Her Vampire Husband

by Michele Hauf

  “I won’t wear it anymore. Promise.” She took it off and tossed it across the aisle to land against the iron base of a chair. “You’ve changed a lot, Creed.”

  He traced a thumb along her satin-smooth back. “I have always taken what I wanted. I’m not sure I can change that.”

  “You have changed. I mean, look at you, sleeping with a werewolf!”

  “Yes, well, I suppose.”

  “But once, you enslaved someone not like you for your own benefit. Kind of like how the wolves enslave the vampires for blood sport. I’m not trying to compare them. Maybe I am. I know you’re different now, and couldn’t imagine you bringing harm to anyone who didn’t deserve it. But I can’t help but wonder what those witches experienced as you drained the magic from them.”

  “Blu, so many centuries ago I was a man who took what I wanted, when I wanted, from whomever I wanted. I won’t apologize for what I did. Hell, I had a chip on my shoulder after being changed to a vampire against my will. They were impressed with my werewolf-killing skills and wanted me on their side. But so you know, I haven’t stolen anything from a witch in centuries.”

  “What does that do to your magic?”

  “It certainly doesn’t help matters. I can feel it wane each time I use it. I believe I’ve one good wallop left in me before it is completely depleted.”

  “So you need to have sex with a witch to keep it strong?”

  “Yes. But there’s not a witch who would offer, I’m sure of that. I can survive without magic. It doesn’t serve me beyond enhancing my daily life. It comes in handy during battle. But as I’ve said, I strive not to use it as a means to show the witches I am no longer a threat.”

  “Yes, but what if you were desperate? If magic was the only thing that could help you out of a situation? Would you sleep with a witch again?”

  “I would not have another woman now, because that would be cheating on my wife.”

  “You really mean that.”

  He stroked the hair from her face. Her skin was softer than silk. The finest luxury he’d ever experienced. “I am yours, Blu. Faithfully. Can you accept the things I’ve done to survive? That was me then. This is me now.”

  She toyed her forefinger across his chest. The beat of her heart matched his, relaxed and heavy. If he were to drink her blood, then her heartbeat would synch with his and he could track her anywhere in the city. They would always have a means to find the other.

  He could wait. But if she balked at accepting him now it would destroy him. But he must acknowledge any reluctance she may have.

  “I can more than accept you,” she whispered. Tilting her head, she kissed him under the chin. “I love you, Creed Saint-Pierre, and I’m proud to be your wife.”

  She pressed up, her palms to his chest, and began to rock upon his hips.

  THEY STOOD AMIDST THE carnage, having ransacked the closet for a few items of clothing that hadn’t been torn or shredded the night before. Blu had found an old frock coat of Creed’s from the eighteenth century and it hung on her shoulders now, the heavy damask engulfing her.

  The chair stuck in the wall had slowly worked its way forward, till it let go from the drywall and tumbled across the mattress.

  It felt good to laugh. Blu shook her head and slapped a palm on the skewed box spring mattress. “I hope that chair wasn’t an antique.”

  “Vintage seventeenth century. Once held position in the queen’s apartments at Versailles.”

  “My bad?”

  “Very naughty,” he said, and followed with a blown kiss.

  He accepted her as she was—all wild and wicked.

  And she accepted him. He’d led an unsavory past as a battle warrior, bounty hunter and witch enslaver, to name a few. But as he’d explained, he was a different man now than he had been then.

  Everyone changed.

  Blu felt the changes within herself since she’d married Creed. She was calmer now, not so skittish around men, and the need to put on a costume and act aloof was no longer there.

  Okay, so costumes were sort of her thing. And what a delicious find in the old steamer trunk at the back of Creed’s closet.

  She tugged the coat about her, delighting in the patterned damask fabric. Wide cuffs, softened with age, spilled past her hands. The buttons were real diamonds, and though the lace was frayed, she could easily imagine Creed seducing a poufy-skirted demoiselle into his arms.

  “Here.” He tossed her something and she caught it with both hands. “I don’t want it—it’s yours. Use it as you wish.”

