Honeymoon Bite (Golden Vampires of Tuscany)

by Sharon Hamilton

  He smiled.

  Can he read my mind? His eyes said no. She needed to figure out Praetor’s intentions. Could she trust him? But if Marcus had not sent him, what was he here for? What would the rules of engagement be?

  But still the most important question of the morning was the one hardest to figure out. What did she want? Did she want another friend, someone to take her mind off Marcus? Or did she want to be left alone to figure out everything on her own? Exhausted from the emotional pain she’d been suffering, she didn’t have an answer. That put her at a distinct disadvantage with this handsome, sexual being who clearly had given her signals before he was interested in doing more than escorting her into the arms of her then love, or watching her eyes in an exam room.

  Careful. Must be very, very careful.

  She was not about to make the same mistake she made the first time she’d met a large alpha male vampire.

  “Under the circumstances, I’m not sure if I should say good morning to you, or throw something at you. I’ve given you neither permission, nor encouragement to just show up when you feel like it.” Anne tried to sound disinterested and strong, but she heard the waver of her words as they crashed together.

  This struck him, and he yielded a crooked grin and gave a slight nod of his head. “Then I will say it. Good morning, Anne.”

  “What made you think I would welcome you here without asking?”

  “Your need.”

  He said it like he had whispered the words into her ear as she rested on a pillow in a soft bed after a night of lovemaking.

  “I think you are mistaken.” Although her pulse had quickened, she understood part of it was plain fear. She did not want to be hurt, and right now she was vulnerable.

  “Oh? I believe you need to feed, my dear. Why, what were you thinking?” He smiled again. This time, she felt her cheeks flush.

  Far too confident. Her stomach pitched and growled, feisty and temperamental. Her mouth was parched. She swallowed and watched his dark form as he stood motionless, awaiting her instructions. His total focus was on her eyes, except for one glance down to a space underneath the covers where her breasts lay covered. Had he been able to see them?

  Or could he?

  Or worse yet, did he?

  “If you came to offer yourself as a meal, you could have picked up a phone and called me. Or slipped a note under my door.”

  “True. I prefer to do it this way.”

  “Well, I don’t. You are acting like you got an invitation I did not extend. Am I clear?”

  “Quite. Now, would you like to feed?” He began unbuttoning his shirt.

  Anne found herself inhaling, her eyes wide with shock at the sight of him baring his neck and upper chest to her. She could not help but lick her lips at the sight of his large pulsing vein. She got the impression he would be tempting her with it all morning, until she partook. He waited again, his dark eyes boring into her flesh, bringing out a warmth in her chest that caused her to perspire. She could smell him, the muskiness the younger males had. He didn’t smell of lemons, like Marcus. He smelled like the wind.

  “I will not ravish you. You may feed without worry. Come, I think your lack of nourishment is clouding your judgment.” He held his hand out to her.

  She found herself reaching out to take his fingers. He pulled her toward him. She walked on her knees as he guided her to the end of the bed. With a slip of his hand around the small of her back, he brought her to stand. He stepped back, took an appraisal of her body beneath her gown, then grabbed her fingers and led her to the living room. He did not let her go as he sat in her leather couch. His eyes asked her to join him there, while his fingers entwined in hers. He was not going to pull, but he did not release her hand, either.

  She sat crossways on his lap, suddenly conscious of the closeness of his mouth, his strong jaw, and his chest open and waiting. Her hair touched him just underneath his chin on her way to his neck and he groaned, tensing slightly. His hands lay on the couch, palms up. He did not try to touch her as she bit into his neck and took the sweet elixir he offered.

  She stopped, just to make sure she could. He exhaled, and then inhaled deeply when she reapplied her lips and drew more of him. One hand came up to her back involuntarily, and after grazing the satin fabric of her nightgown lightly, fell back to the couch.

  She withdrew, leaning forward as her tongue finished the remnants of his blood on her lips, her eyes closed.

