by Michele Hauf
“What’s up with that? Did she ever tell you what her other half is? And are her eyes really pink? That’s crazy, man.”
“They’re pink. She doesn’t know what her other half is. And we have work to do,” he said, dismissing the conversation before it got too personal. Jacques would go there if he didn’t nip it in the bud while he was ahead. And he had no idea how to tell his best friend his wife was possibly half vampire. “There are only two packs in the suburb where we found the tortured vamp. Royaume and Conquerer.”
“I know a guy in pack Conquerer.”
“Then we start there,” Kir said. “Let’s head out for a few hours, then break for supper.”
* * *
“I’ll have results from the blood test in a day or two,” the doctor said as he placed a narrow glass vial of Kir’s blood in a plastic holder on his desk. “But I suspect, if you haven’t noticed symptoms yet, you’re in the clear. You said the vampire didn’t get a good, deep bite?”
Kir had avoided telling the doctor it had actually been his new wife who had done the biting. If he had taken on the vampire taint, it would show whether or not the doc knew exactly what kind of vamp it had come from.
“No, I reacted quickly. Shoved the vamp off me.”
“You haven’t craved red meat lately?”
“More than usual? No. I eat red meat every day, though.”
“Right. What about hearing pulse beats from those around you?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. Do vampires hear the pulses of their victims?”
“They are more attuned to such a thing, though we wolves can hear it if we concentrate.”
Kir nodded and pulled his shirt back on. The exam had required only the blood draw and the usual checking of eyes, nose and throat. Shouldn’t there be a test for vampirism? Wait. There was: stakes and holy water.
“I’ll call you as soon as the results come in,” the doctor said, shaking his hand. “And be careful around the longtooths, Monsieur Sauveterre.”
“I do my best.”
Striding out and getting into the car, Kir headed for home, disappointed that he hadn’t learned definitively whether or not he was in the clear. The uncertainty was making him paranoid. He felt his pack members were giving him the eye because they knew something was different about him. Beyond the fact he’d just been forced to marry a faery.
Yeah, that was probably it. Maybe his pack members were jealous. Bea was gorgeous, but he doubted any wolf would be jealous of him pairing up with a half-breed faery.
Passing through a neighborhood that blended small businesses with residential homes, he noticed an iridescent flicker out of the corner of his eye and slowed the Lexus to a stop. Down the alley he saw the unnatural sight that any mortal would have freaked out to see. Even he, a paranormal breed, was stunned to see it. And the worst part? It was his wife.
“Wings out in the middle of a Parisian neighborhood? Bea, you’re smarter than that. Maybe.” He pulled the car to a stop.
Didn’t she know how to pull on a glamour? He hated to think that he’d have to sit her down and have a talk with her, like a child, on how to act in this realm. Apparently, recalling his encounter with the samurai sword this morning, it was necessary.
“At least she’s not naked.”
He got out of the car and strode quickly in her wake. Ahead, he smelled a familiar scent. Animal. Angry. And he felt, more than scented, the fear from another being. One unfamiliar with this realm.
“Bea.” It was his wife’s fear.
He rushed forward into the shadowed alleyway and jumped over a toppled garbage can, landing behind a growling dog. The breed was a Rottweiler mix with something he couldn’t guess at and the dog’s ears were torn, a sure sign it had been used for fighting. No collar. No tags. It was not tame. How could such a beast be out on the streets? It must have escaped captivity.
Like Bea? The thought was so sudden it served to knock Kir aside the head. No, she wasn’t a captive. What was he thinking?
The dog barked at the faery who clung to the brick wall. Bea’s wings were still out. And...was that blood on her chin? Had the dog bitten her? No, she would bleed ichor. Kir could feel her fear, and as his heart went out to her, he couldn’t begin to sort out why she was here.
“Don’t move, Bea,” he instructed as he approached the dog cautiously. “But put your wings away, or someone will see.”
“I can’t. I’m too scared! They pop out when I’m afraid.”
