by Jane Ederlyn
“Marcel.” Fear flashed across her eyes, and he knew he had won. She would do anything he wanted if the child was concerned.
Chapter V
Marie arrived at the boardwalk on Forty-Fourth Street. She kicked off her platform slingbacks and walked toward the water’s edge. The sand between her toes tickled and she buried her feet deeper into the powdery blanket. She glanced up. Etched against a jet plate of sky, a full moon beamed.
A group of young boys approached.
“Hey gorgeous,” said a boy who didn’t look old enough to drive, let alone drink alcohol. Where was his mother?
“Please go away,” she said.
“Want a boyfriend?”
She turned to the speaker, and he froze in place. “I said, go away.”
They took a synchronized step back, their instincts waking up.
“S—s—sorry, lady,” stammered one with more common sense than his friends.
A howl cut the night.
Fear widened their eyes and they dashed in scattered chaos to the safety of the brightly lit hotel. Good. They should be afraid.
She spun. “You’re late.”
He smirked. “I couldn’t find parking.”
She cocked her head, surprised to find that he had a beautiful smile. Curious, she circled, inspecting him analytically. His hair was a mop of ash-colored waves, with lighter blond and silver streaks at his temple. The same color as his pelt in wolf form, she mused. His eyes were astonishingly blue, cerulean with specks of gold around the pupil. They were more vivid than she remembered. Dressed in faded jeans and a pale-blue, collared shirt, he looked normal . . . human.
“Who are you?”
“I’m one of those things you should never say out loud.”
“No, I am. But I asked who, not what.”
“Odin Ulfsson.” He sniffed and his nostrils flared.
“Odin? Like the Norse God?”
He flashed white teeth. “Yes.”
“My cousin had a dog named Odin.” She looked up at the moon and back at him. Movements slow, as if confronting a rabid dog, she reached out and touched his chest. “You’re still a man?”
He glanced down at her hand where their bodies were connected. “Yes.”
“So the cycle of the moon does not influence you?”
His hand covered hers, and the warmth of his skin flooded into her.
“I’m touched. You’ve gone out of your way to do some homework.”
“Do not flatter yourself.”
“But I am flattered. The moon is high and I’m standing on the beach with a beautiful woman.”
She pulled her hand away and immediately mourned the loss of contact. “Did you get the rogues?”
“My brothers and I hunted them. We tracked them back to the construction site where they attacked you. I wanted to apologize for that. It should never have happened.”
“They weren’t following me?”
“No. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.” He grinned. “On second thought, maybe it was right place right time since you met me.”
“What about the man at the hotel?”
His brows creased as if unsure what she meant.
“Rogues are feral and they were out in the open. If they’re spotted—”
“I know. It’s dangerous and neither of us will risk exposure.” He ran a hand through his hair and the muscles of his forearm rippled with tension. “Rogues started popping up the last few full moons. We don’t know who’s making them, why, or why they’re ending up on South Beach.
“Anyone new in the area?”
He shook his head. “A visiting wolf would have to announce his presence to the resident Alpha. No one’s done that. Nor have we sensed an outsider.”
“Any victims?”
“None. We have great trackers, and they’re canvassing the beach for sightings.”
“What about the ones from last night.”
“You don’t have to worry. We put them down.”
At his words, the string of tension holding her shoulders tight, melted. Not having to contend with rogues who could attack Abby at daylight when she was useless, was a huge relief. If she could depend on Odin to resolve the rogue issue, maybe it was safe to stay in Florida.
“Thank you for doing part of my job. Now, about the moon.” The timbre of his voice deepened and his blue gaze darkened. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you kidding?”
The sides of his mouth turned up into the beginning of an unabashed grin.
What was it that Abby liked to call men like Odin? Players? “I came for information, not to be hit on. You are not as charming as you think you are, Mr. Ulfsson. In fact, I find you crass. Perhaps you should crawl back to your den and take care of business.” She didn’t raise her voice, but knew her intention was clear.
“No cold cave for me. I have a free pass from Etienne to live on the beach.”
“You know Etienne?”
“Yes. He’s never mentioned you. Though that’s not surprising considering how secretive vampires are. By the way, I live down Fourth if you ever want to come by.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Ulfsson.” She pivoted on her heel.
“Hey.” He grabbed her arm.
She turned and hissed.
“Wait. Please.”
She shook off his hand. “You make me come all the way out here to announce you’re in heat? And that is supposed to be acceptable because of your free pass.”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad. I thought this went both ways.” He pointed back and forth, between them.
Her temper surged because he was right. She did want him. Wanted him so much she was standing on a beach with him despite her better judgment. She could’ve have waited for Etienne’s return. But she couldn’t admit that to him. She barely admitted it to herself. “I think you lack manners.”
