Her Vampire Husband

Bemused, he glided his eyes along her shapely skin. Equally small triangles stretched over such perfect breasts, Marie Antoinette would be jealous. Perfect globes, high and proud.

“You have this thing with staring at me, you know that?”

Creed realized he leaned over her, as if he were a mortal inspecting fruit displayed on the grocer’s counter. He straightened and stepped back onto the patio tiles.

He could withstand indirect sunlight for ten, fifteen minutes tops, before it began to burn his skin, though he could go about in the day if the sky was overcast. There was no magic spell that would make him impervious to the UVs.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

“This is my home now. And since I’m not allowed to leave the property without an armed guard, I figure I’d make the best of it. Why don’t you join me?” She patted the grass beside the lounge chair where the sunlight beamed strongly. “Oh, right. Burn, baby, burn, eh?”

“It’s why I spend a lot of time in Minnesota. Not much sun here in the wintertime.”

“So that’s why the vamps are thick as blood here. Pun intended.”

Creed pulled a lounge chair to the edge of the tiles and sat in the shade, stretching out his legs. They reclined parallel to each other, she a goddess of the brilliant day, and he ever a slave to the night.

“I envy you,” he said before he could stop himself.

“What for? My ability to soak up the UVs without dusting to ash?”

“No, your reckless abandon. You’re very free.”

“I don’t see any shackles on your wrists.”

“I mean inside. Underneath that violet wig. You don’t care what anyone thinks, and that’s refreshing to me.”

“Yeah, I bet you think about everything before you say it. Wonder how your words will make others react.”

“Not at all. I’ve been around long enough. I say and do as I wish. And I have certain expectations—”

“You expect to have met.”

She flipped to her stomach and propped her chin on her forearm. The backside of the bikini bottom was but a string.

Creed suppressed an appreciative moan. A man could bounce a quarter on that ass. And look at that tattoo. It was a tribal design, but delicate, flourishing up her spine in a gorgeous arabesque.

“Look all you like,” she said.

“Don’t mind if I do. You don’t normally sunbathe wearing a swimsuit. Why today?”

“So you’ve been looking for tan lines. Naughty vampire. You think I’m going to give you a peep show? Now you’re starting to sound like the wolves in the pack.”

“Don’t ever compare me to a wolf.”

She smirked. “Dude, don’t worry. That would be too flattering.”

The chair creaked when he leaned abruptly forward. “Do you purposely mean to offend, or is it your nature?”

“I think it’s a little of both. Hey, you don’t have to talk to me. There’s a whole big yard—oh, right. Pale boy needs to stay under the protective covering. My bad.”

She was right; he didn’t have to suffer this abuse. But to reach over and admonish her with a swat to that sexy ass might convince her he wanted to touch her.

He did want to touch. What man could resist such a tantalizing display? But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d won this round.

“You like to swim?” he tried.

“Nope.”

The violet hair splayed across her face and the dark sunglasses. Surely she could still see him, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t look away from that incredible ass. Softly rounded, so firm, and taunting him to stroke his fingers over the sun-heated skin.

Damn, was he getting hard looking at a werewolf? Of all the absurd—

“Penny for your thoughts,” she cooed. The tip of a pink tongue lashed out to stroke the underside of her upper lip. “But I bet they’re worth a mint.”

“You’ve a great ass,” he conceded. “Nice tits, too.” Leaning back and stretching an arm behind his head, he tilted up his sunglasses. “You’re the complete package, Blu. Why on earth did you agree to this marriage when you could have been married off to a fine werewolf, most likely a pack leader?”

“I was promised to the scion of the Northern pack.” She tucked her head into her creased elbow, away from him. “Tattoo is from him.”

Interesting. What little Creed did know of pack politics was that a scion either had to kill the current principal or wait for his death. In this case, Amandus Masterson’s death. So how would the principal putting his daughter forth for this marriage screw with the scion’s plans?

“You loved him,” he guessed. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t love him. I loved having sex with him and being his girl. He was my lover. But I’ll never fall in love. It’s not in my nature to give my heart over to a man. Remember that, vampire. It’s all an act. That’s all it can ever be between us.”

