by Sandra Hill
At first, he didn’t understand what she meant. Then his face grew flushed. “You dare . . . you dare . . . to suggest . . .” he sputtered. Then, realizing that she had played him at his own game, he gave her a nod of kudos. “Last chance. Will you wed with me, Belle?”
“No. Wait. What’s in it for me? If I marry you, where would we live? Would I be free to travel, or, oh, let’s say, get a job?”
“Job? Dost mean work? For a lady?” He was truly shocked. At her nod, he said, “You will stay at my home in the Norselands.”
“And where will you be?”
“I will be off fighting in my king’s wars, or a-Viking. Mayhap trading goods in Birka or Hedeby, even Jorvik. You are not to worry. I will return on occasion long enough to plant another babe in your womb.”
“Good grief! You’re serious, aren’t you? No, I won’t marry you. No, no, no!”
He lay down alongside her then, parting her gown even more and tearing the sleeves so that the gown was just like a silk sheet under her. She didn’t glance downward, but she could feel his erection pressing against her thigh.
She also didn’t have to look downward to know when he was tracing a forefinger over one nipple, then another. She bit her bottom lip to stifle a gasp at the intense pleasure that slingshotted to every carnally sensitized spot in her body, especially between her legs.
And he knew, dammit! As evidenced by his smile of satisfaction. “Dost yield yet, Princess?”
“Untie me.”
“Then will you yield?”
Not a chance! “Maybe.”
He chuckled. “You do not lie well, dearling,” he said against her mouth. He was leaning over her now, brushing his firm lips against her softer ones, back and forth. Nipping, then laving. Coaxing and demanding. It took all her fast-fading willpower to keep her mouth shut.
“Open for me,” he said.
Does he mean my mouth or my legs? She pressed her lips tighter together and crossed her legs.
“Stubborn witch,” he murmured. But then, while he continued to tempt her with kisses, he pinched a nipple.
She gasped.
And his tongue slipped inside.
The sneaky rogue!
He was the one who gasped then as the unique breath kisses commenced, same as it had the first time they’d kissed weeks ago in his prison office. When his tongue stroked inside her mouth, he breathed life-giving air into her. On the return stroke, when her tongue entered his mouth, she breathed into his mouth. Back and forth, they exchanged tongue kisses and precious air. It was as if they were joined in a most elemental way. Amazing!
The breath kisses went on and on until Ivak raised his head to stare down at her. His lips looked bruised, and he panted slightly. “Please, sweetling, tell me that you yield?”
“Yield?” Gabrielle had forgotten what he wanted her to yield, so aroused was she. Her brain was erotically fuzzy.
“Shall I call for the priest?”
Huh? Oh, he means the wedding nonsense. Aaarrgh! I’m melting with excitement and the brute is calm enough to still persist in his plan to seduce me. We shall see about that! “Not unless you want him to give you last rites. Because I’m going to kill you once I get up.”
“A challenge. Ah, didst not know, there is naught a Viking enjoys more than a challenge?”
She made a scoffing sound.
But not for long.
Ivak rolled over, and in one slick move, he’d somehow separated her legs, and he lay atop her. Grinning, he said, “Methinks I need to show you the far-famed Viking S-spot.”
“Don’t you mean G-spot?”
He shook his head and waggled his eyebrows at her mischievously. Before she could question him further, he rose to his knees, grabbed her ankles, and spread her wide. “Look at you,” he said then, his voice deliciously husky with arousal.
She was only slightly embarrassed at having him studying her private parts because he was already lowering his head. Just before he was at sex central, he glanced up at her and said, ominously, “Did I mention that the Viking S-spot can only be found with the tongue?”
And he did. Find it.
She screamed when the tip of his tongue touched that special spot she hadn’t known she had. Then he fluttered her. The scream went on and on and on . . .
Gabrielle came abruptly awake, realizing that the scream didn’t come from her, but from Tante Lulu. “Gabrielle! Hurry!” The old lady’s squeal came from somewhere in the house.
