“As far as anyone can tell me, they barely scratched the surface of the question. There is as big a mystical component as a scientific one.”
She shivered, and Sam pulled her closer. “But why kill them for researching that?”
“Sometimes people fear information as much as they desire it. People like the Knights. They would love to know what makes us tick so that they could kill us more efficiently. Or maybe they want to know how to make themselves just as fast and strong.”
Chloe thought about her parents, and how she had sometimes resented their silence. “So it was volatile enough information that they couldn’t risk telling a teenaged girl.”
“No. And Jack couldn’t tell you about it, either. He broke all kinds of rules just showing you his collection of vampire knickknacks.”
“I’m glad he did. I think my head would have exploded in these last few weeks if he hadn’t prepared me to consider the existence of vampires.”
He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “Just so you know, not all the Company are vampires. There are a handful of werewolves like Kenyon and one or two humans like your parents.”
Chloe thought about that. “Was Jessica Lark one of you?”
“She worked for the Company on special assignment. That’s really all I know. We may never find out exactly why she died, or...” He trailed off, eyebrows drawing together.
“Or?”
“I saw a picture of her with somebody I know. I’m just wondering if there was more to it than I assumed.”
“Are you worried?”
He shook his head, his face clearing. “No, it’s someone I trust.”
They’d reached the gazebo, which hadn’t been Chloe’s favorite spot since the night they’d captured Pietro. She tried to look at it now with fresh eyes, willing the bad associations away. Sam mounted the steps, holding Chloe’s hand. It was warmer there, the rock face behind it blocking some of the wind.
“A private spot,” Sam said approvingly.
“There are still security guards roaming the grounds.”
“But not here.”
He guided her to one of the wooden benches with the ornate, wrought iron frames. Chloe sat, glad of the opportunity to rest. She kept forgetting how much her encounter with Carter had taken out of her.
Sam sat beside her, cuddling her close. “I, um, suggested to the guards that they leave the patrol of this area up to me tonight.”
“Are we patrolling?”
“I’m your personal guard. Forever.”
She poked his side playfully. “Be careful what you wish for. That means a steady stream of wedding clients to deal with.”
He smiled, but it was quickly replaced by his serious face. “When we bond, it’s as much biochemical as emotional. The two get mixed together. We’re as good as addicted. I’m going to need you always.”
She felt the weight of his solemn mood. “I’m mortal. I won’t last.”
Sam took a deep breath. “I love you, Chloe. More than anything. But you should know that if you stay with me, you will become like me.”
She wasn’t even sure of everything that becoming a vampire would mean, but she knew she wanted Sam. She could handle the rest. She’d proven she could survive when the going got tough. And being with Sam? That was the opposite of tough.
She leaned close to whisper in his ear, not because it was a secret, but the words were meant only for him. “I promise to love you and be with you always.”
Sam held her close, burying his face in her hair. She recalled Carter’s words: When faced with true darkness, love doesn’t matter. It deserved a rebuttal.
“When there is love, there is no such thing as true darkness,” she said. “When there is love, darkness doesn’t matter.”
* * *
They made love in the grass, Chloe’s shawl spread out beneath them. Sam moved tenderly, taking care not to touch the bruised places on her skin. As he peeled back the fabric of her blouse, her skin pebbled where his breath fanned across it. Her nipples rose hard beneath the silk of her camisole. With so many bumps and bruises, she hadn’t been wearing a bra.
He cupped her face in his, tasting first one lip, then the other, leaving kisses at the corners of her mouth where her dimples lay sleeping. And then he plundered her, bold as any pirate, stealing the secrets of her kiss. She moaned beneath him, tasting him, capturing his tongue with hers.
Sam’s hands were busy with other buttons and zippers, so he pulled down the tiny strap of the camisole with his teeth. Chloe’s shoulder was lovely, a perfect feminine roundness, neither too plump nor too slender. He wished he could draw just so that he could capture that graceful curve.
He captured it with his lips instead, proving he was an artist in another medium. The smell of her skin made him slightly dizzy, as if every synapse in his brain were firing at once. “Chloe,” he said to the butter-soft skin of her shoulder.
“Hmm?” she replied, fumbling with the belt and button of his trousers. The roughness of her bandages making an interesting friction in male places. It was a phenomenon worth experimenting with in future.
“Chloe,” he repeated, following the scalloped neck of the camisole to that heavenly hollow between her breasts.
His fangs were down, and he let them scrape along the curve of her breasts, not so hard as to injure, but enough to make her squirm with the sensation. The squirming did little for his self-control. The ache in his groin was enough to stop his breath.
Chloe pulled down the zipper of his pants. It gave some relief, but that only encouraged his lower brain to hurry things along.
“I want you,” she demanded.
In the moonlight, her skin looked pale as milk, almost luminous. The patch of lawn they had claimed was surrounded by roses, their scent lingering like the memory of sun in the air. He plucked one, a full-blown white bloom tipped with a pink core.
