Oz Bites

by Mary Hughes

  Vampires and sex and flamingos—oh my!

  A Short Story in the Biting Love Universe.

  Punk musician Nixie Emerson is now married to her master vampire and life is grand. Until the mayor “voluntells” her to assemble a pit orchestra for Oz, Wonderful Oz, a new Broadway-caliber musical.

  Problem—she has no budget. Add in a vampire turf war and a pregnancy that makes finding the right sexual position a challenge and running from rogue vampires impossible, and she’s getting overwhelmed. As a rebel who thrives on creative solos, she’s getting zilch for solo time.

  Then someone blabs there’s no pay and her musicians back out. Worse, whoever’s stealing secrets isn’t just stealing Nixie’s.

  Warning: Contains wild sex, explicit violence, and a frazzled punk heroine. Or is that explicit sex, wild violence, and a frazzled lawyer vampire? What the heck. There’s sex, swearing, fighting and smiles.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com Thank you for your support.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Oz Bites

  Copyright © 2011 by Mary Hughes

  Second Edition

  ISBN: 978-0-9855177-2-4

  Cover by Tibbs Design

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Oz Bites

  A Short Story in the Biting Love Universe

  Mary Hughes

  Dedication

  To my husband Gregg, for riding through the better and worse. This is part of the better.

  To Mrs. Missive, for your friendship, support, and beta reading this. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Chapter One

  Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice…I’m getting my bazooka. If I can find it in the hall closet, that is.

  “No budget?” I threw the letter onto the floor. “I won’t do it. He can’t make me.” I was mostly venting, but come on. Just because I was a rock musician, did the mayor think I had nothing better to do than plan his gigs for free?

  Worse yet, how could I “hire” a pit orchestra without cash?

  Behind me, a cultured baritone said, “Pregnancy is making you awfully crabby, sweetheart.”

  I turned. Gliding into our basement living room was the most gorgeous male in the world, six feet plus of shining black hair, laser blue eyes and hard muscled body in a three-piece suit—master vampire and my lawfully-wedded of four months, Julian Emerson.

  He glided past me to pick up the letter, scanned it faster than light. “Your organization skills, your musicianship…blah blah blah… It’s the mayor, Nixie. He’s holding your big Summerfest debut hostage. I’d guess he can make you.”

  “Dammit Julian, don’t go all lawyerly on me. This isn’t about logic, it’s about fairness.” I crossed arms. “Isn’t there some legal thing about not getting tried for the same crime twice? Mayor Meier already held the Summerfest gig over my head to get me to run his Festival in November.”

  “Over your head isn’t such a far stretch, sweetheart.” Julian patted the curly top of my five-foot-zero.

  “Ha ha. Point being, the mayor can’t voluntell me again.”

  Julian folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope. “Apparently he thinks he can. At least he’s not ‘voluntelling’ you for a whole festival this time. It’s just putting together a pit orchestra. How hard can that be?”

  “How hard? How hard?” I gaped at him. “Did you see the part about no budget?” My Julian’s one sexy dude, an amazing lover and a sharp yet decent lawyer (if that’s not an oxymoron), but he’s not primarily a performer. “What am I going to use to get players? Ain’t no money, honey, and that’s bad.”

  “Sweetheart, calm down.” He set the letter on a nearby end table and took me by the arms. “You’re pregnant and you need to eat. Tiny body, supersized metabolism—that’s making you extra crabby.”

  “I am not crabby.”

  “Are.”

  “Not.”

  “Too.” He kissed my forehead. “What is this pit for, anyway?”

  “Not…oh, um, well apparently the mayor’s got some bug up his ass about expanding Meiers Corners’s economy from local to regional. He’s pushing tourism and invited this big new Broadway show, Oz, Wonderful Oz, to open here.”

  “Hmm.” His lips moved down to my temple. “Any reason why this big new Broadway show isn’t opening on, oh, I don’t know, Broadway?”

