Читать книгу Her Vampire Husband - Michele Hauf - Страница 10

THE DONOR FELL AT Creed’s feet and collapsed, arms and chest folding over her legs. Creed swayed against the rough cement wall, catching his palm against it, as the swoon shimmered through his body.

After nine centuries, taking blood still never failed to satisfy. Nothing near a raging orgasm, but a sweet tease similar to it. And with age, the high all vampires called the swoon lasted longer, fixing to his veins in a lingering shimmy of sensation that he could draw out for hours. Of course, that was due to the blood magic he’d gained from a witch. And since that little exercise of magic didn’t harm anyone, he wasn’t about to give that up, vow or no vow.

He licked his lips. The blood wasn’t as tainted with beer as he’d expected. Perhaps haunting local bars should not be marked completely off the list.

Normally he invited a select clientele to his home when he needed to drink. But he couldn’t do that now. It didn’t feel right with the wife at home. He didn’t want to answer any questions she would have.

Besides, if she were going to withhold information about her change during the full moon, then he would keep his stuff private, too. Most especially the magic. If the wolves discovered his usage of it, they’d go straight to the witches, and then the war between witches and vamps would be renewed.

Creed had enough on his shoulders with the werewolf princess prancing about his home.

After unlocking the BMW, he climbed inside and headed home. All he wanted to do after taking blood was lie back and enjoy the mellow ride.

THE HOUSE WAS DARK, save for the light at the end of the hallway, which told Creed that Blu had found the theater room. The loud music was an even better indication.

Tonight should have been his movie night. He liked viewing movies on the plasma TV, sitting in the dark with a sexy woman draped in his arms. After a long drink of hot blood, he usually had a driver escort her home because his persuasion stole her memories for the evening.

Who said drinking blood had to be all horror and chills? He’d done enough of that in the Middle Ages. Flash the fangs, freak ’em out and suck them dry.

That was so gauche now. A man must possess style, decorum.

“Hell, you really are an old man,” he muttered. “You don’t bother with the scare anymore, just popcorn and sex. Dieu.”

Erratic sound blasted from the room. The wolf must have turned the volume to eleven. He wanted quiet tonight, to enjoy the lingering blood swoon.

“Silly wolf. This vampire can still do the scare.”

Marching down the hall, he fisted his hands and had achieved a tight anger by the time he pushed the double doors open. Prepared to march in and flash some fang, Creed paused.

The lights were on. Poufed pink feathery stuff bobbed in the air two rows down. The room touted six rows of four seats on each side.

On the screen, Mick Jagger pranced and rasped through “Sympathy For The Devil” as Keith Richards ground out a solo.

Tucked on one of the wide theater seats—rather, draped—Blu grooved to the beat, her long legs hooked over the seat before her. Those pink feathery things were some kind of high-heeled shoes Creed had only seen in black-and-white romance movies.

The pink hair bobbed in time to the music.

“Pink?” Anger dissipating, he strode down the aisle.

A see-through sweep of black fabric dashed across her legs and part of her stomach. The rest of her was clad in black lace providing only a little more coverage than the bikini had earlier.

“Loud enough?” he shouted.

She hadn’t noticed him yet. Why should she? Her eyes were closed and she beat the air with delicate fists in time with Charlie Watts’s drum kit. Weren’t wolves supposed to have excellent smell?

Creed leaned over and glided his fingers up her smooth calf.

She startled, her legs sliding down and her shoes hitting the floor. “Whoa! Dude, way to go for the creep.”

He reached for the remote tucked in a cup holder, and muted the noise. “You discovered the sound system.”

“Oh, man, this so rocks. Surround sound in this little theater? I could live in here.”

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

She sat up on the chair arm, the gossamer robe sliding away and exposing maximum flesh. She looked like a high-priced hooker in her bubblegum pink hair and pushup black lace bra. Add the spiky heels and she was dressed to earn a pretty penny.

Not that he would know anything about hookers. Not from this century, anyway.

