Tiffany used her free hand to grab a nearby lamp pole to lever herself to her feet. The wounds weren’t too deep, but they stung when she moved around, dragging a wince out of her. Cassandra tensed, but made no move to help, not wanting to risk being struck by another silver weapon she might have hidden in her clothes.
“Well,” Alexis ventured, hoping to defuse some of the tensions between the women now that the worst seemed to be over, “I suppose that means you’re really going to be one of us, now. Congratulations.”
Tiffany’s sunny smile was at odds with her pallor and the way she swayed on her feet. Despite the pain, she stood tall and proud, arms folded in front of her chest. Lifting her chin, she turned that pleased grin on Alexis, her look just as predatory as any of the werewolves could have pulled off.
“Don’t worry. None of you will regret the decision. I promise.”
Vera growled, the low rumble cutting off into a pained whine when Cassandra shoved her again with her foot until she subsided. Cassandra whirled on Tiffany, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed into tight knots as she stalked forward, though she still left a healthy distance between them.
“You may have gotten your way, but you’ll have to rise through the ranks just like the rest of us did. Gabriel isn’t going to make it easy for you, and neither will the rest of the pack. What you did was inexcusable, and hardly fitting behavior for a member of the Diamondfangs. I have the feeling you’ll be spending the next couple of years proving yourself to the rest of us.”
Tiffany’s smile faded, and she inclined her head by way of apology. She was still far too pleased to be terribly sorry. “If that’s what you wish, so be it. I suppose I have nothing but time now, so I’ll spend as long as it takes to prove my worth.”
Heather paused in rubbing the back of her neck, still sore from Vera’s blow, to turn a puzzled look on Tiffany. “What do you mean?”
“You know that’s why I came to you instead of the vampires, don’t you? I wanted immortality without the nighttime limitations, and I got it. Under the circumstances, it seems to me being furry for a few nights out of the month isn’t such a bad deal. Now that what’s yours is mine, I’ll do whatever it takes to earn the respect of the pack. We can start with my overseas connections—which should help the pack expand its influence enormously. It’s only a fair trade, considering.”
Cassandra snorted, leaning back on her heels and eyeing Tiffany with a sly twist to her lips. The other girls were staring blankly now, even Vera, too surprised to contradict her.
“Really, now. That’s why you wanted to join us so badly? Immortality?”
“Of course. You think I like the idea of being a monster? What’s the point if you don’t get something out of it—like living forever?”
Cassandra startled everyone by throwing her head back and laughing, covering her eyes with her hand. Her shoulders shook so hard with mirth that she couldn’t speak right away. Irritated, Tiffany huffed, looking at Heather, who was watching her with wide eyes, her hand over her mouth.
“What’s so funny about that?”
Heather shook her head, not wanting to be the one to break the news. So Alexis did it for her.
“Honey, you should’ve stuck with the vampires. Werewolves aren’t immortal. We have decreased life spans because of our nature.”
Tiffany blinked. “Come again?”
“Decreased. Life. Span,” Alexis repeated. “We’re destined to die young. Well, relatively.”
Already pale from blood loss under the bronze shimmer of her makeup, Tiffany grew whiter still. She staggered a few steps to collapse into a nearby chair. Heather grimaced when she saw the bloody handprint left behind on the furniture, but felt it was the wrong time to caution her guests about keeping the place tidy.
“... but ... but I thought ...”
“Wrong, obviously,” Cassandra said, lacing her tone with as much sympathy as she could muster. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t much. “Sorry, sweetness. I’m surprised you didn’t know. I thought the White Hats were better informed than that.”
Tiffany shot her an angry look, though she was still too shocked and weak to do more than raise a shaky fist at her. “I didn’t care about the details, I just went with Richard when he went on hunts. No one ever told me!”
“Get used to it,” Heather snapped, her own patience at an end. “You’re one of us now. Welcome to the werewives.”
EPILOGUE
If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.
—Dorothy Parker
Six Months Later
Alexis stirred her martini, watching a woman ordering one of the cabana boys at the hotel pool to get her a towel and something from the bar. The werewives had decided a vacation down to Atlantic City was in order, and were making the most of the time away from their husbands by shopping, gambling, visiting the local clubs, and soaking up sun by the poolside. Now, resting at a glass table with a view overlooking the rest of the patio, the pool, and the ocean in the distance, the ladies were relaxing after a long, hard day of wearing out the magnetic stripes on their husbands’ credit cards.
Alexis studied the woman with interest. She was dark-haired and golden-skinned, probably from out of town. Her bikini and matching sarong were ones Alexis had considered buying herself when she was shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue earlier in the week. The rock on her finger shone brightly enough that Alexis was glad she’d remembered to bring her Christian Dior sunglasses with her.
