His dragon mentally paced. Whoa, calm down. He had to get a grip. Only he stood in the way of making sure the bounty failed.
“If she dies but is still useable, she’d be a prize like no other,” Alistair concluded. “Do we know who put out the hit?”
“Negative, sir. There appears to be a shadow network involved. These are not a faction without means or skill.”
Vampires, like the many other supernatural creatures under the Order’s control, had perks and benefits. All they had to do was kneel and be bound to the Dragon Queen who ruled them all. Those in the Order lacked nothing. Immeasurable wealth, including no-limit black credit cards to fund their lavish lifestyles, all paid for by the Order’s treasury. They had access to higher learning, even training to ensure all of their needs were met. Of course, no one had absolute freedom. Freedom was a mirage.
A mirage the rogue vampires chased.
“A shadow network of supernaturals out to kill a novice seer?” Alistair asked. So far, nothing Leslie did declared her to be anything more than a baby witch, at the most.
“The more she evolves the more powerful she will become. Now would be the best time to either be rid of her or to woo her to their side.
A part of him might have considered a great trickster behind it. “Have you been in contact with your father?”
Killian’s history might have been complicated were he not the Dragon Queen’s son, as his duplicitous bloodline connected him to the trickster Loki, through his father, Fenrir.
Killian’s face, once open and kind, hardened.
“I’m sorry, Nephew,” Alistair said. “It is only that we must look at all options. I know you are faithful to the Order.”
“My mother would have my hide if I even considered helping that side.”
“Aye, our family history is complicated. I mean no harm.”
“Then don’t keep bringing it up, Uncle.” Killian sighed. “I’ve done nothing to ever indicate that my loyalty would lie with the rogue faction.”
“Yes, I apologize.” Dragons apologized as often as they wished to share their horde of treasure—almost never.
“I will see what Beau and his men can ascertain on their side and put out some feelers here. If the seer’s death is part of this rogue plan, you better make nice, Uncle.”
Alistair didn’t wish to agree with Killian but knew his words to be true. Leslie’s value to the rogues and their forces could decimate the Order if she fell into their hands. He had to make sure that didn’t happen. He didn’t wish to admit that he had neither idea nor practical experience on properly courting a woman—a human woman. The last dalliance with Rose had ended with fire and almost brimstone. That relationship could not be the example for him to follow. “What might you suggest?”
“The best way to a woman’s heart is to woo her. You’re on a Woo cruise, man. Might as well make it happen. Read her books. She’s an author and put all of her fantasies in those things, I bet.”
Alistair’s gaze fell on the steamy book he’d pulled out of his pants earlier. “Her books, you say?”
“The best way to a romance writer’s heart is through words. She must like them intelligent and you’re smart, lived long enough to experience most of history firsthand. If that doesn’t work, well, follow the tropes on the cruise.” Killian flipped through what looked like a printed brochure of the cruise. “They have billionaire romance night with a BDSM mashup—that sounds more like something for the wolves. Wow, we are truly missing out.” He flipped to another page and said, “Here. Historical Romance is having a ball. Dust off your dancing shoes.”
“This is just to protect her,” Alistair argued.
“Right. Now the fate of the Order depends on your ability to swoop this woman off her feet.”
Alistair didn’t need to be reminded, but then again, he also didn’t want Leslie to die.
He’d spent almost an eternity trying to find her.
Chapter Nine
Leslie
I could hold on to a grudge like the best of them. So far, Alistair and I had perfected this dance. He’d come to verify I was still alive, and I’d shoo him away. After a while, he stopped checking on me, and I was fine with that. There were no threats aboard this ship. No one wanted me dead. The only thing I had to worry about was running out of author copies, carpal tunnel flare-ups, and pens that refused to write. But we’d only been one day out at sea. Six more to go. Sigh. How was I going to survive this?
Claudine had been my sunshine in the rain in all of this.
We’d made our stop at a port, and I was happy to stay behind. It wouldn’t be too much longer before we left the Canadian coast for Greenland.
“There are some fine-looking men here.” Claudine took a seat at my table and began to ogle the numerous male specimens that found their way in viewing distance. Her head turned, following the latest man who walked by wearing Chinos and deck shoes. She picked up her fruity drink, which I’d noticed she’d been sipping on all day.
I yawned and took a drink of my water to wake up. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate the handsome specimens onboard, but cover models didn't usually do it for me. I liked manly men. Men who looked like they could hold their sword and do something with it.
“Yeah, but they’re just not my type.”
“Is it because of that whole ninety-day rule? Where is that handsome guy who was all around you? He looked like your type.”
I frowned. “I like men—strong men with defined abs, sculptured shoulders, strong jaws.” I began to fan myself. “A cruise is no place to start anything serious. The guy I’m looking for just has to know how to woo me.”
“Girl, this is more of a booze cruise than a woo cruise. If you wanted that, we should have taken a singles' cruise.”
I smirked. The last time we'd done that, she'd left with an STD, and I with my credit card overcharged, planning that the next royalty check would pay it all off. Nope.
