Page 1 of Bitten By Mr. Darcy
CHAPTER ONE
“DARCY,” SAID MR. Bingley.
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley realized, abruptly, that his friend had been saying his last name over and over, at least thrice. He turned to the other man, finally. Darcy was not really his name.
However, he really ought to be more adept at answering to it. After all, he had been using it now for nearly a decade. With regard to names, Darcy’d had many, and he changed one for another with regularity. Whatever his name had been when he, long ago, had been a human child, it hardly mattered now. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy for all intents and purposes.
“Yes, I am listening,” Mr. Darcy said to Mr. Bingley.
“You are not,” said Mr. Bingley.
“Even now, I am. You have been trying to get my attention. What is it?” Mr. Darcy realized he sounded a bit peevish.
It was the atmosphere.
He had not wished to come to the country at all. He preferred the city. His kind typically did. The city was quite the best place now, in the fall, when the night hours stretched out, darkness lingering later in the morning, falling earlier in the evening. He and his kind were creatures of the dark, after all.
But no, Bingley had wanted to come to the country, and now they were at some dreadful country ball, held in a public house,and the air was smoky with candles, and the music screeched, and the room was crowded, and he would much rather be gone from this place.
What was the use of being trapped with this many humans and not being able to taste a single one of them?
At least in the city, one might nip out and find some anonymous neck to tap and drink from, someone who could be charmed into forgetting the entire experience, going on their way and never thinking of it all again. But here, in the country, the population was much sparser.
“You are in an abominable mood,” said Bingley. “Didn’t you have anything to drink before we left for the ball?”
“How could I have?” said Mr. Darcy. “There isn’t anything to drink around here.”
“Well, I won’t have it,” said Bingley, lifting his chin, looking Darcy over. “I cannot have you moping about here in this stupid manner. If you’re thirsty, Darcy, drink.” Bingley gestured around at the dance floor.
“I can’t,” said Darcy, groaning. Bingley knew very well that they did their best not to drink where they socialized. Charming a victim worked best if the person being charmed wasn’t reminded of the thing they’d been convinced to forget. Seeing the person who’d bitten one’s neck and drunk one’s blood over and over again had the tendency to break charms.
“Why not?” said Bingley.
“You know why not.”
“I would not be as fastidious as you for a kingdom,” said Bingley airily. But then, that was just like Bingley. The man and his sisters took too many risks. Not that Bingley and his sisters were really related, anyway. They’d had the same maker, Darcy understood it, but they certainly didn’t behave as if they were siblings.
Darcy himself preferred to be solitary.
Well, much of the time he did.
Then and again, he missed the company of his own kind. This was why he was in the country with the Bingleys, he supposed. He had grown so lonely he had decided it would be worth it to subject himself to the country in the fall, of all things.
“Ask one of them to dance,” said Bingley. “Then, moving through the line of dancers, you can get the scent of each of them and decide which you would like a little taste of.” He smirked at him.
“There’s no one to dance with,” said Mr. Darcy. “You are dancing with the most handsome girl in the entire town, likely the entire county, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“She is an angel,” said Bingley, grinning at him.
“Well, you’re not going to taste her.”
“She has sisters. Quite a lot of sisters, actually.”
“Yes, I remember this from the interminable introductions we have had to go through. If we were back in London, we should already be acquainted with everyone and—”
“There’s one of the sisters,” interrupted Bingley. “That’s the second oldest, Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy caught sight of the girl and he furrowed his brow. She was pretty, in fact, a light and pleasing figure, a playful expression on her face, and a countenance framed by brown curls. “Not handsome enough to tempt me,” he said.