Creed closed his eyes behind the sunglasses.

Indeed, an act. He wasn’t stupid. He’d entered this marriage with eyes wide open and his brain working all the angles. But there were so many variables he hadn’t anticipated.

Like being attracted to his wife. Physically, that was. So far their exchanges had only reinforced to him that she was spoiled and most likely unwilling to put forth as much effort in this marriage as he would.

What he did know for sure was this conversation didn’t need to happen. They were only required to play their parts before observers.

Though he couldn’t be sure the vamps and weres camped outside the perimeter of his estate weren’t using telephoto lenses to take pictures. They could have the damned yard bugged, as well.

But they wouldn’t get past his security. Should a werewolf breach the fence by means other than the front gates, silver darts were set to find the target all around the perimeter.

As for vampires, he didn’t fear challenge from any.

So why was he sitting here trying to converse with the obstinate one? Logic determined they would need to get to know one another, to make it look good. She seemed amenable to that.

Or was it that the view was so spectacular? Before last night he’d thought it impossible to consider kissing a werewolf, let alone get a hard-on from looking at her body. Yet right now he sported some serious wood from the visuals she broadcast.

What was wrong with him?

Mon Dieu, he needed to take blood. It must be nearing the end of a fortnight since he’d last taken a donor. He could go as long as a month without sustenance, but two weeks was best. If he considered stroking the heat-softened flesh of a woman who should be his greatest enemy he wasn’t at the top of his game.

“Besides,” she added, “love wasn’t a requirement.”

“No, it was not. Quite a relief, eh?”

“Tell me about it.”

He caught her gaze for a nanosecond before she looked away. Caught. He could smell the longing on her. He was sure of it. Or, at the very least, interest.

“Do you swim?” she suddenly asked.

“Every day.”

A dip in the cool waters would serve to chill his insubordinate lust. But he usually dove in wearing nothing. He wasn’t sure he owned swim trunks, though he could dive in wearing his skivvies.

Why the hell not? If she was going to flaunt her sexy curves before him, he shouldn’t be prudish about stripping before her.

“That’s what I came out here for, as a matter of fact.”

He stood and felt her gaze upon him as he strode over to the pool. A woman’s regard was a fine thing, but more so when she wished to deny that interest.

Peeling off his shirt, Creed tossed it aside onto another chaise. A stretch of his torso flexed his tight abs. He retained the physique of a warrior even though his battle days were long behind him. And though sword, ax, bullet and fangs had entered this ancient body, he retained no scars.

“Stare much?” he volleyed at her.

She turned her head into her arm. “Nothing to see, pale vampire dude. I prefer my men hairy anyway.”

He may be pale, but he was nothing to sneeze at.

Stepping from his pants, Creed snapped the band of his black boxer briefs. She was looking again. He could feel her curiosity as a tangible wave through the air. Felt great. Felt…different.

Closing his eyes, he whispered too softly for even paranormal ears, “You do prefer me.”

Out his peripheral vision he saw Blu lift onto her elbows, as if she’d heard something. A whisper only he could make audible through air magic.

Take that, snotty werewolf princess.

Diving, he hit the water with a sharp cut and swam the entire pool length before surfacing on the other side. When he flipped back his hair and swiped the water from his eyes, the violet-haired goddess knelt at the pool’s edge.

“Thought you said you didn’t swim?” he asked.

“I don’t. I just…Did you hear something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. A whisper?”

“Did they wed me to a mad princess?”

She snapped her fingers, dispersing droplets of water. “Whatever. Hey, you know what cold water does to a guy’s dick?”

“The water isn’t cold.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Starting a backstroke, Creed was amused he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t avoid looking.

BLU DIALED BREE’S NUMBER and slipped into the guest bathroom attached to the room she was staying in, locking the door behind her. Bree rambled on about how sexy her new husband was and how daring of him to kiss her in front of everyone like that.

“Yeah, whatever. He’s sex with fangs. Not. So did you talk to Ryan after the ceremony? Did he say anything to you?”

“Haven’t seen him. But you know I only see him if he stops into the bar.”

