by Michele Hauf
“At least we’ve a new one. Good job, Alexandre.” He slapped him across the back. “We got darts?” he called to the back, where the atmosphere was strung like a bowstring.
Revin cocked a dart gun. “Check. Silver-nitrate bombs, too. You going in, Saint-Pierre?”
He tapped Wolfsbane. “I’ll lead the way.”
THE MOST DANGEROUS PLACE for a vampire to venture was a blood match. They were held in privately owned warehouses in the suburbs and sometimes abandoned barns in the countryside. The fights were attended by dozens of werewolves, both from packs, and those lone wolves who were secure enough to stand next to a pack wolf without being intimidated.
The aggression and blood scent frenzied the wolves to their beastly werewolf shapes. Even as the fighters went at each other, the wolves clashed amongst themselves.
Creed had witnessed a match years ago, from behind the safety of protective chain-link fencing. It had been an exposition of sorts, offered to the various tribe leaders by the pack principals to show them what they could do to their kind if they did not return the lands the wolves accused them of stealing.
Scare tactics never worked against Creed.
The matches were a vile form of blood entertainment. A horrific punishment to the innocent vampire who fell onto the path of a werewolf. The wolves strictly stalked those independent vampires who hadn’t aligned themselves to a tribe. It was safer that way for the wolves, less risk of bringing an angry tribe upon them.
What they did was chain the vampire up for weeks in a cell lit by UV bulbs, starving it of blood and driving it mad with UV sickness. After about a month, the vampire was literally insane for blood. But usually after two or three weeks, the vamp—depending on his age—was in agony for blood. When two starving vampires were put in a cage together they went after each other, biting and draining, and finally punching their fists through muscle and bone to claim the greatest cache of blood—the heart.
It meant survival to the winning vampire. If only for a few more months of captivity.
They’d kept Rachel only three weeks before she’d succumbed. She hadn’t been strong enough. The first fight had been her last.
That day Creed had vowed to take down all the sporting warehouses he could find, and make the werewolves suffer for their cruelty.
“They expect us to come to terms of peace?” Creed eyed the warehouse as Alexandre pulled up a block away. “They should burn every sporting warehouse in the country. Then, and only then…”
He didn’t finish the statement. It sounded too hypocritical now with him married to a werewolf. And nearly fucking her.
What in hell had he been thinking lately? Mooning after a werewolf? It was idiotic. No vampire in his right mind would succumb to such foolishness.
He tightened his grip on Wolfsbane. Vengeance against the wolves he’d only buried shallowly upon accepting the marriage agreement now surfaced. Tonight he was going to take some wolf heads.
Muscle cars, Jeeps and SUVs pulled from the lot before the warehouse. Beer cans littered the tarmac and raucous rock music blared from speakers.
“They’re dispersing,” Alexandre reported. “Fight’s done. The containment truck is being loaded. We’ll have to take them on the road.”
The truck would hold the winning vampire, sated for now. Blood drunk, surely. But no less a prisoner in chains.
“It’ll be easier,” Creed stated. “There are only two wolves in the driver’s cab. I don’t think they keep a guard on the vamp after the fight. Unnecessary.”
They watched the white truck pass by, and Alexandre spun the wheel to follow two blocks behind. The wolves would return to the pack’s compound. Having no idea which pack had mastered this evening’s blood sport, Creed and his men did not know where they were headed.
When the van took the 35E exit, Alexandre said, “I bet they’re headed east toward Wisconsin. Might be the River pack.”
“Overtake them now,” Creed ordered. “As they enter the freeway.”
He gestured to the men in the back, who prepared rappelling hooks, masks and dart guns.
The four-lane freeway wasn’t abandoned this late at night, but they drove on a clear stretch for a few miles. The black van pulled aside the white truck. Alexandre was an expert behind the wheel, having spent some time working as a getaway driver during an armed robbery stint a few decades earlier.
Creed was handed a dart gun from over his shoulder. He rolled down the window.