  It did not feel the same.

  Then she realized she was not fated to him. A huge sense of relief came over her. The immediate sexual energy she received from Marcus’s blood was not present now. She was sated, but she was not hungry for sex with Praetor.

  He brushed her hair from her eyes, untangling it behind her neck. He left his long probing fingers there, rubbing the muscles at the top of her shoulders, which felt wonderful. She had been so tense. She turned to look at his face, finally. He spoke first.

  “So beautiful, so delicate. Do you feel better now?”

  She had to admit, she did feel vital, full of life suddenly. “Praetor Artemis . . .”

  “Just Praetor, please. And I desire to call you Anne.”

  He touched her chin, raising it a bit, but he did not kiss her. She was not sure she liked the possessiveness of his actions. Was every unattached vampire female his for the taking? She supposed this was something to do with his status.

  “I’m sure you would not have appeared here, were it not for the fact that Marcus and I, Marcus and . . .” Anne could not bring herself to say it. She found her eyes welling up with tears.

  He pulled her head to his chest, then patted her shoulder as she sobbed into the smooth flesh of his chest. She could not help it. The well of sadness opened in her soul and she just could not stop.

  “I know, Anne. I know how you love him.”

  She sat up and looked at his eyes. They were still smiling down at her. He traced a forefinger across her lips.

  “Yes, my dear. I know of your pain. I have felt the same.”

  “You do?” This did surprise Anne, after all.

  “I have experienced loss, although not quite the same circumstance. My pain is in never having met my fated female. I grieve for a love I have yet to feel. So you see, you are much more experienced than I.” He smiled as he stroked the sides of her cheek with the back of his fingers.

  Anne felt she could trust him. She lay her head against his chest again and let him hold her, this time without her tears. His arm rubbed hers up and down through the fabric of the white gown. She was struck with his sense of tenderness and concern.

  “Maybe we can help each other fill the loneliness, the void in our lives, just for a time.”

  Anne thought about that. A little warning bell went off in the back of her mind. But try as she could to honor her doubts, she was beginning to trust him. Within reason.

  “Praetor, I have to tell you something.”

  “Go on.” His voice was smooth as velvet. His hand movements did not change.

  “When I fed from you, I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t feel anything for you sexually.” She drew back to look at his full face, looking deep into his dark eyes.

  “Nor did I,” he whispered. “Although I was hoping I would. I really thought I would.”

  So it was decided. Praetor would help her get situated. He would be a loyal and true friend, help her with money and teach her things about tracing and what the capabilities and limitations of her new life were, things Marcus was unable to do because of the distraction of their fating.

  She took a job at Starbucks. Praetor had insisted he pay for the rent on the new apartment she found. It was brand new. Marcus had never been there. Nothing about the new place reminded her of either Robert or Marcus. It was hers and hers alone.

  Praetor spent the night half the time. He never asked for her intimacy. They went to movies together. He learned to drive the green bomber, something he seemed to delight in.

  “Yo
u never learned to drive a car?” she asked one day as they rode through the countryside on their way to St. Helena.

  “Why drive when you can fly?” he asked. “And now you can too.”

  “Barely,” she said. She was getting better. She had traced herself once into a treetop and had gotten stuck in the branches. He’d arrived shortly to release her from her bondage. But he teased her about her broom handle being bent.

  “So you think you will ever find your fated female?”

  “Perhaps she was born and died before I ever got to meet her. It happens. Some never find their true mates.”

  “Do some people marry without the fating.”

  “Pretend? Play house?”

  “Yes.”

  “When the sexual chemistry is strong enough. Sure.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Tell me you’d like to try this, my dear.”

  Anne delighted in his joy. But she didn’t want to ruin their friendship by sleeping with him. “If I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Two weeks into their arrangement, she finally began to feel settled. The pain in her heart was dulling by the day. She was grateful nothing in her life reminded her of Marcus or Italy. Praetor was sometimes gone for days at a time, but he never brought up any family business, never mentioned his communications with Marcus, if he had any.

