by Cecy Robson
So much for taking things slow.
Aric’s taste sent my tigress into a frenzy, craving more of him in my mouth. The clicking sound of the seat belt release sounded miles away. Aric struggled to free himself from its hold, all the while keeping his mouth hard against mine.
The steering wheel dug into his hip as he lurched his body across the center console, pressing his T-build firmly against me. If it were up to my wild side, I would have ripped his clothes from his body in pieces. But my inexperienced half took over, unsure what to do, and dumbstruck by Aric’s immediate effect on my delicate areas.
Holy . . .
Body parts I barely acknowledged pounded; the tips of my breasts tightened. I slumped back against the side window, moaning, my lips pleading for Aric to explore. My hands swept over his back. His hard muscles tensed beneath my fingertips, and his arms beckoned me closer. I wanted Aric. Then. Now. Fast. Especially when his mouth moved to my neck and found a spot behind my—
“Celia Wird! You unhand that boy this instant!”
And that’s when the devil in support hose appeared. Sweet God in heaven . . . no!
Aric’s head snapped up. His face heated. “What the hell?”
I wrenched my neck to face my neighbor, Mrs. Mancuso. Her penciled-in brows angled in a permanent state of pissed-offness, her curlers tightened hard enough to make her scalp bleed, and her neck skin flapped in the wind. “This is a family neighborhood!”
And because having an eighty-plus woman catching me in a major tongue-hockey moment wasn’t humiliating enough, my lovely sister Taran came to the rescue. She didn’t have supernatural hearing, but she could spot a Mancuso attack a mile away. Taran threw open the front door and stormed down the steps. “Goddamn it, woman, aren’t you dead yet? Get back in the house and mind your own freaking business!”
“Whore.” Mrs. Mancuso dragged out the word as if she were teaching it to a bunch of preschoolers, accentuating it with two stiff ones. “Trollops, sluts, tramps!” she screamed, waving her middle fingers like flags.
I scrambled out of the car when Aric lifted his weight. Taran’s face was inches from Mancuso’s, her blue eyes firing with rage. “I am sick and tired of you calling us whores. It’s not like we parade shirtless men around here.”
As if on cue, Liam jogged around to the front of the house. Naked.
Mrs. Mancuso’s jaw dropped down to her Depends at the sight of Liam’s overly developed man parts. Fortunately the sight of Liam’s studly physique was too much for the old terror. She backed up abruptly and ran indoors, crossing herself to protect herself against the likes of us.
Liam stopped near Aric, oblivious of my own alarm at seeing him naked. “Hey, Aric.”
Aric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Liam. Why did you let Mrs. Mancuso see you naked?”
“I was trying to hide my wolf form,” he said like it was obvious. God forbid he’d hide his naked form. He shrugged. “Anyway, I tracked the raccoon’s blood and pus back into the woods. Looks like he’d been hiding out just below the ridge. Whoever attacked him caught him off guard. There’s blood at his campsite and bullets lodged into the trees leading down to the house.” He regarded me closely before handing Aric a wrinkled piece of office paper.
Aric unfolded it carefully. Liam’s fang marks pierced the top. He’d obviously searched the woods in his beast form. My breath caught at the image printed in gray scale. It was a picture of me and Aric, standing outside my back deck. Dry blood splattered across our faces.
Aric growled with fury. Liam nodded. “He was watching you, Celia.”
CHAPTER 3
“What could that wereraccoon possibly want with you, dude?” Shayna sat in the front passenger seat. It was the closest to the driver’s side we’d allow her to get. Hell hath no fury like Shayna behind the wheel.
I adjusted my turtleneck. Originally I’d planned to wear a button-down blouse with my jeans, until Aric left quite the memory of our time together just below my jawline. “I don’t know, but he was watching me for a while. That picture was from the day the wolves came over for a barbecue.”
Emme clasped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my goodness. That was several weeks ago.”
“I know. Aric thinks he may have started watching the house even before I first caught him riffling through our garbage. There’s no way to tell for sure, I suppose.”
Emme’s eyes widened. “I suppose not. Did Aric say whose blood was on the photo?”
