Darkwyn turned on a dime. “Bastian’s place! That’s where we can have our wedding, in the apple orchard at the Dragon’s Lair. You can meet my family. I’ll call my brother Bastian right now.”
“I can’t wait to bounce dragon babies on my knee,” Zachary mumbled facetiously. “Hey, do you hear that noise?” Zachary followed the sound to her balcony. “You’re not going to get away for a wedding today,” he shouted from the bedroom. “Fangs for the Memories hasn’t opened yet but there are like a hundred tourists blocking the sidewalk and road to get in. Roger Rudder is out there interviewing customers, and he doesn’t seem to be working alone. That psychologist who goaded Darkwyn is filming Rudder’s interviews.”
“Guess I didn’t do such a good job of making Roger look like an idiot,” Darkwyn said, standing back while looking out at the crowd.
“Roger makes Roger look like an idiot,” Zachary said. “If we try to leave here today, to go to Bastian’s, those hounds of hell will follow. Think how the public would like attending your wedding. Vampiress marries Vampire Dragon. Story at eleven.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
“Last night, a Master Vampire,” Darkwyn said hours later. “Today, a waiter.”
“I’ve never seen Bite Me overflow like this,” one of the waitresses said as they stood waiting for their customers’ orders to be filled. “I guess it’s a good thing?”
“I am not sure.” Darkwyn looked around. “I assumed that waiting tables would be easy. But breakfast has run into lunch, and lunch into dinner, with no breaks in the crowd.”
“Even our Vampiress is waiting tables.”
“I am forming a great respect for waitpersons,” Darkwyn said. “Thank you for working overtime today.”
The waitress grabbed her plates and went to distribute them.
He and Bronte had been working beside the regular staff all day, to keep customer flow at a bearable pace.
Customers loved meeting the Vampire Dragon in person. He shook more hands than he took orders, but he tried to help.
“Are you eating blood pudding?” Bronte asked when she found him taking a break in the supply room.
“It is also called blood sausage. Yes, I am starving.”
“That’s made with real blood, you know.”
“I know,” he said. “Oddly enough, this one is called Boudin and is made in Canada. And this soup is blood soup. Hey, don’t blame me. It’s your menu. Try some, it’s delicious.”
“No, thanks. Eat, before your soup clots.” She turned from his offer of a spoonful. “I ate it as a kid, before I knew what it was.” She shivered and he put down his fork to rub her arms, and pull her close.
“Want a sip of my decoffinated coffee?” He practiced his wink on her. “When I was a dragon, I chased supper and ate it when and where I caught it. Get the picture?”
“Yuck. Yes, I get it.”
“Do not worry, I will brush my teeth before I kiss you.”
“And I’ll find a spell to erase my memory of your former eating habits. Yeesh! Oh, look at the time. I have to go and change my clothes, turn into the real Vampiress, so I’ll be ready to open Drak’s for the vamps. I’ll be right back.”
The pub had a line of its own with a door spotter who let two people in when two left, or three or five, whatever. Darkwyn had learned to respect and appreciate maximum capacity laws. It saved on havoc and bar brawls. Not to mention its original purpose, the safety of customers in case of fire.
Given this turn of events, Darkwyn wished he had landed on earth in a closet with the door shut, or his mouth stapled, at the least. If he knew then what he knew now, he would probably still be there, so no one could learn where he came from.
Then again, the universe meant him for Bronte. Smart universe. He would be less than whole without her. He guessed he landed in the right place. Though, with his misplaced honesty, he might have given Killian more power than he would like her to have. Worse, he had promised to take on Bronte’s enemies but didn’t yet know who they were.
He supposed things could be worse, but he wasn’t certain how.
A few minutes, or hours, later, as he grabbed napkins and condiments, Zachary came running into the supply room. “After the morning news,” the boy said, out of breath, “Roger Rudder got an anonymous tip about the day you got here. Now he’s asking everyone in line if they were in the pub when you rolled in behind the bar. Your news video did go viral, by the way, and he’s asking for witnesses online, too. Darkwyn, do you hear what I’m saying? People are answering him and telling him all about it.” The boy frowned. “Naked? You stood in public, naked?”