He straddled her, knees on either side of her slim waist, and touched the petals to her skin. She shivered enticingly, her hands on his as he trailed the flower over the curve of her belly to the slick folds below. Her hips arched beneath the silken touch, aroused and sensitive. She was ready, wet, inviting.
Pulling her legs around his waist, he found the core of her with his tip. She took him greedily. The hot slickness of her engulfed him, and he pushed more and more. Each thrust earned him a little moan. Those sounds were almost more than superhuman strength could bear.
He stopped thrusting. Her eyes opened, wide and unfocused, searching his face. With the rose, he stroked her cheek, trailing the petals across her lips. Then he bent to taste her mouth. There was nothing innocent left in their kiss. They ate at each other hungrily, all but heedless of his sharp teeth.
His hands found her breasts, kneading them, suckling the nipples. Chloe’s back arched to meet him, the movement nearly shattering his control. His hips moved in response, triggering the pulsing of her first climax. Sam’s breath was ragged, his thoughts shredded to nothing but skin and sweat and desire. He thrust again, fighting the impulse to finish, wanting to draw it out, but needing, wanting, aching to make her his.
Chloe cried out beneath him, and he could hold on no more. His body shuddered with the need to move, the urge to feel her flesh tight around him. He pushed, and pushed again, falling into a rhythm as ancient as birth and death. Chloe. Chloe. Chloe. Chloe.
He roared as his own release came, taking her with him. Her body pulled at him, milked him, sucked him under a mindless wave of possession and surrender. Sam let himself drift on the feeling, aware of the stars above, the grass beneath them.
“You’re mine,” he said again, speaking the words before the witness of heaven and earth. He sucked in a great breath of air, feeling the power of his claim.
When they had finished, he curled around her, wrapping the
shawl over her to keep her from the cold. This time, after tasting her blood, he pierced his own wrist, offering it to her.
“It will heal you,” he said, stroking her hair.
There was a moment when he was not sure if she would turn away, revolted, or trust him enough to take it. Then she wrapped her hands around his wrist and bent to the wound, lapping at what he offered.
The sensation of it made him hard again, but he waited patiently, drinking in the scent of the rose they had crushed beneath their weight.
Chapter 32
They woke the next morning in Chloe’s bed. The first thing she felt was Sam’s arm curled over her hip. The second was an absence of pain.
Slowly, carefully, she stretched each limb. She didn’t hurt anywhere. Whatever magic was in Sam’s blood had cured her wounds. In fact, she felt wonderful.
Oddly excited, she rolled over, curling against the hard slab of his chest. The scent of him made things clench low in her belly.
“Hello,” he growled in her ear.
“Hello.” She gave him a kiss. “I had an idea.”
“I have a lot of ideas.” He rolled her onto her back, following so that he landed on top, braced on his elbows.
It didn’t take an anatomist to guess what his ideas involved. He pressed against her with distracting emphasis.
Chloe cleared her throat. “I could help you.”
“Indeed you could,” he purred with a smile.
“With your spy stuff.”
The smile deepened a touch. “Planning all our weddings? You’d better bring unbreakable dishes for the werewolves.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m serious. Think about how many people go to weddings, anniversaries, whatever. What better cover to get into places? To get into homes where you’d never otherwise secure an invitation?”
Sam’s eyebrows drew together. “We don’t need invitations to cross a threshold. That’s myth.”
“You know what I mean! You could show up and do your spying while you were mixing drinks. Bartenders hear everything. Or mix in the crowd serving appetizers. It’s a no-brainer.”
“It’s not a bad idea. In my youth, the best spies were the servants. They had an excuse to go anywhere, overhear any conversation. They were invisible.”
“Then you’ll think about it?”
“It could be a useful tool.” One corner of his mouth curled up. “It would give us plenty of opportunities to work together.”
“Exactly.”
They had just finished a thorough kiss when Chloe’s phone went off with the ringtone that said there was an emergency at the office. Sam swore as she rolled over to grab her cell from the bedside table.
“Hello?”
“Check your email,” said her assistant’s voice. She sounded stressed. “This is one I can’t handle.”
“Why not?”
“It’s from the Crown Prince of Vidon. I didn’t think I should open it myself.”
Chloe hung up and switched on her laptop. The message was actually a video clip. She set the laptop on the bed so Sam could watch, too.
The clip started with a sweeping view of the Mediterranean. White beaches. White buildings framed by palms. Blue sky. Blue water. She could just make out the top of a railing made of swirls of black iron.
“That’s from the balcony of the palace in Marcari,” Sam said. “What’s he doing there?”
The camera pulled back to show a young couple sitting at a table for two. She recognized them at once. Kyle Alphonse Adraio, Crown Prince of Vidon, looked more like a striker for one of the Italian football teams than he did royalty. He was dressed nicely, but his clothes were casual. His brown hair curled past his collar, and his mobile mouth looked ready to laugh. She could see why he had a reputation as a charmer.