  She pressed the pink cell phone to her lips. “I thought for sure you’d change your mind about me,” she said, “and leave for the banquet by yourself.”

  “Are you insane? I want you by my side always. Silly werewolf.” He displayed the titanium ring. Blu had retrieved hers from the theater room, and they’d both put them on for the evening. “I’m going to throw this away after tonight. I don’t want to worry about it ever accidentally spilling on you.”

  “I’m doing the same, though I understand now this blood wouldn’t harm you.”

  “I guess it will either take away my magic or renew it.”

  “Then why not slurp it down? Doesn’t sound too devastating either way.”

  “But what if it does not? What if there was the slightest chance that blood could harm me? Fry me to ash?”

  She tucked the ring against her stomach. “Nix the slurping. I’m not willing to take that chance. Hey, I know. Why don’t we do a ritual at the bridge on the way home?”

  “Repeat our vows?”

  “Yes, and make them our own this time,” she offered. “Something simple like ‘I promise to love you always. No matter what.’”

  “That works for me. Always. No matter what.”

  He kissed her and while Blu wanted to peel away his shirt and lick his chest—among other things—she knew they had to get this over with. Tonight all eyes would be on them.

  All the scheming, plotting eyes that expected them to play the pawns.

  She was nervous about looking her father in the eye. Her father—the man who had murdered her mother. But she wouldn’t lie about her feelings for Creed.

  “Let’s do this,” she said.

  CREED PARKED THE CAR. Before he could rush around to open Blu’s door, she stepped out. An exotic princess with blue hair, she wore a deep violet top and long skirt with blue spangled beadwork on it. The fabric was layers of sheer stuff that made him itchy to stroke and try to figure how to make it reveal the skin beneath.

  “Is this some kind of Indian dress?” He glanced his fingers over her breasts. “It’s so sexy, especially your bare tummy hidden behind this see-through stuff.”

  “It’s a sari, and yes, it’s traditional Indian garb. My mother was born in India. She used to wear these all the time. Though I’ve taken the top up and the skirt down a bit.”

  A bare leg slipped from the skirt’s front slit, and he brushed his fingers over her thigh. “You quicken me, werewolf.”

  “Are your fangs showing?”

  “Not yet, but I won’t be surprised should they make a visit if I’m to look upon you all evening without being able to make love to you.”

  “Soon, lover. Patience is a virtue.”

  “It’s also a bitch.”

  He touched the diamond choker she had worn that first night. Actually it was rhinestones. She’d revealed she wasn’t into fancy jewels, only fancy wigs. He suspected it was because she’d never had her own money to spend on fine things.

  He couldn’t wait for her to put a dent in that credit card.

  “Do you think they’ll suspect we’re trying to hide something?” he asked. “Put one off on them?”

  “Not if we’re truthful and tell them we haven’t gone that far yet.”

  She meant the bite, not the sex. “Will we ever go that far?”

  She kissed his mouth and tapped it with a delicate fingertip. “I think we may.”

  “You make me mad wit
h the anticipation.”

  “Good mad?”

  “Very good mad.”

  Creed slipped her hand into his and led her inside.

  A MORE DISCREET LOCATION had been chosen this time than the Landmark Center in St. Paul. A country club at the edge of the northern suburbs hosted the evening’s soiree.

  Curious vampires and werewolves formed the crowd. It was very dark. The chandeliers were hung high in the three-story building, and their glow was dim.

  “I think I’m going to grab a drink right away,” Blu said to Creed, but she didn’t slip from his side. Instead, her hands gripped tightly about his upper arm.

  “Creed Saint-Pierre.”

  He turned to find Abigail Rowan waiting. Adorned in pale green satin, she radiated no warmth. She was flanked by the witches Evangeline Perry and Niall Eston.

  “We need to talk,” Abigail said.

  “But we’ve just arrived,” Blu said.

  The witch nodded toward a room attached to the main ballroom. Her gaze avoided Blu. “Right now.”

  Blu clasped his hand and accompanied him. She sought an answer in his eyes, but he had none. Three witches wanted to talk to him? A tendril of anxiety crept about his neck. Could they know?

