Читать книгу Her Vampire Husband - Michele Hauf - Страница 8

AS THEY ARRIVED at the end of the aisle, Creed felt Blu slip away from his side. He let her go. There were more important things to do right now.

He would always have more pressing matters than tending to a wife.

“You did it, man!”

He received a congratulatory handshake from Alexandre and manly busses to both his cheeks.

“By ‘did it,’ you mean jumped off a high cliff and am now free-falling to my death?”

“Close, I’m sure. But what’s up with the chick’s hair?”

“She’s young,” Creed tried.

It was more a consolation than an excuse for her. Young and alarmingly sexy, she embodied vitality. Creed had felt truly ancient standing next to her.

He’d been transformed to vampire when he was a mere twenty-seven years old. He still looked it. Okay, so perhaps a handsome thirtysomething. But there were days Creed felt every one of his centuries like a weight upon his mind, shoulders and flesh.

“Her youth will serve you well,” Alexandre said on a sly whisper. “The younger ones are the most open to trying new things.”

His second in command winked.

“New things,” Creed muttered. Could this old vampire be taught new tricks? Without the innate need to simply steal them?

He hoped the werewolf could get beyond the naiveté of such youth. If she were to be his wife, she must be able to relate to him on an intellectual level. He would not babysit for a spoiled princess.

“Lord Saint-Pierre.” A tall, gangly gentleman with gray hair and veiny hands stepped forward. The pinstriped suit reminded Creed of a gangster, but the gentleman’s hooded eyes exuded genuine warmth.

Creed slipped his hand into Amandus Masterson’s. Though his new wife was called a princess, the father was not considered a king, merely the alpha, or leader of the pack. So he addressed him accordingly. “Principal Masterson, I am honored.”

“You should be. My daughter is a prize, in more ways than mere beauty.”

“I understand. She is a rarity. You have my promise I will protect and respect her.”

The pack leader nodded acceptance. “It would be foolish of me to ignore the fact she’s a feisty one. She’s a mind of her own, and is very stubborn. That awful hair.”

“She’s lovely. I can only hope to win her admiration.”

“You say all the right things, Lord Saint-Pierre.”

Indeed, he did.

“Now, let’s go have a drink with the Council and get the final negotiations settled. The marriage contract must be signed.”

“It would be a pleasure.” Yes, like pounding a nail into his coffin. “After you.”

THE COUNCIL had gathered in a small room off the main ballroom. The dull lighting blended the red carpet into the red-arabesque-papered walls, and cast a sickly sheen upon flesh, yet Creed could make out faces with ease.

Vampires were considered the Dark by witches. They, in turn, had labeled themselves the Light. Werewolves landed somewhere in the middle, depending on who was doing the labeling. It was all rather superfluous, Creed felt. He had no need for labels.

At least three vampires currently served on the Council. Creed had been asked decades ago to serve, but at the time had no desire to involve himself in the politics of the Light and Dark nations.

Yet here he stood, at the center of the most political move the vampires and werewolves had made in centuries.

A faery, a demon, two witches and a selkie rounded out tonight’s Council representatives. Depending where the meetings were held across the world, various members showed in different numbers. The Council was about fifty members strong, and new members were only inducted when a previous one had died.

Their mission was simple: to keep the peace among the paranormal nations. The key purpose was to keep mortals in the dark. Mortals did not believe in the myths and legends their books and movies touted. And that was the way it must remain. The Council went to great lengths to keep that silence, yet they rarely interfered violently.

Some days Creed wondered if violence were not the only way to make the opposition see the point. He had never subscribed to the whole violence begets more violence theory. A good bloodbath tended to weed out the weak and make the strong rethink their motives.

Or so he had learned earlier in the past millennium.

Don’t forget your vow, he reminded himself. Atonement, remember?

He shook Nikolaus Drake’s hand. Taller than Creed by half a head, the Kila tribe leader’s bald scalp advertised a havoc of twisting black tribal tattoos. He was the gentlest vampire Creed knew. A former brain surgeon, if rumor held truth.

Drake was also a vampire who had magic himself, though it had been obtained by a witch during the Protection, which made his powers much weaker than Creed’s.

