Her Vampire Husband (3 page)

Why could they not use his marriage as an example?

Blu recalled something about Severo’s wife being changed to vampire only after they had fallen in love. Supposedly it wasn’t the same situation.

It was a good thing Severo had not been at the wedding. Blu knew exactly how hard she’d swing a fist at him when she did see him. Hard enough to draw blood. A loose tooth would serve the icing on the cake she hadn’t gotten to taste this evening.

“So,” she said, “what are we to do with ourselves? You’re taking me to your home?”

“Yes, I live at the edge of the suburb, but more in the country.”

“What are your intentions?”

“You are my wife. I had assumed we would do the married thing.”

“The married thing.” She tapped the rain-streaked glass with a knuckle. “What does that imply exactly?”

“Living in the same house. Appearing to others as a couple. Conversation.”

She waited for him to summon further examples but he did not. Because he could not? He was not so pleased with this arrangement either, she bet.

At least they had one thing in common.

“Sex?” she prompted.

“Of course.”

“You wish.”

“The marriage must be consummated.”

“The Council’s idea of consummation is not sex.”

“You would take my bite?”

“When hell freezes over.”

The car swerved sharply, shoving Blu roughly against the door. She sensed her husband’s smirk as he pulled through an automated gate and onto a cobbled driveway that curved before a three-story brick mansion.

Supposedly her new hubby lived in France during the summer months and wintered in Minnesota. He’d moved back to the States a few months early after agreeing to the marriage. What a freak. She’d take the glamour of Paris all year if given an opportunity.

The estate fronted by climbing vines initially impressed Blu until she decided it wasn’t so grand. Her father’s compound covered more acreage, and the pack probably owned more surrounding land—no thanks to the greedy vampires.

“Big mansion,” she remarked. “You must have servants.”

“Gardener and Housekeeper.”

Short, to-the-point answers. Wasn’t he the one who’d suggested marriage implied they converse?

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a real conversationalist?”

The car abruptly stopped and he shifted into Park. Blu jammed her heel into the floor mat to keep from lunging forward.

Twisting and leaning his forearm on the steering
wheel, Creed turned to her. “Let’s get things straight between us, shall we? I can assume we are both uncomfortable with this arrangement.”

“Hallelujah.”

“Yet while I have vowed to myself, and my tribe, that I will do everything in my power to make this work, for the sake of both nations, I suspect you have made no such personal vow.”

“Vows are so medieval. I’m just here for the show, Credence.”

“It is Creed,” he corrected.

“Creed,” she tried. “So alpha. Shouldn’t you have a vampire name like Damien or Lucien or—”

“Or something inane like a color?”

Blu gave him her cheek, peering out at the increasing rain. Bastard.

“Our first fight,” he said. “I suppose that falls onto the list of what is expected of married couples, eh?”

Despite herself, Blu smirked.

“Let’s go inside and I’ll give you a tour. I understand your luggage was delivered earlier. I’ve ordered it placed in our room.”

Our room?
She closed her eyes and bit the inside of her cheek. Since puberty had struck, and she’d become a kind of beacon to male wolves, she had been fending off testosterone like a vaccine-resistant plague.

She didn’t need it from a vampire.

“Could you please leave me alone a bit?”

“Here in the car? But it’s raining.”

“Please, Creed,” she said softly. “I need a few minutes to myself.”

He didn’t reply, and instead opened the door and got out. Unmindful of the rain, he strode to the front door and left it half-open to expose the soft golden light shining within.

Blu pressed the side of her head to the passenger window. Her reflection wavered in the glass; green bob smooshed against a cheek, and dark eye shadow smears. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling more swiftly and harder than the rain.

“Creed Saint-Pierre,” she whispered. “Don’t hurt me like the others have. Please.”

S
HE SAT IN THE CAR
for fifteen minutes before Creed wondered if he should go out for her. Was she pouting? More likely trying to prove she would not listen to his authority.

It wasn’t difficult to guess she would be obstinate to a fault. She was so young and inexperienced. He would teach her manners and respect. It was the very least he could do—send her back to Daddy more respectful and submissive.

Because he would send her back eventually.

Creed paced before the glass-and-stone-tiled bar that curved along the wall in the main room. This mansion had been built in the seventies and retained much of the original design, only now he could pass it off as retro.

He liked the massive fieldstones set into the floor and the open three-story entertainment and living area. It was a sort of landing, a place to relax and order his day, before venturing outside or to his office in the back. Once or twice he’d held parties, and the guests usually convened in this spacious room or outside by the pool.

He glanced up the curving red-carpeted staircase. He’d had her things—three large traveling trunks—delivered to his bedroom. She hadn’t liked that.

Resisting a smile, he decided she would have to get used to answering to a new authority. Surely she must have practice. Packs revered their females yet would never allow them to step out-of-bounds. They were also fiercely protective of the rare female wolf.

How had Creed managed to simply drive away tonight with a valuable female without bringing the wolves upon him?

Could this peace thing really work?

“I’ll be damned if it does.”

When the door opened and a sodden green-haired werewolf stepped inside, Creed sucked in a breath.

The thin fabric that had barely covered her breasts was now wet, revealing the gorgeous shape of them, erect nipples and full, delicious volume. He did love to caress a woman’s breasts. To lick at them. To nuzzle into them and suck her to climax. Heaven.

