The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) by Aiden James, Patrick Burdine

and pouting—the same as mine, and according to Peter, they were amongst my best assets. She smiled, and the tips of her fangs peered out through those lips. Her subtle nod and amused smile let me know that she had just read my thoughts.
    “Yes, it’s sort of like looking in a mirror, eh?” She chuckled warmly, and in the next instant moved from the fire to a mere two feet in front of me. I wished they wouldn’t do that. It was extremely unsettling. A slight lilac scent arrived with her and I felt a familiar comfort settle over me like some cherished memory from a childhood spring day. That clinical part of my brain wondered if their scents were somehow altering my mood or if their mental powers extended so coercion as well as telepath.
    “You are as radiant as advertised, and you remind me of Bernadette Soubirous,” she said. She paused a moment before continuing, “The girl who put the city of Lourdes on the international map long ago.” I am sure she didn’t need to read my mind to realize that I needed clarification.
    She stepped back with one hand on her hip, studying me, while apparently comparing me to this Bernadette person. Then, in a flash, I remembered hearing my grandmother speak of that name when I was younger. The way this woman stood there reminded me of both my grandmother and Aunt Sylvia, Papa’s sister. That’s how they often stood, when ready to make a point about an issue.
    “You have heard of Bernadette, correct?”
    Her French accent was more pronounced than Garvan’s, but there was also some other influence in the delivery of her words. Perhaps, an older Basque touch?
    “She’s the one who saw visions and had a shrine built in her honor. Thousands of people come to visit the town every year,” I nodded shyly as I answered her. I could tell that I suffered a huge disadvantage in terms of what she knew about me and my family. It was
her
family too, apparently, which I struggled to wrap my mind around.
    “Actually, it is three
million
people each year that journey to Lourdes—many on pilgrimage,” she said, her eyes twinkling with the same mirth I’ve often felt when someone gets the facts wrong about a subject. “A basilica was built long ago in 1876, and an underground church was finished in 1958. The town served as a medieval stronghold for our ancestors, too.”
    “Oh,” I said, quietly. The warmth from the fire had reached me, and my parka had become a furnace on my shoulders and arms.
    “Allow me,” she said, moving to remove my coat so quickly that I scarcely felt my arms pulled through it. “Now, that’s better, eh?”
    “Yes, thanks.”
    “My earthly name was Berezi Ybarra, the great, great, great auntie to Bernadette—who is one of
your
most famous ancestors, as you’ve surely been told,” she continued, handing my coat to the other female, who stepped forward after a slight nod. “But our bloodline goes very far back… further than you can even begin to imagine.”
    “Which, again, is why we’re all here!”
    Armando’s booming voice echoed off the cave walls, drifting up through a small shaft nestled between an outcropping of stalactites above us. He danced around the fire, wearing a maniacal look on his face while playing an imaginary violin. The others all snickered.
    “Yes, it is the reason we’ve come,” this female, once known as Berezi, continued. “The bloodline that began thousands of years ago is now in danger of extinction. Armando and Garvan have advised me that you now know the reasons for our urgency to protect you. Less than ten years ago there were nearly one hundred females who carried the gift that our breed of vampires needs to survive, and which allows us to govern the less-fortunate of our kind. But, roughly six months ago, the gift carriers began to die. In September, the survivors numbered just fourteen. And that number dwindled further, down to just three as of two weeks ago.”
    Her voice trailed off, and she looked away, as if