Growling a warning, Kir defied the dog with a commanding tone. The insolent beast did not turn to him but instead stepped closer to Bea. Spittle dripped from its maw. It was ready for a fight.
“Kir!”
The dog lunged for Bea. Kir leaped, landing his hands on the hind legs of the beast, which snarled and twisted around to snap at his face. In an attempt to avoid its jaws, he flung the beast against the wall. It landed with a yelp and a whimper.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said in a commanding tone, lowering to a crouch to put himself on level with the dog. His hackles bristling and canine teeth lowering, he smelled the dog’s aggression and he had to focus to keep his werewolf from coming out. “I don’t know who has hurt you, but she won’t. Nor will I. Friends,” he said, and hoped the dog was not too damaged to feel his gentle but firm intent. “Cease.”
The dog’s head dropped, perhaps recognizing that command. It whimpered and stepped toward Kir. Willing his canines back up, Kir put out his hand, palm up, offering peace. The dog sniffed at him. They were two different breeds, but they did carry a common gene; however, that didn’t mean they were instant friends or allies, by any means.
He felt Bea’s hands curl over his shoulders and she hugged up against his back. Her body shook and her wings shuddered. The dog had scared her. As well, her wings could have alerted the dog. She was not a creature it had ever dealt with before so that may be why it was aggressive.
He cooed a reassuring noise and the dog licked his fingertips. “Good boy.”
He wasn’t sure what to do. If he left the dog here, it could go on to torment another person, perhaps cause harm. But he couldn’t take it home with him. He wasn’t a pet kind of guy. And while werewolves tolerated dogs, keeping them as pets was macabre. If he took the dog to the pound, it would likely be euthanized.
“Can you take me home?” Bea asked nervously.
“I have to take care of the dog first.”
He tugged out his phone while the dog continued to sniff and lick at his fingers. Dialing the office, he asked Violet to look up a no-kill pound. After a few minutes, the secretary returned with a giddy reply. There was a rehabilitation pound less than a mile away.
“I guess we’re going for a walk,” Kir said. He scanned the alley and noted a coil of nylon rope lying near a rusted ladder. “Get that for me, will you, Bea?”
“We’re not taking that beast home?”
“No, but I can’t leave him to run loose and possibly hurt someone who doesn’t have a manner of communicating in a nonthreatening way with it.”
“Great.” Bea picked up the rope and handed it to him. “I go out for an exploratory walk and I end up with two dogs on my ass.”
Securing the rope about the dog’s neck, Kir stood and looked down on his wife. “I am not a dog.”
She hooked her hands akimbo. “You both growled and snarled at me.”
“Not a dog,” he reiterated firmly. The animal at his feet growled. Kir tugged the rope gently, and it settled. “And will you put your wings away?”
Bea stepped back from the warning. With a shiver of her shoulders, her wings folded down but did not recede. “That dog isn’t wearing any clothes.”
“What?”
“You said all creatures in the mortal realm had to wear clothes.”
“He’s not a— Bea, can we talk about this later?”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t hurt?”
“No.” She blew out a shivering breath. “Just shaken.”<
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“Because you have blood on your chin.”
She swiped her chin. “Oh.”
He understood now. She’d gone out to satisfy her hunger.
“Maybe I should walk home and meet you there,” she said.
“You know your way? Can you possibly get there without flashing your wings at everyone you pass?”
“What’s wrong with wings?”
“Not in the mortal realm, Bea. Can’t you pull on a glamour?”
“I told you I’ve tried. No luck. The air is different here. Sort of like I have a big fuzzy sweater on me at times. I need to come down from the fear.”
“Wrap them around you like a shawl or something.”
She did so, clutching the gossamer red-purple wings across her chest. “I can retrace my steps. I think I’ve had enough of big bad Paris for now.”