“I had just been turned from a dragon into a man. Dragons don’t wear clothes. They wear scales, which fell off. Go back outside, Zachary, and walk the tourist line, pay attention to what people tell Rudder, but try to stay out of his sight. I’m calling Vivica.”
“No need,” said Vivica, the owner of Works Like Magick coming in behind him, slamming down her purse. “I left my boat in Cat Cove and snuck in the back door.”
Darkwyn took a deep breath. “I suppose that means you can’t help?”
“It means I was right. You left Works Like Magick before you learned enough. I said before you left to be circumspect about your situation. Why didn’t you listen?”
“Circumspect! That’s the word I was supposed to look up. So being circumspect means shutting your mouth about your background?”
Vivica’s sigh contained a bit of a growl. “Pretty much. Next time I get a problem student, he or she is staying longer. Not that I’m saying I told you so.”
“But you are.”
“Well, this is serious. And I did warn you that someone could get hurt, someone other than you, and there were a million things in my head I needed to say. If you had stayed and let us take it lesson by lesson, maybe—”
“I get it,” Darkwyn said. “This is my fault and I will make it better.”
“Let’s say we’re both at fault and move on. Is everybody okay?”
“Yes, so far. More or less.” Other than Zachary and Bronte being sick with worry about being found, heaven knew why.
“So far so good, then. I had to come in through the back because Roger Rudder’s been stalking me, again. I don’t want him to know that I’m anywhere near you.”
“No inviting him to the wedding, then?”
“Wedding. Right. Here’s your paperwork, by the way. You and Bronte are getting married tonight, in the small window of time between closing to tourists and opening for vampires. I went to see Ogden and he needs an evening away from his brother. He’s going to come and fill in as Master Vampire for the night. After the wedding, if you and Bronte want to take a short honeymoon, I’ll play Vampiress.”
“You think of everything,” Darkwyn said. “So in which closet will we marry?”
Vivica chuckled. “It won’t be quite that covert. I think you’d be okay in Bronte’s apartment or out by the water. The fairgrounds, along Cat Cove, are fenced off from the road and get shut down between shifts at that time, right? They’re out of camera range and away from Rudder’s stalking soul.”
Vivica eyed Darkwyn. “You made the decision to marry as fast as you left Works Like Magick. Be careful your actions don’t come back to bite you in your fine dragon butt.”
“Does that refer to his marrying me? And that butt is mine, thanks.” Bronte hugged Vivica and made an exaggerated sad face at him over her shoulder. “I’d like to run away for a honeymoon,” she said. “But we can’t with this mess. Whimper.”
Darkwyn fell deeper in love. Love? When had lust turned to love? “We could take Zachary with us to keep him safe,” he said to cool his thoughts, despite the brilliance of the idea.
Vivica rolled her eyes. “Congrats, by the way. Darkwyn’s a bit ADD—doesn’t finish his homework—but he’s a good man.”
Darkwyn ogled his future wife, her evening’s corset and mask violet, like her hair and eyes. Nice.
She saw his regard and l
ooked down at herself. “Does this dress make me look dead?” She chuckled.
He did not.
A premonition hit, followed by shock, denial, then a wash of fear. He pulled Bronte against him, so his shudder became hers. “Don’t joke, Bronte, not even about your vampire persona.”
“Okay, husband-to-be, if you feel that strongly. But this slut dress, purple patent leather boots, fishnets, violet mask, and corset—not exactly my dream wedding dress.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Darkwyn whispered against her ear, kissing her velvet lobe.
“Earth to Darkwyn,” Vivica said.
Warmth rose up his neck. “Vivica, I don’t suppose you have a plan to get rid of the vultures out there?”
“You suppose wrong. I have a plan to confuse and disillusion them. A plan I’ve already put into action.”