  “Their theater burned down. The sets and costumes got barbequed too. The backers took it as a sign of bad luck and won’t put up more cash.” The kisses were starting to liquefy me. I grabbed his suit-coated arm to keep upright, fine worsted rasping expensively under my fingers. My body lit with lust but my brain lit on an idea. “Say, I don’t suppose we could raid your savings? You being a megabucks master vampire and all.”

  He feathered my ear with kisses. “Most of ‘my’ cash is tied up in getting our new household off the ground. Two sets of townhouses take a bit of money to renovate, you know. Any extra we have we need to keep in reserve, the economy being what it is.” He moved on to my chin, nipping, then licking away the tiny irritations. “How much cash do we really need to hire a pit, anyway? Don’t musicians work for beer and schnitzel?”

  “In your dreams.” I closed my eyes as he started down my neck. “These people are professionals.” I tried not to whimper when he hit the sensitive hollow along my throat. “They’ll need something, even just gas money.”

  A chime sounded discreetly from his pocket. I stifled a swear as he released me with a sigh to pull out his iDroid or whatever buckets-of-slick superphone he had these days. Checking the screen, he frowned. “I’d better take this.” He stood straighter. “Yes, sir.”

  Only one vampire rated “sir” from my shape-changing millennium-old hardcore-strong hubby, the vampire whose voice from the depths of hell outstripped even Julian’s elegant baritone for sheer testosterone.

  Scary Ancient Dude.

  What followed was a bunch of uh-huhs and yessirs and dark unhappy expressions. Finally Julian ended the call and pocketed the phone. “That was the Ancient One.”

  “No duh, Sherlock. Calling his favorite freelancer? What vine-swinging world saving does he want you to do now?”

  “Not me, you. He’s requesting that you go ahead and organize that pit.”

  “WTF?” I got a little scary zing at that, as I always did when I realized something older than time had noticed me. As always, I stuffed it. “Why me? I’m not his field agent, you are. Besides, why should the grand pooh-bah of vampires take an interest in a little pit orchestra?”

  Julian grimaced. “Apparently his ward is playing the role of Dorothy.”

  “Ward?” I gaped. That went beyond what-the-fuck. “Badder-than-Blade has a ward? As in, what, little orphan Vampie?”

  “Yes, she’s one of us. No, she’s not little. She’s seventeen. Nixie, we like to keep the Ancient One happy.”

  “You think? Since he rules half the vampires and owns most of the known world?

  “The Iowa Alliance isn’t quite half—”

  “You saying he doesn’t have his tendrils in pies all
over the globe? And yes, I know I’m balling up my metaphors. You tied the better-or-worse knot. This is the worse, so deal.”

  Julian simply shook his head, which, since he’s a smooth-tongued lawyer, said it all. He wasn’t going to argue with me because this was too important. He knew I’d have to figure it out for myself that I was stuck, stuck, gluestick stuck.

  Why me? Why did people keep pushing me, a rock musician free spirit, to take charge of things?

  Sure, I played well with others these days. I’d learned in November how to march with the crowd yet still keep myself sanely punk and uniquely me—not easy living in conform-or-we’ll-compact-you Meiers Corners—by following the rules when playing together and improvising my solos. When I figured that out, I’d thought I had the world dicked.

  Yeah, you’d think I’d learn that the world is dicked only when Murphy’s screwing it.

  In the past four months, demands on me had skyrocketed. The usual must-do’s of family, friends and band had expanded to include a husband, a set of townhouses to “manage” (wink-wink-nudge-nudge for running a vampire/human household, protection in return for blood. Julian was the master, but for some reason all the humans came to me). Oh, and working through a vampire turf war.

  And now this. I shot a burning Cyclops glare at the envelope on the table, but it didn’t combust.

  Bugger me sideways with a fish fork. These days I didn’t have to worry about when to play together and when to solo—my time was so locked down I was barely playing any solos. It was only going to get worse when the baby was born. Rugrat love would carry me through in the kid’s case, but I wasn’t so sure about the rest of the world.