“I suspect big bad Paris is tired of you, as well.” Kir inwardly chastised his defensive annoyance, but he didn’t like to be called a dog. And Bea must learn to follow the rules mortal society pressed upon their kind. Blood hungry or not. “Go straight home. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Fine.” She tromped down the alley like an admonished child yet called over her shoulder, “I hate you!”
“I hate you, too,” he said, but he didn’t raise his voice.
Hate was such a strong word. It belonged to people such as those who would train the dog at the end of this rope to be cruel and vicious.
“Come on, boy.”
Chapter 9
Kir arrived home two hours later. The rescue shelter had been pleased to take in the stray and promised they would place the dog in a good foster home designated and trained for rehabilitation. It was the best situation he could have provided the animal.
Now he wandered into the living room, collapsed onto the big leather easy chair, and put his feet up on the hassock and toed off his boots. Jacques was stopping by later with the file on the job. Kir wanted to look through it at home, away from the office, where urgency demanded his high attention. Sometimes he did his best work while relaxing and allowing his mind to wander. And he didn’t want to muddle over the blood test report. He wasn’t a worrier; he liked to be an optimist.
He grabbed the remote and clicked on the music. Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” was cued up and he cranked the volume and closed his eyes. Best way to unwind after a long, trying day.
Robert Plant’s crooning, snaking lyrics slithered off the walls and thudded in his heart. To create such a sound that had made itself so evocative of a certain period in time was an amazing accomplishment. He often wondered what he had done, or would do, that could change the world. Enforcing took a few packs out of the blood games and saved dozens of vamps, but did it really matter?
Perhaps bringing a dog to a shelter had made a small but indelible mark. Yes, he could be satisfied for that accomplishment today.
Opening his eyes, his vision caught the movement of red-and-violet wings near the window. Dark hair swirled in a veil across her face. Her hands swayed and danced, her fingers an intricate interpretation of the music. And her hips shimmied toward Plant’s call to surrender.
Once again, the naked faery strikes. Smiling at such fortune, he kept his eyelids half-mast. He wanted to watch awhile without her being the wiser. How had he forgotten that he had a wife? He’d come home and slipped into the usual routine without remembering he’d left Bea in the alley after rescuing her from the Rottweiler. She’d been so afraid she hadn’t been able to put away her wings.
Apparently, she’d recovered from her fear. Oh, had she recovered. The woman was petite and lithe, but she knew how to work the curves that shaped her body. Small breasts perked up in rosy jewels and those hips could shake a house. And now her wings didn’t shiver in fear but instead glowed and rippled to the music’s beat.
Kir licked his lips. The bonus in this arranged marriage was sex whenever he wanted it. Although, to think about it, he hadn’t yet made love to her. They’d only had sex. Lusty, frenzied, give-it-to-me-because-I-need-it sex. There had been no emotion involved.
He shouldn’t complain about getting his physical needs met by the more-than-willing faery. But they had bonded. Both in Faery terms and by the ways of his kind. They were in this for real. So the idea of seeking a more intense intimacy that would ultimately lead to lovemaking appealed.
As well, he wanted to get to know his wife. Emotionally. Personally. She sought her mother. Her father had been cruel to her. Dogs frightened her and made it impossible to hide her wings. What else made the faery tick?
Bea sashayed toward him, having spied his sneaky observation. “Do you mind if I dance?” she called over the loud music.
He adjusted the volume down so they could hear each other. “Not at all. I love the way you interpret Led Zeppelin.”
“Is that what you call this music? I like it!” She spun and then jumped onto the coffee table and snaked her hips up and down in a sexy stripper move. “It’s so...exotic. It gets inside me and makes me move. You want to dance with me, Kir?”
“Nope. I like sitting in the audience.”
The faery closed her eyes and ran her palms over her skin, from breasts to stomach and down her thighs. The air sweetened with her candy scent and he inhaled deeply. He could drown in her and not bother to swim for shore because to die inside Bea felt too delicious. The woman inspired his marvel. And that was a precious thing.
