by Deanna Chase
“Whoa,” I said. “That’s some affect. Did you use professional makeup?” I reached out to touch her, but she stepped back out of my reach, shaking her head. Oops. What was I doing? “Sorry, occupational hazard. I’m a body painter. Makeup and special effects are sort of my thing.”
“Beware of the one with claws.”
“Excuse me?” I said, but she floated away again, seeming to disappear into the ether. “What the…” I shook my head and blinked to find her standing exactly where I thought she’d disappeared. Weird.
“Ah, at last,” Carver said as he came up behind me. “The night I’ve been waiting for all year.”
I turned to him, amused. “Halloween is your favorite holiday?”
“Absolutely.” His grin was back, but then he sobered as a young man dressed in ripped jeans and a Nirvana T-shirt handed him a cordless microphone. Carver looked him over and frowned. “Why aren’t you in costume?”
“I am. I’m a grunge-band groupie. See?” He pointed to his shirt.
“You were supposed to dress up in a vampire costume.”
“Why? You didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.” Carver glanced down at his leather pants. “What do you think this is all about?”
“Whatever you say, Billy Idol.”
Carver shook his head, clearly exasperated, while I suppressed a laugh. “Pyper, this is my, ah…nephew, Vale. He’s the moderator of the event.”
I laughed at his hesitation. “Are you sure?” Turning to Vale, I smiled and held out my hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you.”
He nodded his acknowledgement and stuffed his hands into his pockets, leaving me hanging. Charming. Then he jerked his head toward the back of the float. “The rest of the party just showed up.”
I followed Vale’s gaze and spotted at least half a dozen new women, each dressed in vintage clothing from varying time periods. “Whoa, when did they get here?” I asked, utterly enchanted by an elegant woman wearing an ornately embroidered black-and-silver ball gown. Her corset was synched tight to show off her incredibly tiny waist, and her soft flowing curls were piled up on her head, secured with what appeared to be diamond-encrusted haircombs.
“Excellent. Marcella has arrived. Now we can start.” Carver turned to face the crowd as he held the microphone near his mouth. “Good evening, my lovelies.”
A few of the women cried out Carver’s name, more let out wolf-whistles, but most just returned his greeting with a demure, “Good evening.”
“In just a moment, the festivities will begin. There will be dancing, sparring, and general vampire mayhem. Our job is to entertain the crowd. The more outrageous the better. Got it?”
“Hell, yeah!” the bitchy redhead said while pumping her fist in the air.
Carver smiled at her. “I like your enthusiasm.”
She rewarded him with a wide grin and leaned forward while squishing her boobs together with her upper arms, giving everyone an impressive view of her massive cleavage. But when her halter-style dress gaped open, she was suddenly on full display, nipples and all.
He frowned and gave her a tiny shake of his head, appearing completely unimpressed with her cheap tactics. “Let’s save the outrageous behavior for the crowds, shall we?”
I chuckled and was once again treated to a death glare by the redhead and her friend, Morticia. Shrugging, I turned to Carver. “Your subjects seem to be taking this pretty seriously. If you’re not careful, you might find yourself in a sticky situation by the end of the night.”
“That’s why you’re here,” he said under his breath and winked.
Carver held his hands up, quieting the group. “Near the end of the run, we’ll stop the float, and the one young lady who has consistently enchanted the crowd the most will be chosen as my vampire bride. We’ll perform the ritual for the crowds, and then my bride will have the pleasure of accompanying me to the Day of the Dead Ball.”
That explained everything. They were all competing for a chance at a date with Carver Saint. Well, they were welcome to him. I was meeting Julius at the Ball.
Carver pressed a button on his phone. A second later, a flash of light shone up from the floor of the float, and inside, a hologram of Carver materialized. His mouth was bloody as if he’d just fed, and the unidentifiable bride standing with him had blood staining the front of her white gown. Neither appeared to be bothered by the gruesome mess as Carver pushed a diamond-and-ruby ring onto her finger.
