by Michele Hauf
“I have no explanations. Life never goes the way we believe it should. That’s the thrill of living it, I guess.”
Her body shook against his. “Creed, all I’ve ever wanted was to have my mother in my life. And now to find my father killed her? I have no one.”
Having no one was a familiar habit he’d learned to live with. Until now. Loneliness had fallen off his radar. And he didn’t want to return to the feeling again.
Kissing her forehead, he held her, taking her pain. “You have me.”
She sobbed quietly in his arms for a long time. Creed had rarely known tears. But tonight, he cried.
Chapter Fourteen
CREED LOOKED UP FROM his desk when Housekeeper popped her head in the office through the open door. “Yes?”
“You didn’t hear the front doorbell? Must have been because I am vacuuming,” she said. “There are two people here to see you. A man and a woman. The man looks scary.”
“So you let them in?” He shook his head at her frantic nod, then reminded himself to add “don’t let in strangers” to his list of training requirements for housekeepers. “Thank you, Housekeeper.”
He sensed the female visitor before he entered the foyer. A witch. Creed could sniff out a witch half a state away thanks to the witch magic ingrained in his blood. But he had to purposely scent one out. She could be standing right next to him and if he wasn’t on super-witch-sensory mode, he wouldn’t notice her.
He checked himself, recalling how often he’d used magic lately. Not enough to leave a noticeable residue on his aura. She would never know.
He recognized Abigail Rowan and returned her acknowledging nod as he approached the landing. Slender and elegant in pale pink satin pants and top, curls of strawberry hair spilled past her elbows. She was gorgeous, but Creed respected her power.
The other man, tall and bald, with a skull covered with tribal tattoos, smiled warmly and shook Creed’s hand. The shimmer—an innate feeling vampires felt when making contact with one another—confirmed the visitor was a vampire.
But Creed knew that before even touching him.
“Drake, good to see you.”
Nikolaus Drake was a newer vampire—had lived about three decades as a blood drinker—and led tribe Kila. A very peaceable tribe, thanks to Drake’s doing. His love affair with a witch a few decades earlier had turned his head three-hundred-sixty degrees. He sat on the Council, along with Abigail and a half a dozen other local representatives of the paranormal nations.
“Abigail.” Creed offered her a nod, but knew that witches had a problem with him. Even after the Protection had been lifted, he represented the original bane to them. One who would enslave them and steal their magic.
He hadn’t done that for centuries.
“I had thought the wife and I were supposed to parade ourselves before the Council in a few days for approval,” Creed said. “Why the visit today?”
“We’ve had some disturbing news,” Nikolaus said as he stepped down into the living room and wandered before the bar. “Of all people, Creed, I thought we could trust you to keep a low profile during this period when we most need to show a good face to the werewolves.”
“But I have—”
“You killed two wolves the other night during your rescue mission.”
“A necessity,” Creed countered the witch’s vitriolic remark. “While my men and I attempt to go in and retrieve the imprisoned vampires with as little collateral damage as possible, sometimes it is unavoidable.”
“You should have let the vamp die,” Abigail said.
Creed flashed a glare at her and noticed Nikolaus did the same. The woman held her stance, a force neither wished to challenge.
“What she means,” Nikolaus said, “is that now might not be the best time for your rescue efforts. We appreciate what you have done with the Rescue Project, but really, Creed. We, as vampires, must show the wolves we will not react to their violence with return violence. Who can be the better man?”
“That is insanity!” Creed shouted. “You sacrifice our own by sitting on your hands and turning a cheek.”
“Is it no more insane to rescue a half-dead vampire and leave him to suffer for the rest of his short life?”
Creed twisted to Abigail, who had put out the challenge. Indeed, he was aware the vamp they’d rescued was so sick with UV poisoning that he had probably a fortnight of life, and that was if he were given blood daily, and could even stomach it. It would be a miserable death. A stake would have been more kind.
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” he conceded.