The truck driver saw him, gaped—and took a dart to the neck.
“Now!”
At Creed’s command, the back doors of the van opened, securing to the vehicle sides with hydraulic latches. Revin speared the truck’s steel wall high on the back quarter panel and attached a rappelling hook. Fresno followed him as Alexandre kept the vehicles parallel.
They’d honed this operation to a well-oiled mission that took less than three minutes. It was dangerous to do it on the freeway, where mortals cruised by in the opposite lanes. As long as no one tried to pass in the third lane, they were good.
The wolf driver struggled to keep the truck on the road. The dart wouldn’t knock him out, but it would make him lethargic and blur his vision. Creed would not risk killing him—and a resultant crash—when the vampire was yet unclaimed in the back.
The other werewolf appeared from the passenger window and crawled on top of the truck’s cab.
Expecting this, Creed levered himself up through his window and jumped atop their van. He snatched a row bar. His combat boots gripped firmly. A rappel hook would secure him to the van, but he didn’t want to risk becoming entangled. His sense of balance was impeccable.
At the back, the vampires had already secured the fight’s winner.
The werewolf, perched on the top of the truck, shot Creed in the shoulder. It was a wooden bullet, he knew from the dull, piercing entrance. It wouldn’t put him down.
Creed fired a dart that managed to skim the wolf’s shoulder. The impact didn’t even make the wolf jerk. Without a thought, Creed blew hard, utilizing his air magic. The incredible gust of wind sent the wolf stumbling backward. He toppled, but caught his fingers on the edge of the truck. He’d dropped the weapon.
Suddenly the werewolf, having shifted to beastly shape, lunged up and sprang for Creed. The hairy beast stretched through the air, momentarily suspended in an attack lunge between the two vehicles.
Creed did not vacillate between life and death. One sweep of Wolfsbane severed the werewolf’s head and upper shoulders from the body. Both halves dropped onto the tarmac and tumbled toward the ditch.
The hooks were released from the back of the truck. The opponent’s truck spun out into the ditch. Gripping the edge of the passenger door and sliding headfirst into the front seat, Creed righted himself. He swiped away blood from his face. Revolting to consider tasting it.
In the back, the captive vampire lolled, lethargic from a blood overdose. He reeked of sweat, fear and blood.
“Good job,” Creed said to the team. He pressed two fingers below the wooden bullet stuck in his shoulder and eased it slowly from his flesh. “I’ll call for cleanup to clear the body and debris from the road.”
He flicked the bullet out the window. If it had landed in his heart it may have dropped him long enough for the wolf to plunge a thick stake into his heart, which could have killed him.
Vampires: one. Werewolves: zero.
BLU STUDIED THE WIGS she’d pulled from boxes this morning. The violet was Creed’s favorite. She liked the green one. The white reminded her of that romantic night when they’d walked in the park surrounded by the heady scent of peonies.
And she’d thought to never have romance.
“Silly princess, some dreams do come true.”
She touched the violet wig. Now it reminded her of the other night when she’d been so close to giving herself completely to her husband. She’d shared a dark part of herself with him. The secret that wasn’t as much a secret amongst her father’
s men as a shared badge of honor.
Some honor. Not.
Creed had been so gentle and understanding, listening without judgment. At that moment she’d never wanted her vampire husband so desperately.
Until his fangs had flashed and had slashed through the mood like fangs through flesh.
Though Creed pleaded an inability to control them in her presence, rationally, she knew she would be safe. Irrationally, she wanted to stay at arm’s distance from the potential threat of becoming forever marked.
She couldn’t believe her father had sent the message through Ridge that he expected her to take the vampire’s bite. He’d made it very clear before she set off on this adventure that she was merely to play the role, to convince the vampire she cared for him, but to never take his bite if she wished to return home.
Did Amandus no longer believe she would return to the pack at some point? And that if she were marked no wolf would ever have her?
Well, her father didn’t have to know everything.
