a man’s face.

This man wants to devour me.

And I want to be devoured.

Oh my gosh.

Narcissa was right, too. No one’s really paying me attention. They’re all staring at McKenzie.

He’s vampire royalty. Basically a prince. It doesn’t help that he’s so attractive, that the look on his face is making him a hundred times hotter, which I didn’t even think was possible. He’s got an air around him that demands attention, and I don’t know what to do. I’d love to sneak onto the back porch with him, but it’s crowded. I’d love to slip away to a room somewhere, but that’s too obvious. Especially with everyone staring.

So I do the only thing I can think of.

I walk to him. I stop inches away, smile, and curtsy.

It’s stupid. It really is. He isn’t really royalty. This isn’t some English castle somewhere. But I don’t know what else to do. I offer my hand to him and manage to ask him to dance.

He’s the man. I get that. He’s a leader, a tycoon, a businessman through and through, and a woman’s just asked him to dance. But he’s also a vampire, and I’m a human. I’m not considered worthy to be anything but some hired help, and it would make him look bad if he asked me to dance. But I want to be in his arms. I want to feel his body moving with mine. And so I ask.

And he answers.

His hand finds mine. He tosses back his wine, sets it on a conveniently passing tray, and pulls me to him. There is no hesitation, no second thought, no worrying about how this looks to a race that considers itself superior to humans. There is no subtlety. One second, my hand’s in his. The next, my breasts are crushed to his chest, his fingers are laced through mine, and one of his hands rests against my neck, thumb stroking my skin. He isn’t trying to hide that there isn’t a bite.

He just wants me.

His forehead rests against mine, our eyes never leaving each other’s, and he moves me.

Sway, side step, sway.

His hips against mine. Oh my goodness.

His thigh brushing between my legs. Oh sweet merciful heavens.

And his lips, lowering to my neck, biting softly, not enough to puncture but enough to tell me, very much, what is going on in his mind and what he would rather be doing right now.

“Oh. Holy. Shit.”

He’s going to make some hilarious comment now, some quip about how a good little church girl just cursed in public, loud enough so he could hear it. He’ll tease me, maybe tug on my earring, I don’t know. Something.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he brushes his mouth against my ear and sends pure lightning, all one hundred million volts of it, scorching through my whole body, when he whispers, “I need you out of this dress.”

He spins me, and I miss the heat of his body for all of two seconds before my back is against his chest, his hands on my hips, our bodies swaying to a rhythm that is by no means friendly.

“I need to see you, feel you, taste you.” His voice is broken against my ear. “I need you, all of you, Heather, the woman who put this goddamned party together and has made me look like the king of all vampirism.”

“I’m glad you like the decorations,” I pant, closing my eyes, wanting his hands on me. I don’t think he’s reading my mind, but his left hand finds the slit in my dress and slips past the sheer paneling, finding skin.

“It’s not the decorations making me look like a king. It’s you.”

His hand moves higher, and I’m terrified someone’s going to say something. Someone’s going to notice. Someone’s going to…

I gasp, his fingers finding the crease of my hip and thigh.

“Kenzie!”

“Say my name like that again,” he growls, licking the shell of my ear.

“Everyone… the party… Harold…”

I can’t talk. Can’t breathe. His fingers are wicked, but his mouth is murderous. Slay me now. I can hardly see past this sudden rush of desire. I’m pretty sure his hand is the only thing holding me up. I can see Marquis motioning in the background, waving his hands wildly across the room, pointing at someone. I force myself to focus, to breathe, as McKenzie moves with me in another treacherous shift that makes my heart flutter. Who is he waving at? Some gentleman in a pristine coat, short dark hair laced with silver, a ruby pendant at his throat, green eyes that look shockingly like…

“Harold!” I exclaim, grabbing McKenzie’s wandering hand.

“Fuck me,” McKenzie snarls, and it’s not an order, almost to my regret. He moves his hand, brings both arms around my chest, and wraps me securely in what can only be a possessive hold. He rests his chin on my shoulder, blows a puff of air across my neck to make me tremble, and fixes his eyes on Harold.

The man is the definition of a silver fox.

He has a graceful swagger to his step as he walks toward us, tapping at the dance floor with a polished cane, his eyes glittering. The activity doesn’t stop around us. People are still dancing, flirting, socializing. But everyone, whether consciously or subconsciously, is clearing a path for the High Councilor.

McKenzie isn’t doing a thing to separate himself from me. He even lightly kisses my throat as the equivalent of the Vampire King stops in front of us. My heart is hammering wildly in my chest, and McKenzie places one of his hands over it, a bold, blatant position that somehow manages to calm me.

“McKenzie.”

Harold’s voice is deep, rich, oh so smooth.

“Harold.”

I swear I’m going to climax right here, on the spot. Between his hands and his voice, McKenzie’s got me exactly where he wants me. Helpless, a complete mess.

“I must commend you on this party. It’s quite the affair,” Harold says, an eyebrow arched.

“Harold, this is Heather. She planned and put together this entire event,” McKenzie says, moving hair from my shoulder, baring my skin. “Heather, meet Harold Bristol, my father.”

“Mr. Bristol,” I manage to choke out. “It’s a pleasure.”

McKenzie loosens his hold just enough for me to hold out my hand.

Harold doesn’t bother looking at it. Keeping his eyes on my face, he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it.

Suave, just like his son.

“You did a most beautiful job, Miss Heather. Well done.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“McKenzie, I’d like to steal her away from you, for a dance, if I may.”

“Ask Heather. She can make her own decisions.”

Oh no. Don’t ask me. Heather isn’t available at the moment. She’s far too busy overheating in the arms of a vampire.

“Miss Heather,” Harold addresses me. “Would you be so kind as to grace me with a dance?”

I’m not sure what to do here. I’m trapped between a rock and a hard place. Um, a very hard place. For McKenzie’s decency, I should probably stay here. There are women ogling him from all corners of the room, and they don’t need to come up and see him like this. Yep. That’s me. Protector of all things embarrassing.

“I would be happy to share a dance with you after dinner,” I stammer. “Is that all right?”

Harold blinks.

Oh lord. The vampire’s never been refused before. I can tell in that one slow motion expression, in the way McKenzie’s hands are squeezing me. I just turned down the Vampire King. Me, a lowly human. Heather: 1. Harold: 0. Oh boy.

I half expect him to tear my head off. Right here.

Instead, he bows curtly, tells me he intends to have that dance, and turns and walks away.