“You were not,” Nikolaus said. “The wolves forced your hand, Saint-Pierre. I cannot conceive of telling you to stop the rescues. The project is too valuable to the vampire community. But I must ask you to at least stay out of the fray until some kind of peace agreement is met. You are our representative.”
“Yes, yes, please accept my apologies.” Creed swiped a hand over his face and paced behind the sofa. His proximity to the witch made him uncomfortable. He sensed she looked right through him, seeking the truth of him. “And extend my apologies to the entire Council. I chose to step up to represent the vampire nations. I will not let them down.” He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and allowed a little smile to break his stern expression. “You will be pleased to hear the princess and I are getting along well. I can’t imagine the nations not believing we two are in love, because in fact, I can honestly say we are.”
“Congratulations,” Nikolaus said with a glance to Abigail. She offered lackluster congratulations. “I knew it was possible. I am the perfect example of that.”
Indeed, Drake had married a witch decades earlier at a time when the Protection had made them enemies.
“Love was not a requirement,” Abigail said, “biting her was. Have you bitten her, Saint-Pierre?”
“Still working on that one, but I feel sure it will happen. Perhaps a celebratory drink is in order.” Creed aimed for the bar but Abigail slunk into his path. Leaning against the bar, one elbow sliding onto the stone counter, she tilted her head in a challenge. Creed sensed this discussion was nowhere near the celebratory stage. “Not thirsty?” he asked the witch, but knew the answer.
“A rumor has come to our attention.”
Turning to Nikolaus, but keeping the witch in his peripheral view, Creed splayed his hands to appear as agreeable as possible.
“Please tell me tribe Nava is not plotting against the wolves,” the vampire said.
Well, there it was. Creed would have to face the accusation. And he wouldn’t try to dance around the truth. But it had become complicated since Blu had teased him away from the vanguard with her allure and honesty.
“And the werewolves,” Abigail added, “are plotting against the vampires. We understand this marriage is being used as a ruse to soften the opponent’s defenses. Is that true, Saint-Pierre?”
“Yes.” Creed rubbed his palms together. He was glad Blu was out on a run. She didn’t need to defend herself when she was merely a pawn in the game. Nor did he wish her to see him grilled by the Council. “Yes, it was our intent as I entered into this agreement. Nava and Zmaj had decided this would be a way to lull the werewolves so we may then attack. I have only recently come to understand the wolves were plotting the same.”
Drake stepped up to him. The man was half a head taller, and imposing, even to Creed with all those tattoos marking his scalp. Though Creed knew he was a gentle man, he also knew Drake would do anything to protect his tribe and defend the nations.
Creed lifted his chin to meet the vampire’s stare. Standing so close, he sensed the shimmer, but it worked a wicked tingle on his veins, tightening them. He had betrayed the brotherhood of blood that united them, no matter their separate tribes.
“Plans have changed,” Creed offered. “On my part.”
Drake maintained his menacing stare.
The man had once died after being doused with witch’s blood. Yet he had risen as a phoenix to
again walk the earth. There was nothing he had not seen, no challenge he had not accepted in his short life as a vampire.
“I love Blu,” Creed put out there. “I would not dream of destroying her family now.”
“Does your tribe agree to the same?” Drake asked.
“I haven’t spoken with them yet.”
“It must be done, Creed. I will not allow any tribe to provoke the wolves to war.”
“I understand. I will do what I can to make it stop.”
“Do I have your word?”
“Of course.” He clasped a hand high on Drake’s arm and, with his other, shook his hand. “You have my word.”
The witch appeared beside the two of them, her green eyes fierce. “If you do not stop the imminent war, you will be punished for rousing anarchy within the tribes. The Council will make an example of you.”
“Fair enough.” Creed stepped back and bowed, conceding to the witch. Now he couldn’t stomach a celebratory drink.