“You keep staring like that, vampire, I’m going to have to punch you.”

Or hell, depending on the woman.

She strode past him and dropped her shoes and purse on the damask sofa. With the same nonchalance, she plopped onto the sofa and put up her feet on the Brazilian ironwood coffee table. The wood wasn’t supposed to get wet.

Creed went around and shoved her feet off it with his heel. “Your manners are lacking. But what should I expect?”

“From a werewolf? I suppose you expect me to romp about on your furniture and tear it apart with my teeth. I probably better not wash or comb my hair either because that would destroy your mental picture of me. Should I stop shaving my legs and do the whole hairy thing?”

Creed paced to the bar and poured two fingers of whisky. Putting it back in a tilt did little to curb his annoyance. Irritating as she was, though, he couldn’t deny curiosity. He had expected her to look much different. Distasteful.

Not like a colorful and very sinful dessert.

“Let’s do the tour and get you situated,” he said, leaning over the back of the couch.

She stood before he could slide his gaze down her dress. “Can we save the tour until morning? I’m tired. I just want to shower and hit the hay. You have a stable out back? Wouldn’t want you to have to board an animal in such a fine home.”

“Your things are upstairs in my room.
Our
room.”

“Yeah, I heard you out in the car.”

The green chin-length hair bobbled as she strolled around the end of the couch. A fire he couldn’t imagine being ignited in such cool depths flamed in her quiet gray eyes.

“Our room?” she reiterated.

“You are my wife.”

“You expect me to sleep with you before I know anything about you?”

“You
will
sleep with me?”

“Didn’t say that.”

How infuriating she was to raise his hopes so easily, and then dash them. But at least she was talking to him. And looking at him. And weren’t those lips devastating? Could he have one more kiss before he tucked her in?

Tucked her in? Hell.

Could he get beyond the age thing? Creed had never
discerned age before, because if he did then he’d always end up the old man to the young women he’d pursued. Nine centuries was hard to beat.

“I want my own room,” she said, and started toward the stairs, strappy shoes dangling from a couple fingers. “It would be cruel of you to force me into your bed, vampire.”

Cruel, but wicked fun to watch her squirm to think he would try to take her only hours after meeting her. But, to his disadvantage, he was not that kind of man. Women must be pursued and seduced. Their favor must be won.

“You can take the room at the top of the stairs,” he said, following her upward. “Housekeeper keeps it made up for guests. It’s not as elaborate as my room, but until you’re comfortable with our situation it should serve.”

She strode to the door and turned, pressing her palms and hips into it, while leaning forward in a slinky come-on. The front of her wet dress clung to her breasts, exposing the dark curve of an areola.

Was she teasing? Or was it his heightened attraction to something so new and utterly baffling that had him seeing the sensual in her every move?

“Situation,” she pronounced precisely. “Is that what you call a marriage?”

“I’m sure it’s a much better word than you would choose.”

“You’re right. I call it a farce.”

He could not deny the word hadn’t crossed his mind a time or two.

“You did agree to the terms. And you said vows before a healthy number of representatives from both nations. And you signed the contract.”

“As did you. But do you really think this is going to work?” She patted the bottom of her hair with a palm and pouted coyly. “That we’ll fall madly in love and set an example that will bring the werewolves and vampires together in some kind of freaky lovefest? Come on, Credence.”

He did not care to hear his name spoken that way. The memories it stirred would only hamper his need to remain staunch and in control.

“Madly in love?” He pressed a hand to the door over her shoulder and leaned in. The move put her off, which pleased him.
Come on, princess, you’re not allowed to tease without retaliation.
“At this very moment, I can’t imagine that happening unless hell turns to ice. You, Lady Saint-Pierre, are standoffish, spoiled and contrary.”

“And you are an aristocratic bore.”

“Uneducated,” he countered.

“Old.”

“Uncouth.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

He smiled. “Ill-mannered.”

“Ah. I’ll take that one. And I’ll counter with dull and uninteresting.”

Did she really want to play this game? Because he’d show her how far from dull he could get.

Creed slid a hand over the sparkling choker caressing her neck, fitting his fingers up under her chin. Her eyes flashed defiantly. A bit of the faery dust had nestled at the corner of her eye, glinting mischievously.

“Tease,” he countered softly.

“You like it though.”

That glint in her eyes would be his undoing. It challenged, bedeviled and defied with a knowing he thought her too young to possess.

“I prefer my women to follow through with their promises.”

“I’ve promised nothing,” she said.

“You promised to honor and obey me.”

“Obey
was not in the vows. Trust me on that one, buddy.”

Now he smoothed his hand under her jaw. The jut of her chin was sharp. Every bone stood out, defining, creating remarkable dimensions to explore. Her flesh was soft, warm, alive. And beneath the flesh, her blood smelled darkly sweet, a wicked perfume.

“You had better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking, longtooth.”

The demeaning curse should not go without a swift slap.

Though he wasn’t taken to harming females, some could only be controlled with physical coercion. Like witches. And others. He’d once worked with a female vampire bounty hunter in the fifteenth century. She’d liked it rough.

But Creed had made a vow. And he had meant it when he’d promised her father he’d protect his daughter, and ensure no harm came to her. Some things in war and love were never fair game.

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.”

B
LU 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.

C
REED 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?”