Couldn’t the Council accept them having sex as a seal to the pact? It did represent an intimacy with one another no vampire or werewolf would take lightly.
Not that they’d completely had sex yet. They’d done everything but. She’d yet to take Creed inside her, to feel his thickness embody her. She wanted that. But not at the risk of being bitten.
Shouldn’t a vampire nearly a millennium old be able to control his fangs by now?
Shoving the three wigs aside, she stroked her real hair forward. It hung to her shoulders and was the color of her mother’s hair. A mother she missed with an aching soul.
Blu had been eleven when her mother, Persia Masterson, had disappeared from her life with no note, not even a goodbye. Her father had growled and said she’d gone off with another lover. That was the last he’d spoken of the enigma Blu wished was still in her life.
Was it true? Had her mother taken a lover? Why?
The why not was easy to rationalize. With a husband like Amandus, Blu suspected her mother had sought attention, perhaps even simple kindness from other men.
How could her mother abandon her like that? Truly, for a lover? And without word she was leaving? She tried not to think about her, because it simply brought tears.
They’d never been close, yet her mother had been the only other female werewolf in Blu’s life. Left the sole pack female following her mother’s disappearance, Blu had wanted to emulate her cool reserve around the males, but it hadn’t been easy once Amandus had started giving her to his men.
Had she still been around, would her mother have protected Blu from the cruel treatment? It had only started after her mother was gone. Amandus had taken out his frustrations on his daughter, the spitting image of her mother.
Save the one time Ridge had pulled a drunk wolf off her, no one had ever protected Blu, so she’d developed her own methods of defense. She twirled a finger around the end of her hair. Creed had been so gentle with her hair. She’d wanted to cover him with it and linger in the safety of his embrace.
She did not hate the vampire. In fact, she might even…
She couldn’t go there. Yet. Even though he’d taken her phone away, that didn’t mean Ryan was not still on her mind.
“Rough, sexy werewolf that you are,” she said with a sigh. He’d tugged her hair more than a few times, but he’d been more protective than rough. Most of the time. “That wolf never knows when he’s gone too far.”
Bruises on her wrists and hips were a common find after having sex with Ryan. But that was simply the way wolves were. Right?
And even after sex, when she lay sated and tousled, she could forgive Ryan his roughness. Because he was the only lover she’d known who didn’t demand without then returning some kind of sexual favor. The other wolves had just taken and shoved her aside. And Ryan had promised to be her mate. To take her away from her father’s men to another pack.
The new pack would never dream to use her as her father had. Ryan had promised escape, so she took the bad with the hopes of good.
Some good had come already. Escape of a sort had been achieved through an unexpected means. She was now another man’s wife.
Ryan would rage if he were ever in the same room as Creed.
She wondered what Creed would do if approached by an angry werewolf who had been denied his mate? She’d never seen her husband in a fight. He was brawny and probably very capable. Hell, the way he’d controlled the sword had put her heart in her throat.
Could have been the name of it, too. Wolfsbane.
Blu shuddered.
But she thought of Creed more as a sensual lover than a fighter. And that kind of softer, yet still dominant, man was starting to appeal to her.
But come on, she wouldn’t know a good thing if it slapped her.
“Creed would never slap me.”
And instead of tears at the thought of her distant lover, she smiled a little. And then a lot. But the happiness was not because of Ryan.
Deciding to go wigless, she combed through the long strands of her mink-dark hair and pushed them over her shoulder. A red jersey dress slithered over her skin, resembling a swimsuit cover-up as it clung to all her curves and exposed a lot. Creed would like it.
But before she went looking for the hubby, she needed to check in with her father. Though she had decided not to tell Ridge about Creed’s magic and the ring, she wanted to see if she could get any more info from Amandus.
The office was the only place she’d seen a phone, so she headed down the stairs. On the bar, a white envelope was propped against a full bottle of wine. Her name was scribbled on the envelope.
