Accidentally Married To...a Vampire?

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Wow! First vampires. Then gods. Now…vampire—gods? What’s next? Werewolves? Smurfs? Were-Smurfs?

  “Do you have any powers?” she asked.

  “I possess certain talents.”

  Her eyes popped open. “Can you sift?”

  “I track and kill. I have the skills necessary to be good at both. That’s it.”

  “Oh.” Helena sank into the seat, digesting for several moments. Even for her, a relatively open-minded woman who’d studied science, this was a bit much. But regardless of how she felt, Andrus had done the honorable thing. He loved—albeit in an obsessive, stalker-like fashion, but he loved—then he was betrayed. Afterward, he’d tried to make the best of it and not eat children. Where was the shame in that?

  She twisted in her seat to fully face him. “Andrus, I realize we don’t really know each other, but you should believe me when I say it’s not your fault. You loved her. She screwed you over. You tried to do the right thing. End of story.”

  Andrus quickly slammed on the breaks. With the snow blanketing the concrete, the Hummer skidded. Several cars honked and flashed their lights as they passed by.

  “No! That’s the fucking point! It’s not the end of the story. If the gods ever feel like it, they can remove their light. They can turn me back into a vampire, and I’d binge until I’ve made up for every day I haven’t fed. I’d become a depraved, bloodthirsty monster. So there is no fucking end! Not unless I make one.”

  He turned his head left toward a driver who had slowed to dish a healthy portion of glare. “What the hell are you looking at? Huh?” Andrus screamed. The offended driver, who thought twice about provoking Andrus, sped off.

  He turned his attention back to Helena who’d plastered herself against the passenger door. She held out her hands defensively. “I’m sorry, Andrus. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

  Andrus regained control. “No,” he mumbled, his head hung low. “I shouldn’t yell at you like that.”

  She nodded cautiously, now understanding why he was so volatile. He was broken, just like her. But he had no intention of hurting her. He was good. Dark and neurotic, but good. “What will you do?”

  “For starters, I’m going to kill Reyna.” There was no shame in his voice that time.

  Definitely dark. So, this was as much about revenge as it was justice. But she couldn’t bring herself to condemn Andrus, although she didn’t believe that killing the woman he once loved, who sold his soul to the gods—there are really gods?—was going to heal him. Like Helena, he needed his life back.

  But where did Helena fit into all this? Was Andrus really just trying to help her? Doubt swirled in the back of her mind.

  Something was…not right.

  But what choice did she have? She had to continue on with Andrus and hope the Demilord archives held the secret to her own freedom. No turning back. Not now.

  “Andrus, I really think you should—”

  This time, it was his phone that beeped.

  He held the device up and then growled at Helena. What could possibly be wrong now? She leaned in to catch a glimpse of the message.

  “It’s not my fault!” Helena barked. She could practically see the steam rising from Andrus’ nostrils despite the darkness inside the vehicle.

  He glared down at his Smartphone then at her.

  “What? Stop looking at me like that!”

  “Then, whose fault is it?” he growled, showing her the ten-day weather report on the tiny screen displaying little clouds with snowflakes and rain.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not mine; snow happens. Where the heck did you say you’re from, again?” Wasn’t it Russia? They had lots of snow there, didn’t they?

  “Fine,” she conceded, throwing up her hands. “The snow is all my fault. The canceled flight is all my fault. I’m so sorry—my gracious Demilord—please forgive the poor, stupid human for the weather related travel delay.”

  He let out a breath and his body softened. “That was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”

  She turned her head toward the window and then waived her hand, sighing. “Forgiven. Just stop making a habit of yelling at me—that’s twice in one night.”

  “I am not used to being around others,” he said quietly.

  Her anger softened too. How could she possibly respond to that?

  “All right. What next?”

  “We drive,” he replied.

  ***

  In the back of the limo, Niccolo slumped against the black leather seat, staring at the tablet screen as the dot slowly flickered across the map. Helena, or at least her cell phone, was moving south, away from Chicago and the storm.

  His fingers curled into a tight fist. In less than an hour the sun would be rising, and he and his men would have to find shelter. Unpleasant, angry thoughts moved through his mind. How to kill a Demilord was one of them—never been done, but he’d find a way. More pressing, however, was how to get her back.

  There were only five days left. And—perfect—he was unable to sift her away! Likely, thanks to the Demilord. What had she called him? Andrus.

  He imagined that pretty-boy head of Andrus’ sitting high in the sky on a five-meter spike. Sì, just like the good old days, when they knew how to do things right. At this very moment, the gods only knew what lies that cretin was telling his sweet, trusting bride.

  Where is he taking her? Niccolo resisted the urge to sift to Helena while she was on the move. Too dangerous.

  But Niccolo felt overcome with the primal urge to protect her. The pull was almost as bad as the night when he’d saved Helena from those men on the beach. Her fear had created an agony so intense that his body felt like it might be ripped in half. When he arrived and found the vile males, auras completely black, attacking the women, he'd turned into a blood-crazed demon. Luckily, his men weren’t far behind and able to help with the cleanup. Niccolo had never told Helena, but they’d been in the area for several days killing Obscuros. He visited her every morning before the sun rose and watched her sleep. She was so beautiful. He wanted her near him—had purchased a home for her, even—but he wondered if he’d be able to keep his hands off her if they shared the same roof.