Nikolaus was liked by most, and Creed figured it was because he’d only been a vampire for three decades. He still retained much of his human morality.

Creed had morals. It was just harder to recognize them as the centuries stretched them further from immediate access.

“Drake,” he said. “I understand there’s paperwork and such to sign.”

“Yes, the marriage contract is right over here.” He directed Creed to a rosewood table and handed him a pen. “The princess signed it before the ceremony. This is a good thing you’re doing, Saint-Pierre. I think it’ll go a long way toward enacting the peace amongst the nations.”

“I sure as hell hope so.” He scribbled his name at the bottom of the first page that was marked with a yellow highlighter. There were two more pages to sign. “I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when the Council decided this was the way to solve the unrest.”

Nikolaus chuckled and leaned in close to Creed, putting his palms to the desk and shadowing the papers. “You will do us proud, yes?”

The vampires had a lot riding on this marriage. They expected the sporting warehouses—a bane to the vampires’ existence—would be shut down upon the werewolves’ acceptance of their enemy.

Creed desired that, too, beyond any other good thing that should come of this.

“I always give any task my all,” he reassured him. Straightening, he again shook Drake’s hand. “Has Principal Masterson handed over the same olive branch?”

“He has. He’s hopeful for the results. Which can only be measured by the princess taking your bite.”

Creed lifted his brows and sighed. Biting a dog was not tops on his list. But the kiss had gone over well, so he wouldn’t rule anything out.

Amandus Masterson joined them and said, “And what exactly is the sacrifice the vampires are making that is equal to my daughter being bitten?”

Both Creed and Nikolaus silently summed up the pack leader. The old wolf had once been known to ruthlessly retaliate against those he’d marked as his enemies. He’d aged and grown gentler, though the jury was still out on whether or not he’d embraced wisdom.

The Northern pack did not engage in the sport that saw vampires tortured relentlessly and then caged to perform for the wolves until one was literally sucked to an agonizing death. But there was something about the old man that put Creed off.

What sort of man would offer up his only daughter as Amandus had?

“The mere fact I allow your daughter into my home, my very life,” Creed said, “is a sacrifice you cannot begin to understand, Principal Masterson.”

Yet even as he said it, it felt like an excuse.

What, indeed, was his sacrifice? The wolves assumed the vampires were offering up their eldest and most revered. That was true.

“Doesn’t seem balanced,” Amandus muttered.

“The Council approved the terms a week ago,” Drake explained. “If you had a disagreement you should have spoken then.”

As should have the werewolf representative on the Council, Stephen Severo. Creed was aware he showed up irregularly at Council meetings, and wasn’t even sure the wolf had been part of the agreeing quorum.

“You mustn’t feel you are being cheated, Principal Masterson,” Drake continued. “What your daughter is doing will have a resounding effect upon the nations of Light and Dark for centuries to come. I’m proud of your sacrifice.”

The old man nodded and, slapping both arms across his chest, nodded toward another wolf in the room, and wandered off.

“You’re very good at that,” Creed said to Drake.

“Smoothing over the differences?”

“Actually, I was going to say bullshitting, but I suppose your explanation is better. So I’m off to find the new wife. Any words of wisdom before I do?”

“My wife used to be my enemy,” Drake said. “She’s taught me not to judge a person from the outside. Our hearts can be more alike than different.”

Creed nodded and smiled. It sounded good in theory. But Drake wasn’t the one taking a dog home with him tonight.

BLU SHOVED AWAY the chocolate martini Bree tried to get her to drink. “For later,” Bree had coaxed, “when your husband tries to bring you to his bed.”

She didn’t need a loosen-up drink. “Bed is the last place I’ll follow that vampire tonight. Ugh. Do you think he sleeps in a coffin?”

She’d heard some longtooths engaged in the practice, though it was unnecessary to their survival. The novelty, or something stupid like that, was their reasoning.

“No coffins, sweetie. Don’t think things like that.”

“Thanks. Call me soon, okay?”

Blu did her best to control a tear when hugging Bree goodbye. A stroke of her friend’s wings showed her love and gratitude.

