Her Vampire Husband

by Michele Hauf

  Would it be better to surrender to his expectations before then? Soften him with agreeableness and hope for the best when she revealed her true colors?

  She did have his secret to use as a bargaining chip. And she’d keep that chip handy.

  He opened his hand and the crushed fuchsia petals sifted down the front of her dress. Catching one, he traced it over her mouth. The silken glide tickled her lips. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the sensation. And when she opened her eyes, it was not the petal, but Creed’s mouth that brushed her lips.

  Blu spread her hands over his chest, thinking to push him away but unable to do anything but pull him closer. Unable and unwilling. How was that for split personalities? Blu Masterson was always willing, and ever able—for the wrong guy.

  Clinging to his shirt, she held him in her world, on her mouth, invading her breath, her life. Her better senses.

  The faintest trace of Armagnac sweetened his tongue. She wanted to taste the truth of him, to gauge the darkness and decide if she were willing to step a little closer to the edge—into Creed’s shadow.

  She’d stepped so far away from reality in the past few days, Blu felt she was entirely surrounded by shadows. Some were merely remnants of her expectations; others stoked with mystery lured her.

  A man shouldn’t be such a good kisser. A girl might start liking him, even start desiring more of his kisses. She might also find herself wanting to spend all her time with him.

  Kissing him more, longer, deeper.

  Touching him across his tight abs, up and down his strong back, discovering all the hard places on his body.

  Knowing he could have her if he wanted her.

  “A kiss in the moonlight,” she whispered. “Maybe you are romantic after all.”

  He stroked a thumb along her cheek and glided it across her lower lip. Had any man ever looked at her so intensely? Yes, but never with such obvious care in his eyes. It was disturbing—but in a good way. Creed’s shadows grew less menacing.

  Blu dashed out her tongue, licking his thumb imbued with the peony oil.

  Creed sucked in a restrained moan. The sound of his want rippled over her skin, tickling at her throat, and lower, pricking delightfully at her breasts.

  Her husband slid a hand over the black velvet, glancing a finger over her hard nipple. Like a shot of chile-laced chocolate, the touch ignited her desires.

  “What if they’re watching?” she whispered.

  “Who?”

  “The crews that have been lurking about the estate.”

  “I’m sure they are.”

  Oh, really? Suddenly she got it. Sometimes she could be so naive!

  “So this is just a show? Take the wife out and put her on display. Give her a few kisses to make it look good?”

  “It’s not like that,” he said against her ear. “I don’t want to share these new feelings I have for you with anyone. Let me take you home and kiss you until the moon leaves the sky.”

  Blu scanned her periphery, but didn’t see any watchers in the trees. She sniffed and scented wolves, perhaps five hundred yards off. They were watching. And Creed had known. She should hate him for that, but…she should have suspected as much, too.

  Kiss until the moon was gone? Was that what he’d said?

  “Just kisses?” she sought to confirm.

  “Until you ask for more. You wanted decadence?”

  Yes, and what could be more decadent than making out with the enemy?

  If Ryan found out he’d howl for hours and rip up anything that wasn’t nailed down.

  But he wouldn’t find out; Blu would be sure of that.

  They clasped hands and slipped through the darkness to the car. Blu became aware of the werewolves at the park perimeter. Three of them. Watching. She couldn’t smell vampires until they stood right before her, but she sensed other eyes watched.

  If she and Creed’s flirtations kept the weres and vamps from going at one another, she guessed that was fine. But it was merely a bandage.

  Blu knew this marriage would never produce the results the Council desired. Because the werewolves had ulterior motives. And she was merely the decoy.

  HE COULD SEE CLEARLY IN the foyer without the lights on. And he knew from experience during a few medieval sieges that werewolves had excellent night vision.

  Creed didn’t pause to turn on the lights as he and Blu crossed the threshold. Instead, he landed on the bottom step, which was a huge worn fieldstone. Blu stood on the top step, putting herself face-to-face with him. He wrapped an arm around her back and swept her into a kiss.

  She didn’t protest. And for some reason he’d lost all hesitation regarding kissing a breed not his own. She was perfectly female, wondrously luscious. From her lips answering every kiss he gave, to her breasts hugging high upon his chest, to the long legs tangling between his.

  Easing a hand down her hip, he squeezed her ass. The damned dress was too tight and too long to shimmy it up. He wanted her bare as she’d been out by the pool.

  “Why such a reserved fashion statement tonight?” he murmured against her lips, which continued to seek his for kisses. He splayed a hand over the black velvet that went all the way to her neck.

