Was I buying this?
Hell, no.
Not at all.
Were these people all crazy?
I just wanted them to leave. Now. My skin was feeling creepy-crawly. My insides were twisted into knots.
“Christine, you’re looking a little pale,” Lindsay pointed out.
I stood, bracing my hands on the tabletop. My knees were soft, my head a little swimmy. “I think I need to go lie down.”
They all stood at the same time and filed toward the door.
Lindsay was the last to leave. She touched my arm, and I twitched, some instinct inside of me jumping at the contact. “If you want proof, come outside tonight. Midnight. It’s a full moon. You’ll see for yourself.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I shut the door and vowed I wouldn’t get anywhere near a door or window after eleven tonight.
Of course, I broke that vow.
At exactly midnight, I stepped out onto the deck. And I watched the three women who were slowly becoming my friends change into wolves.
After swallowing the contents of my stomach a few times, I staggered back inside and stumbled right into Jon’s arms. I flung myself as far from him as I could, then turned to face him.
“Did Josh kill his mother?” I blurted.
Jon didn’t answer right away. He looked torn, guilty, conflicted.
I saw red.
“Jon, you know I’ve sensed something wasn’t right about this place since I arrived. I’m telling you right here, right now, that you owe me the truth.” Folding my arms, I took another step backward, afraid I might do something impulsive if I didn’t put some space between us. I couldn’t ever remember being so angry, so hurt. “If you can’t trust me with all your secrets, every last one, I have to leave. That’s all there is to it.”
His jaw clenched. “Please, sit down.”
Reluctantly, I followed him into the family room and sat.
He sat opposite me, on the ottoman, elbows resting on his knees, body angled forward. “I take it you know about Lindsay, Samantha, and Erica?”
I nodded. Couldn’t say the words yet. It was all too freakish to speak aloud.
“Then you know werewolves exist.”
“But what does that have to do with Josh?”
“What I told you about Michelle having trouble getting pregnant was true. After trying for years, we adopted Joshua, knowing he would become a werewolf someday. I thought we could handle his first turning without help. I was wrong.” He gritted his teeth and stared down at the floor. “I’ll regret that mistake for the rest of my life.”
Werewolves. Changing. What the hell? Was I having a nightmare? Was this all a big joke? I felt like I’d fallen down the rabbit’s hole and landed in some kind of freakish Wonderland that not even Lewis Carroll could have cooked up.
“What happened?” I asked as I struggled to sort through what I was hearing, thinking, feeling.
“During a werewolf’s first turning, the wolf instinct can be very strong. Too strong. Joshua was young. He couldn’t control it.” A tear slipped from Jon’s eye. “My wife.” He dropped his face into his cupped hands. Didn’t speak for a long time. I didn’t know what to say. “She wouldn’t have wanted me to turn Josh in, knowing what would happen to him. I knew, too. We couldn’t... . I couldn’t... .”
“He’s a werewolf.”
Jon nodded.
“You, too?”
“No.” Jon’s eyes found mine. “You’ve always called me Dracula—”
“It was a joke.”
“Maybe to you, but it was closer to the truth than you realized.”
I staggered to my feet. Stunned. Too overwhelmed and shocked to think straight. But I knew one thing. I was hurt. Deeply. Jon hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me the truth. About himself. His son. His wife. Not even his neighbors.
“Are you leaving?” he asked as I headed toward the foyer.
“I don’t know yet. I need some time to think.”
“If it makes any difference, I do trust you, Chrissy. That’s why I told you the truth.”
A tear dribbled down my cheek. I sniffled, dragged my hand across my face. “It sure took you a long time, though.”
He rose to his feet and slowly walked toward me. “You’re right. But am I the only one who was afraid to trust, Chrissy? Or were you putting up a few walls, too?”
“What are you talking about?”
He gave me a pointed look.
Shoot, he was right.
I fell right into defense mode. “But if you hadn’t given me a reason to be distrustful—”
“Chrissy, the first day you were talking about safety nets.”
I was. I had. Shit. How could I have been so insensitive?