He’d just agreed to call off his troops. Which meant he would have to confess his love for a wolf to them all. And he had no problem with that. He just wasn’t sure it would be as easy convincing the Northern pack that war was no longer an option. That a vampire had fallen in love with a werewolf. Especially after Blu had revealed her mother had had an affair with a vampire.
Amandus Masterson was not going to like this at all.
AMANDUS MASTERSON LOUNGED before the pool outside the pack compound. He wore trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. He sat beneath a beach umbrella and eased at his aching toes through the athletic sock. If any in the pack knew he was developing arthritis, he feared a mutiny. Or worse, Ryan would take him out and claim the principal status.
Idiot whelp. There was simply no way the scion would take over the reins, even if Amandus were to suddenly die. Which he didn’t intend to do anytime soon. But he’d have to make sure a new scion was put in place, sooner rather than later.
As an interesting suggestion to his thoughts, Ridge strolled out onto the pool deck. He wore but jeans and sunglasses, and did not sit but instead stood near Amandus’s chaise, his focus constantly sweeping the perimeter.
Good man, Ridge. He was calm, decisive and strong. And not easily riled. An excellent choice for scion.
“Who was lost?” Amandus asked.
“Anderson and that new guy from Montana, Hecker. Both from the splinter pack that wanted to join with us.”
“Damned vampires.” Amandus squeezed the wood chair arm and it cracked in his grip. “How do they always manage to find the location of a match? We must have a spy in our ranks.”
“I’ve already begun questioning pack members,” Ridge said. “I suspect the same. Don’t worry, Principal Masterson. I will find the culprit, and after information has been exposed, I’ll rip his head off.”
“See that you do.”
“Anderson didn’t die right away. He managed to tell me something you may find interesting.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“The vampire lord. Saint-Pierre. Anderson believes he might have used magic against Hecker. He made a move during their battle that was impossible. Didn’t even touch him, yet sent Hecker flying from the roof of the van.”
“I thought the elder vampires had been shackled of their magic?”
Ridge shrugged. “I don’t know much about that.”
“The witches demanded it of the elders after the Protection was put in place. Hmm…this information could prove useful. Especially if it can destroy that damned vampire. Thank you, Ridge. Good job.”
The young wolf flexed his shoulders, displaying the muscles that rippled across his back and down his lats. He was a force not to be toyed with. A faithful right-hand man. Amandus trusted Ridge would suss out the duplicitous wolf before the full moon hung in the sky tonight.
Thinking of which, he wondered how Blu would handle the moon tonight. He entirely expected she would wander out and seek a wolf to mate with. He prayed it was with someone from the Northern pack. Likely Eugene Ryan.
The scion was better than the vampire lord any day.
His daughter had been insistent about not taking the vampire’s bite, but now Amandus felt if they truly wanted to show allegiance it would be wise if Blu did. It was a sacrifice that clawed viciously at his memory. His daughter would commit the same sin as her mother, no matter that she was forced.
He’d already dismissed her anyway. She would serve the pack in acting the happy wife to a vampire, and then her task would be complete. Amandus had to reconcile that he’d already lost his only daughter to the enemy.
He could do that, because the prize gained for such a sacrifice would appease his aching heart far more. Unless he could use this new information about Saint-Pierre instead of sacrificing his daughter.
Either way, if Blu were to somehow survive the upcoming debacle and return to the pack he must consider what to do with her then. She would be tainted but not entirely useless.
“Ridge, if I made you scion of the pack, would you take my daughter as your wife?”
The man turned a shocked gaze on him. “Principal?”
“You heard me. I’ve offered my daughter to you many times, yet each instance you refuse. Why is that?”
“Er…”
“Don’t you like her?”
“The princess is very beautiful, Principal. A fine prize for any wolf.”
“Yet you’ve shown no interest. I’ve not seen you with a woman at the compound, come to think of it. Maybe you’re one of those homosexuals.” He pronounced the word with vitriol.
The wolf growled lowly, exposing his front teeth.