I shook my head. “He didn’t have to. I could smell the were’s blood all over it. It must have splattered when the first bullet hit . . . or when they’d tried to slit his throat.”
“He must have had the picture open when he was attacked.” Taran shuddered. “Shit. You don’t think he was doing something funny while staring at your—”
“Can we please not go there?” I growled. “Taran, it’s bad enough he’d come around. I’d prefer not to ponder what he did in his alone time.”
“Sorry, Ceel. Look, this whole thing sucks. But at least he’s not around to hurt you anymore.”
“No. But whoever killed him is still out there. So is whatever murdered those men.” I adjusted my position. Blood and death made my inner beast restless to protect. I barely managed to keep her still. “I called Bren and Danny. Danny offered his science and research expertise should we need him. Bren wants to help us track. With his nose, maybe he can help us find something.”
“Sounds like an awesome plan.” Shayna finished pulling up her hair into a ponytail. Spending the afternoon with Koda hadn’t given her much time to get ready for dinner with Misha. A little tidbit she failed to share with Koda. “Hey, Ceel. Does Aric think the murders are related to this weredude?”
“He didn’t say. But I can’t see how. The men were drained of their blood. The were was shot and somehow booby-trapped.” What he did tell me was not to leave the house unescorted and not to do anything dangerous.
So I didn’t. Sort of.
I left the house with my sisters as backup . . . and so I wouldn’t be alone in a master vampire’s estate. Misha and I had made plans for dinner earlier in the week. Dinner and the diamond earrings he’d given me previously were the only thank-yous I’d allowed. Yes, I’d saved his life. Yes, I’d inadvertently returned his soul. But I didn’t want him feeling like he owed me. And I sure as hell didn’t ever want to owe him.
Taran tuned the satellite radio to a classic rock station as we pulled into the mile-long drive leading up to Misha’s front gates. We chuckled when “Werewolves of London” was the first song to play. We stopped laughing when an über-size vampire tackled another in front of our car.
Taran slammed on the brakes. It didn’t help. Our velocity was so fast that we ran over them like beached whales. The car rattled and our bodies bounced off the seats. “Son of a bitch! Are they dead?”
I jerked my head backward. The bigger of the two Plymouth-size giants grabbed the other by the throat and drove his protruding five-inch nails into the other’s heart. I recognized him as Hank, one of Misha’s bodyguard’s, before blood and ash splattered across the back window and plastered our view. Taran flipped on the rear wipers. Hank waved a nasty hand at me. “Hey, Celia. The master is expecting you.”
Emme buried her face in her hands. “Do you think we’ve come at a bad time?”
“They’re fighting for dominance,” I muttered. It wasn’t easy being BFF with the undead.
Taran scowled. “What?”
“In killing the other master, Misha took his power and inherited the evil bastard’s minions.” I pushed my long hair out of my eyes. “Misha’s vamps want to stay top dogs and the others want to move up in position. The fighting has been going on all week. Misha assured me it would stop during dinner.”
Taran rolled her eyes and started forward again. Shayna’s gaze remained glued to the rear windshield. “Dude! That’s, like, totally barbaric.”
I’d come to accept that the rules among preternaturals had existed for
centuries and for their kind’s own well-being. As outsiders, my family and I couldn’t say or do anything to change that. Still, that didn’t mean I liked or encouraged their behavior. “I know. But it’s the way of the vampires. They could just concede and accept their new ranks, except vampires are all about prestige and status. Those higher up remain closer to Misha. No way are any of them going to back down.”
The wrought-iron gates opened before Taran could hit the intercom system. The cameras hidden within the gargoyle heads lining the stone wall must have alerted Misha’s keep of our arrival. Since he’d named himself as our protector, we’d been elevated to our own status within the vampire world. In other words, mess with us, mess with Misha. And no sane vampire messed with Misha. As a rare vampire with a soul, he essentially juggled life and death, granting him unrivaled power.