“Jon, I’m sorry—”
“I love you,” he said, interrupting me. “I want you to be a part of every aspect of my life. The dark and the light.” Closing the distance between us, he clasped my upper arms in his fists and searched my eyes. I don’t know what he saw, but it couldn’t have been what he’d been hoping for. “You have to be willing to trust me. Do you want to? Are you capable of trusting anyone? Or do you need to jump off the high wire now and let your safety net catch you?”
I didn’t know how to answer him.
He released my arms and I breathed easier. And yet I felt worse. Cut off from him. As if I’d lost him already, despite his words. And, oh God, how awful that hurt. Like a red-hot blade plunged into my gut.
This man had grieved the death of a wife and still fiercely protected the child who’d killed her.
This man had gone out of his way to make me feel at home, welcomed.
This man had silently endured my distrust since the day I’d moved in, waiting patiently for me to decide whether or not I could trust him.
What the hell was I doing? How could I even think to leave this man?
Eyes burning, I flung myself at him. He caught me, just like I knew he would, and pulled me into a bone-crushing embrace. “I’m so sorry,” I said to his chest. “You’re right. I was basically sabotaging our relationship from the minute I stepped out of that truck. It’s a wonder you didn’t throw me out then.”
“I couldn’t do that. I need you too much. You’re my safety net.” He stroked my hair, cupped my chin, and lifted it until our gazes met. “Tell me you love me.” His eyes were pleading.
“You’re my safety net, too. I love you, Dracula.”
“Oh yes. Chrissy.” He kissed me and I kissed him back. He would never again doubt how I felt about him. Never. Vampire or just a guy who works some crazy hours, this man was my dream man. Mr. Perfect. I was going to do everything in my power to be his Mrs. Perfect.
On Halloween, I received a very special gift—the ring, and the proposal that I’d been waiting for. Of course, I very happily accepted both. I’d found a home, a future, a family. Here. In Jonathan Stewart’s arms. In his house. In his town.
Not to mention, a very dedicated, well-dressed, wonderfully goofy Pack of friends to dance with in the moonlight.
As the old saying goes, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. That was never more true than on Lancaster Street. Samantha Phillips was jealous of Lindsay Baker’s freedom. Lindsay Baker envied Erica Ross’s lifestyle—the cars, the clothes, the vacations. And Erica Ross begrudged Samantha’s job as full-time mother.
But they all envied Michelle Stewart. Because everyone knew a vampire—who perhaps was a little too undead to be fairy-tale Prince Charming material—was still a better catch than a hotheaded dragon, a runaround fae, or a demon with an attitude.
WHAT’S YOURS IS MINE
JESS HAINES
CHAPTER 1
Fashion fades, only style remains the same.
—Coco Chanel
“That is a darling color! Very flattering with your skin tone.”
Cassandra, who had been busily staring into space while her nails were being painted, blinked and turned her attention to the w
oman in the chair next to her. A “city bitch,” Vera would have called her. The woman’s hair was chemically blond and straight, her tan spray-on, and her face painted with colors that gleamed and glittered like the jewelry on her wrists and throat.
Cassandra couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you. I like that shirt. Gucci?”
“Close. Dolce,” the woman admitted, flexing her toes in a way that had the lady working on her pedicure scowling. She fluttered her already painted fingernails in greeting. Rhinestones flashed. “I’m Tiffany. Tiffany Winters.”
“Cassandra Sachs. Nice to meet you.”
The intricate dance of Who Has More Money had only just begun. Cassandra surreptitiously eyed the purse at the foot of the woman’s cushy chair; she couldn’t see the brand name, but the Prada sunglasses hanging off a strap were a clue.
Tiffany smiled, revealing blindingly white teeth. “Say, I’m new to town. I just moved into the Still Waters community.” Another hint, this one as subtle as a solid gold brick to the face. Still Waters was one of the most exclusive—and expensive—gated communities in town. “I don’t suppose you know of any places closer than Manhattan that have some real nightlife, do you?”