“Well, what is it then? Is it that she’ll be tainted by the vampire if she returns?”
“I respect her. That is the reason.”
Amandus got up from the chaise and shuffled for his sunglasses in a front shirt pocket. “Respect? What sort of nonsense is that? You show your respect for me by accepting what I offer you. Perhaps I was too quick to consider you become scion.”
“Eugene Ryan is already scion, Principal.”
“Things change, Ridge. Expect change. Always.”
Amandus shuffled off the pool deck and into the shade of the entertainment room that edged the compound. The insolence of the man to refuse to take Blu as his wife.
He kicked open the swinging doors and marched through. Diaz walked ahead of him and swung to offer the appropriate bow and silent acknowledgment.
“Diaz.” Amandus paralleled him. “What do you think of Blu?”
“Your daughter? She’s hot.”
“Yes. Exactly. Good answer.”
Chapter Fifteen
BLU PACED THE BEDROOM FLOOR. She glanced at the clock. Eleven-thirty.
It seemed odd the werewolf didn’t come upon her until exactly midnight. That should be stuff of fiction. After all, the moon was already high and it was freaking huge.
That was the way it worked. The chime of twelve effected the change.
Nervous, she paced to stem some of her frantic energy. Creed’s bedroom was three times the size of a normal bedroom, and the soft, antique rug beneath her bare feet felt like silk. As she paced, she couldn’t help but think.
She and Creed had lingered by the pool last night for hours. In silence. Just knowing he wanted to be there, holding her, meant the world to her. And she didn’t feel so alone now.
What her father had done to her mother was unspeakable.
All this time she’d thought her mother had abandoned her, walked away without looking back. Instead, something truly evil had taken her from Blu’s life.
She wanted to approach her father about it, to seek the truth from him, but he intimidated her. What had compelled Persia Masterson to seek another man? Likely she had been treated the same way Blu had been by Amandus.
But Blu couldn’t wrap her mind around it right now. And she didn’t need to. Creed was here to protect her. From all things.
Good ol’ Creed.
He’d gone to pour a glass of whisky. She’d suggested, only half jokingly, he drink the whole bottle.
He meant to leave her alone until she called for him, or he sensed it okay to come looking for her.
Hell, she wouldn’t call for him. She’d howl.
Blu didn’t know what she would do with a vampire when she wolfed out. And that was the hard part.
Her rational human brain was about forty-percent present when in werewolf form. But that forty percent was easily muted as she surrendered to the beast’s need for whatever it was she desired. There was no keeping the beast back, or denying it.
She prayed she didn’t hurt Creed. Or scare the crap out of the vampire lord who was accustomed to taking off werewolf heads with his sword.
“LET’S HOLD OFF ON approaching Ryan,” Creed said to Alexandre over the phone. “He’s aware we’re onto him now. I suspect he might scuttle out of sight for a while.”
“I’m surprised at the order,” Alexandre said. “You’re becoming soft, man. Are you losing focus on the goal?”
How to explain the conversation he’d had with Drake and the witch? And also to explain that indeed his heart had altered since before the wedding. He was fully on board with the peace pact now.
“I know what I’m doing, Alexandre. We’re not letting the wolf walk away. I want to keep a thumb on him. I don’t want that bastard making a move without us knowing about it.”
“So we plan a raid on their warehouses?”
“Have we a location where they’re keeping the stock?”
He hated using that word to describe his fellow vampires, but it was a means to distance himself from the horrendous suffering and to focus on the mission.
He could never completely distance himself. Vivid memories were impossible to erase. Rachel he had loved, not deeply, but sweetly. He had known her but three months, but that was a long time for Creed. The day he’d gotten the call from Alexandre had been the worst he could recall for centuries. The wolves had kept her in chains for weeks. Creed had believed her away on a trip to visit her brother in India. When Alexandre had reported a rescued female vampire near death and unidentifiable, Creed had known before going to identify the body, it had to be Rachel.