The lady said something so sharply that the boy taking her order was quick to pick up her purse for her when she gestured for it, and then rushed off to fetch her drink. Though the sight of the tight butt as he bent over to pick up the bag was distracting, Alexis used the excuse of plucking the olive garnishing her drink out and shaking it in the woman’s direction to turn the attention of the other werewives her way.
“What do you think?”
Heather glanced over the rim of the oversized piña colada she’d ordered, then shrugged. “Not bad.”
Cassandra nudged her Prada sunglasses down to rest on the tip of her nose and tipped her sunhat up. She watched the girl snap her fingers as she made demands that the hotel personnel scurried to carry out, catering to her whims as if she were the Queen of England.
“She looks like she’d be a pain in the ass to break in,” Vera commented, not bothering to crane her neck to take a look.
Tiffany slid behind her, giving her a hug as she put one of the two cocktails she was carrying down on the table in front of Vera, giving her an air-kiss on the cheek. “That’s why I love you. You’re always so positive about these things.”
Vera gave Tiffany a vicious, toothy grin, which was soon returned in kind. Tiffany slid into her own seat, crossing her legs so that her Zac Posen floral skirt rode up high on her thigh, distracting several of the men working and lounging near the pool.
“We’ve taken chances before,” Cassandra said, smiling wryly at Tiffany and toasting her with her drink. “What do you think, darling?”
Tapping her cheek with one French-manicured fingernail, Tiffany made a big production of thinking about it, taking her time while the other women rolled their eyes and sipped at their drinks. Lips curved into a Cheshire grin, she curled her fingers around her glass, hairline cracks appearing in her polish as her nails began forming into talons.
“I say it doesn’t hurt to give her a chance. After all, she looks like she’d fit right in.”
The woman, thanks to the Bulgari sunglasses shading her from the sun’s glare, failed to notice five pairs of glowing, golden eyes simultaneously focused upon her with predatory intent.
THE MORNING AFTER
Abby rolled onto her side to study the man who slept at her side. No, not man, she fiercely reminded herself. Vampire. Studying the wickedly perfect features in the dim light, it seemed impossible that she hadn’t guessed the truth before. He was every woman’s fantasy.
Barely aware of what she was
doing, Abby silently lifted the duvet to reveal the lean, muscular form. Although the jeans rather disappointingly remained, he had removed his silk shirt to reveal a chest that was just as lethally beautiful as she had imagined in her heated dreams.
“Good morning, lover,” a husky voice abruptly intruded into the silence.
Jerking her head up, Abby took in the slit of silver glittering beneath the heavy black lashes. She abruptly dropped the duvet as if it might scorch her fingers.
“I . . . didn’t realize that you were awake.”
“I may be dead, but not even I can sleep while a beautiful woman ogles me. Tell me, sweet, what were you searching for? A horn and tail?”
“I suppose I was curious. You seem so . . . normal.”
“You mean human?”
“Yes.”
Without warning, she discovered herself rolled onto her back with Dante looming above her, his hands planted on either side of her head.
“Perhaps I don’t possess three eyes or have acid dripping from my fangs,” he said, his beautiful features unexpectedly somber, “but you should never make the mistake of pretending that I’m human. I am a vampire, Abby, not a man . . .”
Books by Alexandra Ivy
WHEN DARKNESS COMES EMBRACE THE DARKNESS*
Published by Zebra Books
*coming soon
When Darkness Comes
Alexandra Ivy
ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
EMBRACE THE DARKNESS
About the Author
Prologue
England, 1665
The scream ripped through the night air. Pulsing with a savage agony, it filled the vast chamber and tumbled down the vaulted corridors. Servants cowering in the lower halls of the castle clamped hands over their ears in an effort to block out the piercing shrieks. Even hardened soldiers in the barracks made the sign of the moon, the protector of the night.
In the southern turret, the Duke of Granville paced across his private library, his shadowed features lined with distaste. Unlike his servants, he did not cross his forehead in an effort to ward off the evil eye. And why should he?
Evil had already struck. It had invaded his home and dared to taint him with its filth.
The only thing left was to purge the infestation with a ruthless strike.
Tugging at the hood to his robe to ensure his marred countenance was fully hidden, he grimly squared his shoulders. Patience, he told himself over and over. Soon enough the moon would move into the proper equinox. And then the ritual would at last be at an end. The child he had sacrificed to the witches would become their precious Chalice, and his suffering would be at an end.
Turning abruptly on his heel, he marched back toward the slotted window that offered a fine view of the rich countryside. In the distance he could witness the faint glow of fires. He shuddered. London. Filthy, peasant-infected London that was being punished for its foul sins.
A punishment that had spewed out of the ramshackle whorehouses and swept its way to his sanctuary.
His hands clenched at his sides. It was untenable. He was a just man. A godly man who had always been richly rewarded for his purity. To have that . . . vile disease enter his body was a perversion of all that was due to him.