Creed sat on the chair arm across the aisle. Her exotic perfume, which could be suntan lotion with its tropical coconut aroma, carried across the aisle, prodding at his blood swoon. Just relax, and sink into the sensation…

“Is it okay I’m using this room?” she asked. She made no move to tug the robe over her flat, tight abs. Not that the sheer fabric would conceal anything. Those legs were so long. They could wrap around his back and hang on for the ride. “I didn’t know when you’d be home. Were you…out?”

“Out?” He could play the innocent as well as she could.

“Well, you know.”

“I’m not sure. What do I know?”

She sighed and pointed to her neck. “You know. Pulling a Dracula.”

“Pulling a—?” Was she really going to insult him with a reference to a fictional character?

“The sucking thing.”

“Ah. You mean the part where I answer the call of instinct to survive?”

“Yeah, whatever. So what do you do? Stalk hookers in the night or something?”

“Look who’s talking. You appear as though you tickled one and she sneezed her attire all over you.”

Affronted, she sat straighter. The move pushed up her breasts so they strained against the black lace.

Creed sucked in his lower lip. Mercy, but the wolf had a nice pair.

“I’ll have you know there’s probably not a hooker on the streets who can afford this bit of black lace. It’s from Paris.”

“Ah? As am I, or thereabouts.”

“That’s right, my hubby the Frenchman.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. The position did amazing things with her breasts. Creed could see the rosy circles surrounding her nipples. “Always had a thing for Frenchmen.”

“Is that so? You could have fooled me.”

“Frenchmen who don’t bite,” she said with a scratch at her neck. “So what’s the deal with you going out? I should think a rich guy like you can afford to have your bites shipped in.”

She was so gauche and, yet, entertainingly so. Tonight’s wig matched the pink marabou and it bobbed sexily against her porcelain-fine jaw as she nodded to the muted beat.

“Normally I entertain donors here at the house. I didn’t want to disturb you though, so my hunting habits had to change.”

She shrugged. “I don’t care. So long as I don’t have to watch.”

Creed stretched an arm along the plush velvet cushion and propped an ankle across his knee. No harm in marveling over her. Drawing in her delicious scent. “You know, some do like to watch. Taking blood is a sensual act.”

“Yeah? Maybe for the vampire.”

“For the donor, as well.”

“Donor? You mean victim.”

“They’re not victims if I don’t harm them.”

“You don’t consider a bite harm?”

“I use persuasion to erase their memory of our transaction. The bite heals overnight and they wake with only minor soreness.”

“Donors? Transaction? Okay, that’s enough.” She pressed the off button on the remote and stood. “You’ve thoroughly creeped me out.”

“And you continue to intrigue me, Blu. Did you intend to seduce anyone in particular tonight with that clothing choice?”

“This little thing? Dude, this is what I wear to bed.”

He rubbed his throbbing brow. “I am not a dude. Your language skills impress me little.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re an old man who’s lived it all, seen it all, and must be so cultured and refined. Ha! I can actually mean it now when I talk to my girlfriend about my old man.”

“Do you speak of me?”

“Hell, yeah. I told Bree all about our skyrockets-and-lightning wedding night.”

“Blu, do you ever tire of this front you put on constantly?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sex incarnate had no idea how hot she made him merely by standing there, one leg out jauntily and twisting on the heel of her shoe. Or maybe she did.

Yes, she must be aware of every single move she made, and how best to move for the optimum impact on the opposite sex. And yet—

“You keep people back with your blasé attitude and your snotty comments. Why is that? Are you afraid to allow people close to you?”

She stepped across the aisle. Legs spread and hips high, she bent over him. Her breasts were level with his line of vision, but he instead looked into her eyes. There in the depths glittered a sadness Creed was beginning to realize may have been there a very long time.

Why he realized that, he did not know. Because she came off as hyperfun, sexy and all about the flirt. Truly, was it a facade?

“I let a lot of people close, Creed,” she said precisely. “The ones I trust.”

“How does one go about cracking your exterior? If you won’t accept the trust I offer, then I’ve no means of winning this game.”

“That’s your problem. You think this is a game.”

“And you don’t? You’ve played the Tease Card yet again. I’ve known you but a few days, but already I’ve learned that’s your favorite one.”

“Is not.”

“Prove it.”

The pink wig bopped at a jaunty angle as she cocked her head, considering. She had to know she played him. The sexy clothing was a dead giveaway. Who wore an outfit like that to listen to music? No, she had been expecting him.