Blu tore it open. Out slid a black credit card with her name on it and a note. Don’t spend it all in one place.
She knew the black card was only given to elite clients, and it had something like a million-dollar credit limit.
“Oh, baby. The vampire doesn’t know what he’s done. I won’t spend it all in one place, Creed. That would be a crime, considering all the best stuff is spread out, and in Paris.”
The man lived in France. So did that mean he’d take her to Paris someday?
“Christian Louboutin, here I come!” The designer shoes were on the top of her wish list.
Tucking the card back into the envelope, she went in search of her hubby to give him a hug that would probably become a kiss and then a lick, and then…Well, she was ready to go there.
The house was quiet. Housekeeper had left hours earlier after vacuuming and dusting. The new girl was similar to Malena. Young, Latina and polite. And she must know her employer was a vampire, because Blu figured there had to be blood on things occasionally. No vamp could be neat all the time.
On the other hand, he was taking his donors, as he called them, away from the estate.
She decided tomorrow she’d find out the new housekeeper’s name and then relentlessly use it around Creed. She’d get the guy to warm to the hired help one way or another.
Her bare feet took the Berber carpet softly, but she slowed as she neared the office. The door was open a crack, and Creed’s sexy, deep voice echoed out.
Pausing, Blu listened and got in on the middle of a phone conversation.
“The victim has been placed in the safe house? Good. I hope he survives. It wasn’t the River pack? But I thought the Western pack—Hell, really? They were a long way from home. And headed in the wrong direction. Doesn’t Dean Maverick lead that pack?”
Silence, then, “Seriously? Ryan has been seen with the pack?”
Blu sucked in her lip. Was he talking about her lover?
Ryan was supposed to be careful with his visits to Maverick. As scion of the Northern pack, it would not be tolerated for him to have contact with a rival pack. Her father would be outraged.
“Can we put a man or two on him? I don’t want what happened last night to occur any time soon. Especially with the peace pact under such scrutiny. Though don’t get me wrong. Slicing that wolf’s head from his body was
gratifying.”
Another pause. What had happened last night? she wondered. He’d killed a wolf?
Blu tilted her head and slid her hair behind an ear. Her hearing was good, but not acute enough to pick up the voice coming over the receiver. It had to be Alexandre, her hubby’s second in command.
“It’s going far better than we had hoped,” Creed said. “No, no bite. But it may be unnecessary. Yes. Yes, I understand. No, I believe the werewolves will see their princess has accepted a vampire, and will surrender to the peace pact. I’m beginning to wish it were not a farce.”
Blu stretched her shoulder along the wall, tracing the surface lightly with her fingertips. A farce? His conversation sounded so similar to the one she’d had in the van with Ridge.
“Yes, then when they’re not looking, we attack. I’ll be in contact. Goodbye, Alexandre.”
We attack?
But that was—That could only mean—
Blu gripped her throat. The vampires were plotting against the werewolves?
No. Freaking. Way.
Blu kicked the door and stomped through the doorway. Fists forming, she couldn’t immediately find words. But when she did, she shouted, “You bloody longtooth!”
Creed leaned over his desk, fists to the varnished wood. He had to know what she’d heard. “A good afternoon to you, wife. Très bien?”
“Ditch the French bullshit, longtooth. I heard what you said.” She crossed to the desk and smashed a fist near his. “The vampires are plotting against us?”
“Now, Blu—”
“Tell me the truth!” Her voice screeched when she got angry. She hated that.
“Blu, I don’t think it’s wise.”
“No, look at me. Tell me it isn’t true.” She beat a fist on his shoulder and when he turned to wrangle her wrists, she repeatedly pounded angry fists at his shoulders and chest. “You’ve been tricking me this whole time? That’s not fair!”
She kicked his shin and broke from his grasp. Creed groaned at the painful placement of her heel but didn’t race after her.
Stalking the other side of the desk, she hissed and let out a frustrated squeal. “I can’t believe I was duped! I should have been smarter.”