  When he returned, she welcomed him like a brother.

  They laughed in private when Robert thought Praetor was her new beau. It was just easier to let him think that. No way would he understand.

  Never was there the hint of sex between the two of them, though they took long walks down by the water, holding hands. The strong arm he frequently slipped over her shoulder or around her waist was comforting. Anne loved the fresh man-scent of him and the timbre of his voice as she listened to him speak—even when he was whispering. His presence made her tingle all over, but not in a sexual way. She was healing.

  Anne could see herself being his sexual partner, though unfated. But he never offered himself to her again or suggested it, even in jest. Her life was beginning to return to a satisfying normalcy.

  She helped the women at the shelter and chose candidates for “educational sessions,” Praetor even helping her from time to time with suggestions. Nothing was more satisfying than terrorizing a wicked husband or boyfriend, then glamming him with the suggestion he should move away and stop causing problems. Some were harder cases than others, but she was careful not to eliminate the predators, though she felt they deserved it. Though she scared these men half to death, she justified she was doing a good thing for the women in her charge.

  One day, a bloody towel appeared in her wastebasket. She didn’t recognize the scent and made sure it wound up in the alleyway garbage cans. Then bloody T-shirts and rags started appearing in her trash. Careful to dispose of them, she wondered why someone who had a chronic nosebleed problem would use her wastebasket at work. She didn’t like to walk into her office and have the smell of blood hit her between the eyes. Even though no one else could smell it like she could, she couldn’t help thinking perhaps someone was trying to plant evidence at her expense.

  She enjoyed being a barista, working in the public view, surrounded by the smell of coffee. Her one cappuccino a day fulfilled her in some magical way, as glimpses of a life she could lead formed. Life appeared to be perfect again.

  Until one day Maya showed up, filled with murderous rage.

  The vampire, dressed in red, as usual, was standing by Robert’s old green bomber. Because Anne had been rushing, late for her volunteer shift at the Center, she almost ran into the woman. The vampire was flushed from a recent kill, red lips plumped and full, and fresh blood under her fingernails. Anne wondered why Maya hadn’t bothered to clean up.

  The look in Maya’s eyes had something else. A glow. Sadly, Anne could only attribute this to the Marcus effect.

  Though she tried, Anne could not stop dreaming about Marcus occasionally. His kisses felt as real in her dreams as if he were constantly there beside her. She knew a tiny part of her would always be his.

  Praetor hadn’t wanted to get very specific, but had told her Lucius had moved in with Marcus. He told her too, just so she would be mentally prepared, that sometimes Maya stayed over. She assumed there was going to be a fast tracking of their vows at the chapel, now that all the pieces had now fallen into place.

  So Anne was more than a little curious why the vamp chose to appear to her today. Anne could not be considered to be a threat any longer. So, why was the vamp here? Perhaps to gloat. Show off her wedding ring, or tell her how happy Marcus was in her bed.

  “I am not in the mood, Maya.” The gaze she got back from the vixen was predatory. She was watching every movement Anne made.

  Maya’s dark hair framed her face like a bonnet and her eyes were dark with a tinge of fire at their center that burned deep red. It matched her lips, her red form-fitting dress with the low bust line, and highlighted her tiny waist and ample bosom. It was showtime, and Maya was playing some deadly part in a diabolical play. Anne stiffened for the worst.

  “No, I guess not. I can see you aren’t especially happy to see me,” the seductress answered.

  “And you expected what?”

  Maya nodded her head and studied her. “Does Marcus know Praetor spends so much time with you here?”

  “Oh, you mean, like how you stay over at Marcus’s?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You have your little spies. Very good.” She leaned into Anne, letting their perfumes mingle as they studied one another. It took everything Anne had to keep from running. She wasn’t going to call for backup. Yet.

  “Actually, Maya, I could care less. What Marcus does is none of my concern.”