“If you want to know the truth, all I want to do is try to relax some, clear my mind, and let all of that bullshit go.”
“You and me both.” Claudine turned toward the latest man crossing the threshold into author central and sighed. He must not have tickled her fancy. “I’m going down to the pool.”
“I thought you were devouring all the lobster you could eat.”
“Trust me. I’m having some delivered to the room every night I’m here. Yum.” Claudine gave me a wink.
“Don't forget they have a nice spa area, too,” I called after Claudine. She threw me a wave and headed toward the beautiful blue pool. Her pink flip-flops thunked against the deck paneling, and as I stirred my lemon-ice water, I felt a pair of eyes staring at me.
Turning, I caught sight of Alistair and paused mid-stir. My hair fell forward over my sunglasses, covering my eyes. I watched him move through the thinning crowd with a confidence that had all eyes fall on him, but he was only looking at me. I felt my face turn hot, and it hit me like a bag of cement.
I was so in trouble.
When I saw him, all I wanted was him. I wanted every lying piece of him, and his demeanor made me want to believe that he wanted me, too.
Slowly, I fanned my face again.
Now, I'd seen extremely handsome men before, but Alistair put them all to shame. Tall, six foot two, distinguished, as though he wore the outfit and not the other way around. His ink-black hair hung in long, luscious waves, and his beard, neatly trimmed, covered lips that quirked at my gaze.
My mouth went dry.
“May I help you, Leslie?” His voice seemed like a white flag waving between us. I was tired of being upset, and his eyes were as inviting as cool silk on a summer day.
He was decadent. I licked my lips. I hated to blink. I could drown in that gaze. A strange feeling lapped in the pit of my belly.
“Um, I was just trying to get my thoughts straight.”
He smiled a Trident commercial smile. “Can I help?”
* * *
Charming,
again? Check.
Before I could agree, we were interrupted by the model I'd been avoiding.
“There you are,” Donovan said.
I shuddered to hear his voice. He'd somehow gotten fixated on me and wouldn't leave me alone.
“One moment.” I turned away from Mr. Walk-out-of-my-dreams Alistair MacLeod.
“I've been looking for you,” Donovan continued.
“Sorry, I was here talking to—” I turned around, and Alistair was gone.
“Who were you talking to?” Donovan asked.
I swiveled my head searching for Alistair, but he'd disappeared like a soft caress.
“Guess I've been in the sun too long.” I could fix this between us, maybe. That would be my goal. We still had days until this cruise was over and the best I could do was make it pleasant for both of us.
“Well, if you don't hurry, you'll be late for the next thing on your schedule.” He proceeded to pull out a piece of paper that had my itinerary on it.
Alcohol stank on his breath. This Donovan was different from the usually cordial and professional model who understood the constraints of publishing. Without my series continuing, he wouldn’t be gracing any more of my covers.
“Why do you have that?” I asked.
* * *
He quickly folded it and placed the paper back in his pants pocket. “I'm not going to let my piece of golden honey get away from me. You know, your cocoa-butter scent drives me wild, my little milk-chocolate mousse. Meow.” He stalked closer to me.
I flinched, took an unconscious step back, and frowned at him.
Ever since I’d discovered his picture at some convention and begged my publisher to put him on my covers, well, he’d been sickeningly sweet. Sort of like the stripper who had no interest in you, just the large stack of folded ones in your pocket.
I held up my hand. “Whoa. Although you might consider that a compliment, it isn't.”
“Does my adoration offend you?”
“I find your behavior very offensive. I think you’re drunk.” Again, I took a step back. The air around him spiked with anger.
He shook his head and clenched his jaw. I could see the muscle working.
“You should get to that workshop you need to lead.” He cleared his throat, and I didn’t know him well enough to have any idea what might have been happening behind that handsome mask, but whatever it was, the evil glint in his eyes gave me pause. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you.” He turned and stalked away.
Gran materialized at my side. “You need to be careful with that one there. He’s been poking sheep so long, he doesn’t know that you’re a wolf.”
“Wolves hunt in packs. If I were anything, I’d be a vampire.” I grabbed my glass of water, glanced at the clock, and headed toward Conference Room A.
“You always did have a thing for those that sucked,” Gran chided. “I just always wished you’d have better taste in men than your mother. I was really hoping to hear you’d made up with the handsome bodyguard. My dear, love takes a seed to germinate. He might have hurt you to try and protect you, but what do you expect of your fated mate?”
“What?” My heart started beating harder, thrashing against my chest, and my entire body shook as if ice-cold water had been poured over my head.
Chapter Ten
Alistair
Alistair’s head ached terribly. What in all that should be holy is going on?
Thoughts swirled.
No matter where his nose caught a whiff of magic, it practically churned around him. He’d never been one to suffer migraines. Yet, on this boat, with different scents of magic around him, he couldn’t find his footing. Was his sniffer off?
He moved from the pool area toward the space where the authors seemed to be convening.
It didn't take long before he noticed Leslie, and he hesitated. He’d ruined what could have bloomed between them. Killian’s words weighed heavily on him. He needed to protect her, and for that, he had to be in her presence.