“Oh, absolutely!” Cassandra ignored Ling’s gasp when she shifted to ensure the huge rock on her finger caught the light, figuring her nail stylist would fix the smeared polish without a fuss. Ling made a small sound in her throat that might have been a curse, but she was paid too much money to scold one of her best customers. “As a matter of fact, we’re neighbors. I live in Still Waters, too. A few of us get together and go to the Smoke & Whiskey downtown for drinks a couple nights a week. You’re welcome to join us.”
The two women chatted for a while, their despairing nail technicians doing their best to ensure no more polish was smeared as the ladies moved just so to ensure their skin, jewelry, and clothing was displayed to best advantage, preferably with brand names visible at all times. Cassandra finally felt she had the upper hand when Tiffany’s blue eyes (contacts, she was sure) widened perceptibly at the sight of the pink diamond on her ring finger. It caught the light as no imitation would, practically crackling with sparkles.
Tiffany did as any woman would when confronted by such an eye-catching stone. She cooed over the diamond, clearly lusting after one of her own.
“My goodness, you must have found yourself quite a catch to get a rock like that!”
Cassandra’s lips curled, practically purring with pleasure. “Oh, he is, no doubt of that. Gabriel’s great-great-grandfather was a partner in the original Kimberley diamond mine excursion. He could have lived on the trust his father set up, but he opened his own architectural firm instead.”
Tiffany’s eyes widened, suitably impressed. Cassandra, for her part, was not about to let an opportunity to pry slip by.
“What about you? What does your husband do?”
“Oh,” Tiffany said, airy tones dripping with indifference, “I’m not married. Not anymore, as far as I’m concerned. My husband dealt in security and built custom firearms. We had our differences and separated last year. The divorce is nearly finalized, and I’m not in any rush to replace him. The alimony and sales of my artwork keep me comfortable.”
Cassandra clicked her tongue, making sympathetic sounds, eyes bright as she studied Tiffany more closely. “That’s a shame things didn’t work out.”
“We didn’t have any kids and we discovered late in the relationship that we both wanted different things out of life. The separation was amiable, and the divorce was relatively painless. Truthfully, it’s better this way for both of us.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve got such a bright outlook on things. You really should meet the other ladies. I think a girls night out would be just the thing. Meet us at the Smoke & Whiskey tonight at ten. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
Tiffany’s plush lips curved in a wicked smile as she leaned back in her salon chair, closing her eyes.
“I can’t wait.”
“Oh, you’ll like this one,” Cassandra said, stirring her martini with a thin crystal swizzle stick. “New to town, no kids, no husband, and positively desperate to fit in.”
“Desperation should suit our needs quite nicely,” Vera replied before she sipped her lemon drop, crossing her slender legs primly at her ankles. “When’s the last time we took in new blood? If we don’t work to expand our ranks as much as we have our fortunes, we’ll never have the kind of influence over the Were communities that Gabriel keeps going on about. If he wants to be the next Rohrik Donovan, he needs to work for it.”
“Oh please,” Alexis scoffed, waggling fingers wrapped in jewels in airy dismissal. “Our husbands would have done something about it already if they knew how. Their little yacht club meetings and golfing excursions are just excuses to avoid facing facts—that scouting their usual haunts isn’t going to get us any new wolves. It just goes to show that, as always, it’s the women behind the men in power who really make history.”
Heather shifted uncomfortably, twining her fingers in her long auburn hair as her attention shifted back and forth between the other ladies. She opened her mouth to add her thoughts to the conversation, but Cassandra smoothly overrode her.
“Be that as it may, if we are going to take over recruitment for the pack, we might as well start somewhere. I think this woman could be a good fit. She already lives in the community and she’s newly divorced—which means she’ll be lonely and looking for a man soon enough.”
Heather opened her mouth again, but this time Vera cut her off. “I’m not convinced that volunteering Charles or Lucas as a fit for this woman we haven’t met is such a good idea. Make her one of the pack? Sure. Hand her over to the available men? Not unless she’s breeding pups before she’s turned. Which doesn’t solve our numbers problem for the short term.”