  “Oh, really? Are you sure?”

  “Completely. I’ve moved on. I thought both of you had as well.” Anne studied her face. “You two are well suited to each other.” She wasn’t sure why the vampire had an issue with her. Perhaps she was here to rub her nose in the fact that she and Marcus were together. There was something else on the tip of Maya’s tongue. Anne didn’t want to know.

  “May I ride with you? I don’t want to interfere with your daily routine—or your life.”

  Anne glowered in response. Her insides were boiling. “No. Say what you came to say and then get away from me. I think the order still stands. You are not supposed to contact me. And now I’m late for work.”

  It did seem like a slap across Maya’s pretty face. For a brief second, her witch nature, the ugly side of a long line of dominating female predators, came to Anne’s view.

  There it is. That’s what Marcus saw, too. She understood his unease.

  Maya composed herself. “Not when I have to defend my fated male from someone coming between us.”

  Interesting.

  “Worried about keeping your man? I hear that’s a problem for the women in your family.”

  Maya’s eyes sparked with flame and she bit her own lip, sending a trickle of blood to the side of her mouth. She swiped it aside with her tongue and inhaled. “You wish,” she hissed.

  Anne forced a smile in return. “I don’t come between you. I am no longer interested in Marcus. He has told you the same, I’m sure. I have not spoken to him or seen him since the last day I saw you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Not a requirement. You can rot in hell, for all I care.” Anne liked her control and composure. She felt strong, powerful, and whole. The anger she felt towards Maya only strengthened her experience. She added, “Maya, you and I both know Marcus uses women. What makes you think he has not found another innocent mortal he can turn into—what was that you said?—his eternal whore? Maybe you should be looking elsewhere for the female coming between you and Marcus in his bed. It isn’t me.”

  “Oh, really? I have seen him over here before.”

  Anne’s pulse increased. This surprised her. Then she discounted the truth of it. “Impossible. I have not seen him anywhere.”


  But what about the dreams?

  She added, “Look, would you two just leave me alone? I don’t want to have anything to do with either one of you.”

  “My God, I actually believe you, Anne.”

  Anne opened the car door to get in. Maya stopped her from closing it. “He doesn’t know he has lost you to Praetor. I can keep that a secret, if you like.”

  “Ah, so he hasn’t traced here and seen Praetor leave my house in the morning. So he hasn’t seen how me makes me feel in bed.”

  “But you aren’t fated.”

  “No. Sadly, no. But we’re working on it.” Anne liked the effect this lie had on Maya’s face.

  “He has not bed you. I would know.”

  “My God, Maya. Now you want the other man in my life? You’re bored with Marcus and now you want Praetor?” Anne removed Maya’s arm from the car door. “That’s out of my hands. He’d never be a pleasure partner of yours. And we all know you’re fated to Marcus, right? So how come the roaming eyes, hmmm?” It was working. Maya’s eyes were darting about. She developed a twitch at the side of her nose. Anne saw a red blotch form on her chest.

  She’s nervous about something. Maybe she was after Praetor, after all.

  “I can keep your secret—your relationship with Praetor—from Marcus. I have no designs on Praetor. But if Marcus asked him to keep his distance from you, he would. You know this.”

  “You really think it’s a secret?”

  “I do.”

  “Why would it matter to me? There are others I can be with. I’ve learned to adjust.”

  “Perhaps you are thinking Marcus will come back to you?” The smile Maya followed her words with wasn’t pretty. More like a grimace.

  “Like I said,” Anne began, “I think you should be looking elsewhere for the temptress who bulges his pants. I assure you, it isn’t me. If you do catch up to her, tell her I wish her luck. I am done with this.”

  Anne stepped inside the cab and closed the door after Maya stepped away. She watched the dark-haired beauty from the tiny rear view mirror of the bomber. She knew it wasn’t likely Maya would give up this easily and wondered what event had occurred to bring her back to California.