Beside him sat a slim, dark-haired woman Chloe recognized as Princess Amelie. The most striking feature of the princess was her large, thick-lashed violet eyes, which made her look meltingly vulnerable. The two were laughing and lifting flutes of champagne toward the camera.
She caught her breath. “They’re together.”
Sam rolled onto his elbow to get a better look. “She looks happy. That’s good.”
Prince Kyle smiled broadly at the camera. “Greetings, Ms. Anderson. And to Sam Ralston. My informants tell me where I find one of you, I shall find the other.”
“Salut!” the Princess chimed in, clinking her glass against Kyle’s.
Amelie spoke in a charming, soft accent. “First of all, thank you so much for your part in seeing the dress home safely. It arrived this morning, along with Plague and Famine. And you deserve to know a piece of the puzzle we discovered here in Marcari. The idea to put the diamonds on the dress came from my grandmother.”
“By all nine hells.” Sam made a noise of both amusement and exasperation. “That’s the dowager for you.”
Amelie went on. “She envisioned her granddaughter sparkling on worldwide television as she walked down the aisle of the cathedral. Spectacle. Theater. A billion cameras snapping. My grandmother was ever the genius when it came to the showmanship of state.”
Chloe was still a beat behind. “The dowager queen removed the crown jewels without telling the rest of the royal family?”
Amelie answered as if she heard the question. “It was the dowager’s taste for a surprise that started this whole affair. She knew the king, my father, would never risk the gems by removing them from the treasury, so she convinced Jack Anderson to spirit them out of the castle and take them to Jessica Lark. He was just enough of a rogue to agree. So you see, this is how my wedding dress came to be in the eye of this storm.”
She gave Kyle a significant look, and the camera shifted slightly toward him.
“I have two points of business,” he said. “First, I have made an offer on Oakwood Manor. I have every reason to believe it shall be accepted by your solicitor, the esteemed Mr. Littleton. He shall make the title deed out to you, my dear Chloe. Please accept it in thanks for your generous, brave spirit and the courage you showed protecting my Amelie’s treasure. I have a feeling, with your business going so well, you will need a place befitting your future station in life.”
“I can’t accept that!” Chloe gasped.
“Of course you can,” Sam said calmly. “You don’t say no to a prince.”
“Second,” Kyle went on blithely, with what seemed a cheerful certainty that no one could deny him, “our wedding shall be on Valentine’s Day.”
He stopped to kiss Amelie. They were a beautiful couple, the Mediterranean wind twining their dark locks together. It would be nice to get a wedding shot of them, just like that.
Sam’s hand closed over Chloe’s thigh. If he kept that up, whatever Kyle had to say next would rapidly diminish in importance.
Kyle resumed in the nick of time. “We heard what an incredible job you did on the Venuto-Fallon wedding, and what professionalism you showed in extremely trying circumstances. So highly have your praises been sung, we want you to plan our wedding.”
Chloe’s heart stopped in her chest. “Huh?”
“You can do it,” Sam said, patting her leg.
Amelie leaned into the frame. “We hope you will bring that rogue Samuel Ralston with you. Perhaps you would consent to be our guests for your own Mediterranean wedding?”
Chloe’s jaw dropped. “Do they have spies or something?”
“Yes.” Sam’s hand traveled up her thigh.
“Remember,” said Kyle. “Valentine’s Day. Send your reply as soon as you get this.”
The clip ended as they both lifted their glasses in a toast. Sam closed the laptop and set it on the nightstand before the last word was done. “He can wait.”
Chloe slid into Sam’s embrace. “A royal wedding. What do you t
hink?
Sam gave her a devouring look that promised her reply to Kyle would be very, very late. “I think Marcari is the perfect place for a honeymoon.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from UNTAMED WOLF by Linda O. Johnston.
Afterword
For a number of years, I played with several Celtic and early music ensembles that performed at weddings—occasions big and small, formal and costumed, in fancy hotels and backyards. It was great fun, even though I always tear up during the vows, whether or not I know the couple—go figure—and that is definitely not a helpful habit when trying to read music.
Each wedding was unique, but there were some especially memorable moments, like the time a bagpipe-playing uncle insisted on a duet. Yes, those pipes are excruciatingly loud up close.
Through it all, I came to completely respect the heroic individuals who organized those wonderful celebrations, whether they were professional planners or dedicated family and friends. Let it be said that the stories of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are fantasies. Even with all her contacts, Chloe Anderson puts on a huge wedding in a sliver of the time that it would normally take. All I can say is: you go, girl. Why should vampires get all the superpowers?
And while we’re asking questions, how did Mark Winspear know Jessica Lark? What did the Knights of Vidon plan on doing with the money from the stolen diamonds? Princess Amelie has her dress back, but what happened to the designs for the rest of the bridal trousseau? Although Sam and Chloe found each other, the story of Amelie and Kyle’s star-crossed royal wedding has just begun. Be sure to look for Possessed by an Immortal, available next month.
Please visit me at www.SharonAshwood.com. I love to hear from readers!
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