Cheers and high-pitched whistles erupted from the crowd as the women started closing in on us.
Carver glanced over at me. “You first, my dear.”
“First for what?” I asked as the float jerked forward.
“This.” He whisked me into his strong arms just as a slow jazz number started. “Let’s give them a show, Pyper.”
“You want to dance for them?” I asked as he pulled me in closer.
He nodded. “Any bride of mine needs to know what to do on the dance floor. You up for it?”
“You bet your vamp ass I am.” Dancing, I could do. I’d been on the dance team all through high school and college, and then there was the exotic dancing I’d done to pay the bills. It might not have been respectable, but after dancing practically every day of your life, one learned a few things.
Carver grinned as he began to move. The music filled the night, drowning out all the other chatter around us, and then instinct took over. My feet moved in time with his as he glided me back and forth then spun me out and back in.
“Ready for a lift?” he asked breathlessly between twirls.
I nodded, instantly accepting his challenge. A sparkle of pleasure hit his dark gaze just as he grabbed me by the waist, tossed me in the air, and caught me as I slowly slid down his chest in a seductive dance move.
The music paused for a beat, and our eyes locked. But instead of the easy-going guy I was used to seeing, I saw raw hunger and desire shining back at me. I stiffened and tried to take a step back. But he tightened his grip, keeping me in place.
“Carver, I don’t—”
“The dance isn’t finished yet, Pyper.” The music resumed, only this time, the beat was a half-step faster. Carver spun me out again and broke into a complicated footwork number while still holding on to my hand.
He was a fabulous dancer, and although the look he’d given me had made me uncomfortable, it didn’t matter. Not at the moment. Nothing was going to keep my feet still. It was as if I were under a spell and couldn’t control myself. My years of training had taken over, and there wasn’t anything else to do but dance.
Chapter 3
“My goodness, you’re a lovely dancer,” Marcella drawled. The gorgeous woman in the velvet embroidered dress had made her way over to me as soon as the dance with Carver had ended.
“Thank you,” I said, sucking in a breath. “It’s been a while since I had such a worthy partner.”
Marcella let out a dainty laugh. “Worthy? You flatter our host too much. He only learned to dance because he wanted an excuse to touch the ladies.”
“He needs an excuse?” I asked, glancing around at the women all lined up for their “date” with the club owner.
She grabbed a fistful of pumpkin beads and tossed them into the screaming crowds of parade watchers. “Goodness no. Not now, but back in our younger days, people were quite a bit more conservative.”
Younger days? She didn’t look a day over thirty. We couldn’t have been more than a few years apart. “You’ve known him a long time then?”
“Oh, sure. Years.” She handed me a bag of stuffed vampires. “Throw these out. They’ll love them.”
We stood at the edge of the float for the next ten minutes, taunting the crowd with the dolls, and threw them out to the ones who were the most responsive. I did, however, ignore the pudgy man who kept flashing me his pasty-white chest.
Marcella snickered when I pointed him out, and then she chucked a strand of beads at him, pegging him right in the forehead. He stumbled, nearly tak
ing out two drunken frat guys. The two girls beside the frat guys grabbed for the beads at the same time, creating a vicious tug-of-war, complete with swearing and threats, until the strand broke in half and everyone lost interest.
I shook my head, amazed. “Parade goers are crazy.”
“Entertaining, though.” The float slowed to a stop as the parade line started to back up, and Marcella pointed at a gorgeous man wearing only a kilt and a sword. He raised his hands in acknowledgement, indicating he wanted her to throw him some beads. Instead, she pulled a silver sharpie out of her pocket, grabbed one of the vampires, and wrote a phone number on its cape.
I watched in silent amazement as she crooked her finger at him, inviting him to move closer to us. He sauntered up to the edge, his movements a little jerky and awkward.
“Climb up,” she ordered.
And to my surprise, the Scotsman leaped up on the side and pulled himself over the edge.
