If only she could hold him one more time. Tell him how much she loved him before she had to go. As her life force ebbed out, faint memories flashed before her, including the first time she and Trace had been together.
Just as she’d suspected, she’d loved him then, as well.
More jostling, more voices, then something warm touched her lips.
If only she could tell him just one more time….
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“JUST BE PATIENT,” his grandmother said. “These things can take time.”
It had been twenty-four hours since he’d first found Charlotte in the cottage with Sebastian, her body nearly drained of blood.
As Guardians took care of Sebastian, he ministered to Charlotte.
Desperately, he’d given her some of his own blood, but she was too far gone for it to do any good. It was only when he rushed her back to the house that his grandmother suggested her one hope was to become a changeling.
He knew these things required approval by the Council after a lengthy waiting period. But Charlotte didn’t have that kind of time.
His grandmother hadn’t hesitated. She’d grabbed the scorpion blade from Trace and drawn it across her wrist, then held it to Charlotte’s lips.
“Hush,” she’d told him, though he wasn’t about to protest. “I’m not ready to let this girl go, either.”
And now, a full day later, Charlotte’s body finally stirred. Her eyelids fluttered, the color returned to her cheeks.
“Char, can you hear me? If you can, know that I love you. Very much.”
For an endless moment, there was no response. He held his breath, marking the passage of time with each heartbeat. Then, slowly, her fingers reached out and curled around his.
One month later
CHARLOTTE STOOD AT THE BACK of the cavern with Trace and adjusted the collar of his silk cape, part of the ceremonial dress his people had been wearing for centuries.
Two nights ago, they’d arrived in Madrid, the original headquarters of the Night Brethren, where important Council ceremonies were still conducted. At first, Trace had argued with her, said she wasn’t strong enough yet to travel. However, with the help of Trace’s friend Dom and a few other well-respected officials, she’d been granted an audience before the Council yesterday. She wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to speak to them.
Other than being a little tired as her body adjusted to its new way of acquiring and processing energy, she felt great. Her muscles were strong, her vision was better than before, her mind was sharp and her bond with Trace was even more powerful. She hadn’t wanted to say anything to him yet, but she felt certain that their union—as his people, now her people, liked to call it—would someday produce a child. A Westfalen heir. The prospect thrilled her.
When she awoke after the transformation to changeling was complete, Trace had fallen to his knees, an emotional wreck. She’d learned that he hadn’t left her bedside since he rescued her from Sebastian. If she’d ever had any doubts how he felt about her, she needn’t have worried. Again he apologized for wiping her memories last year and for what she’d gone through because of him. She’d laughed, stroked his hair and told him how much she loved him.
Yesterday, everyone present had remained quiet and reverent throughout the various proceedings. When it was her turn, however, she’d boldly walked to the stone podium, her hair covered by the hood of her robe, its hem trailing out behind her. In a clear voice that echoed throughout the chamber, she’d read the speech she’d written with Vik’s help. It outlined all the reasons Trace should be sworn in to the North American Council.
One of the elders had brought up concerns about the Westfalen family’s commitment to Council philosophy because of the business with Trace’s uncle and now, his cousin.
“What’s contained in a man’s heart speaks more to his character than his lineage,” Charlotte had replied. “Trace has demonstrated time and again that he believes in what the Governing Council stands for and isn’t afraid to fight for his beliefs.” She held out her arms. “I’m living proof of that.”
In the end, Trace was voted in. Today marked the day he took his oaths.
“How do I look?” he asked now.
He towered over her, his shoulders proud and strong. The red lining of his cape, which signified his family’s lineage, brought out the blue in his eyes, she noted, even in the dim light of all these candles. His muscular bare chest begged for her to run her hands over it, but she restrained herself. There’d be time for that later. Lots more time, she thought with a smile, considering her extended lifespan.
“Just about perfect,” she whispered. “You look very vampirish. And very sexy.”
A guard dressed in full military regalia stepped out of the shadows. It was time.
Trace pulled the hood of her robe to cover her hair, his fingertips brushing her jawline. “And I can say the same about you.”
The guard cleared his throat.
“Ready?” Trace asked her.
“As long as you are, I am.”
The ceremonial chambers were packed, with rows of people lining the walls, making the space feel even smaller. A human had never witnessed the swearing in of a Council member before, although technically Charlotte wasn’t human any longer.
Trace’s voice boomed out strong and confident, sending shivers of pride skating down her back. This was her man, she thought. The man she was spending the rest of her life with. His grandmother would be proud of him, as well. Charlotte was sad Vik hadn’t been able to make the trip over to witness this.
After reciting his allegiance to the Governing Council, Trace picked up the large pillar candle in front of him and approached the eternal flame burning from a pit behind the altar. He lit his candle, then carried it to a wall, where he placed it alongside dozens of others. When he turned around, everyone clapped and cheers rang out around them.
It was official then. Trace was now a member of the Governing Council. She couldn’t wait to show him how proud she was of him.
“THE SHOES. They stay on for now.”
