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“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.
CCREED 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 of beef, 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 best 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.”
She was right; he didn’t have to suffer this abuse. But to reach over and admonish her with a swat to that sexy ass might convince her he wanted to touch her.
He did want to touch. What man could resist such a tantalizing display? But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d won this round.
“You like to swim?” he tried.
“Nope.”
The violet hair splayed across her face and the dark sunglasses. Surely she could still see him, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t look away from that incredible ass. Softly rounded, so firm, and taunting him to stroke his fingers over the sun-heated skin.
Damn, was he getting hard looking at a werewolf? Of all the absurd—
“Penny for your thoughts,” she cooed. The tip of a pink tongue lashed out to stroke the underside of her upper lip. “But I bet they’re worth a mint.”
“You’ve a great ass,” he conceded. “Nice tits, too.” Leaning back and stretching an arm behind his head, he tilted up his sunglasses. “You’re the complete package, Blu. Why on earth did you agree to this marriage when you could have been married off to a fine werewolf, most likely a pack leader?”
“I was promised to the scion of the Northern pack.” She tucked her head into her creased elbow, away from him. “Tattoo is from him.”
Interesting. What little Creed did know of pack politics was that a scion either had to kill the current principal or wait for his death. In this case, Amandus Masterson’s death. So how would the principal putting his daughter forth for this marriage screw with the scion’s plans?
“You loved him,” he guessed. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t love him. I loved having sex with him and being his girl. He was my lover. But I’ll never fall in love. It’s not in my nature to give my heart over to a man. Remember that, vampire. It’s all an act. That’s all it can ever be between us.”
Creed closed his eyes behind the sunglasses.
Indeed, an act. He wasn’t stupid. He’d entered this marriage with eyes wide open and his brain working all the angles. But there were so many variables he hadn’t anticipated.
Like being attracted to his wife. Physically, that was. So far their exchanges had only reinforced to him that she was spoiled and most likely unwilling to put forth as much effort in this marriage as he would.
What he did know for sure was this conversation didn’t need to happen. They were only required to play their parts before observers.
Though he couldn’t be sure the vamps and weres camped outside the perimeter of his estate weren’t using telephoto lenses to take pictures. They could have the damned yard bugged, as well.
But they wouldn’t get past his security. Should a werewolf breach the fence by means other than the front gates, silver darts were set to find the target all around the perimeter.
As for vampires, he didn’t fear challenge from any.
So why was he sitting here trying to converse with the obstinate one? Logic determined they would need to get to know one another, to make it look good. She seemed amenable to that.
Or was it that the view was so spectacular? Before last night he’d thought it impossible to consider kissing a werewolf, let alone get a hard-on from looking at her body. Yet right now he sported some serious wood from the visuals she broadcast.