Bree danced strip at the Goddess in St. Paul on weeknights. She was an amazing dancer with a body Blu envied. And the wings rocked, too. Blu had always wanted wings. Instead, she got stuck with the hairy wolf stuff.

“He was there last night, waiting for me outside the Landmark. I had to be quick with him because I didn’t want the vampire to see. You’ll call me when you talk to him, right? And you’ll ask him about me?”

“You know I will. Even though it’s only been a day, I’m sure he misses you to death, Blu. But tell me about your first night? Did you and he…you know?”

“Miss I-Take-My-Clothes-Off-For-Strangers can’t say the naughty words? Please, Bree. I slept in the guest room. You think I’d have sex with a strange man?”

“You have done it on occasion.”

“Yeah, but they weren’t vamps.” And don’t remind her of those disastrous stranger sex encounters. “I hate thinking that I’m sitting in a vampire’s lair.”

“It’s your lair now, too.”

“I’d prefer a cave. Doesn’t feel friendly, whatever you call it. Would you come over, Bree? I don’t have anyone to talk to and he won’t even let me go out to jog.”

“Sounds kind of Neanderthal.”

“He hasn’t dragged me around by my hair yet, but I wouldn’t put it past him. There are vampires and werewolves camped at the end of the property, spying on us. He thinks they might do something to me.”

“Protective fellow. How romantic.”

“Whatever.”

She swung her legs up onto the vanity and leaned against the wall. Mr. Romance had been hoping she’d look when he’d stripped to go swimming. Sexy muscles had cut through the water with precision and unnatural speed. Pale as he was, he didn’t need a tan to highlight the tight abs and delts.

She’d only looked to make him feel good.

That was her story and she was sticking to it.

“All right, I’ll give you one thing,” Blu said. “He does have a great body.”

“So you did peek!”

“He went for a swim. Couldn’t avoid the browse over his abs.”

“All muscles and brawn?”

“I suppose. Nothing like Ryan, but nothing to sneer at either.”

“Ryan’s a freak of nature. He’s got too many muscles.”

“Yeah, but I love to lick them. I miss him, Bree.”

“You need to not think about him. He’s your past now, Blu. Why don’t you stare into your hubby’s eyes for a while? You might find something interesting in there.”

“Yeah, like bloodlust.” Blu palmed her throat. “It’s going to be so gross if I see him drink someone’s blood. He’s not coming near me with those fangs.”

“Fine, but will you let him prick you with something else?”

“There’s my nasty girl.”

“That’s me. Always eager to hear about everyone’s love life. Please promise me you’ll give him a chance, Blu. You’re both in the same situation. Doing something for an entire nation you don’t even know. You should be bonding over this, cleaving to one another. It’ll make you stronger, I promise.”

“Bree, you do know cleave has two opposite meanings. I’ll take the prying-apart definition.”

“I meant the clinging-to-one-another definition.”

“Yeah, I know. You, Bree, are always too positive about everything.”

“It’s the faery dust.”

“Will you slip me some of that stuff next time I see you? My supply is running low.”

“Sure! Now quit hiding in the bathroom and go get to know your hubby.”

Blu smirked. Leave it to Bree to know she was hiding out.

“It’s getting dark. I think he’s gone hunting, or whatever it is they call stalking mortals for blood. Pulling a Dracula. Yeah, that’s what I’ll call it.”

“That gives you time to shower and slip into something sexy before the count returns. Try a little flirtation on your hubby.”

“Yeah, but flirting will mean a promise to him.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Woman cannot survive for more than three days without sex. I know you agree with me on that point.”

Blu rolled her eyes. She was not going to agree, much as she did. “Goodbye, Bree. Talk to Ryan for me, and call me back.”

“Love you, Miss Blu!”

Blu snapped her cell phone shut and tucked it beneath her chin. The faery was entirely too cheery and centered for her own good. If such a thing as Zen Sidhe existed, Bree was the poster fey. The girl needed a good shake—like being forced to marry her complete opposite—to give her a dose of reality.

What was the opposite of faery? Hmm…maybe a demon.

But Blu couldn’t begrudge Bree the positive vibes. Bree was the only one who actually believed this marriage had a chance.