  Enough was enough.

  I took my husband by the forearms, my equivalent of grabbing his shoulders since he towered a foot and several slices over me. “Julian, love of my life, I know you like to keep Mr. Woohoo Ancient happy. But I can’t do this.”

  “The Ancient One picked you for a reason, sweetheart. The mayor picked you for a reason. You’re the best music organizer in Meiers Corners. You have to do it.”

  “Julian, I can’t.” I tried to speak Lawyer. “I already have enough on my plate, comprende? Someone else can field this pit. I’m gonna call the mayor to say no.” I turned away and unslung my Juke. I hesitated, then looked over my shoulder. “Um, can you tell Scary Ancient?”

  He nibbled my earlobe. “What if I help you?”

  “Well…”

  He slid one hand onto my breast and squeezed. “Please?” His fingers started to tug.

  “Hey.” I wriggled against a hot spike of need. “No fair bringing out the big guns, Julian.”

  “You want big guns?” He slipped in, real close, hip to hip, nuts to butt, hellooo Mr. Big Gavel, and murmured in my ear. “Chocolate. Rich, dark, sinful…chocolate.”

  Sweet sex on a unicycle. “I…I can’t.” But I shivered at the warmth of his breath playing over my skin.

  He palmed my hip to grind his growing, um, enthusiasm into me. “Not even for hot-tub loving?”

  I groaned. “You know I can’t go in the hot tub preggers.”

  “After.” He released my hip to slide a hand into my jeans. Very clever fingers burrowed into my panties…while he snared my phone and disappeared it with his other hand. Stupid ambidextrous hubby.

  “Damn it Julian, that’s cheating!” I snatched after the phone, but his forefinger hit the sweet spot and I went nggghh and forgot all about phones and ancient vampires and even chocolate. He’d had months to get to know my every trigger and easily pitched me higher and higher, then higher still until I was about to shoot off rockets and geysers and every damned metaphor in the book.

  Natch, his phone chimed again. I jerked away. “Ancient fucker or not, I’m shooting him.”

  “It may not be the Ancient One.” Julian’s voice was slightly breathy.

  “Oh, it’s him. Only he has such incredibly bad timing. He does it on purpose.”

  Julian glanced at the readout. “No doubt, but it’s not him, at least not this time.”

  “Who, then…?” A horrid premonition hit. “Oh no. Please no.”

  “It’s the only other being with the Ancient One’s timing.” He grinned and held the phone out to me. “Your mother.”

  I groaned. I love my mother, really I do. But if men are from Mars and women are from Venus, I’m from Twittercity and my mom is from LandLineville. Not only don’t we see eye to eye, we’re not even using the same social media. Which, considering some of my status postings, is probably a good thing.

  But I sucked it up. She’s my mother, and though I’m an independent adult with my own baby on the way, I’m still her kid. When Julian handed me the phone with a “Here’s Gerta,” I took it and put it to my ear.

  “Have you seen Doctor Spock?” she said without preamble.

  I hadn’t said a word. She must have heard me breathing. “Hi, Mom. Why are you calling Julian’s phone?”

  “Yours is off.”

  Powered down before disappearing it? Julian seriously put the dexterous in ambi.

  Mom was still talking. “Spock has a waiting list, you know. You’ll need to move quick if you want to get baby Gerta in.”

  Great. Not only pushing local pediatrician ol’ Doc Spock, who learned medicine from Nostradamus, but the kid was named Mom Jr. before we even knew if it was a boy or girl. Tradition, gotta love it.

  Fortunately I’d lived with Julian long enough that I’d learned some tact. Hey, you can teach a punk dog new tricks. I pulled out my lawyerly lingo. “Well, Mom, we’re considering all options at this time.”

  “Oh, good,” she said doubtfully. “That’s not actually why I called. I heard from Alba Gruen who was at Dolly Barton’s beauty shop today having her landing strip trimmed—”

  “Mom, whoa! Too much info.”