Outside the back door was where the vampire had said he’d drive up to get her after he’d spoken with the Council. Blu shrugged a palm up her arm, but before she could wonder if the shiver was from the cool breeze or nerves, she squeaked at the hard pinch to her upper arm. Spun about, she stifled a defensive scream at the sight of her lover.

“Ryan, what are you doing here?” Shadowed by his overwhelming bulk, he still held her tightly. She struggled, but that only made his grip go tighter. Normally she wouldn’t react defensively, but tonight was not a normal night. “Father said you were not to come near this place. You risk too much.”

“I had to see you, Blu. I’ve been kicking the wall all day thinking about you and that longtooth in the same room together. Promise me you won’t share his bed.”

When he released her, the pinch at her shoulder stung. He was never aware of his strength, and always went too far.

“It’s an easy promise.” She leaned in and kissed him quick on the mouth, but he grabbed her by the neck and forced the kiss longer, harder. She mumbled against his mouth and pushed his chest, forcing him to the wall. “That’s enough. I don’t want to mess up my makeup and have the vampire suspect. Get out of here. Now. Before he sees you.”

“Maybe I want him to see me.”

“Ryan.”

“Fine. I’m gone.” He toyed his fingers along the ends of her green hair. “But don’t forget the sacrifice I’m making for you, Blu. Soon it’ll just be the two of us.”

She gave him a small smile and nodded. Tugging her wig back into place, she kept her back to him as he loped off down the alley.

In theory his plan sounded too good to be true. But it was all she had to hope for, so she subscribed to Ryan’s plan for her freedom. For now.

A black BMW 7 Series pulled up from the opposite direction Ryan had left. No streamers or shaving cream announcing the newlyweds decorated the classy vehicle. Thank the goddess. The vampire lord stepped out and opened the passenger door for her.

Blu stood clutching her arm where Ryan had squeezed her and took in Lord Saint-Pierre. About as tall as Ryan, which put him a head taller than her, yet more lithe, not so bulky. Streamlined muscle did stretch beneath the fancy suit. Charcoal hair spilled onto his shoulders. She liked dark hair on men, but not vampires.

She did not like vampires. And that was all that mattered. He may be the most handsome and stylish man for miles around, and still he would not turn her head.

Sliding inside the car, Blu did take note of his manners. No man had ever held the door for her. It wasn’t entirely offensive.

They drove in silence for what seemed forever. Away from the rush of the ceremony and in the quiet confines of the BMW, Blu moved her hands up her bare arms, mining for warmth. The air-conditioning blasted.

What to say to one’s new husband whom she’d known less than ten minutes?

“Turn that down,” she blurted. “You want an ice cube for a wife?”

“Sorry.” He grimaced. Flicked the control knob to Off.

More miles of quiet followed. Creed tapped the steering wheel, but didn’t offer conversation. The radio was not on, which Blu would have preferred, and the interior was soundproofed from outside noises.

Blu could not stand uncomfortable silences. Life was to be lived, loud, proud and wild. “Up all night, sleep all day” was her motto.

But now she appreciated the sharp silence.

Never mind he was her husband. Her vampire husband. That creeped her out on so many levels.

How to converse with someone she had no interest in?

She tangled her fingers in the glossy strands of her wig. Maybe ask him how he dared to kiss her like that in front of everyone? So brazen. So freakin’ dominant. Hadn’t she suffered the alpha males enough? This little foray was supposed to be a vacation away from all the testosterone she literally breathed daily living at the pack compound.

Thinking of testosterone…

She could still taste the vampire on her mouth. It wasn’t like blood—she wouldn’t know that taste—but it wasn’t like her lover’s taste either. This taste was different. In ways that shouldn’t intrigue her but did.

“You spoke to my father,” she stated. Okay, so the silence was beginning to grate on her.

“Principal Masterson is a fine man. The leader of the Northern pack?”

“Since Severo stepped down.” She looked out the window. Raindrops spattered the glass.

Severo. The former principal of the Northern pack who had stepped down to become a lone wolf. He’d married a vampire last year. He had been the one to suggest this idea to the Council and to encourage her father to put her hand in for this ridiculous scam.

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.”

SHE 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.”