The song ended and segued into “Stairway to Heaven.” Bea plopped onto the chair arm and leaned in to ruffle his hair with her fingers. “How’d it go with the vicious dog?”
“Found a shelter that was happy to have him. They’ll rehabilitate and find him a new home.”
“Well, good for the beast. It almost tore my leg off.”
“I think you flew out of its reach in the nick of time. Much as you should not be seen walking about Paris with your wings out, I think they saved you from serious injury. But promise me you won’t do that again.”
“Get attacked by a dog? I’m not sure that’s in my control.”
“I mean bringing your wings out in public.”
Bea shrugged and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her wings were folded down her back. “What is so wrong with wings?”
“How many winged creatures have you seen walking this realm?”
“There are birds everywhere!”
“Bea.”
“Fine,” she conceded with a grumpy pout. Twisting, she stroked his cheek, then fluttered her fingers over his beard. “I want you to know I’m sorry for calling you a dog. My bad.”
“Apology accepted. Dog is a slang term used against us. My species is not like the domesticated dog breeds the humans employ as pets.”
“I get that. And wouldn’t the mortals freak if Fluffy suddenly transformed into were-Fluffy?”
“What were you doing in that alley anyway?”
“I was bored. I needed to get out and breathe in nature. It’s difficult to find nature in this city, you know that?”
“There are parks everywhere. I’ll take you to the Bois de Boulogne this weekend. It’s a huge park. I think you’ll like it.”
“Yes! Points for the werewolf hubby.”
“So you were bored? Nothing else?” He tapped her lip where earlier in the alley he’d seen blood.
“I have to feed,” she said softly. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not. It’s something you need to do to survive. I want the two of us to be honest with one another, okay?”
She nodded. “And if I take blood from humans, then I won’t be so tempted to bite you. But, stones, you taste so good.”
“I think that’s a compliment, but it also kind of makes my skin crawl.”
“Sorry. Just giving you the honesty you asked for.”
Now she slipped off the chair arm and onto his lap. Her bare limbs snuggled against his lap and chest. With a shimmy of her shoulders her wings receded and disappeared with some kind of fa
ery magic Kir didn’t understand.
She put her palms to his chest and met his gaze. “I’ve been thinking about us,” she said. “I want to piss off all the naysayers that were shaking their heads at our wedding ceremony. And, like you said to me that night, I want to make this marriage the best it can be. We need to get to know one another.”
“I was thinking the same.”
“Wow, so we are on the same wavelength. What do the mortals say? Cool! We do have some things in common. We both like to eat and have sex.”
“That’s a start. We also both have an interest in weapons.”
“You see? And we like to shop.”
“I’m not so sure about that one.”
“You like to watch me shop.”
“I’ll give you that one. Interesting, though, that you’ve no desire to wear the pretty things I’ve bought for you.”
She tilted her head and now he noticed the silver chain strung through her hair from one ear, over the crown of her head, to the other ear.
“Subtle, and very fitting a princess.” He kissed her forehead. “If you’re a princess, does that render me a cool title by virtue of being your husband?”
“Only if you are sidhe. But I’m sure an honorary title can be managed. How about the Princess’s Main Dude?”
He chuckled. “I’ll wear it with pride.” He stroked her arm; the skin was warm and only a little sparkly. He’d have to start looking in the mirror before leaving for work. “I’ve been thinking, too. Hate is such a strong word.”
“Huh. Well...” She bracketed his face with her hands, peering into his eyes. “I still hate you. I mean, that’s what it is. Faeries and species who inhabit the mortal realm? We don’t have reasons to want to embrace.”
“Other than sex?”
“There is that.”
“If you have to hate me, then do what you must.”
The doorbell rang and Kir sniffed the air, catching a subtle but familiar oaky scent. “That’ll be Jacques. He’s brought some files that I need to review tonight.”
He got up and Bea followed him down the hallway to the front door. “Goodie! I get to meet one of your pack members. Was he the guy who stood beside you at the wedding?”