  “Oh, grow up. Alba said you are helping the mayor out again. I am so proud of you.”

  Smack me sideways with a meat cleaver. Exactly how I got roped in last time, a Temple of Doom combination of Summerfestly carrot, mayorly stick and motherly approval. “I haven’t decided to do it yet.”

  “Of course you’ll do it. Who else could? You alone have the synthesis of talent, skill and hard work to succeed.”

  “Laying it on a little thick, Mom. Did someone coach you?”

  “Nein,” she said a little too quickly. “Of course not. Who would do such a thing? Besides, I got a free trim out of it, not that I’ll say where since you’ve become all Miss Prissypants. Free, how could I say no?”

  “See?” Julian murmured in my ear, his breath a caress. “Even your mother thinks you’re the one to do this.” Augmenting his argument, he slid a warm hand over my breast, cupping and kneading ever so lightly.

  “Fine, Mom,” I heard myself saying. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

  I said it to Mom but she was only the tipping point. Julian was the real reason. I loved him and wanted him to be happy, and his caressing hand said he was not giving up on this and so was serious about it. “But I have no budget, so I reserve the right to toss it up as a bad job.”

  “Good. Now about Doctor Spock—”

  “Oops, fzzt you’re breakinffzzt up fzztshizzle.” I disconnected, feeling only slightly guilty.

  I set the phone on the end table next to the letter. Julian’s big hand was still gently squeezing my breast. “I caved, in case you hadn’t heard.”

  “I heard.” His deep voice vibrated in my ear.

  “You can stop with the bribery.”

  “This isn’t bribery.”

  “Oh. Okay. Good deal.”

  He cupped and hefted, gently because the Breast Fairy had visited. Though the first trimester tenderness had ebbed, my breasts were enlarged and the nipples were teeth-edge sensitive. A thumb barely rasping over the cloth-covered pink drove me nuts.

  He turned me to face him, bent, and played hot breath over the same breast. Not even suckling, just breathing through cotton for goodness sake, but it shot me int
o space. Since I was rocketing figuratively I braced hands on his biceps and launched myself up literally. I was a little unbalanced from being preggers, so he had to catch me or I’d never achieve low belt orbit. But he always caught me.

  He settled me on his hips. I wrapped legs around him and ground my full and throbbing parts against his full and throbbing parts, making us both throb even harder.

  While I rubbed he licked my enhanced breasts through my bra and tee. They bobbled pleasantly, the nipples stiffening against cloth. The heat of his breath combined with the rub of cotton until pleasant became aching and electric.

  I snared the hem of my shirt and peeled it over my head, again trusting him to keep me planted. The jeans took a little more effort but with his help I shucked them. When I’d peeled back to naked Nixie, I wrapped my legs tight around his waist, coming home.

  He made a deep, appreciative sound and sucked the tip of one breast into his mouth. I shuddered. His fangs extended, sliding smooth as silk down the outsides of my nipple. He wasn’t biting these days, something about me needing every bit of increased circulation. I missed his bite, the instant orgasmic rush, but the old-fashioned way was good too. After a thousand years plus, Julian knew his way around the female body.

  I wanted to catch up. “You too.” I knew and wanted what was under that three-piece suit. Julian’s bared physique, the hard play of muscle under sleek bronzed skin, cranked me to slick ’n ready almost as fast as a bite. Yeah, shallow and loving it.

  “Me too what?” He usually knew what I needed without a word, so he was being intentionally annoying. If I hadn’t suspected it was because he was really getting off on tasting the new supersized buds, I’d have smacked him one.

  As it was I tunneled fingers into his black hair and tugged. His mouth popped off with a final zing. I let it shimmer through me before staring into his eyes, their gorgeous blue made even more penetrating by his black lashes. “Julian. You know what. I’d do it, but you complain when I rip off your buttons.”