Barefooted and wearing just a long sleep shirt, she rushed into the living room where the old lady was sitting with a cup of coffee in her hands, eyes glued to a small TV. She motioned for Gabrielle to come closer.
“What? What is it?” Gabrielle asked with alarm.
“Don’t you live on Dumaine Street?”
“Yeeesss,” she replied hesitantly, sinking into a nearby chair. “Why?”
“There was an explosion there early this mornin’. The whole buildin’ went kaboom! Flattened like batter on a hot griddle.”
“My building?”
Tante Lulu shook her head that was covered with pink foam rollers. “Nope. It was that building what had a restaurant with a goofy name. Agony or sumpin’.”
“Anguish?”
“Oui, thass the one.”
“Oh my goodness! That’s practically right across the street from my apartment. Was there a fire?”
“Doesn’t ’pear ta be.”
The New Orleans police chief came on the TV. “At this time, the historic Dumaine mansion is nothing but a pile of rubble. Cause of the explosions heard by the neighbors is undetermined. We have found no evidence of deaths; however, the owner of the building, Dominique Fontaine, appears to be missing, as well as some of her restaurant workers who supposedly lived on the premises.”
A reporter, who identified herself as Monica McCall from WDSU-TV, called out a question: “What is that odd smell?”
“Slime,” the police replied. “There are piles of it all around the property and inside the remains of the building. We’re not sure what it is, or if it could be the cause of the explosions. Samples have been sent to testing labs in Baton Rouge.”
Another reporter from the Associated Press asked, “Isn’t it odd that only this building was affected by the explosions when structures are so close here in the Quarter?”
“I don’t know how odd it is, but it’s something to be thankful for.”
The AP reporter immediately followed up with “Is it possible this was a result of residual damage to gas lines from Hurricane Katrina eight years ago?”
The police chief shrugged. “I doubt it, but who knows?”
“Justin Comeaux from the Times-Picayune. What about all those reports of strange creatures running from the building?” Justin laughed as he added, “Supposedly they were ten feet tall with scaly bodies, red eyes, and long tails. And then there were the vampires chasing them in long black cloaks.”
The police chief laughed, too. “Well, if anyone caught an image of them on their cell phones, I would love to see the picture. In fact, the National Enquirer would probably pay a bundle for it.”
The WDSU reporter said, “It is true that there were a large number of reptiles in evidence. All kinds of snakes. I’ve seen the photographs.”
“That’s true. Animal control has been gathering them up, and we believe they’ve all been recovered. Ms. Fontaine was known to keep snakes as pets. Of course, we had no idea there were so many, which is a clear violation of local animal regulations. In fact, several were endangered species never seen in these parts before.”
Ivak, Gabrielle thought suddenly. It must have been Ivak and his brothers and a mission to destroy Dominique. Then, like dominoes flipping inside her head, conclusions hit her with shocking clarity. The creatures being described by residents were exactly what she had witnessed that one night with Ivak. The slime must be what remained of dead demon vampires, according to what Ivak had told her. And the cloaked vampires? It must have been Iv
ak and the vangels.
When Gabrielle had awakened the first time this morning, she’d been slightly disappointed . . . okay, a lot disappointed . . . by the lack of dreams. Now she knew what Ivak had been doing during the night. And it hadn’t been sleeping.
Oh my God! Does that mean I now believe in vangels and Lucipires?
How can I not believe?
“I need to go to New Orleans and check on my apartment,” she told Tante Lulu. “I was going to go into the office at one o’clock for a few hours, but I think I’ll go early.”
“I could go with you. Betcha I could figger out what that slime is. I’m a real good dick.”
“Di-dick?”
“Yeah. PI. Whadja think I meant?” She giggled then, letting Gabrielle know that she’d known perfectly well how her word would be misconstrued.
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t know how long I’ll be.” That’s all she needed. Tante Lulu breaching crime scene tape to do her own investigation. Plus, Gabrielle didn’t know what condition her apartment would be in, or even if Ivak’s brothers were gone. “No, it would be better if I go alone today.”
“You are comin’ back, aintcha, honey? Doan fergit. We’re all goin’ ta Swampy’s t’night.”