“Okay. Look, this is all coming out wrong. I just want to get to know you.”
“You do not know me.”
“Exactly. Forget about how we met and pretend we met at a bar. You know. Boy meets girl. Boy likes girl. Boy buys girl a drink.”
“I do not drink alcohol.”
“What do you drink? Never mind. That was stupid. I know what you drink. I’m nervous. I’ve never met a female vampire before. There can’t be that many of you.”
She cocked her head.
“When you stare, it’s so intense it’s like you can see every breath I’ve ever taken.”
There was catch in his voice that surprised her. She inhaled and exhaled, smelling the truth in him and the same earthiness of his skin mixed with beach scents, salt, sand, and ocean. “Am I to allow you intimacy just to fulfill your curiosity?”
He chuckled and she found that she liked the deep huskiness of his laugh.
“I promise not to turn unless you want me to,” he said.
“Have you ever been with a vampire?” she asked, trying to sound unconcerned.
“Your smell is driving me crazy and I know you’ll taste as good as you smell.”
A small gasp escaped her lips at the hunger in his voice. “You want to lick my face?” Somehow she managed to keep her voice casual. Could he smell her desire, the way she could smell his?
“I’m not a dog, woman.”
Her hand itched to touch him again, and she reached out, splaying her palm on his chest. Heat burned through the cotton of his shirt.
“No, you are not a dog.”
He dipped his face until he was at eye level with her. Then he growled. The rumble was low and sedate, rolling through his body, as if propelled by a current, and tumbling out on his warm breath.
&nb
sp; Marie closed her eyes, losing herself in the heat and the drumming of his heartbeat. He was supernatural but alive. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her.
She was surprised to see more flecks of gold in his irises. The shimmering color blazed when a beam of moonlight touched his face.
He lowered his face to her neck and inhaled. “You’re so . . . cool,” he said in awe.
She was instantly reminded of her reality, of her body temperature, and the absence of her heartbeat. Self-conscious, she began to withdraw from him.
“No. No. I like it.”
She blinked.
He sniffed again, his body curling above her and his face a breath away from her neck. He didn’t touch her, but the stubble of his chin and cheek grazed the ghost of her skin, and shivers of excitement rushed down her back.
She leaned into him until they were cheek to cheek, wrapped in each other’s desire.
“Tell me your name?”
They both snapped to attention and in unison turned to see werewolves running toward them. She hissed at him, fangs extended. “You did this. Is this a trap?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“What is this then?”
“I don’t know. Must be another rogue.” His gaze darted between her and the approaching werewolves.
“You lured me,” she spat, as a tangible barrier rose between them.
“Go,” he ordered. Just as the word left his mouth, he metamorphosed into his beast form. He pushed her aside with a giant paw, fell to all fours, and ran toward the moving assemblage.
She didn’t think, she just reacted and bolted for the car. As she pulled out of the parking lot, screams and sirens erupted. She had the entire drive home to think about him and the strange sequence of events. Despite everything, she knew in her gut that if it had been an ambush, he would not have ordered her to go. She believed him.
Marie entered into the city of Coral Gables and raced up and down a dark Old Cutler Road, her speed throwing the hanging moss into swinging strands. Finally, with no headlights in the vicinity, she felt secure enough to turn off Old Cutler and East onto the private road that led to their house.
As the car lights blinked off, Abby burst out of the house. “Where were you?”
Marie shrugged. “I went for a walk.”
“Then why don’t you have shoes on?”
“A werewolf ate them?” Marie said with a straight face.
“What?”
“Just kidding.”
Abby frowned, and Marie tapped her chin. “You are too serious, ma chérie.”
Chapter VI
Marie dropped her robe and stepped into a short, parchment-hued Gucci dress with vertical rows of silver, crystal, and enamel accents. A transparent coat and coordinating hat, with magnolias, completed the look. She sat at her dressing table and applied a light coat of cream rouge to her cheeks and, pouting, tapped some on her lips until they were red. Then she sat back to assess her appearance.
Other than the outrageous poufs sported at the French court for a time, styles so high they needed several hours and multiple jars of smelly pomade to execute, not much had changed since the eighteenth century. Instead of the flower headpiece, maybe she should powder her hair and insert a brightly plumed bird or figurine, just to see Abby’s expression of horror. Of course she wouldn’t, but the thought made her chuckle.
Abby entered the room in a pool of black.
Marie clapped. “You are breathtaking.”
Abby giggled, and in a spurt of emotion, embraced Marie in a tight hug.
After squeezing her back, Marie stood and circled the girl. “Almost time to go. Where is your hat?”
“I don’t know about a hat? Seriously? We’re in Florida.”
“It’s in fashion and will look lovely, trust me.”
Abby humphed then sighed in grudging acquiescence.