Sliding off the vanity, Blu tugged the bikini strings loose and stood naked before the walk-in shower tiled in polished river stones. She slid her palms down her stomach and hips. It always made her feel apprehensive when a man stared and hungered after her.

Creed couldn’t keep his eyes from her. It had made her nervous so she used her snotty comebacks to disguise it. Living at the compound, she’d learned a few sharp words sometimes proved more effective than a slap that could be construed as rough foreplay.

She smoothed her palms up to cup her breasts. A glance over her shoulder studied her body in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the back of the door.

Let the vampire look. She was the one who would decide if a look could turn into a touch, and a touch into something more. It was high time she took control of her life. It was not something she’d had at the compound.

Peeling the wig from her head, she shook out her hair and flicked on the shower.

Flirting with her husband?

She did need something to keep her from getting cabin fever. And if it put her in control? All the better.

Chapter Four

THE DONOR FELL AT Creed’s feet and collapsed, arms and chest folding over her legs. Creed swayed against the rough cement wall, catching his palm against it, as the swoon shimmered through his body.

After nine centuries, taking blood still never failed to satisfy. Nothing near a raging orgasm, but a sweet tease similar to it. And with age, the high all vampires called the swoon lasted longer, fixing to his veins in a lingering shimmy of sensation that he could draw out for hours. Of course, that was due to the blood magic he’d gained from a witch. And since that little exercise of magic didn’t harm anyone, he wasn’t about to give that up, vow or no vow.

He licked his lips. The blood wasn’t as tainted with beer as he’d expected. Perhaps haunting local bars should not be marked completely off the list.

Normally he invited a select clientele to his home when he needed to drink. But he couldn’t do that now. It didn’t feel right with the wife at home. He didn’t want to answer any questions she would have.

Besides, if she were going to withhold information about her change during the full moon, then he would keep his stuff private, too. Most especially the magic. If the wolves discovered his usage of it, they’d go straight to the witches, and then the war between witches and vamps would be renewed.

Creed had enough on his shoulders with the werewolf princess prancing about his home.

After unlocking the BMW, he climbed inside and headed home. All he wanted to do after taking blood was lie back and enjoy the mellow ride.

THE HOUSE WAS DARK, save for the light at the end of the hallway, which told Creed that Blu had found the theater room. The loud music was an even better indication.

Tonight should have been his movie night. He liked viewing movies on the plasma TV, sitting in the dark with a sexy woman draped in his arms. After a long drink of hot blood, he usually had a driver escort her home because his persuasion stole her memories for the evening.

Who said drinking blood had to be all horror and chills? He’d done enough of that in the Middle Ages. Flash the fangs, freak ’em out and suck them dry.

That was so gauche now. A man must possess style, decorum.

“Hell, you really are an old man,” he muttered. “You don’t bother with the scare anymore, just popcorn and sex. Dieu.”

Erratic sound blasted from the room. The wolf must have turned the volume to eleven. He wanted quiet tonight, to enjoy the lingering blood swoon.

“Silly wolf. This vampire can still do the scare.”

Marching down the hall, he fisted his hands and had achieved a tight anger by the time he pushed the double doors open. Prepared to march in and flash some fang, Creed paused.

The lights were on. Poufed pink feathery stuff bobbed in the air two rows down. The room touted six rows of four seats on each side.

On the screen, Mick Jagger pranced and rasped through “Sympathy For The Devil” as Keith Richards ground out a solo.

Tucked on one of the wide theater seats—rather, draped—Blu grooved to the beat, her long legs hooked over the seat before her. Those pink feathery things were some kind of high-heeled shoes Creed had only seen in black-and-white romance movies.

The pink hair bobbed in time to the music.

“Pink?” Anger dissipating, he strode down the aisle.

A see-through sweep of black fabric dashed across her legs and part of her stomach. The rest of her was clad in black lace providing only a little more coverage than the bikini had earlier.

“Loud enough?” he shouted.

She hadn’t noticed him yet. Why should she? Her eyes were closed and she beat the air with delicate fists in time with Charlie Watts’s drum kit. Weren’t wolves supposed to have excellent smell?

Creed leaned over and glided his fingers up her smooth calf.