He chuckled when he noticed Charlotte’s hand pausing on the strap of her heels. Trace had asked her to wear the lingerie he’d bought her for the Christmas party since he hadn’t been able to fully appreciate it back then. And he’d bought her a new dress—red, this time—which she’d worn under the ceremonial black robe today.
“But—”
“Don’t worry, you’re not going to be doing any more walking.”
He swept her into his arms and carried her into the hotel suite. His footsteps pounded on the hardwood floor of the hallway, echoing the tempo of her heart. When they entered the bedroom, he kicked the door closed and set her next to the bed.
She reached around to unzip the dress, but he stopped her. “I’ll do it.”
Her lips were soft but demanding against his as he eased the zipper down himself. They hadn’t made love since her transformation—not only had he worried about controlling the urge to take her blood, but he’d wanted her to get accustomed to all the changes first, despite her attempts to convince him otherwise. But after witnessing her performance in front of the Council yesterday and today, his needs could wait no longer. Hooking his thumbs under the neckline of the dress, he slid the bloodred fabric from her shoulders and let it drop at her feet.
His erection throbbed as he stared at the creamy mounds spilling over the top of her corset. He touched her soft flesh, warm and yielding under his fingertips, and her breath hitched. God, she was so perfect. Curling his fingers inside, he brushed the tips of her nipples, barely concealed by the lace.
“I’ve wanted this so badly, Trace. You, this, everything. Promise me you will never make me wait this long again.”
That’d be an easy promise to keep. “You have my word.”
As he debated whether or not to unlace her corset, Charlotte unsnapped her panties and did that little shimmy thing until the scrap of lace fell from her hips. Then she reached un
der his drawstring waistband and her cool fingers wrapped around his shaft.
“Good God, Char.” He rolled his hips forward and felt the glorious friction of her hand.
She gripped him tighter. “I love the easy access of your ceremonial garb. You should wear clothes like this more often.”
A groan that sounded more like a growl burst from his throat. Nope, he decided. He didn’t want her to undress further. He’d take her just like this.
He nudged her onto the bed, but before he joined her, he hesitated.
“What are you doing?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbows.
“You’ll see.” He strode to the walk-in closet and retrieved the large antique mirror he’d spotted earlier. Thankfully, it had castors on the bottom and slid easily over the carpet toward the bed.
Charlotte laughed. “No way.”
“I told you,” he said as he adjusted the mirror. “I’m a very visual person.”
He sat on the bed next to her and ran his hands over her thighs, still encased in the silk hose. Pushing her knees wider, he exposed her sex. It would be hot inside…slick…and very, very tight. God, dressed like this, she was sin, personified. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for this woman. Including breaking every law known to man and vampire. Hell, he’d broken many of them already.
Kneeling between her legs, he spread one hand on her flat lower belly and slid two fingers of his other hand into her warm folds. Her muscles gripped him tight as he moved in and out. He placed the pad of his thumb on her swollen nub of flesh, pressing it gently at first.
“Oh, God,” she said, digging the heels of her shoes into the sheets on either side of him. Her muscles tightened, so he pressed his thumb a little harder. “Oh, God,” she said, over and over this time, her voice raspy and raw.
He glanced at the mirror and his eyes locked onto hers. How long had she been watching him pleasuring her?
She came quickly against his fingers. When she was finished, he withdrew and planned to bury another part of himself deep inside.
“Hold on,” she said, rolling over. “Let me adjust the mirror. I want to be able to see all of you as you’re making love to me.”
Heaven help him, he thought as he stared at her. Positioned like she was, on all fours, it’d be easy for him to take her this way. His balls ached, suddenly feeling even heavier between his legs. Again, their eyes met in the reflection.
“Yes,” she answered his unspoken question, arching her back slightly.
Gripping himself, he slid just the tip against her swollen opening and it easily slipped inside. She tried to rock back on him, but he held her steady for a moment. He turned his attention to the mirror to find that her breasts had spilled out over the top of the black lace. Good. He’d be able to watch them bounce and move. Her bottom was round, gorgeous, her daggerlike heels pointed out behind him. From this angle, he could see a few inches of his erection. But if he moved over, he might be able to…
Shifting slightly, he— Christ, he could see everything now.
“My God, Char. You’re so hot, you should be illegal.” Curving his fingers around her corset-covered waist, he thrust his hips forward. And in one amazing instant, he watched as he slid into her body.
“Oh, my God, Trace. This is…is…”
She wasn’t going to say big again, was she? Not that he would’ve minded.
He molded his chest to her back, rested his hands beside hers, then began to move inside her. The friction of each stroke ignited all his nerve endings to the point where he didn’t think he could hold out much longer. His fangs were already fully extended.
“You’re so beautiful, Char,” he whispered into her hair. “And I love you so incredibly much.”
“And I love you, too.”
With his tongue, he easily located the pounding pulse of her vein. In one swift movement, his fangs clamped down and plunged into her flesh. She stiffened momentarily, let out a soft hiss. And as he swallowed that first sip of sweetness and felt her muscles spasm around him, he came hard, releasing his seed in an explosion of white-hot pleasure.
“Honestly, Char,” he said as they lay in each other’s arms a few minutes later. “I don’t know what I did to deserve a woman like you.”
