by Michele Hauf
So instead, Creed leaned in for a kiss.
She was quick, sliding her fingers over her lips before he could make contact.
Creed tugged her hand away. She struggled, and because he didn’t trust his strength, he conceded, flinging back her arm and stepping away.
Pacing before her, he looked to the carpeting, not wanting to show her his defeat.
“You’ve already stolen one kiss from me,” she said, defiance brightening her tone. “The rest should be earned. If you can earn them, I’ll be more than willing to give them.”
And she slipped inside the guest room and slammed the door.
Creed fisted his fingers at the door. A nasty condemnation slid across his tongue, but he gave it no voice.
Turning and stomping down the hallway, he threw open the door to his bedroom.
“Green-haired wench,” he muttered. “Thought I’d had to deal with the last of your kind in the sixteen hundreds.”
Chapter Three
BLU TRACED A FINGER along the stainless steel kitchen countertop. Cold, precise, engineered for maximum inhospitality.
Much like her new husband.
The glass-fronted cabinets displayed many crystal goblets, snifters and shot glasses—and only a few plates. The wine fridge was as big as the regular refrigerator. She peered at the labels on the wine bottles. Some bottles had hand-printed labels and the years were from the seventeenth to the nineteenth centuries. She was no expert, but did know some rare wines sold for tens of thousands of dollars.
“Nice. Bet he’d throw a fit if I tapped into one of those.”
Much as she’d like to witness a vampire conniption, wine didn’t interest her; she needed food. Sustenance. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday noon. Her prenuptial nervous stomach hadn’t allowed her to do more than nibble. Now her stomach growled like a banshee.
She opened the fridge door and gaped at the bleak interior. “What? You have got to be kidding me.”
“Bonjour, my new wife.”
She spun to find Creed leaning against the counter. She hadn’t heard him enter. Bad werewolf. She should have smelled him the moment he came down the stairs in the other room. Vampires had a vivid scent, earthy and yet refined, perhaps a little sweet.
Damn, she was off. It was the house. It was filled with new and odd smells. And it was so open and vast. She couldn’t acclimate.
Or it might be nerves still.
“You’ve no food,” she complained.
“Never had a need for it.” He stared at her head, a curious grin toying with his expression.
“Yeah? Well, I require food to survive. I’m famished.”
“I’ll send Housekeeper out for something. What do you like?”
“Anything edible. Preferably meat, fruits and veggies. A nice porterhouse steak would fit the bill. You seriously don’t eat? Must save on the grocery bills. Please tell me you don’t have a fridge with bags of blood in here somewhere. That would so make me retch.”
“Wouldn’t want to see that. Though now that you’ve put the unsavory image in my brain it’s stuck there.”
“You’re welcome.”
She closed the fridge door and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her stomach. Now she scented him strongly. Dark, spicy, brewed together with some kind of masculine musk.
“And just so you know,” he added, “I don’t do bagged blood. It must be warm and have a heartbeat.”
“Peachy. Thank you for that image.”
That pleased him enough to grant her a lift of brow. “Turnabout is fair play, and all that.”
She’d give him the point. But only because he wasn’t so awful to look at during the day, even though the shades were pulled on all the windows, reducing the daylight to a dim mire. Hair blacker than the dress she’d worn last night feathered about his face. Eyes equally dark studied her curiously.
“What’s wrong, vamp? You’re staring again.”
“Your hair.” He gestured, his fingers tracing a loose circle between the two of them, but gave up trying to figure it out. “Yesterday it was…and now it’s…”
“It’s called violet. You like it?”
Head tilting, he seemed to search for something nice to say, but decided silence was best.
A shake of her head swung Blu’s shoulder-length violet bob. The long bangs that dusted her eyelashes tangled in the silken strands and she blew upward to disperse them.
“I think it’s one of my better colors,” she said perkily. “Goes with the skirt, too.”
He studied her plaid pleated miniskirt, drawing his eyes the length of her legs, where she twisted the ball of one foot on the floor. She was barefoot, the only way to go when not out partying.
“You’re quite a loud dresser, aren’t you?”
“Loud?” Blu chuckled heartily. “This is but a whisper, buddy. And it’s me, take it or leave it. I like to play with my looks. You don’t like it? I don’t much care. Now where’s the housekeeper? What’s her name?”
“Housekeeper.”
“Yeah. What’s her name, and I’ll go tell her what kinds of food I like.”
“Housekeeper,” he stated again. “That’s what I call her.”
“You’re not serious?” Blu did air quotes, and repeated, “‘Housekeeper’? Poor chick. Doesn’t even garner a name from her employer? Bet you’re loads of fun at the office Christmas party.”
“I don’t celebrate Christmas.”
“Of course not. Because you’ve banned fun, right?”
“And I think you’ve fallen into the fun barrel, gotten stirred up and tumbled out the other side.”
“If that’s a comment on my clothes, I’m not biting. Color is my thing. I don’t like to blend in.”
“One would think a wolf would prefer more natural camouflage, or an understated look.”
“So you’re all up on my breed now, are you?”