Maybe he could have said something to delight her, to try and ease her transition into this new world. But he was just a dragon, so out of touch with what it meant to love another, especially a woman who deserved so much more than him. He wished he could give her more than his adoration.
But the burden of eternity rested between them. Nothing lasted forever, though. What if he failed to love her? What if he gave her everything, his whole being, and she walked away? What if the bounty on her head was met, and she was ripped away from him before he even tried?
He watched as one model seemed to do a body roll, while another author stuffed dollar bills somewhere. He couldn't be a prude.
Then there was Leslie. She sat off to the side with her name tag on and a folded piece of paper in front of her. She looked as miserable as he felt.
But it was the scent of lavender that made him focus on her. If he allowed himself to think about the future, he knew that image would have her in it—dancing around their living room in a golden-yellow dress while he tried to play the guitar. But also, she’d be throwing knives and never missing the target. She’d share her love of lore, save him a seat at every event, and journey with him forever.
He'd seen beauty, tasted it, rolled in it and practically drowned in it, but it wasn't her. She was different. A spark flared and made him stand still.
This was the moment of truth.
That didn’t happen too often. Had never happened, to be honest.
There was something in her aura that kept her coming back, and it was more than this being just a job, or even Freyja’s declaration of her being his fated mate. That declaration was just the introduction. Still, it would be up to them to find a way to one another, no matter how impossible it may seem. The more he stared, the more his heart did something strange inside.
Inside synapses fired, but he couldn’t form any words. Couldn’t move. His palms grew sweaty, and for a man who always had something to say, he found himself speechless.
A gust of wind blew, rocking the boat. He needed to get his emotions in check, or he'd sink the whole damn ship.
“Mine!” the dragon within him called out afresh. His eyes blared, and he took in every nuance of her heart-shaped face and radiant skin. He longed to touch her curly red hair, and kiss-worthy lips. He wanted her to smile and be the reason a smile crossed his face.
He wished for nothing else than to push his chest out, make everyone disappear, toss her over his shoulder and take her away—far from those who did not deserve her attention.
Leslie was breathtaking. He paused and frowned. Rubbing his chest, he realized he didn’t like that much. Possessiveness gripped him and wouldn’t let go.
“Oh, do you read romance?” an older woman who reminded him of his grandmother—with white hair and wide-rimmed spectacles—said as she pulled on his sleeve. She reached into her pocket and retrieved a small spritzer. She sprayed the mist behind her ears and on her wrists. His senses lit up. Whatever she was spraying had been imbued with magic. No wonder he hadn’t yet been able to locate the source. “I, myself, booked this trip months ago, once I saw the lineup online of the amazing authors.”
“Where did you get such a delightful spray?” he asked.
“Oh, this?” She glanced at the bottle. “It was in the gift bags. I've seen it all, been on enough of these trips to know a good gift bag when I see one, too.” She squinted at him. “But I didn't think men like you would read steamy romance.”
Those kinds of sprays would hide the presence of any magical being on board. They contaminated the air, dispersing magic all over the ship and making his nose useless.
Alistair pinned that new information for later. This confirmed Killian’s report. Despite the serene waters, something or someone still wanted Leslie, and they covered their tracks with magic to ensure he couldn’t find them. Damn it.
So, information about the trip was online and easily accessible. How much of a coincidence might it be that a simple spray bottl
e with a potion was used to spread the scent of magic around this ship? Inhaling deeply, he didn’t catch any pheromones in the mist. He cleared his throat. “Men like me?”
“Yes, manly men.” She emphasized “manly” and caressed his arm a little longer.
“I'm a great fan of Ms. Love's work.” He held up his copy of Leslie’s Highland romance.
“She's all right, but she'll never be as great as Cassidy MacFarlane. She writes authentic love stories, not this crap.” She waved at the famous Cassidy, the nearby woman seated behind the paper placard bearing her name.
“You, my dear, just don't know good storytelling,” he said.
“I prefer the stories filled with BDSM. That’s true smut. Just my taste to get the engines going, and you know, revved up for someone like you to finish me off.”
Alistair tried to keep a straight face. Of course, he probably hadn't had sex since before the woman standing next to him was born, which made for an uncomfortable conversation.
“You know, sunny,” she continued. “Men like you need to know the rules of foreplay. It's not all about poking and prodding, but you got to make love to a woman. Those MacFarlane books can teach you how.”
She shimmied her hips around in a circle. When did grandmas become so sexual?
“Um?” He searched for a way out. He’d been alive when women showing a bit of ankle was cause for scandal, but this? This lewdness he couldn’t handle. He could feel the walls closing in when she proceeded with talk of whips, chains, and vibrators.
She winked. “You know when I was younger, I made sure to use what I had, and that's why I'm still able to keep going. Helps to keep me young.”
“Not sure your husband would agree with that,” he said, glancing around for a way to make his escape.
“He was too busy with the housekeeper. I kept the pool boy.” She swished away then, leaving him to consider her statements. It had been a long time since he'd had to consider wooing a woman, and he just wasn't ready for that. The potential.
Once Bitten Page 6