“Nice balls!” someone shouted, followed by, “I guess it’s true what they say about kilts!”
Holy Christ. He’d just shown the entire crowd his crown jewels.
“Lovely,” Marcella said, casting her gaze to take in his well-defined chest. “I bet you’re a tasty one.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” he said, taking a step closer.
Her lips twitched into a self-satisfied grin. “If you insist.”
Then she closed the distance, and with one hand on his chest and the other inching up his kilt, she leaned in and kissed him.
I swear I saw actual steam rise from the pair of them. Marcella had started it, but the Scotsman was clearly going to finish it. He backed her against the railing and kissed his way down into her ample cleavage.
Heat smoldered in all the right places as I watched them, and I had to look away just to get a grip on myself. “Holy hotness,” I whispered.
The wannabe brides around us were whispering in shocked tones, all of them offended on Carver’s behalf. “She’s here for the contest, and look at her. My God, what a whore.”
I whirled around, ready to give whoever was calling my new friend a whore a piece of my mind, but there were too many faces for me to pinpoint where the voice had come from. So instead, I addressed the group. “For Christ’s sake. Why is it okay for a bunch of women to compete for one man’s affection, but it isn’t okay for this one to decide to choose someone else? Marcella is not a whore just because she isn’t saving herself for Carver Saint.”
Marcella glanced at me, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Thank you, Pyper. Well said.” She turned back to her conquest, leaned in, and trailed kisses up his neck. When she got just below his ear, she paused and did something that made the man’s eyes roll into the back of his head with obvious pleasure. A second later, he let out a low moan.
She pulled away slightly, whispered into his ear, and then let him go. He bowed to her as if she were royalty, and said, “Thank you, milady.”
She nodded, handed him the vampire doll with her number on it, and then waved her hand, dismissing him.
Without another word, he turned and jumped off the float into the crowd of nearly hysterical observers. The men and women alike swallowed him up as they clambered to get closer to Marcella. She’d whipped them into a frenzy with that move.
The float jerked to life again, and Carver appeared out of nowhere beside her. “I see you’ve been making friends.”
She smirked. “Don’t I always?”
Some sort of silent communication passed between them, and I started to feel very much like an outsider. Were they a couple? Ex-lovers? Because it was obvious she wasn’t competing for the coveted spot of vampire bride.
I was contemplating the best way to make myself scarce when Carver held out his hand to her and said, “I need your assistance with something.”
“I very much doubt that,” she replied, but took his hand nonetheless.
“Oh, but I do. We’re going to spar. And I know how much you love that.”
“You’re giving me the chance to kick your ass in public?” Her eyes lit with the challenge. “Hell yes.”
“I can’t wait for this.” I laughed, suddenly at ease. They reminded me of my relationship with Kane. They were far too familiar with each other to be casual friends and far too laissez faire about the other’s romantic interests to be lovers. No, they were either related or had been friends for years.
“I’m sure you won’t be disappointed,” Marcella said over her shoulder, and smiled.
I froze. Where had those fangs come from? She hadn’t been wearing them before. And was that…blood staining her mouth?
Her smile fell as she touched her tongue to her pointed fangs. Surprise lit her dark gaze for just a moment before her expression went blank and she clamped her mouth shut, turning her back on me.
“Did you just see that?” I asked the woman standing beside me.
“Yeah. So what? You upset he found someone better to spend his time with?”
I glanced over and spotted Morticia sneering at me with her redheaded friend sending eye darts at my head. Holy Hell. Why hadn’t I checked to see who I was engaging with? Just what I needed—Bitter Betty and her grumpy sidekick. “Never mind.”
I grabbed the bag of throws Marcella had given me and headed to the other side of the float, praying there was someone sane to stand next to…or at least someone who didn’t appear to want to throw me over the edge of the float.
“That’s right. Keep walking,” Morticia yelled once I was a few feet away.