Blu leaned closer, the tips of her pink hair dusting his wrist. Red lips hovered near his and her breath played over his mouth, his chin. Coconut air surrounded them. Beyond that scent though, something darker and sweeter lingered. Werewolf blood.

Creed’s heartbeat slid across the plate and hung suspended, waiting for the next play.

“I like to tease,” she whispered, her eyes dazzling across his.

“That is apparent.”

He would not reach for her, though it killed him to remain aloof and uninterested with her warm, enticing flesh so close.

No. Werewolf blood interested him little. Let her have this hand. Let her see she could trust he would not always need to be in control. That was how the masters gained enemy ground.

But it was difficult to restrain himself. Her breasts were right there, barely enclosed with mere wisps of black lace. A flick of his fingers would splay them across that luscious, tan flesh.

“You’ve been drinking blood?”

He nodded.

“Thought so. No kisses tonight, husband.”

With that, she strode out in a sweep of flowing sheer fabric and bouncing pink marabou.

No sympathy for this devil tonight. Creed eased a hand over his erection. Each time, her teasing play made him harder. The werewolf princess was getting under his skin.

And he liked that just fine.

But no man was a rock. Nor could any sane vampire avoid the lure of the exotic. Damn, but her blood smelled delicious. A dark sweetness he would know, and soon.

BLU CLOSED THE BEDROOM door and tugged off her wig. Sliding a hand down her neck, she traced her fingers over the warmth between her breasts and down her stomach where she absolutely flamed.

“Insufferable vampire.”

That man—that vampire—had gotten her hot. And he hadn’t even touched her.

It was the way he had looked at her. Those dark irises, surrounded by impeccable white. Focused. Delving. Promising. And maybe bemused. Like, if she had touched him, he would have touched back. And that touch would have so been worth the effort of waiting in the theater room for two hours before he’d finally found her.

And when had she ever been turned on by a man’s voice? Creed’s was calm and measured, but had a burnished edge of darkness that vibrated at the base of her throat. Mercy, he could fuck a woman with that voice.

“This is so wrong.”

And yet, she’d set out this evening on a quest to gain control. And strangely, she’d earned some. He now knew it was she who would set the pace between them.

Maybe.

She turned her cheek against the wall. It was papered in old-fashioned flocked arabesques, and whispered against her skin. Sighing, she eased a finger down inside her black lace panties. She was wet. For him.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong!”

But while flirting with a vampire should be disgraceful, it didn’t stop her from satisfying the ache that yearned for appeasement. She stroked herself, slowly, steadily.

The image of Creed’s sexy stare haunted her. Let him look. Let him hunger for her. Let him…make her hot and horny.

She didn’t need a man to feel good. She could take care of business by herself.

And she did, bringing herself to a climax, clinging to the wall, yet wanting it to be a man’s broad shoulders she clung to instead.

CREED PAUSED AS HE PASSED the guest bedroom door. Whimpers, moans, a huffing sigh. The sounds inside were unmistakable. She was…

“Pleasuring herself?”

Had she been turned on just now in the theater room? Had the saucy pink princess gotten as hot as he had?

“Oh, my sweet, wicked werewolf.”

He turned to grip the doorknob but stopped himself.

A smile crept onto his lips. The werewolf had gotten hot for the vampire.

Nodding, he stepped back and crossed his arms. “Nice.”

OVER A MIXING BOWL of Cap’n Crunch, Blu drowned her morning blues. She had never been a morning person. And though she’d yet to tip the night into dawn since the marriage—and had been getting to bed far too early—she still didn’t have to like the new day.

A few taps checked her cell phone. No messages. Come on, Bree, I need contact with the real world. And Ryan was being strangely silent. Had he already found himself a new girl? No, he was probably busy with the Western pack.

Blu spooned in a load of sugary sweetness. Milk trickled down her chin and she swiped it off with the back of her hand.

This time she sensed his arrival before the kitchen door swung inside.

“Morning, darling,” she offered coquettishly.

Blu admonished her inner flirt. She’d come so close to kissing him last night. If he hadn’t smelled like blood, she would have.