“Not at all. I know only a little.”
“Which is obviously less than nothing. So! I’m heading out for a jog after I find the housekeeper with no name. Where are the best places to run around here?”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
“I didn’t ask your opinion. I need some directions. You got a computer? I’ll check the neighborhood on Google. We are at the edge of a city suburb, yes? I think I saw some houses last night. Kinda far off though. This is like Green Acres to me.”
“I mean, you shouldn’t go out alone. In fact, I insist you do not. It’s not safe.”
Blu swung a look at the man. He was serious.
“Dude, I’m a werewolf. If some mugger tries to take me on, I’ll give him what for. Not like anyone would be out here in the boonies, anyway.”
“There are wolves and vamps camped outside the estate.”
“What?”
“I’ll show you on the security cameras if you must see. I checked this morning. I suspect both factions will be keeping a close eye on the two of us.”
“Well, that’s unfair sportsmanship.”
“I agree. And I suspect if you go out alone they may not simply observe. The vampires might threaten you and the wolves, well…”
Yeah, she knew what to expect from the wolves.
“Ever hear a wolf do a catcall?” She winked. “Those guys are randy as hell, always.”
And a very good reason for her to stay nice and safe tucked inside. Yet seclusion here with the enemy was not going to be a day at the park.
“I had assumed so. And you being the lone female wolf in the vicinity…Well, your safety is my concern.”
“You say that like you love me so much,” she mocked.
“I—”
“I know, I know, you promised my father. You take those marriage vows so seriously, like some honorable knight’s vow to protect and serve.”
“I’ve served under three French kings and various vampire tribes. I’m accustomed to taking vows and standing by them.”
“Whatever.” She peered out the window. The
estate’s west side backed up to a lush forest. “You’ve a lot of acreage. Is it all marked off with the fence I saw out front last night?”
“It is.”
“Bet I can run around the property awhile. I have to run, you know. I need the exercise. It’s my nature.”
“A werewolf thing?”
“Exactly.”
“And what about when the full moon arrives?”
She tilted a sultry gaze at him. She knew when he discerned that she was flirting because his eyes lit up. But he didn’t understand it was all in fun, and the confusion on his face pleased her.
So now he was getting to the questions that mattered. One in particular that must be burning a hole through his uptight brain. He had married a werewolf. What the hell did that mean?
“What do you think will happen when the moon is full? Think I’ll wolf out and attack you?”
“Blu, please. I know enough about werewolves to avoid them, or to catch them by the throats with a blade if they charge me, but I’m not up on everything. Besides, I’ve stood before my share of werewolves in my day.”
“I bet you have. Slaughtered many?”
She read so much in his condemning gaze. He wasn’t going to answer the question, though Blu suspected the answer was more than many. Rare did a vampire and werewolf encounter one another without bloodshed. At least, she’d never known differently.
“I’ve only ever encountered the male of your breed. They are formidable during the full moon when they are in shifted werewolf form. But I know little about the female.”
“Then you’ve some learning to do, buddy.”
She tapped him on the nose and breezed past him, determined to exit before she decided a punch would serve better than a mere tap.
The audacity of him to assume she would wolf out because the moon was high in the sky. She wasn’t like her male counterparts.
She was much more dangerous.
And the sooner the vampire learned that, the better off they’d both be.
CREED EMERGED FROM HIS office after making phone calls to the major tribe leaders in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area. He confirmed the werewolf princess was in his care and that things were running smoothly. Whatever that meant.
His perception that things were running smoothly was hindered by his vacillating notions about werewolves: befriend them or kill them. Centuries ago, such would have been an easy call. But now, he struggled to find the answer that would serve him best.
Another phone call checked with Alexandre on the Rescue Project. He liked to be kept abreast of all happenings with the project. If a new sporting warehouse was located or if a lone vampire had been reported missing, he would send out the team.
All was quiet on that front, but the information did not put him at ease. The whole calm-before-the-storm thing was an accurate measure of anything the werewolves did.
Leaving his office to walk off his anxieties, Creed padded barefoot through the living room. An awful stench teased his nostrils. “What the—?”
He followed the odor to the kitchen, and wandered in and caught Housekeeper as she was tidying up.
“She doesn’t like it rare?” he asked.
“Yes, rare.”
“Smells like you grilled a cow to oblivion. And you did it inside?”
“There is the special grill on the stove, my lord.”
He’d never paid any mind to the appliances. “Gods, I hate meat.”
“I enjoyed the opportunity to cook, my lord.” The woman bowed to him and slipped by.
Creed preferred his help obedient. This one should have asked him first before firing up the grill. On the other hand, they never did stick around long enough for proper training.
He opened the fridge. It was stocked with a colorful array of fruits and vegetables. The freezer held cuts ofbeef, pork, chicken and—he thumbed a plastic-wrapped package—buffalo?
“Ghastly.”
He could barely remember what it had been like to eat so long ago. The flavors and smells were too distant to recall, but the knowing it had satisfied still remained within him.