How could she forget? For a moment, Gabrielle considered having Ivak pick her up at her apartment, assuming it was empty, but it would be a lot closer to go from here. “I’ll come back,” she said.
“Mebbe you should stop at Charmaine’s on the way back. Remember, she’s gonna gussy you up.”
That’s what she was afraid of. “I’m thinking that I can do my own hair and makeup.”
Tante Lulu stood and put her hands on her hips. A five-foot pugilist, about to fight for her cause. In this case, the cause being Gabrielle. “You cain’t wear them shoes and that dress without sexing up the rest of you.”
Gabrielle groaned inwardly, but it was the truth. What had she been thinking to buy shoes that had a name? Sex on a Silver Hoof! They were open-toed, silver stilettos, with a matching cinch belt that made the waist of the short, silver and teal-blue chiffon, halter-top, no-back dress look amazingly small. A trick of the eye, surely. And she’d even bought, at Charmaine’s insistence—although Gabrielle hadn’t protested all that much—a pair of skimpy flesh-colored bikini briefs. No bra.
“Thass what we call Sex on a Silver Platter here in the South,” Tante Lulu had proclaimed.
“All right, I’ll stop at Charmaine’s,” Gabrielle conceded, “but I draw the line at pouf.”
“Jist a little!” Tante Lulu coaxed.
“No pouf!”
“You’ll prob’ly change yer mind once she slathers some of that lip plumbin’ lipstick on you. Makes the men go wild.”
There wasn’t a thing in the world Gabrielle could think of to counter that ridiculous statement.
Nineteen
A date with the Bobbsey Twins? . . .
Ivak arrived early for the first real date of his sorry thousand-plus-year-old life, and he was as nervous as an untried youthling about to swive his first maid. Not that Ivak anticipated any swiving taking place tonight. Maybe near-swiving, if he was lucky.
He wore a black T-shirt tucked into denim braies tucked into low-heeled, scuffed-up cowboy boots, that last a suggestion from Mordr, of all people, who claimed that women went apeshit over cowboys. Ivak wasn’t sure he wanted Gabrielle going any kind of shit over him. It didn’t sound appealing. But Mordr—the dourest of all his brothers, suddenly an expert on women?—said apeshit was definitely a good thing.
Who knew? Who knew that Mordr knew?
Over it all, Ivak wore a dark blue jacket called a blazer, another of Mordr’s suggestions. The blazer would hide his weapons. With an irrelevance engendered by nervousness, no doubt, Ivak vowed to check out what Mordr had been up to lately; he was certainly acting out of character.
Ivak was glad he’d gone to so much trouble with his appearance when he got his first gander at Gabrielle. Oh. My. Racing. Heart!
First of all, her hair was long and curly, evoking images of sex-mussed hair after a long bout of lovemaking. Her lips looked poutier than usual and were painted a deep coral color that matched the enamel on the short fingernails and the toenails that peeked out from a pair of silver high-heeled shoes that made her legs look longer with elongated calf muscles.
And that wasn’t all. Her dress . . . for the love of a cloud! . . . her dress! It was made of some shimmery fabric that he just knew would feel wonderful in his hands, especially if he were rubbing it against her skin . . . or lifting it off. Tied around her neck, it was demure in front . . . or as demure as a garment could be when it went only to the top of her knees where it billowed out, but in the back . . . well, there was no back. To his erotic appreciation, the fabric moved . . . it actually moved . . . when she walked.
“You make my bones melt, sweetling,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. That was all he would permit himself, lest he throw her down and have his way with her right on Tante Lulu’s porch where that pet alligator stood nearby staring him down, just waiting to pounce.
Gabrielle blushed. “I think Charmaine went a little too far.” She tried to flatten the curls against her head, but they just sprang back out.
“No,” he said. “Just far enough.” To bring a man to his knees.
She smiled, and he could swear his heart swelled to twice its normal size. What is wrong with me?
“Is ever’one ready?” Tante Lulu asked, coming out onto the porch. “Gabrielle said I could hitch a ride with you two.”