Good save. Way to stay in control.

Mostly. The dude didn’t have to know what had gone on behind closed doors.

Dressed impeccably, as usual, Creed wore another Armani suit, unbuttoned to reveal a slice of shirt that matched the whites of his eyes. The shirt, too, was unbuttoned, exposing a patch of pale flesh. Diamond cuff links advertised his wealth.

Blu had no idea how rich the man was, but much richer than her family was, she felt sure. The pack compound might be larger, but this mansion had all the luxury goods. Marble floors, gold faucets, high-thread-count sheets and plasma TVs.

A girl should take advantage of her new bank account. She was his wife, after all. And didn’t wives have access to all of their husband’s cash?

“Sleep well last night?” he asked.

“Blissful,” she answered, then caught his knowing smirk.

What was that about?

Morning paper in hand, Creed eyed the massive bowl of cereal. “Why don’t you pour the milk in the box and eat it that way?”

“Oh, ha-ha. The vampire made a funny.”

He sat before the table, across from her, and smoothed the paper neatly before him. “You eat a lot.”

“Worried I’m going to get fat on you?”

“I suspect you run it off. How far do you run every day?”

“I’m guessing I’m getting about ten miles doing your estate five times in a circle.”

“I could get you a treadmill.”

“Oh, right. Why don’t you get me a leash, too?” She chomped a huge bite, milk trailing down her chin again. “And while you’re at it, a special room with all my chew toys and a doggie bed.”

“I didn’t mean to offend, Blu. Though you seem to take offense at the drop of a hat,” he muttered.

Blu sneered mockingly.

He looked up from the paper and zoomed in on her chin. He made a brushing gesture over his own chin.

Blu tried to lick away the dribble of milk but in the process sprayed out a pink kernel of cereal. It rolled across the paper and landed near Creed’s finger.

The vampire stared at the cereal and the wet trail drawn across his immaculate paper. Blu could sense his anger; it smelled acrid. Bet the man had never had his life upset. Bet he called all the shots. Tribe leaders were like that, all in control and in charge. Or so she imagined.

On the other hand, the leaders she was accustomed to liked upset, chaos and mayhem. Hmm…well, if he was of that nature, the guy hid it well.

He flicked the cereal piece and it pinged the bowl and soared onto the floor.

“No points for you,” Blu said. “Want to go for a goal?” She displayed a pink puff between her fingers.

That got a smile from him. Pleased with her attempt to crack his hard armor, Blu popped the cereal into her mouth.

“So what do you do for fun, Creed? If we’re going to do this marriage thing right we have to do things. Like go out dancing or clubbing.”

“I abhor the raucous scene and find the stuff that qualifies for music nowadays considerably lacking.”

“Figured as much. I suppose a game of chess at the local fencing club is more your speed?”

“How about sailing?”

“Seriously?”

“No. I’m not keen on open water.”

“Nor am I. But you had me for a second there. One point for the vampire. So what have you done, in all your centuries, to have fun?”

He folded the paper and set it aside. The white shirt enhanced his European bone structure. He was not overtly handsome, but every time Blu looked at him she saw something new to wonder over.

Today it was his chin, darkened with fine stubble. The slightest cleft drew her eye. The indentation was as wide as her smallest finger, a place a girl could dip her tongue for a taste.

If the girl wanted a taste. Which she didn’t. Not at all.

“Fun?” He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. Then, he leaned forward, moving himself into her space. Was that enthusiasm in his expression? “In the fourteenth century I used to steal armor from the opposing troops then set their barracks on fire.”

“And that was fun?”

“It was. At the end of the sixteenth century was the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre. Killed a good number of Huguenots in that.” He settled back and eyed her narrowly. “You feel a bit like a Huguenot after that charade of a wedding ceremony?”

“I’m not following.”

“The Catholics and the Huguenots—or Protestants, if you prefer—came together for the marriage of Henri of Navarre to Marie de Médicis. Two opposing forces wed in hopes of uniting the religions. Much like we were wed.”

“Right. But you said it resulted in massacre?”

“Yes.” Creed tapped the paper absently. “Catherine de Médicis, along with her son King Charles IX, ordered the Huguenots slaughtered.”

