by Michele Hauf
“Oh, hell. Really?”
Alexandre’s remark prompted Creed to scan the red aisle to the end of the massive four-story room. The doors closed slowly, having emitted one person.
“Look at that body,” Alexandre whispered appreciatively. “Always thought a female wolf would be more butch. But what in the world? What’s with the hair?”
Creed observed the tall, lithe woman dangling a tight bouquet of black roses at her side. She sauntered down the aisle, long, slender legs catching the eyes of all the werewolves in the room. The wolves all bended one knee and bowed, deferring to her high rank in the pack.
Some vamps even nodded approval. Creed understood their awe.
The dress, what little there was of it, clung to narrow hips, a sensual waist—look at those breasts. There wasn’t much fabric to cover them. Full and round, they twinkled with glints of something…faery dust?
Full red lips parted as she glanced about, taking in every face, every sigh, every wanting lick of lips. Bright eyes, rimmed in dark shadow, fluttered. A diamond choker at her neck glittered.
But the truly startling bit was her hair.
“Green?”
Lime-green. The color of glossy neon plastic. Of irradiated spring buds. Of a spoiled, saucy werewolf princess who didn’t meet his eye as she stepped up the dais to stand alongside him.
Standing as tall as he—thanks to some killer high heels—the reticent princess stared ahead to the officiant in a red robe. She smelled sweet and dark—like candies rotting in the box.
Creed stopped himself from saying hello and turned to face the officiant. If she were not going to acknowledge him, then neither would he.
She stood there. Intensely. The room had melted away and only she existed beside him. How strange. The two of them alone, reluctant symbols designated to save two struggling nations.
Creed shook his head to clear the weird notion from his brain.
Still she did not regard him. Of course it may be difficult for her to cast him a friendly glance. She must be nervous. As he was.
No, not nervous, but expectant. So far things were going far better than he’d expected. She was gorgeous. That, at least, took the sting out of this humiliating event.
As the officiant began to speak, Creed could not focus on the dry words.
She is gorgeous.
Her body is killer.
And those lips and eyes! Not to mention breasts he could suckle at for hours.
But what’s with the hair?
Feeling something he’d not experienced in years—a fine sheen of perspiration—Creed forced himself to listen and not play the fool by missing a prompt.
Such determination lasted a few seconds.
So this was what the werewolves would sacrifice to gain peace? Creed exhaled. A tilt of his head caught the flutter of her thick lashes as she looked over the black roses now clenched to her breast. A fine prize, she.
For a werewolf.
But for a vampire?
“And in joining together a marriage recognized by the United Nations of the Light and Dark, the two of you seal a pact, a promise of peace between the werewolves and vampires,” the officiant recited.
No priest for this ceremony. Creed did not put stock in the human religions, though he did believe in the existence of a God. He wasn’t sure what the werewolves believed in. Didn’t matter.
“Will you, Lord Edouard Credence Saint-Pierre, take this woman as your legal wife, protect and secure her, honor and provide for her, love and cherish her?”
Sounded reasonable enough. Though the love and cherishing part may prove a challenge. Hell, he’d no intention of submitting to either.
Creed smiled at his bride, who did not look his way, and said, “I will.”
The officiant nodded, and asked the same of the princess Blu Adagio Masterson.
Creed wasn’t sure why the word obey was not included in her vows. Should be in there. Without question, the man was the leader and master of the household. How modern times had distorted the positions of power between a man and a woman. He still struggled with it.
When prompted for a reply, the princess suddenly looked at Creed. Soft gray eyes widened at sight of him. Red lips parted. Such white teeth, bright as the diamonds at her neck. She searched for something. Did her eyes water, perhaps to tear?
Glancing over her shoulder, she sought the masses. Did she look for a means to escape? For one strong soul to step forward and rescue her from what she surely felt a horrific fate?
Until now, Creed had not considered her personal sacrifice. The wolves branded vampires with the vile invective longtooth. She could be no different. It must appall her equally as it did him to enter this marriage.
“Princess?” the officiant prompted.
Give your answer, he persuaded calmly. Do not make a fool of me or you will regret it for generations to come.
Turning her gaze to Creed’s, her bright eyes told him his persuasion had not permeated her thoughts. Vampires never could persuade wolves—or any paranormal, for that matter. Creed wasn’t sure why he’d even tried it. Now was no time to institute his magic, either. Not when a couple witches from the Council were in attendance.
Her gaze slid down his neck, skipping along the jet buttons of his Armani suit, and averted to the faery at her side. The faery nodded encouragement.
When the princess took Creed’s hand in hers, the heat of her flesh startled him. Like his, her skin was a little moist. She was nervous, too.
With the slightest twitch, one side of her red lips curled, she silently promised him she was in for the ride.
“I will,” she declared boldly.
A rousing hoot from the crowd could not have come from a wolf, Creed decided. But the resulting applause was immediately hushed.
Creed nodded acknowledgment to her. The werewolf’s smile slid from her red lips, and she dropped his hand. Contact had been so brief, he wondered if it had even happened.
“You’ve the rings?” the officiant prompted.