Alexis smirked, drawing her straw across her tongue in a playful, flirtatious bid to draw the attention of one of the men at the bar before adding her thoughts. “Divorcées are generally bitter, lonely people. Not the mothering sort, if she doesn’t have rugrats already, I’m sure. She can choose someone else; perhaps one of the hopefuls that Gabriel keeps going on about inviting to those dull brunches of his... .”
Cassandra gave Alexis a withering look, which went ignored. Her smile was cold enough to make Vera and Heather drop their eyes submissively, knowing better than to tease her about her husband—or his parties.
“Thank you, Alexis. I’ll be sure to tell him you think so,” Cassandra said, her tone flat enough that Alexis finally realized she was in error.
“I’m sorry, Cassie, you know I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Alexis had turned her eyes down, but her tone told the lie. Cassandra leaned forward, her ample cleavage spilling from her low-cut top, drawing the eyes of several men at the tables around them as she settled her hand on the glass tabletop next to Alexis’s drink. One nail had formed into a talon, etching a fine line of warning into the glass between them.
Alexis audibly gulped and lowered her head contritely, a faint sound like a whine dying in her throat. Cassandra stared at her across the table, the others keeping their eyes down as she tapped her fingers impatiently. Finally, she spoke, her words cold and biting.
“If you don’t like how the pack is run, you may rise to the challenge to change it. Otherwise, I suggest you remember who is in charge before your mouth gets you into trouble.”
Alexis nodded once, sharply, ducking her head further. Cassandra laughed and leaned forward enough to brush her finger along Alexis’s arm, making her flinch. “Silly pup, look what you’ve made me do! I’ve just had my nails done, too.”
The others exclaimed over the now cracked veneer of polish on her finger, clucking their tongues over the damage. Before long, Cassandra rose, putting the full force of her chilly smile on Alexis again.
“Let’s go meet the new girl, shall we?”
CHAPTER 2
The body is meant to be seen, not all covered up
.
—Marilyn Monroe
The beautiful people of New Jersey often convened on the Gold Coast or fled to Manhattan when they wanted to see and be seen. For those who wanted to do so in the relative privacy of a community too expensive for the locals and too subdued for the tourists, the residents of Saddle River often looked no further than their own backyards to the elegantly overpriced charms of the Smoke & Whiskey.
The nightclub was in good form when Cassandra arrived. She was fashionably late and prepared with a newly restored manicure as she glided down from the heights of her Navigator and passed the keys for her SUV to the valet.
She sauntered up the solar light–lined walkway to the entrance where a host held the door for her. She promptly paused to bask in the recessed spotlights and let the crowd inside take in the view of her in all her chic splendor. As was to be expected, a low murmur of appreciation started up amidst the candle-lit interior as the tall, Amazonian brunette in killer Ferragamo pumps and a sleek Valentino dress surveyed her domain, finding it wanting.
Particularly when Tiffany appeared behind her, settling into an equally statuesque pose in her Manolo strappy stilettos—making her just a smidge taller—as she came to a glittering rest in her vintage Versace beside Cassandra.
“Lovely evening for a night out,” Tiffany purred. “I had no idea there was nightlife this close to home.”
Said nightlife was composed of a number of men and women at low, intimate tables talking over drinks while candles sparked and sputtered in dark alcoves, and the gentle strains of soft jazz came from an easily forgettable band on the stage across the room. Smoke drifted from dry ice placed in hidden recesses and gave the place its namesake, admirably reproducing the atmosphere of a Prohibition-era speakeasy. The club tried hard to pull off the air of “upper class dive,” but failed miserably thanks to the glint of crystal and glow of real teakwood from the bar and tables.
Cassandra eyed the bangles clinking on Tiffany’s wrist as the blonde airily brushed her hair back, revealing equally jangly earrings. Très out of style, but Cassandra delighted in not telling her that.
A Vampire Bundle: The Real Werewives of Vampire County, When Darkness Comes, Real Vamps Don't Drink O-Neg, & Hunted by the Others Page 27