  They entered a deceptively large room that was two stories tall and lined along one wall with windows. Dark wood paneling and brown carpeting gave it a somber look. Inside stood a dozen Council members in a line. None smiled to greet Creed.

  Blu’s grip grew fierce. Creed lifted it to kiss her knuckles.

  “What’s this?” Creed asked. “An interview? My wife and I would be very happy to answer any questions.”

  “Creed,” Nikolaus Drake said from the line of condemning gazes. “We’ve learned something just this morning that must be addressed before we present you and your wife to the tribes and packs.”

  Abigail pressed a hand to her hip. “You’ve used magic against the werewolves,” she announced. “Do you deny it?”

  Lifting his chin, Creed took a moment before speaking. Someone had revealed his secret. He felt Blu’s hand slip from his. She had betrayed him?

  “I didn’t say anything,” she whispered. “I swear it. I didn’t even know—”

  “I am this man’s accuser.” Amandus Masterson walked to stand beside Abigail. Creed hadn’t noticed him in the group. Had he walked in behind him? “We received information the elder used magic to slay one from my pack.”

  Yes, because that bastard wolf had participated in torturing a vampire. Creed held back the need to protest. He knew he was in the wrong.

  “It is true,” he offered. “I have used magic on occasion since giving my vow to the witches of the Light.”

  “Then you must be shackled,” Abigail said, not hiding her cutting satisfaction.

  “No!” Blu clutched Creed’s arm. “He was rescuing a vampire the wolves had forced into blood sport!”

  “Silence her,” Abigail hissed.

  “Blu, please.” Creed, maintaining a steady gaze on the Council before him, wrapped an arm about Blu’s shoulders and pulled her against his body. “I am in the wrong.”

  “But they’ll shackle you.”

  Surely she hadn’t a clue what that meant, but probably guessed it involved pain, which it would.

  “How dare you?” she shot at her father. “You care little about Creed.”

  “You were ordered silent,” Amandus snapped at her. “Shall I take her from the room?” he asked Abigail.

  “It is her choice to remain or leave. Creed, step forward.”

  Blu clung to him. “Perhaps you should leave,” he said gently.

  “No, I’m not going anywhere. They can’t do this to you.”

  “If I do not take the punishment, I am no man. Blu, please.”

  He hated to do it, but he gave her a gentle shove and she stepped away from him. Avoiding her father, who stepped aside as the Council formed a circle, Blu moved to the wall. Tears glistened in her eyes, and each one felt like a razor-edged diamond chip cutting down Creed’s heart.

  He could have accepted the shackles upon his magic centuries ago. Then he’d been too proud, too arrogant. He’d been determined to keep his vow, but somehow he’d decided a little bit would harm none.

  The culmination of many little bits had become his right to use magic as he saw fit. It was wrong.

  He would take the shackles.

  He just wished it was not before Amandus Masterson. The principal would enjoy every moment of this.

  He must not balk. He’d show the old wolf what a real man was made of.

  Creed stepped forward, and the Council members, hands joined, closed the circle behind him. He was aware of Blu’s heartbeats. As well, the wickedly pleased thud of Amandus’s heart. If the wolf thought this would change his and Blu’s relationship, he was dead wrong.

  “Take off your coat,” Abigail said.

  He did so, and tossed it outside the circle. Unbuttoning a few top buttons of his shirt and his cuffs, Creed then worked his shoulders and neck, loosening the muscles in preparation. He’d seen this spell enacted. It wasn’t pretty.

  Abigail stared directly at him. She could not hide the slightest curve at the corner of her mouth. Finally, she had the opportunity to make an example of him.

  He would not fault her.

  “Under the order of the Council, representative of the nations of the Light and Dark,” she recited. “We hereby shackle Lord Edouard Credence Saint-Pierre from using stolen magic.”

  She thrust out her arms to each side, and the other two witches joined hands. They began to chant in the creepy, slippery tones that Creed associated with nightmares from the Middle Ages after he’d spent dozens of hours marching the vanguard and drawing his sword through so much flesh and bone.