Taran crossed over the stone bridge and circled the enormous fountain to park in front of the three-story mansion. When we first caught a gander at Chateau Misha, Shayna tried to convince us we’d inadvertently wandered onto a posh ski resort and spa. Misha’s home could only be described as a colossal mountain Craftsman surrounded by well-manicured botanical masterpieces. The essence of calm and tranquility surrounded the thirty-thousand-square-foot house overlooking Lake Tahoe.
Usually.
A cluster of vampires spread out in an arch near the man-made river filled with carp the size of alley cats. Two vampires in Catholic schoolgirl uniforms circled each other, their clothes ripped to shreds, their pigtails askew, their fangs out. A few yards away, beneath a white fir tree, two other vampires attacked each other like rabid rats while the fist-pumping crowd chanted, “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”
In the middle of the chaos stood our werewolf buddy, Bren, taking bets and playing referee. “Hey, Mary Catherine! I told you, no axes allowed! Put the axe down. Down, Mary Catherine. Down!” He shook his head like a frustrated camp counselor. “Fuckin’ vampires.”
I leapt out of our SUV. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hey, babes.” Bren shrugged. “Heard about the smack-down. Thought I’d make a few bucks.”
Taran quirked an eyebrow. “And they let you—a wolf—inside Misha’s compound?”
“Only after I told them I was with the little missus.” Bren winked my way. He whistled through his fingers, ignoring my growls not to call me that. “Agnes Concepción. Let go of his nuts! Fangs and claws, peeps. Fangs and claws.”
Emme clutched my arm. After the dead body strewn across our doorstep, the last thing she needed was more supernatural drama. As a hospice nurse, she dealt with end-of-life issues and death, and managed it beautifully. Blood, guts, and flying body parts . . . not so much. I led her toward the house before some poor bastard vampire’s ear could smack her in the face. “Come on, Emme, let’s find Misha.”
“Put me down for fifty on the freak with the axe,” Taran whispered to Bren before hurrying to catch us.
We walked across the stone-paved driveway. Edith Anne and Maria approached, swinging their hips hard enough to fan their tiny plaid skirts. More naughty Catholic schoolgirls. Awesome.
Edith Anne grimaced when she saw us. “The master is expecting you. This way.” She tossed her hair back and led with Maria at her side. She pointed to her mud-splattered platforms. “They made me march around the house in my new boots,” she complained to Maria.
Maria shot me the official hairy eyeball. “Beetches,” she muttered in her thick Brazilian accent.
The good Catholics always knew how to lay on the charm. Unfortunately they never felt the need to lay it on us.
“Screw off,” Taran shot back.
Before I became acquainted with vampires, my image of a vampire’s crib was stereotypical—an old, dank, dimly lit castle—paler than snow creatures lurking behind every turn waiting to eat me. Then I met the so-called creatures of the night. Tanning and admiring themselves seemed to be the Catholic schoolgirls’ favorite pastime. As far as Misha’s pad went, “dank” remained furthest from the truth.
The warm glow from the wood and iron chandelier greeted us in the mammoth foyer, dimly lighting the blue-slate floors and timber cathedral-style ceilings. Soft browns, golds, and muted burgundies accented the rich wood and stone walls. Misha’s decorator accomplished making his estate, a home—a rare feat considering the immense size. It reminded me of Misha: Although great in magnitude, it had a heart.
Taran’s high-heeled sandals clicked along the blue-slate floor, and while Emme wore ballet flats, her soft footsteps echoed louder than mine. Even with me in two-inch mules, my predator side barely made a sound.
We crossed the expanse of the long hall, roughly the size of Rhode Island, and into the solarium. Two of Misha’s very polite and very hypnotized servants opened the floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading outside. I stepped through first and onto the terrace. The breeze had picked up along the lake, but the six outdoor fireplaces built into the stacked-stone railing warmed the area at least ten more degrees. My thin cotton blouse would have worked perfectly, had I not had werewolf nibbles to hide.
My face flushed slightly at the thought and hoped the heat from the flames would hide my embarrassment. Emme had offered to heal my marks, but I needed proof of my time with Aric. It made our moment real and not simply one of the steamy dreams I’d had.