Bronte caught up slowly, her eyes widening from dreamy bride to stark reality. “What plan?”
“Bastian and Jaydun are out front, dressed like vampires, claiming to be your dragon brothers.”
Darkwyn gave his acclimator a double take. “Which they are.”
“The crowd doesn’t know that. Jay and Bastian are doing fakey magick and passing out leaflets for some of the other Salem tourist attractions where my clients work.”
Bronte pursed her lips. “What’s the point?”
Distracted again by Bronte, Darkwyn had to force himself to pay attention to Vivica and not his future wife’s perfect mouth.
“They’re turning the scene into a circus, like you tried to do with the cats on the news this morning, Darkwyn. Making it look as bogus as a well-orchestrated publicity stunt.”
“I guess, when you come right down to it,” Bronte said, “the harder we attempt to agree with the truth, the less true it sounds.”
“Right.” Darkwyn nodded. “It’s like protesting too much in reverse.”
“Exactly. Oh, and Bastian’s wife, McKenna, is here. She’s quite the actress, hawking her dragon kites and Frisbees like a pie seller on the streets of London. She keeps a good stock of both on hand at the Dragon’s Lair for her B and B customers’ children. She had this idea, and I went for it. The look of ‘cashing in’ just adds to the general air of tactical publicity, raising it another notch toward the ultimate faketastic rip-off.”
“One of the bigger news crews pulled away just after she set up her booth. I think it’s working.”
“It makes me, as the owner of the Phoenix, look greedy, though, doesn’t it?”
“Bronte, always remember that even negative publicity is good publicity. Pay attention, because soon you’ll see other tourist spots trying to cash in, or tout their own supernatural being. Call it advanced marketing, Salem style.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Bronte said, frowning and chewing the lip that Darkwyn wanted so badly to kiss.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Because they needed to close Fangs for the Memories to tourists on time, tonight especially, Bronte sent Zachary to tell Bastian and Jaydun not to let anybody else off the trolley and to put the END OF LINE sign behind the customers already in line.
Finally, at dusk, with a half hour window before Ogden and Vivica planned to open Drak’s to the vamps, and while the fairgrounds staff prepped for the evening shift, a small group of wedding guests took their places on the beach by the fairgrounds.
Bronte looked forward to meeting Darkwyn’s family: Jaydun, his best man, Bastian and his wife, McKenna. But from inside, she saw Rory MacKenzie, friend and carousel carver, alone among the guests, which made no sense.
She guessed she’d find out why Rory came without Vickie after the wedding, though she’d much rather have her friend beside her. Meanwhile, she flipped the switch to light the fairgrounds with thousands of colored bulbs.
Vivica came in carrying a box.
“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing,” Bronte said.
Vivica opened the package and set a lovely vintage fingertip veil on her head. “This is from Vickie, especially for you from The Immortal Classic.”
“It’s beautiful, but—is Vickie stuck there at her vintage dress shop, and unable to come? Because I saw Rory outside.”
“One question at a time,” Vivica said. “You don’t know if you’re doing the right thing? Do you love Darkwyn?”
Bronte shivered, worried about what she was getting him into. “I’m afraid to. Loving him could kill him.”
“But you can’t help yourself?”
“What if I’m just bringing him into danger and he dies because he wanted to marry me? Why, Vivica, does he want to marry me? It can’t be just to give me a green card?”
Vivica looked up from the veil. “What green card?”
“The one you gave him that made him legal, of course, to make me legal when I marry him.”
“Sit,” Vivica said, and she sat, as well. “Bronte, the only green card I gave Darkwyn was my business card. I’d need to do some research, but I’m not sure the holder of a green card can make a spouse legal.”
“We’re marrying for nothing?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Vivica took her hands. “You’ve never confided in me, but I’m a good judge of character, yours and Darkwyn’s. Darkwyn is marrying you because he wants to be here for you. Because he wants you. He’s no dummy. You’re a prize, Bronte McBride. A real catch.”