  The Council members joined hands, closing the circle. The witches’ voices dispersed, becoming one and so distant.

  Creed was seized by invisible claws that wrapped about his body from shoulder to ankle. He shouted as the grip tore into his flesh, yet he knew it was only a feeling, not reality.

  Electric currents traced his nerves, biting into his veins and muscles with razored teeth. Eyes closed, he groped for…nothing. His fingers in claws, he could not move, save that his muscles reacted to the fiery currents.

  Somewhere at the edge of the horrific pain he heard Blu’s cry. Her voice bolstered him. Perhaps it was best that he’d taken the shackles only now. For now he had a reason to endure.

  Hard iron shackles clamped about his ankles, invisible, but very tangible as they cut through his flesh and the icy chill of the iron burned him. Another set clamped about his knees, pressing his bones tightly together. At his hips, he felt his pelvis break.

  Creed cried out from the pain of it.

  His elbows were shackled tightly behind his back and his shoulders were bound. And then the heavy scalp cap lined with iron spikes crushed about his skull. Blood poured from the pierce holes, soaking Creed’s vision, though it was all a hallucination.

  His body lifted from the ground. Immobile and shackled, Creed hung there briefly, and then dropped. He landed on his knees and palms. The intense crush of the iron shackles went away.

  The spell had been placed.

  “These shackles bind the stolen magic within you,” he heard Abigail recite over his gasping breaths. “Should you attempt to utilize it even once your bones will be crushed and the shackles will bleed you dry. And it will not be a hallucination. Go in peace, Creed Saint-Pierre. The Council convenes.”

  The circle of people moved away from him. Creed heard someone shout, “Let’s give him a few moments before we make the announcement that the newlyweds are coming along well, shall we?”

  The soft tickle of a blue wig dusted his cheek. Blu knelt beside him. Her fingers tentatively touched his shoulders, but he flinched. “Creed?”

  “I’m sorry,” he managed. It was difficult to catch his breath. He still felt the minute tingle of the shackles pressing upon his nerves.
It twitched his muscles. He couldn’t stop the jerky movements. “Give me a moment.”

  “I’ll give you the rest of my life.”

  And like that, the pain went away.

  A ROUND OF APPLAUSE introduced Blu and Creed as they entered the ballroom. Blu clutched Creed’s hand as if to let go would send her reeling away into a black void.

  He’d promised her the pain was all gone, yet she still felt the tremble in his palm. His muscles twitched. He was not fine.

  Damn her father. He’d been gone from the room by the time Creed had stood up. She suspected Amandus thought he’d castrated her husband, in a manner.

  Perhaps he had. She couldn’t know how the shackles would affect Creed. If only they had a moment to themselves.

  The wolves bowed on one knee as Blu walked by. All eyes fell upon the blue-haired princess. That was usual. Yet for the first time in her life she found it hard to hold up her chin and simply be admired.

  For they did not admire. They judged. They preened over her. They whispered and conspired. Together she and Creed had entered the lion’s den. Pray, they exited with hands joined as tightly.

  Nikolaus Drake had promised Blu no one outside of the room would know what had just been done to Creed. So they would smile over their grimaces and pray the night passed quickly.

  She tugged the swath of sheer purple fabric over her shoulder, wishing she’d have gone with the black velvet dress that covered more skin. She’d chosen the dress specifically for when she stood before her father.

  A peripheral scan sighted the bar on the opposite side of the room. She wondered if Bree was wielding a chocolate martini with a welcoming hug.

  “Darling.” Her father approached for a hug.

  Darling? That was one she’d never heard before. He acted as though they’d not just watched her husband’s torture.

  “All eyes are on us,” Creed whispered at her ear. “Go to him.”

  Blu dropped Creed’s hand, reluctantly, and stepped in for the awkward embrace with Amandus. They weren’t a touchy-feely family. She could count on one hand how many times he’d hugged her in her lifetime. Rough squeezes and shoves, on the other hand, had been all too common.