“You think that’s what will come of our marriage? A slaughter between the nations?”

“I hope not, Blu.” He looked aside, then dismissing the dread topic, offered gaily, “I’ve had plenty of fun. In the eighteenth century there were the opera and salons. Salacious gossip was bantered about. Lives and destinies were created, changed and destroyed with a mere word or an exquisitely biting twist of phrase.”

“I’ve always had a passion for the eighteenth century. Paris. I like the big poufy dresses and the sexy frock coats the men used to wear. Man, do I love a fop!”

“Really?” His eyes softened and he spread his fingers on the table, not far from the milk trail. “That was a comfort time for me. I used to wear damask and velvet frock coats. Alençon lace and diamonds at my wrists and jabot. Nothing but the finest to attract the ladies.”

“I bet you attracted them far and wide.”

“I shouldn’t say so, but…well, yes. This fop had his choice of women.”

“You’re not so foppish now.”

“I’ve worn many costumes over the centuries. I find my current situation the most comfortable, though I often long for the medieval times when battles were fierce and bloody and wenches were, well…submissive.”

“You men and your attraction to a submissive woman. Ugh. So much testosterone.” She stabbed her spoon into the cereal. “Were you ever in love, Creed?”

“Never.”

“Come on. Not even a little bit? You’ve had, what, nine centuries to fall in love?”

“As you have said, love isn’t real. It’s only for losers of the game. I prefer lust and instant gratification.”

She could so get behind the instant—and self—gratification.

“Sex, too?” she prompted.

“Lots of it. With the most beautiful women.”

“Did you bite them all?”

“Not always.”

“Huh. So vampires can have sex without biting?”

“We can control those urges, yes. Did you expect we were nothing but lust-crazed blood-hungry creatures?”

“No.” She sat back, her appetite fulfilled after half a box of cereal. “Yes. Maybe. I’ve not spent time with vampires. I can only go by what I’ve been taught. Living with the pack, you can imagine the talk I overhear about longtooths.”

“I hope to change your mind. And to remove that horrible slang term from your vocabulary.”

Longtooth? Yeah, it was horrible. But so was a vampire calling her breed dogs.

“Fair enough. And maybe I can change your mind about werewolves.”

“You already have, Blu.”

“One point for the werewolf!” She lifted the bowl and tilted it back, swallowing the pink milk. “I love cereal.”

“I noticed.”

“I think I’ll go for some Count Chocula next time, what do you think?” She waggled her brows at him.

“If it gives you a twisted thrill, do as you must. You’ve—” He brushed his chin again.

Blu slurped her tongue out to lick the sweetness. “Love me or leave me, Creed, this is how I am. Messy and colorful.”

“And turned up to eleven.”

“You know it.”

When he nodded, as if to grudgingly accept her, she decided that was better than she’d expected of him. At least he wasn’t telling her what to do. And that gave him more points than the scoreboard could handle.

“So about those diamonds you used to flash for the ladies,” she said. “Betcha they cost you a pretty penny. You think you could front your wife some cash to go shopping? What’s yours is mine, yeah?”

“I don’t see a problem with that. I’ll call my accountant and arrange for a credit card in your name.”

Pleased with the snag, Blu wiggled appreciatively on the chair. “That was easy. I promise I won’t go overboard. I mean, I’m not into diamonds. The choker I wore at the wedding was rhinestone. Good enough for me. But I do like shoes.”

“Do as you wish with it. Buy an entire rainbow of wigs, if you must.”

She pumped her fist triumphantly. “Score.”

“Back to your idea for us to do something together. What do you say to a night on the town?” he proposed. “A fine restaurant and then a walk in the park?”

“Sounds far too romantic for this old married couple.”

“Sounds like the perfect means to get to know one another better. We should learn our lines for those who wish to observe our progress. Shall we say seven?”

“I suppose it’s the closest I’ll get you to letting your hair down and living it up. Should I dress up?”

“I did say a fine restaurant. Which may mean not quite so colorful.”

“You don’t like orange?” she said of her latest wig selection.

“It’s not one of your better colors.”

She pouted.

“I prefer the violet.” His smile was so charming that Blu was inclined to believe him.