Page 1 of Taken By Taurus

Prologue

Every two hundred years, the monsters of the zodiac become flesh for one night to claim a virgin tribute. And sometimes, they want to stay.

Chapter one

The Prank

I’m sitting in a private plane with a glass of champagne, heading over the Atlantic Ocean to an island off the coast of Greece. And my favorite country star, Kent Edwards, is sitting in front of me, beaming a blue-eyed and dimple-cheeked smile at me.

“I take it you weren’t expecting company,” he says. I down my champagne too fast and choke.

I pour myself another glass and draw a shaky breath. No, I was not expecting company. I’m wearing my cozy cat pajamas, a peel mask, and a hairnet to tame my unruly black curls.

I boarded this plane thinking I was buying into a prank thrown by my brother, Todd. Any moment now I expect him to jump out and yell surprise. I was not expecting to sit with a gorgeous celebrity who’s trying to engage me in civil conversation.

And as far as I can see, we're the only passengers, but there's lots of bustling and chat going on through a curtain that partitions off the back half the plane. That must be where everyone else is.

Kent Edwards is still looking at me. I manage a shaky smile. “What do you mean? This is the look I was going for. All the rage in Paris,” I throw back.

He smiles genuinely at that. He’s got a clean-cut, country-boy look that’s somehow still rugged. Like he could work on a farm, in the heat, shirtless… A blush rises to my cheeks as my thoughts stray.

“Kate?” he asks.

I swallow and manage a nod. I can’t believe he knows my name. “Heard you were a fan. That’s why I’m playing tonight.” He pats the guitar that sits beside him. “You’re the guest of honor, right? Understand there’s quite a shindig planned.”

What shindig? My brother Todd could be planning a very elaborate secret party. But that’s not his style at all. And how could he afford this plane, let alone the gorgeous celebrity staring at me? Todd runs a boxing gym that barely scrapes by.

I’m sure my cheeks are entirely red by now. They’re hot, and I feel faint.

Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe Todd won the lottery. Or maybe my theory about this trip being a hoax is falling apart. Which means I really signed up to sell my virginity for five million dollars.

I dismiss the idea immediately. There was no way someone would buy my flabby ass’s thirty-five-year-old virginity for five million dollars. It’s much more likely I would pay someone to finally rid me of my v-card.

But wait, didn’t Kent Edwards ask me a question? He’s still looking at me. I make an awkward croaking sound and am relieved when a pretty flight attendant comes over. I don’t miss the admiring look Kent gives her.

“Ms. Dimitrou, I’ve been asked to escort you to the back of the plane. Right this way,” she says. Oh thank god. They probably seated me here by mistake.

I gratefully unbuckle my seatbelt and follow her to a section at the back of the small plane, through the partitioned curtain. I'm expecting a lower class area, but it looks exactly the same as the section I just left.

There are only about ten seats in the whole plane, and they look like the first-class cabins I’ve walked past on the odd occasion I’ve flown anywhere. Heaps of leg room, and still no other passengers so far except Kent and me.

The flight attendant smiles at me prettily, and I return it with only a small pang of envy.

Some people are attractive, and some people aren’t. I’m not hideous looking. Even my brother, Todd, agrees with that, and he’s not one to throw around compliments. I just had the bad luck of getting along with the prettiest girls in my year of nursing school.

I wouldn’t have given their friendship up for the world, but I soon learned that I wasn’t the girl guys were looking at when we went drinking. I was the heavy girl with the smart mouth they tried to ditch, the one the girls insist they bring along to a second venue.

The first time a man really seemed interested in me I found out it was a bet to lure me away from my friends. I remember the gut-churning shame when he confessed the game. “No hard feelings,” he’d said. I threw my drink in his face, bit back my tears, and stopped going out at all.

Maybe I took it too personally, but it was a relief to be done with worrying about men. I stopped worrying about how I looked and studied instead. By the time my friends were getting married, I had been promoted above all of them, but I’d never been on a real date.

I have a good life. I have a brilliant career, and I still had great friends and family. And I stopped fantasizing about a white picket fence years ago.

But now and then, it bothers me. Maybe Todd’s right - maybe I am ‘the stupidest smart girl ever’.

I figured the email I got about the virginity contract was Todd playing a mean, targeted joke. It’s crueler than it’s meant to be - I’ve never admitted my secret desire for a partner and a family. Honestly, I mostly try not to think about it.

So, I’m playing along. I want to see how far he’ll go. At some point, the prank will fall apart. But the lengths so far are unreal. There’s a website, legal documentation, STD test results from the man buying the virginity, the option to talk to a previous ‘donor’, and now this plane.