Creed drew the ring from his pocket, sized especially for his new wife. He held it up for the crowd to see. Subtle whispers clattered through the room. All knew the meaning of the gift.
He slid it onto Blu’s finger.
Blu? For a woman with green hair? And who wore body-revealing silk and clutched black roses on her wedding day?
What in hell was he stepping into?
“Titanium for strength,” the officiant announced, describing the ring. “And in the glass chamber, witch’s blood. A sign of the vampires’ willingness to cede to the werewolves.”
And a deadly weapon, Creed thought as he let go of the ring. Witch’s blood from before the Protection spell had been lifted. Which meant one splash to a vampire’s flesh would burn the average vampire alive, reducing him to ash.
Of course, the werewolves had overlooked a pertinent detail regarding Lord Creed Saint-Pierre. Though he wouldn’t dismiss the blood could have its damaging effects on him. Or perhaps not. Might it actually aid him? He couldn’t risk finding out.
His bride plucked a ring from the petals of her bouquet and held it high for all to see, before taking Creed’s hand. She fumbled with the bouquet, not sure how to hold it and put the ring on at the same time. Finally, done with it, she tossed the bundled roses out to the crowd.
She offered Creed a had-to-do-it smirk and shrug, and slid the ring onto his thumb. A perfect fit.
“Titanium for strength,” the officiant again announced. “And filled with liquid silver to show the werewolves’ willingness to cede to the vampires. I now pronounce you lord and lady Saint-Pierre. Please kiss your bride, Lord Saint-Pierre, and begin the path to peace.”
Quite a profound demand: Begin the path to peace.
It was all on his shoulders now. Hers, as well. But she merely had to stand there, shifting on her feet and sneering those glossy lips, defying him to dare kiss her.
He would not, no matter that her lips were thick and soft and would
n’t they be the most exquisite to kiss? He could prick them and suck the blood for an evening treat.
Creed leaned in and, keeping his head tilted before the crowd, brushed her cheek with a kiss. His shoulder-length hair concealed their connection. No one would know if he’d kissed her mouth, save he and she.
She. His new wife.
A wife who flinched as his lips brushed her skin.
How dare she?
She was no better than he. She had walked the aisle, willingly entering into the marriage. There were certain expectations to be upheld. And he would not allow her to dodge them.
Gripping Blu’s bare shoulder, Creed pulled her to him and captured her soft lips against his mouth. She mumbled a protest.
He kissed her harder.
The kiss was not at all distasteful, as he had imagined. Much better than most kisses, actually. And her efforts to push him away only fired his desire to pull her closer. To mark her before all, so they would know she was his.
Only when his fangs descended, and he feared accidentally cutting her, did he relent.
Yet he could use this moment. And he did.
Fangs bared, and wicked smile growing, Creed turned in triumph to the cheering crowd.
Chapter Two
AS THEY ARRIVED at the end of the aisle, Creed felt Blu slip away from his side. He let her go. There were more important things to do right now.
He would always have more pressing matters than tending to a wife.
“You did it, man!”
He received a congratulatory handshake from Alexandre and manly busses to both his cheeks.
“By ‘did it,’ you mean jumped off a high cliff and am now free-falling to my death?”
“Close, I’m sure. But what’s up with the chick’s hair?”
“She’s young,” Creed tried.
It was more a consolation than an excuse for her. Young and alarmingly sexy, she embodied vitality. Creed had felt truly ancient standing next to her.
He’d been transformed to vampire when he was a mere twenty-seven years old. He still looked it. Okay, so perhaps a handsome thirtysomething. But there were days Creed felt every one of his centuries like a weight upon his mind, shoulders and flesh.
“Her youth will serve you well,” Alexandre said on a sly whisper. “The younger ones are the most open to trying new things.”
His second in command winked.
“New things,” Creed muttered. Could this old vampire be taught new tricks? Without the innate need to simply steal them?
He hoped the werewolf could get beyond the naiveté of such youth. If she were to be his wife, she must be able to relate to him on an intellectual level. He would not babysit for a spoiled princess.
“Lord Saint-Pierre.” A tall, gangly gentleman with gray hair and veiny hands stepped forward. The pinstriped suit reminded Creed of a gangster, but the gentleman’s hooded eyes exuded genuine warmth.
Creed slipped his hand into Amandus Masterson’s. Though his new wife was called a princess, the father was not considered a king, merely the alpha, or leader of the pack. So he addressed him accordingly. “Principal Masterson, I am honored.”
“You should be. My daughter is a prize, in more ways than mere beauty.”
“I understand. She is a rarity. You have my promise I will protect and respect her.”
The pack leader nodded acceptance. “It would be foolish of me to ignore the fact she’s a feisty one. She’s a mind of her own, and is very stubborn. That awful hair.”
“She’s lovely. I can only hope to win her admiration.”
“You say all the right things, Lord Saint-Pierre.”
Indeed, he did.
“Now, let’s go have a drink with the Council and get the final negotiations settled. The marriage contract must be signed.”
“It would be a pleasure.” Yes, like pounding a nail into his coffin. “After you.”