It appeared Ivak was going to have two women on his date.
Then he got a good look at the little woman.
He barely stifled a laugh.
Tante Lulu wore an outfit that matched Gabrielle’s. Sort of.
Her hair was red and curly today, though short, capping her head. She wore the same color of lipstick and nail polish as Gabrielle, and silver eye shadow and black kohled lashes framed her eyes, same as Gabrielle’s. Her dress was the same, too, though midget-size. And instead of silver stilettos, she wore silver wedge-heeled shoes. Looped over one arm was a silver purse the size of a saddlebag. It probably weighed more than she did.
“What is this? The Bobbsey Twins?” Ivak whispered, having recently learned about that old children’s book series because his sister-by-marriage Alex had bought the books on eBay for her “adopted” twins, even though they wouldn’t be able to read them for years.
“More like Dumb and Dumber,” Gabrielle whispered back.
“Did they have a sale on the same dress?”
It was Tante Lulu who responded now. “How’dja know? Wait ’til you see Charmaine.”
His laughter did erupt then, and he noticed that Gabrielle wasn’t trying to hide her own mirth, either.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Gabrielle said. “Honestly, we’re going to make fools of ourselves. There’s still time to—”
“Complain, complain, complain. Stuff a sock in it,” Tante Lulu told Gabrielle. To Ivak, she explained, “The girl needs ta let loose a little.”
Ivak was all for that.
As they walked toward his black Lexus SUV with tinted windows, Ivak looped an arm around Gabrielle’s shoulder and tugged her close to his side.
Tante Lulu reached inside her purse and grabbed a clear bag of cheese snacks that she proceeded to toss to the alligator in the yard. The beast practically leaped in the air to catch the treats in his big, toothsome mouth.
And people thought vangels were strange!
As first dates went, it was a whopper . . .
Gabrielle was in love.
She couldn’t explain how it had happened. She’d only known Ivak for a short time. She didn’t really know him that well. It didn’t matter.
He claimed to be some otherworldly creature . . . not really a man, but a vampire angel. She was in love with a dead man, really. It didn’t matter.
Guilty of the sin of lust, or so he said, he must have been wit
h hundreds of women. A player of the worst sort. It didn’t matter.
He worked in a prison. He might always work in a prison, when that was the last thing she wanted to see, ever again, once Leroy was released. It didn’t matter.
And children . . . he said he could never have children. That should be a deal breaker for their relationship. It didn’t matter.
She was scared and exhilarated at the same time.
As if sensing her thoughts, Ivak reached over to take her hand in his as he continued to drive. When his skin touched hers, there was an electric shock that caused them both to jerk their hands back . . . a shock that started at the palm, then richocheted like warm blood throughout her body. “Did you do that on purpose?” she asked.
“You jest! Why would I deliberately zap myself?”
“It’s the lightning bolt,” Tante Lulu said from the backseat.
“Huh?” she and Ivak both said.
“The lightning bolt of love,” Tante Lulu explained.
“I thought it was the thunderbolt of love,” Gabrielle said with an embarrassed laugh.
“Same thing.”
Ivak’s expression was somber, and Gabrielle knew he was as amazed, and possibly as disturbed, as she was at the intensity of what was hitting them both. This time, when he reached for her hand, he held on tight, right through the zinging.
“Holy moly!” It felt like he was touching her all over.
He said nothing, but he raised her hand and kissed her knuckles.
“Now, no hanky-panky,” Tante Lulu ordered.
If she only knew!
With Ivak still holding her hand, Gabrielle turned slightly in her seat to look at Tante Lulu who sat in the middle of the backseat like a little queen. Her eyes twinkled with merriment.
“Tell me about your charity . . . the one tonight’s event is about?” Gabrielle asked.
“A few years back, I come across some horrifyin’ sit-ye-ations. Even though that Katrina hurry-cane hit Loo-zee-anna a long time ago, there’s still families what are sufferin’. I started the Hope Foundation ta help those what are homeless, or hungry, or needin’ jist a little boost up. St. Jude gave me the idea.”