Marie pushed her into the chair and studied their reflection in the mirror. Two generations, side by side. She blinked back a surge of emotion, then smoothed Abby’s unruly waves to secure a black floral hat into her hair. “As I thought. Lovely.”
“It’s chic. You’re right. You’re always right.”
Marie smiled. “I told you so.”
Abby met her eyes in the mirror. “You don’t dress like a vampire.”
“How are we to dress, ma chérie?”
“In the book I’m reading, the heroine wears black leather.”
“You and your vampire stories, Abigail.”
“I need to stay informed about people’s perception of vampires.”
“It’s mere fiction. Those writers know nothing of us.”
“Perhaps,” Abby said.
“No, we would not speak of our condition. Publicity is dangerous.”
Abby pursed her lips as if looking for an exemption.
Vampires were secretive, but it was a survival instinct. Unlike urban legends, not everyone survived the change. Not many existed and those who did, feared being hunted in reality as they were in fiction. Some assimilated seamlessly into lives amongst humans. Some had human lovers, but as far as Marie knew, she was the only vampire living with her human family.
“You should try it sometime. The leather, I mean. I bet it would look kick-ass cool,” Abby said, a devilish grin pasted on her face.
“I am cousin to a king. What I became was not of my choosing. I do not wear leather. I might ride someone wearing leather, but I do not wear it, even now.”
Marie’s grin was wicked and it drew a gasp of delight from Abby who loved history and wished to have witnessed some of what Marie survived.
They hadn’t had the talk in several months, but Marie squirmed every time the look came into Abby’s eyes. She wanted to be turned into a vampire eventually, but Marie wouldn’t hear of it. She loved her too much to condemn her.
“Did men wear codpieces in your time?” Abby asked.
“Codpieces?” Marie repeated, baffled as much by the word as by the change of subject.
Abby’s cheeks blushed like English Roses and the expression in her eyes told Marie more than words.
“You mean braguettes?” She shrugged. “During my time, gentlemen wore breeches.” She reflected fondly, remembering the powdered hair and white faces. The lavish fashion helped vampires stay inconspicuous in theaters and parties. Memories were like presents, unwrapped and attainable, flowing clear and unchecked as if centuries hadn’t passed.
“I was told, ma chérie, that some gentlemen fed mistresses sugared almonds that they kept in their braguettes.”
“What?” Abby exclaimed with incredulity. “That’s gross.”
“Oui. Tailors oft designed around ego versus physique.”
“For appearances?”
“Mostly. For some it was to keep handkerchiefs or sweets. For some it was to appear more naturally endowed. For some it was both.” Marie thought of the werewolf and her mouth quirked. He didn’t need any help from a tailor.
Abby squirmed.
“The foibles of men have not changed, eh? Humanity is still the same no matter the year. Let us go now, ma chérie.” Marie placed her cool hand on Abby’s warm arm.
Abby kissed Marie on the cheek and they walked hand-in-hand to the kitchen to finish their drinks before heading out.
Odin sat outside Starbucks on Lincoln Road, his six-foot six-inch frame stretched out, legs crossed at the ankle. On the table next to him, lay two empty milk cartons and his cell phone. He glanced briefly at the phone, before returning his attention to the steady stream of cars, coming and going, as women in sequins and men in tuxedoes deposited their cars. He sympathized for the men. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore a penguin suit and hoped he wouldn’t have to anytime this century.
Normally Egon’s skewed sense of timing didn’t bother him, but he was hungry, and his mood was declining in proportion to his escalating hunger. He picked up his phone to call them, when his ears perked up with the unmistakable roar of a fast engine. He leaned sideways to see past a stubby palm and his chair groaned with the movement.
A shiny black Bentley Continental GT, rounded curves and sexy, pulled into the valet line. A GT could go zero to sixty in four point six seconds. Sweet. And this one was customized with twenty-one inch, seven-spoke wheels. His hands clenched around an imaginary steering wheel. He’d love to trade his serviceable SUV for a sports car, but he needed something that could handle the dirt roads and occasional flooding outside the werewolf compound. Still, he mused, it might be worth it just to see Egon and Lagmann crammed into the back seat of anything smaller than his Escalade.
The door opened and he caught a flash of Beluga leather interior as a woman stepped out, one high-heel at a time, followed by a cloud of a dress that sparkled like cascading moonlight. She smiled up at a uniformed boy and dropped something into his palm.
Odin froze. The vampire. Closing his eyes, he inhaled a ragged breath. Coffee hung in the air, thick and prominent, overriding the traces of Ghirardelli chocolate and prepared food. Behind those layers, were even fainter traces of beach and coconut suntan lotion, flowery perfume, and then . . . there it was—lavender. The breeze whipped up and stirred her dark blonde hair, fanning her scent. He zeroed in on the distinct aroma and it deluged his senses.