THE COUNCIL had gathered in a small room off the main ballroom. The dull lighting blended the red carpet into the red-arabesque-papered walls, and cast a sickly sheen upon flesh, yet Creed could make out faces with ease.
Vampires were considered the Dark by witches. They, in turn, had labeled themselves the Light. Werewolves landed somewhere in the middle, depending on who was doing the labeling. It was all rather superfluous, Creed felt. He had no need for labels.
At least three vampires currently served on the Council. Creed had been asked decades ago to serve, but at the time had no desire to involve himself in the politics of the Light and Dark nations.
Yet here he stood, at the center of the most political move the vampires and werewolves had made in centuries.
A faery, a demon, two witches and a selkie rounded out tonight’s Council representatives. Depending where the meetings were held across the world, various members showed in different numbers. The Council was about fifty members strong, and new members were only inducted when a previous one had died.
Their mission was simple: to keep the peace among the paranormal nations. The key purpose was to keep mortals in the dark. Mortals did not believe in the myths and legends their books and movies touted. And that was the way it must remain. The Council went to great lengths to keep that silence, yet they rarely interfered violently.
Some days Creed wondered if violence were not the only way to make the opposition see the point. He had never subscribed to the whole violence begets more violence theory. A good bloodbath tended to weed out the weak and make the strong rethink their motives.
Or so he had learned earlier in the past millennium.
Don’t forget your vow, he reminded himself. Atonement, remember?
He shook Nikolaus Drake’s hand. Taller than Creed by half a head, the Kila tribe leader’s bald scalp advertised a havoc of twisting black tribal tattoos. He was the gentlest vampire Creed knew. A former brain surgeon, if rumor held truth.
Drake was also a vampire who had magic himself, though it had been obtained by a witch during the Protection, which made his powers much weaker than Creed’s.
Nikolaus was liked by most, and Creed figured it was because he’d only been a vampire for three decades. He still retained much of his human morality.
Creed had morals. It was just harder to recognize them as the centuries stretched them further from immediate access.
“Drake,” he said. “I understand there’s paperwork and such to sign.”
“Yes, the marriage contract is right over here.” He directed Creed to a rosewood table and handed him a pen. “The princess signed it before the ceremony. This is a good thing you’re doing, Saint-Pierre. I think it’ll go a long way toward enacting the peace amongst the nations.”
“I sure as hell hope so.” He scribbled his name at the bottom of the first page that was marked with a yellow highlighter. There were two more pages to sign. “I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when the Council decided this was the way to solve the unrest.”
Nikolaus chuckled and leaned in close to Creed, putting his palms to the desk and shadowing the papers. “You will do us proud, yes?”
The vampires had a lot riding on this marriage. They expected the sporting warehouses—a bane to the vampires’ existence—would be shut down upon the werewolves’ acceptance of their enemy.
Creed desired that, too, beyond any other good thing that should come of this.
“I always give any task my all,” he reassured him. Straightening, he again shook Drake’s hand. “Has Principal Masterson handed over the same olive branch?”
“He has. He’s hopeful for the results. Which can only be measured by the princess taking your bite.”
Creed lifted his brows and sighed. Biting a dog was not tops on his list. But the kiss had gone over well, so he wouldn’t rule anything out.
Amandus Masterson joined them and said, “And what exactly is the sacrifice the vampires are making that is equal to my daughter being bitten?”
Both Creed and Nikolaus silently summed up the pack leader. The
old wolf had once been known to ruthlessly retaliate against those he’d marked as his enemies. He’d aged and grown gentler, though the jury was still out on whether or not he’d embraced wisdom.
The Northern pack did not engage in the sport that saw vampires tortured relentlessly and then caged to perform for the wolves until one was literally sucked to an agonizing death. But there was something about the old man that put Creed off.
What sort of man would offer up his only daughter as Amandus had?
“The mere fact I allow your daughter into my home, my very life,” Creed said, “is a sacrifice you cannot begin to understand, Principal Masterson.”
Yet even as he said it, it felt like an excuse.
What, indeed, was his sacrifice? The wolves assumed the vampires were offering up their eldest and most revered. That was true.
“Doesn’t seem balanced,” Amandus muttered.
“The Council approved the terms a week ago,” Drake explained. “If you had a disagreement you should have spoken then.”
As should have the werewolf representative on the Council, Stephen Severo. Creed was aware he showed up irregularly at Council meetings, and wasn’t even sure the wolf had been part of the agreeing quorum.
“You mustn’t feel you are being cheated, Principal Masterson,” Drake continued. “What your daughter is doing will have a resounding effect upon the nations of Light and Dark for centuries to come. I’m proud of your sacrifice.”
The old man nodded and, slapping both arms across his chest, nodded toward another wolf in the room, and wandered off.
“You’re very good at that,” Creed said to Drake.
“Smoothing over the differences?”
“Actually, I was going to say bullshitting, but I suppose your explanation is better. So I’m off to find the new wife. Any words of wisdom before I do?”
“My wife used to be my enemy,” Drake said. “She’s taught me not to judge a person from the outside. Our hearts can be more alike than different.”
Creed nodded and smiled. It sounded good in theory. But Drake wasn’t the one taking a dog home with him tonight.