I’d had just about enough of her BS, and I lifted my hand, sending her the bird. Maybe it wasn’t the classiest move ever, but no one had ever accused me of being a lady.
She hissed, and a string of very unpleasant suggestions of where I could shove certain things flew out of her mouth.
“Maybe later,” I said, and kept right on walking…that is until I ran smack dab into Ida May. My ghost, who I’d only ever seen in spirit form, was standing in front of me, completely solid—and very much alive.
Chapter 4
“There you are!” Ida May yelled over the growing noise volume. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone when you never pay attention to what they actually say? I mean, I knew you were riding on one of the floats, but I had no idea which one since there was less than a virgin’s chance at an orgasm that I’d have ended up like this.” She squealed and spun around, showing off her black sheer dress—make that my dress. “Like my outfit?”
So many questions ran through my mind, but I couldn’t settle on anything other than, “What are you supposed to be?”
“You, of course. Can’t you tell by the hair?” She was wearing a wig that was black on the top and bright purple on the bottom.
“Your hair looks nothing like mine.” Mine was black with an electric blue streak on the side. Purple was not—and never would be—a color I’d choose for my hair, and I’d for damn certain never go for the ombre look. At least not with those colors.
“Close enough.” She belted out a laugh. “Or just think of me as another slutty Bourbon Street babe.”
“Hey.” I scowled at her, inching to the right to let one of the brides by. “I’m not slutty.”
“I know, but I am.” She pumped her eyebrows a few times and scanned the crowd. Her gaze landed on a tall, clean-cut guy who was gaping at her. “I’m taking him home.”
She started to lift her leg over the float’s edge, but I clasped her around the wrist, stopping her. “First of all, he looks like he’s barely eighteen years old. And you’re—”
“Old enough to teach him a few things,” she stated, her chest pushed forward with pride.
“Old enough to be his great, great, great—”
“That’s enough. I get your point. He’s legal; that’s all that matters.”
“Puh-lease…you don’t know that. He could—” I stopped abruptly and shook my head, waving at her. “Ida May, how in the world did this happen?”
“T
he dress? I know where your spare keys are. I figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed a few things, considering we’re such good friends and all.”
“A few things?” I scanned her body, noting she was also wearing my matching black lace bra and panties. “Ida May! Dammit.” I pressed my hand to my forehead and took a deep breath. The clothes didn’t matter…much. The dress was vintage and pretty expensive, but that was hardly the issue at the moment. “I didn’t mean the dress. I meant you. How come you’re not a ghost?”
She shrugged. “No idea. One minute, I was floating around; the next, I was standing on the counter in the café with a piece of chalk in my hand.”
“Chalk?”
She grinned. “I was inspired.”
Lord. What was I going to find when I walked into the café the next day? Ida May made a habit of dreaming up inappropriate menu items and adding crass jokes to our menu.
“You just suddenly appeared in solid form?” I asked, my eyes narrowed in suspicion. There were plenty of witches around town. I’d never heard of a spell that brought ghosts back from the dead. At least not ones that weren’t incredibly complicated and dealt with black magic. “No one came in the store? No spells were cast? No magic beans?”
“Nope. Nothing. But I’m not complaining. Look at these.” She palmed her ample breasts. “Real-live flesh, and by the end of the night, I’m going to have some young gorgeous thing suckling—”
“Stop!” I held up my hand. “Don’t say anything else.”
“Fine. Fine. For someone who owns a sheer dress, you sure are a prude.” She grabbed a bag of beads from Vale, who was walking by, tossed her two-toned hair over her shoulder, and yelled, “Who wants to show me their tits?”
“Classy,” Vale said.
“That’s Ida May.” I reluctantly positioned myself beside her if for no other reason than to keep an eye on her. Going from ghost to human wasn’t something that just happened. Dark forces could have been at play. I pulled my phone out of my skirt pocket, and because the noise was starting to overwhelm me, instead of calling, I sent Julius a text.
Ida May somehow turned human. Send reinforcements.