She startled, her legs sliding down and her shoes hitting the floor. “Whoa! Dude, way to go for the creep.”

He reached for the remote tucked in a cup holder, and muted the noise. “You discovered the sound system.”

“Oh, man, this so rocks. Surround sound in this little theater? I could live in here.”

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

She sat up on the chair arm, the gossamer robe sliding away and exposing maximum flesh. She looked like a high-priced hooker in her bubblegum pink hair and pushup black lace bra. Add the spiky heels and she was dressed to earn a pretty penny.

Not that he would know anything about hookers. Not from this century, anyway.

Creed sat on the chair arm across the aisle. Her exotic perfume, which could be suntan lotion with its tropical coconut aroma, carried across the aisle, prodding at his blood swoon. Just relax, and sink into the sensation…

“Is it okay I’m using this room?” she asked. She made no move to tug the robe over her flat, tight abs. Not that the sheer fabric would conceal anything. Those legs were so long. They could wrap around his back and hang on for the ride. “I didn’t know when you’d be home. Were you…out?”

“Out?” He could play the innocent as well as she could.

“Well, you know.”

“I’m not sure. What do I know?”

She sighed and pointed to her neck. “You know. Pulling a Dracula.”

“Pulling a—?” Was she really going to insult him with a reference to a fictional character?

“The sucking thing.”

“Ah. You mean the part where I answer the call of instinct to survive?”

“Yeah, whatever. So what do you do? Stalk hookers in the night or something?”

“Look who’s talking. You appear as though you tickled one and she sneezed her attire all over you.”

Affronted, she sat straighter. The move pushed up her breasts so they strained against the black lace.

Creed sucked in his lower lip. Mercy, but the wolf had a nice pair.

“I’ll have you know there’s probably not a hooker on the streets who can afford this bit of black lace. It’s from Paris.”

“Ah? As am I, or thereabouts.”

“That’s right, my hubby the Frenchman.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. The position did amazing things with her breasts. Creed could see the rosy circles surrounding her nipples. “Always had a thing for Frenchmen.”

“Is that so? You could have fooled me.”

“Frenchmen who don’t bite,” she said with a scratch at her neck. “So what’s the deal with you going out? I should think a rich guy like you can afford to have your bites shipped in.”

She was so gauche and, yet, entertainingly so. Tonight’s wig matched the pink marabou and it bobbed sexily against her porcelain-fine jaw as she nodded to the muted beat.

“Normally I entertain donors here at the house. I didn’t want to disturb you though, so my hunting habits had to change.”

She shrugged. “I don’t care. So long as I don’t have to watch.”

Creed stretched an arm along the plush velvet cushion and propped an ankle across his knee. No harm in marveling over her. Drawing in her delicious scent. “You know, some do like to watch. Taking blood is a sensual act.”

“Yeah? Maybe for the vampire.”

“For the donor, as well.”

“Donor? You mean victim.”

“They’re not victims if I don’t harm them.”

“You don’t consider a bite harm?”

“I use persuasion to erase their memory of our transaction. The bite heals overnight and they wake with only minor soreness.”

“Donors? Transaction? Okay, that’s enough.” She pressed the off button on the remote and stood. “You’ve thoroughly creeped me out.”

“And you continue to intrigue me, Blu. Did you intend to seduce anyone in particular tonight with that clothing choice?”

“This little thing? Dude, this is what I wear to bed.”

He rubbed his throbbing brow. “I am not a dude. Your language skills impress me little.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re an old man who’s lived it all, seen it all, and must be so cultured and refined. Ha! I can actually mean it now when I talk to my girlfriend about my old man.”

“Do you speak of me?”

“Hell, yeah. I told Bree all about our skyrockets-and-lightning wedding night.”

“Blu, do you ever tire of this front you put on constantly?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sex incarnate had no idea how hot she made him merely by standing there, one leg out jauntily and twisting on the heel of her shoe. Or maybe she did.

Yes, she must be aware of every single move she made, and how best to move for the optimum impact on the opposite sex. And yet—

“You keep people back with your blasé attitude and your snotty comments. Why is that? Are you afraid to allow people close to you?”