  But everything changed after that night. What if the bikers had been Obscuros? He would never be so careless again. He’d take her to their new home, have her guarded twenty-four seven, and ensure she’d never be in danger again. After all, she was his mate, for better or worse. Human or not, it was his job to protect her.

  Well, he’d failed miserably at that task, hadn’t he? Now she was with one of the most dangerous creatures in the world, and they only had five days until their three-month anniversary.

  But do you really care about fulfilling the prophecy anymore?

  He sat quietly pondering the question. The answer was a shocking surprise…

  No. He didn’t care. He merely wanted her safe.

  His chest tightened. You idiot! Admit it. You care for her. Don’t you? There was no denying that he did. Seeing her pretend to want another had pushed him over the edge. He felt wounded. Truly and painfully wounded.

  So what did it really mean?

  For starters, he was a damned fool to continue ignoring the powerful bond between them. Out of billions of living creatures, her soul was bound to his. It was a connection more powerful than hunger or the need to survive.

  Niccolo didn’t know why. Or how. But there it was: Helena now meant more to him than anything.

  Do you love her? He still didn’t know, but perhaps, that was because love was so foreign to his cold heart.

  Niccolo looked up toward the front of the car. “How much time until sunrise, Viktor?”

  “Forty minutes,” Viktor replied without looking at his watch. “With the polarized glass, we can follow her for another two hours before I’ll tire.

  “Do it. We’ll go as far as we can then find a hotel to bunker down.”

  Viktor nodded. “Then what?”

  “I don’t kn
ow. Pray they stop soon—somewhere I can safely sift to and get a chance to steal her back.”

  “What about the Demilord?” Viktor asked.

  Niccolo growled. Why the hell did the Demilord want Helena anyway? At first, he'd surmised that Andrus wanted to lure him to his death. Niccolo wasn’t an Obscuro, but that didn’t mean the gods couldn’t find offense with something he’d done; however, if that were the case, Andrus would have killed Niccolo on the spot in the hotel. According to what Niccolo had been told, once a Demilord located their target, they’d stop at nothing to finish the job. Collateral damage, loss of innocent human life, wasn’t a concern. They claimed their actions were justified because they served the greater good. Just like those idiot gods they obeyed, the Demilords lacked any sense of compassion. That's why Niccolo had fled the hotel; he didn’t want Helena to get caught in the middle.

  So now, in retrospect, he knew the Demilord’s speech about coming for Niccolo’s soul was a lie. But the other part about fucking his woman? He wants Helena for himself. I must kill him. But how?

  Rumor had it that no Demilord had ever been killed by a vampire; they were a hardy breed. But Niccolo was well trained. He could take him; he knew he could. Helena would just need to be out of the way.

  Viktor smiled. “Are you sure she’s worth it? The queen will have your head if she finds out you’re picking a fight with the gods’ guard dogs.”

  Niccolo looked out the window toward the glowing horizon. “I’m sure.”

  Chapter 12

  Andrus glanced in the rear view mirror at Helena curled up on the backseat. God, he was tired. This was the longest he’d ever gone—two weeks without sleep and a proper meal. Yes, he was immortal and part vampire, but his body functioned best with natural foods. Easy, convenient energy, such as Snickers and Poprocks—his favorites—could only take an angry warrior so far.

  He glanced at his watch. The sun would be rising in twenty minutes. He’d drive all day to put distance between them and The Executioner. Then, he’d find somewhere safe to stop and sleep for just a few hours before driving the rest of the way. No doubt the world’s most deadly vampire and his guards were right behind them. Andrus, like all Demilords, knew Niccolo and his men were a force to be reckoned with. He’d never have a chance fighting so many well-trained warriors at once. Especially since Andrus’ abilities were hunting, not being hunted—a tiny detail he failed to share with Helena. He had already summoned backup, but they were dispersed around the globe and would take a day or two to meet up with them.

  Heading southwest, eyes fixed to the rain sleeked road, he leaned to his right and grabbed another Snickers from the glove box. Just two more days, and they’d be there. He’d send a message to Niccolo, and Reyna would finally be his. Perhaps after three hundred years, he’d finally see an emotion touch her eyes. Terror. Yes, even the cold-hearted queen would feel that when he took her head.

  ***

  Helena sensed the faint hum of an engine as her mind slipped out of a deep sleep. If it weren’t for the discomfort of a seat belt digging into the top of her head, she might have slept another day. She wiggled her toes and lethargically sat up.

  “Good morning, Helena,” Andrus said in a groggy, deep voice. “Or, should I say afternoon?”

  “What’s good about it? I feel like the world just sat on my head and kicked me in the stomach.”

  Andrus did not respond.

  “Hey, are you okay.” She leaned between the driver and passenger seats to look at him. His eyes were glued to the road, but his lids were at half-mast.

  “I am…tired.”