Misha stood upon seeing us and gave me a wink, strands of his long blond mane falling against the strong angles of his face and clean-shaven jaw. Vampires believed themselves gods who walked among mortals. If that were true, Misha was Ares—to be feared—all the while carrying the masculine beauty of Adonis. Tonight he dressed in all black. A black suit outlined the muscles of his tall, strapping form, an opened black silk shirt buttoned below his collarbone, and black shoes that cost a month’s mortgage. I smiled. It was good to see his body completely regenerated after the torture he’d suffered at the hands of his enemies.
He greeted Emme and Taran with kisses to their cheeks. Emme blushed, of course. Taran kissed back. I wondered how our boys would take that. The wolves’ dislike of vampires bordered on hate—Aric and Misha especially loathed each other. And while I remained sure each side had its reasons, I couldn’t condemn an entire race based on the actions of a few rotten apples.
“I told you to wear something sexy,” Edith Anne hissed under her breath. “You look like a dork.”
No matter how annoying the apples were.
Misha’s gray eyes flickered despite his back facing the flames. “Edith, is this any way to treat our most honored guests?”
Misha’s light Russian accent held no hint of anger. Yet his vampire mojo surged enough to lighten Taran’s eye color from blue to crystal. Edith and Maria cowered back, bowing as they retreated into the house. Edith’s voice shook. “My deepest apology, Master.”
My tigress itched to protrude my claws, alert in the presence of a dangerous predator. I calmed her by reminding her how Misha had guarded Emme, and how his family had shielded us from harm under his command. I wasn’t naive. And I sure as hell wasn’t stupid. With an estate full of vampires at his disposal and the amount of power coursing through his veins, Misha could kill us. But he wouldn’t. I’d caught glimpses of his pain, witnessed his heartbreak—a side I’m sure he’d preferred hidden. Yet it was that same side that won me over and allowed me to trust him not to harm us.
Shayna grinned when Misha kissed her and casually returned her small box of toothpicks into the pocket of her slacks. She’d sensed Misha assert himself and whipped out her favorite weapons. My lack of aggression eased her tension. Perhaps Koda’s animosity hadn’t turned her against the vampires. Yet.
Shayna punched him in the arm. “How’s it going, dude?”
“Rather well, my dear.” He reached into the inside of his suit as the breeze swept his long hair behind his shoulders. “I saw these and I thought of you.” Misha retrieved two long Asian hairpins and held them out for my perky sister to see.
The gleam to Shayna’s
smile returned. “Cool.” She lifted them from his palm and stimulated her ability to thicken and manipulate metal. A trickle of light sparked from her belly-button ring as she transferred the element into the delicate pieces of hair jewelry, turning them into small, deadly daggers. She stepped back from Misha and tossed them a few times in the air, getting a feel for their weight. “A girl can’t have enough weapons these days, you know?”
Misha’s smile faded as Shayna returned the hair jewelry to their original shape and tucked them into the base of her ponytail. “No, it is best to be safe.” He regarded me then. “Which is why I am not pleased to hear you are to assist the . . . weres in their latest quest.”
It probably took Misha every effort not to say “mongrels” or “mutts” or some other inappropriate word to describe our wolves. I crossed my arms. “And how did you hear about that?”
Misha flashed me his famously wicked smile. “I have my ways, kitten. Shall we?”
I shook my head. Misha’s wealth went a long way. It wouldn’t have surprised me if his family greased the palms of weres in exchange for what could be interpreted as harmless information.
Misha stepped aside, revealing the elegant table setting. White linen covered the large round table while black silk napkins folded into ravens lay over the delicate china etched in silver. The staff appeared to pull out chairs for my sisters. Misha held out my chair himself. He leaned forward and paused, his lips close to my ear. “I see that mindless beast has finally come to his wits and shown you some affection.”
My cheeks heated. “Misha, I’m not going to discuss Aric with you.” Gee, this conversation sounded familiar. “And don’t call him names.”
Taran laughed. “You’d better get your groove on, Misha. Otherwise that wolf is going to steal my sister from under your thumb.”
“Nonsense.” Misha’s wickedness returned with a vengeance. “Celia may enjoy what I can do with my thumb.”
Just when I thought my face couldn’t get any hotter. “Stop it. Both of you.”