That, of course, was the only reason he had allowed the heathens to enter his estate. And to bring with them that creature of evil that was currently shackled in his dungeon.
They promised him a cure.
An end to the plague that was consuming his life.
And all it would cost him was a daughter.
Chapter 1
Chicago, 2006
“Oh God, Abby. Don’t panic. Just . . . don’t . . . panic.”
Sucking in a deep breath, Abby Barlow pressed her hands to her heaving stomach and studied the shards of pottery that lay splintered across the floor.
Okay, so she broke a vase. Well, perhaps more than broke it. It was more like she shattered, decimated, and annihilated the vase, she grudgingly conceded. Big deal. It was not the end of the world.
A vase was a vase. Wasn’t it?
She abruptly grimaced. No, a vase was not just a vase. Not when it was a very rare vase. A priceless vase. One that should no doubt have been in a museum. One that was the dream of any collector and . . .
Freaking hell.
Panic once again reared its ugly head.
She had destroyed a priceless Ming vase.
What if she lost her job? Granted, it wasn’t much of a job. Hell, she felt as if she were stepping into the Twilight Zone each time she entered the elegant mansion on the outskirts of Chicago. But her position as companion to Selena LaSalle was hardly demanding. And the pay was considerably better than slinging hash in some sleazy dive.
The last thing she needed was to be back in the long lines at the unemployment office.
Or worse . . . dear God, what if she was expected to pay for the blasted vase?
Even if there was such a thing as a half-price sale at the local Ming outlet shop, she would have to work ten lifetimes to make such a sum. Always supposing that it was not one of a kind.
Panic was no longer merely rearing. It was thundering through her at full throttle.
There was only one thing to be done, she realized. The mature, responsible, adult thing to do.
Hide the evidence.
Covertly glancing about the vast foyer, Abby ensured that she was alone before lowering herself to her knees and gathering the numerous shards that littered the smooth marble.
It was not as if anyone would notice the vase was missing, she tried to reassure herself. Selena had always been a recluse, but in the past two weeks, she had all but disappeared. If it wasn’t for her occasional cameo appearances to demand that Abby prepare that disgusting herb concoction she guzzled with seeming pleasure, Abby might have thought that the woman had done a flit.
Certainly Selena didn’t roam the house taking inventory of her various knickknacks.
All Abby needed to do was ensure that she didn’t leave any trace of her crime and surely all would be well.
No one would ever know.
No one.
“My, my, I never thought to see you on your hands and knees, lover. A most intriguing position that leads to all sorts of delicious possibilities,” a mocking voice drawled from the entrance to the drawing room.
Abby closed her eyes and heaved in a deep breath. She was cursed. That had to be it. What else could possibly explain her unending run of bad luck?
For a moment she kept her back turned, futilely hoping Selena’s houseguest, the utterly annoying Dante, would disappear. It could happen. There was always spontaneous combustion, or black holes, or earthquakes.
Unfortunately, the ground didn’t open up to swallow him, nor did the smoke detectors set off a warning. Even worse, she could actually feel his dark, amused gaze leisurely meandering over her stiff form.
Gathering her battered pride, Abby forced herself to slowly turn, and keeping the broken vase hidden behind her as she regarded the current bane of her existence.
He didn’t look like a bane. God’s truth, he
looked like a delicious, dangerously wicked pirate.
Still kneeling upon the floor, Abby allowed her gaze to travel over the black biker boots and long, powerful legs encased in faded denims. Ever higher she skimmed over the black silk shirt that hung loosely upon his torso. Loose, but not loose enough, she acknowledged with a renegade shiver. Much to her embarrassment, she had caught herself sneaking peeks at the play of rippling muscles beneath those silky shirts during the past three months.
All right, maybe she had indulged in more than mere peeks. Maybe she had been staring. Gawking. Ogling. Occasionally drooling.
What woman wouldn’t?
Gritting her teeth, she forced her gaze up to the alabaster face with its perfectly chiseled features. A wide brow, a narrow aristocratic nose, sharply defined cheekbones and lushly carved lips. They all came together with a fierce elegance.
It was the face of a noble warrior. A chieftain.
Until one noticed those pale, silver eyes.
There was nothing noble in those disturbing eyes. They were piercing, wicked, and shimmering with a mocking amusement toward the world. They were eyes that branded him a “badass” as easily as the long raven hair that carelessly tumbled well past his shoulders and the golden hoops he wore in his ears.
He was sex on legs. A predator. The sort that chewed up and spat out women like her with pathetic ease.
That was, when they bothered to notice women like her in the first place. Which was not very damn often.
“Dante. Do you have to skulk about like that?” she demanded, desperately aware of the priceless clutter just behind her.
A Vampire Bundle: The Real Werewives of Vampire County, When Darkness Comes, Real Vamps Don't Drink O-Neg, & Hunted by the Others Page 34