“A catch!” When she so desperately wanted not to be caught. “I’d laugh at the horrid pun, if I didn’t want so badly to cry.”
“I’ll have to ignore that. Biting my tongue on my curiosity comes with the job description.”
“Zachary and I are running from the mob,” Bronte admitted. “So if anything happens to one of us, you do what you have to do to take care of the other, please? And keep this between us.”
“I hear you, and I’ll keep your confidence. But if you’re trying to protect Darkwyn, he’s a grown man. He knows what he’s doing. Haven’t you heard? He’s a famous and powerful Vampire Dragon. And he’s yours.”
Nausea rose in Bronte. “What does that mean?”
“It means this is the best life he’s ever had, because of you, despite any potential danger from either direction, yours or his. You’re his other half. His heart mate, and that means a lot where he comes from. He cares deeply for you, Bronte.”
“I wish I could believe that, though he’s so . . . special. But I’m not lovable. I’m not.”
“He watches you all the time, winces if you bump your knee, melts if you glance his way. He’d give his life for yours.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Vivica stood and went back to arranging her veil. “Your groom is hero material. What we all want in a husband. He knows the real you and he wants you, anyway.”
“But he doesn’t know the real me. I need to tell him before he marries me—a full disclosure—so he knows how dangerous saying ‘I do’ could be for him. Vivica, will you send him inside for a minute?” So he’d know, before taking a wrong step, that winning her was a battle lost before it started.
Vivica went to get Darkwyn while Bronte paced. “I’m a fake!” she said as he walked in.
He cupped her shoulders, brought her a hairsbreadth closer. “I know you are not a real vampire.”
“No, it’s worse than that. My name is fake. So is Zachary’s. We’re running from the mob.”
“I can protect you from a mob.”
“Not a mob. The mob. One of the Canadian families.”
“A mob is like an army, no? I’ve fought armies with skill, and I wasn’t half so strong back then.”
“No. No, you don’t understand. Mafia? Mafioso? Mob. The family. The godfather?” She huffed at Darkwyn’s blank look. “My stepfather, Zachary’s stepgrandfather, is the head of a mob family. He lends people money, and when they don’t pay him back, he murders them for kicks. Zachary and I, we know too much. We have to be eliminated.”
“ ‘Eliminated.’ ”
“Listen, Darkwyn, let me put it
this way. My tattoo, the sword in dragon wings, it’s a symbol of my need to slay my past, mine and Zachary’s.”
“That explains why you got a dragon slayer tat before you knew I existed. Now as for your stepfather wanting to eliminate you. That means push you aside, right? Why not just leave you here, then?”
Darkwyn so didn’t get it, but why would a gentle dragon who ate his food “still kicking” understand the feral brutality of the mob? “No, listen, Darkwyn, Enrico Sanguedolce, my stepfather, married my mother, Zachary’s grandmother, and he murdered her, too, among so many others. You’re not safe, Darkwyn, if you stay with us. Go be a dragon man somewhere else. I’m letting you off the hook.”
“Hook?” He looked above them. “I see no hook.”
“Do you know what sangue means? Blood. And dolce means sweet. That’s my stepmonster’s motto. Blood is sweet.”
Darkwyn brightened. “So that’s why you opened a vampire haunt, to go with your name?”
“Wha—No! That is so not meant to be my name.”
His eyes twinkled.
Was he about to tease her at a time like this?
“What care I for blood? I told you, Bronte, blood doesn’t make me faint.” Darkwyn took her in his arms like he . . . cherished her. “I was told that I would find my heart mate here on earth. That she would not be easy to find, or keep. And I found her—you—within minutes of arriving, then I feared I’d see a heart mate in every female, but no. No one else, that day or since, has a heart that speaks to mine, only the woman who mocked me and then ran from the power of our connection. You knew right away, too, Bronte, did you not, that we were heart mates?”
“No.” She turned her back on him to give herself strength. “No, you’re wrong. Go now, before you get killed for that naïve, if generous and open, heart of yours.”
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