“Where’s Thierry?” I blurted out as I entered the club.

George was lighting a candle on a nearby table and he looked up at me. “Do you realize how often you enter a room saying that?”

I blinked at him.

“You could come in here with a ‘Hi George, how are you doing George,’” he continued. “But,no . It’s all about Thierry.”

I felt a wave of anxiety. “I need to find him. I have a major problem.”

He rolled his eyes. George was a waiter at the club. He’d also worked at Midnight Eclipse, and I considered him one of my very best fanged friends. Totally gorgeous, too. He had shoulder-length sandy blond hair, a square jaw, high cheekbones, full lips, and bedroom eyes. A body like a Chippendales dancer, or one of those hottie male models on the covers of romance novels. Yeah, George was damn hot.

Too bad he played for the other team.

“Marco dumped me,” he announced.

“Who’s Marco?”

“My boyfriend.” He frowned. “You knew that already.”

I shrugged, feeling too distracted to fully concentrate on what he was saying.

“He was one of the construction workers who worked on the club,” he said.

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll . . . I don’t know . . . meet somebody else.” I glanced around the dimly lit club. “So where’s Thierry?”

He sighed and leaned against the table. “Your lack of compassion for my acute depression is duly noted.

What’s yourtrauma du jour , anyhow?”

I quickly explained what had happened, starting with the jog and ending with my new nickname. George whistled.

“Well, that explains all these crazy rumors I’ve been hearing,” he said. “About some badass vampire in town. I never realized it was you. No offense.”

My anxiety increased another notch. “There are rumors? Already? What am I going to do?”

He appeared to think about it. “You should probably talk to Thierry.”