Admittedly, he envied Blu for her appetite. While blood satisfied now, he wouldn’t mind the occasional taste of truffle, oven-warm bread dripping with butter or even steamed fish. Food—beyond a lick or nibble—would make him sick, though.
He was just thankful he could consume wine and whisky with no more effect than a dizzy head. He liked that he could get a little drunk off alcohol. Not drunk, actually, but looser. Relaxed.
He imagined Blu would be a sight drunk. She was already so colorful and in-your-face. A few goblets of wine might see her dancing on the tables.
Not a horrible image, when he considered those long sexy legs. They grew up to her armpits. And those hips would rock so sensually…
But then, she was now his wife. Decorum must be learned. He wasn’t about to appear in public with the foulmouthed brat until he’d polished her up a bit.
Make that a lot.
Summoning a simple wind spell, he waved his hand and conjured the wind through the window screen and curled the breeze about the kitchen. The air hooked into the scent molecules and carried the officious smell out with it.
He’d have to watch his usage of magic. He felt sure the wolf would have questions. Which would then lead to accusations. He preferred to avoid the conflict. The best defense was always to pick and choose the battles worth fighting.
Centuries earlier he’d made a promise to the Council—the witches foremost—that he would not use his magic skills. It was either that or be magically shackled to prevent him from doing so. He preferred living without being bound by a spell.
Wasn’t as though he used it in large amounts. About eight hundred years ago, the spell had been put in place to make witch’s blood poisonous to vampires, and to prevent the vampires from enslaving witches. Though he could drink from a Protected witch simply because he’d been drinking from them since before the spell, and had obviously developed an immunity.
Didn’t matter now. The spell had been demolished a couple decades earlier. Though he had no need for magic, he did find it made life easier and he hated to lose it completely.
Strolling through the living area, he noticed movement out on the patio. Violet movement.
“Those wigs. I wonder what her real hair color is?”
He snagged a pair of sunglasses from the cupboard beside the patio door and, checking skyward to make sure the mechanized sunshades were drawn over the vast patio, went outside.
She had tugged a lounge chair off the tiled patio and onto the grass, which was not protected by the massive canvas shades that rippled in the breeze.
Having purloined a pair of his sunglasses, her eyes were hidden behind the black lenses. Her long lean body stretched along the slatted wooden chaise. The bikini did not cover much territory.
But a thin strip of pink fabric covered her obviously shaved mons. She was tan there. Creed decided she must lie out often. Probably in the nude, because he didn’t see any trace of pale skin around the edges of the small strip that didn’t cover more than the most important parts. No clue as to what her natural hair color was there, either.
Bemused, he glided his eyes along her shapely skin. Equally small triangles stretched over such perfect breasts, Marie Antoinette would be jealous. Perfect globes, high and proud.
“You have this thing with staring at me, you know that?”
Creed realized he leaned over her, as if he were a mortal inspecting fruit displayed on the grocer’s counter. He straightened and stepped back onto the patio tiles.
He could withstand indirect sunlight for ten, fifteen minutes tops, before it began to burn his skin, though he could go about in the day if the sky was overcast. There was no magic spell that would make him impervious to the UVs.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home.”
“This is my home now. And since I’m not allowed to leave the property without an armed guard, I figure I’d make the be
st of it. Why don’t you join me?” She patted the grass beside the lounge chair where the sunlight beamed strongly. “Oh, right. Burn, baby, burn, eh?”
“It’s why I spend a lot of time in Minnesota. Not much sun here in the wintertime.”
“So that’s why the vamps are thick as blood here. Pun intended.”
Creed pulled a lounge chair to the edge of the tiles and sat in the shade, stretching out his legs. They reclined parallel to each other, she a goddess of the brilliant day, and he ever a slave to the night.
“I envy you,” he said before he could stop himself.
“What for? My ability to soak up the UVs without dusting to ash?”
“No, your reckless abandon. You’re very free.”
“I don’t see any shackles on your wrists.”
“I mean inside. Underneath that violet wig. You don’t care what anyone thinks, and that’s refreshing to me.”
“Yeah, I bet you think about everything before you say it. Wonder how your words will make others react.”
“Not at all. I’ve been around long enough. I say and do as I wish. And I have certain expectations—”
“You expect to have met.”
She flipped to her stomach and propped her chin on her forearm. The backside of the bikini bottom was but a string.
Creed suppressed an appreciative moan. A man could bounce a quarter on that ass. And look at that tattoo. It was a tribal design, but delicate, flourishing up her spine in a gorgeous arabesque.
“Look all you like,” she said.
“Don’t mind if I do. You don’t normally sunbathe wearing a swimsuit. Why today?”
“So you’ve been looking for tan lines. Naughty vampire. You think I’m going to give you a peep show? Now you’re starting to sound like the wolves in the pack.”
“Don’t ever compare me to a wolf.”
She smirked. “Dude, don’t worry. That would be too flattering.”
The chair creaked when he leaned abruptly forward. “Do you purposely mean to offend, or is it your nature?”
“I think it’s a little of both. Hey, you don’t have to talk to me. There’s a whole big yard—oh, right. Pale boy needs to stay under the protective covering. My bad.”