All his life, he’d tried to live up to his birthright, holding duty and honor above all else. But in the end, although those things were still important to him, it was the love of this woman that had truly completed him, making it possible for him to fulfill his destiny. Oddly enough, were his father still alive today, Trace was pretty certain he’d have been proud of him and the choices he had made.
“Simple,” she said. “You were true to yourself and followed your heart, which made you the man of my dreams.”
MONSTERS DON’T DO CHRISTMAS
CHAPTER ONE
THE WEREWOLF’S FIST packed a remarkable wallop. Daniel Harrison had developed some kind of funky, supernatural strength since he’d transformed into a vampire a year ago, but he’d quickly learned that strength was nothing when matched against a werewolf.
Why did these guys hate him so much?
There were two of them, and the biggest, with no discernible neck, served a pummel of blows to Daniel’s gut. He wasn’t in position to latch on to either with his fangs, and the idea of clamping down on their nasty flesh didn’t suit his preference for a clean bite.
A Christmas storm battered New York City. Snowflakes stung them with an icy scrape and at times hindered Daniel from seeing the oncoming punches.
He knew why the dogs had been following him on his nightly hunt for sustenance. They sought an unaligned vampire who had no ties to the local tribes to bring home to the pack and turn into a chew toy. Wolves did nasty things with vampires, like lock them up, force them to endure UV light torture, then after the vamps were starving and raging for blood, the wolves pitted them against one another in a battle to the death. This vampire wasn’t down for the count yet.
With renewed vigor, Daniel swung and landed a forceful punch in a werewolf’s kidney. The bruiser grunted and toppled backward, landing in his cohort’s arms. Bouncing on his feet like a boxer, Daniel had to smile at the swift move.
“Hey!”
At sound of the female voice, all three—vampire and werewolves—twisted to spy a woman tromping down the snow-packed alleyway with a grocery bag in hand. Furry boots rose to her knees and were tied with laces capped in thick fur balls that bounced with each step. A fur-rimmed hood covered her head and her face was bundled against the winter storm with a scarf that protected her mouth and nose. Bright green eyes sought each of them with chastising force.
“You think you made your point?” she said to one of the werewolves, who punched a fist into his palm. “I don’t want trouble. But you do know the police station is around the corner.”
Both wolves exchanged nervous glances. One shook his head and sneered at Daniel.
Daniel could feel the pansy accusation from the werewolves waver through the air at him and strike him smartly in the testicles. Defended by a woman? Not cool. He smacked a fist in his palm.
“We’re out of here,” the wolf with the steel fist announced, and they shoved roughly past the woman and tromped off.
Nice. Like he needed one more thing to make the wolves laugh at him, the unaligned vampire who was this close to cashing in all his chips, be it as a werewolf’s bitch or by the stake.
“Had ’em right where I wanted them,” Daniel said, his anger rising at the humiliation of having a woman defend him. “And I didn’t need you to interfere.”
“Uh-huh.” She stepped through the flurry of snowflakes, her path obviously aimed toward the iron stairway hugging the brownstone. “You were eating that brick wall, buddy.”
Furious at her catty comment, he grasped her by the furry coat lapels and swung her around, slamming her against the wall. The bag of groceries crushed against her stomach. The werewolves had caught him tonight before he’d satisfied his hunger, and she looked wa
rm, mortal and appetizing.
“Oh, yeah? That’s not what I have in mind to eat.” He willed his fangs down and worked his best scary snarl on her.
The woman tilted her head, eyeing his canines, but he didn’t feel so much as a shiver when he leaned against her body. What was wrong with mortals nowadays? Their scare factor had dropped off the scale.
“Aren’t you afraid?” he demanded, feeling his own fears rise from that awful night a year ago when the vampires had attacked him in the subway. Yes, he’d been fearful. He hadn’t believed in monsters, hadn’t time for that fantasy bullshit. Now he couldn’t get away from it.
“I’m not afraid,” she offered boldly.
Daniel laughed inside, but on the outside he remained serious. Sweet little thing didn’t know what she was dealing with. She probably thought the fangs were fake. Or…
“I get it. You’re one of those chicks who gets off on men with fangs. You put posters on your walls and swoon over the movie star vampires with the stupid hair. Like to tail around behind us, and beg to get bitten.”
“Not particularly.” She reached for his face, which made him flinch, but the soft yarn mitten managed to stroke his aching chin. “I bruise easily, and I can’t abide stupid hair.”
She was not processing the enormity of her danger. Must be in shock.
Daniel tightened his jaw, but when he met her eyes, the anger that had built inside him for a year dissipated like a faulty snowball dispersing midair. It felt wrong to play the big bad to brave Miss Bright Eyes. Why hadn’t he been capable of standing up to his attackers like she had? He wasn’t a pansy, and he used to go a few rounds in the boxing ring every weekend with a buddy. It was just that werewolves were so strong.
“I live at the top of the stairs,” she said, thick snowflakes dusting her lacy dark lashes. “Why don’t you come up and let me tend that bruise. Who beats up a vampire and actually wins?”
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