  Helena noticed the pile of candy bar wrappers on the floor of the passenger side. “I hope Demilords have a good health plan.”

  “I only wish I could get sick, then maybe I’d die.”

  “Jeez. Morbid enough?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m tired. That's all.” His eyelids notched down another fraction of an inch.

  “When’s the last time you slept?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  Lord love a duck! Even Niccolo slept daily, and he was tough as nails. “Pull over, let me drive.”

  Andrus shot daggers with one glance. “No.”

  “Oh, I get it. Only big strong men know how to drive a Hummer?”

  “What car do you drive, California girl? Wait. Let me guess. A convertible VW or a Prius.”

  Ha, was he going to feel stupid! She was one of the lucky ones who commuted less than five miles each way to school. So when Ann’s brother wanted to sell his truck for the bargain price of two Gs, she pounced.

  “A 1974 Bronco.”

  Andrus’ head swiveled. “Windsor V8?”

  “What else?” Helena loved that frigging gas-guzzler. The hard top was a bear to put on in the winter, but in the summer, that truck was a little slice of heaven. She felt strong and free riding that beast down the highway along the coast.

  “Fine.” Andrus pulled off at the next exit into the gas station.

  ***

  As soon as Helena topped off the tank and hit the freeway, Andrus was sawing logs in the backseat. For her, the seat had been spacious, but for a man his size, he looked like a bear crammed in a shoebox. As soon as she found a good spot, she’d pull over and rent a room so he could stretch out. In all honesty, she could use a hot shower and bed herself. Helena flicked on the radio and picked an oldies station. The Beach Boys came on, and it suddenly reminded her of the night Niccolo saved her.

  She changed the station. She didn’t want to think about him; she wanted to think about going back to her old life with her mom and friends.

  But they’re moving on with their lives. Shouldn’t you?

  She’d spoken to Jess and Ann just last week. They’d already moved away to start their careers. Her other friends had gone off to get their doctorates. What was she really going back to? Just a place with lots of memories of surfing at sunset and running on the beach.

  What about your mom? She’s still there.

  But even her mom had her own life now that Helena was grown. Helena hadn’t really left anything behind in Santa Cruz.

  Well, there’s your career. You had to give that up.

  Actually, Niccolo never said she’d have to give it up, only that she wouldn’t have to worry about money.

  So that just left the question of what was behind door number three? What would her world be like if she had to live as a vampire? She knew it was a must if she wanted Niccolo; otherwise their relationship would always be about him trying not to hurt her. They’d never be intimate either. Total deal-breaker. But could she handle living in his dark world? It seemed so violent and cruel.

  He said things would be better after your transformation. Don’t you trust him? He saved your life.

  Yes, she did. But he didn’t trust her. That hadn’t changed. He also said he didn’t love her and never could. That mattered.

  But so does the fact you want him. And…with time, he might learn to love. Look how long it took you. It was true; Helena had never tried to open her heart to anyone until Niccolo came along.

  Helena glanced at Andrus through the rear view mirror. His head was propped against the door, arms crossed against his chest. God—oops—gods, he was beautiful. His thick dark brown hair swirled in random spikes, his dark lashes fanned out along the slit of his closed eyes. His lips had a slight fullness to them, making him appear as though he was puckering for a kiss.

  Helena shook her head. He's still not Niccolo.

  There was also something about Andrus she didn’t trust. Maybe that dark cloud following him? Whatever it was, she still couldn’t resist wanting to help him. He was in pain, alone. She could relate.

  Chapter 13

  “Crap!” Andrus sat up in the backseat of the vacant Hummer. It was parked in an empty lot behind a motel under a shedding tree. Yellow and brown leaves covered the windshield along with a light sprinkle of rain.

  He jumped out and scanned the area. Where the hell
was Helena? There was no trace of her smell. The rain had washed it away. Could she have gone to the hotel?

  He charged toward the side of the building and found the entrance to the reception. A young woman with short strawberry blond hair stood behind the counter. The moment she looked up her smile melted away.

  “May I help you?” she asked with a shaky voice.

  Andrus leaned over the counter, his height and size easily bringing him a foot from the woman’s face. “I am traveling with a young woman. She has shoulder-length, blond hair. Where is she?”

  The woman smiled nervously. She handed him a small envelope with a card key. “The young woman was just here and asked me to direct you to your room.”

  Andrus let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Where the hell are we?”

  Confused, she answered, “Amarillo, Texas.”

  He nodded and turned toward the elevator.

  “But,” the clerk added, her voice barely a whisper, “she also asked me to tell you that she’d gone for food.”

  “Where?”

  The woman backed away from the counter and pointed across the street.

  ***

  Seriously? Is this the only place to get food? What a nasty dive, Helena thought as she pulled open the stainless steel door of the roadside bar.

  The parking lot was littered with Harleys, beat up trucks, and, well…litter. The building was worn and nondescript except for a crooked, washed out sign over the entrance that read Bar.

  As soon as she opened the second set of doors, her heart stopped and so did every leather-clad man in the cesspool. Every face—unshaven, bearded, or just plain dirty—swiveled towards her.