  “You said fancy. I didn’t want to shock.”

  “Blu, the princess werewolf, did not want to shock? You do not cease to astonish me.”

  “You like me better shocking?”

  “Hell, yes. I don’t think I could imagine you without wild hair and some sexy skin showing.” He glided a palm down her bare arm. “So soft. I like it when you bare this skin.”

  Turning her in his embrace, he put his chest to her back and kissed her shoulder at the edge of the fabric. Cupping a hand under her breast, he massaged the nipple. She glided a foot along his ankle, the hard spike heel doing strangely erotic things to his cravings.

  All he could think about was hard things piercing soft tender things.

  Licking a trail, he lifted her arm to glide his tongue to her elbow. There the skin was softer and sensitive, for she gasped as he painted lazy circles on the flesh. The vein pulsed under his lips. He’d taken blood days ago so did not need to feed, yet she smelled so tempting.

  …piercing soft tender things.

  There were times he could not control what his body desired to do, such as getting an erection—or dropping down his fangs. He’d freak her if he flashed his fangs at her, so he was careful, but arousal had a way of controlling him.

  “I’d like some wine,” she said. “Some of that fancy stuff in your fridge.”

  “More wine?” He was about to argue she’d had a whole bottle and Armagnac at the restaurant, when a jingle at her hip stopped him.

  She dug a cell phone from her purse, and signaled to him with a finger she was going to talk. “Bree, what’s up?”

  Those provocative spike heels carried her through the living room and out the patio door. “You heard from him?” Closing the door behind her, she gave Creed no regard.

  Standing there on the bottom step, his heart racing with arousal, Creed crashed. The denial from her brisk exit plummeted his heart a few notches. He slapped a palm over his chest.

  Plunged back to reality.

  You heard from him.

  That could only be the lover they were talking about. Ryan. A man who had marked Blu with a tattoo.

  And yet, she would refuse to take her own husband’s bite.

  His neck muscles tightened, as did his fists. The gratifying image of clenching his hands about some bastard werewolf’s neck lured his heartbeat back to a normal pace. He’d like to twist the dog’s head from his shoulders and kick it across the floor.

  Creed exhaled. “Ryan,” he muttered acidly.

  What the hell? Here he was, getting jealous over his wife’s lover.

  When had he stepped over the edge of “playing the game” and into possessiveness? He shouldn’t care less if Blu had a lover.

  Had a lover. She certainly couldn’t be seeing him now. Coul
d she?

  No, she’d not been off the grounds without his knowledge. Not for lack of trying. She’d intended to dig under the fence? He’d better adjust the wards. He didn’t want to risk harming her. More magic. It was truly the one vow he couldn’t keep, despite his efforts to do so.

  Even if Blu did get off the property to go rendezvous with her lover he’d smell the male wolf on her when she returned.

  He must see to this Ryan fellow. Gather information on him in the event it was necessary. He’d delegate the task to Alexandre.

  And he’d see to giving Blu the fence remote. His concerns for her safety aside, he couldn’t afford a dead werewolf on his hands when the relations between the two nations were so tenuous.

  Heading to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of Burgundy, Creed busied himself with the corkscrew.

  Had the lover seen Blu in all her vibrant incarnations? Did he marvel over her colorful hair? Gaze adoringly upon lips softly thick and kissable? Had he seen her in those sexy black lace underthings?

  Likely the dog had seen much more than that.

  The idea of another man looking at his wife, touching her, having sex with her—The cork split out and wine spilled over Creed’s cuff.

  “Sacrebleu.”

  He tugged a towel from the oven handle and dabbed at the wine, but the rich maroon liquid already stained the white silk. Then he noticed the spatters down his front.

  “I’ve become some kind of bumbling idiot if I cannot open a bottle of wine.”

  Tugging out the diamond cuff links and unbuttoning the shirt, he removed it and tossed it into a heap on the table. Housekeeper would see to it, but it was a loss anyway.

  A glance at the spilled wine and the bottle resulted in a sneer. No more treats for the princess. “She’s ruined the evening anyway.”

  Leaving his shirt and the mess, Creed wandered from the kitchen.

  Blu met him at the door, a blaze of white tresses glowing in the midnight darkness. Two spots of desire glinted in eyes that had fallen from the sky.

  “Gotta say, this is a sexy look for you.” She pressed her palm to Creed’s bare chest. “But you’re moving too fast for me, buddy.”

  He sucked in a breath at the searing contact, but was in no mood to play anymore tonight.

  Gripping her wrist, he stopped her from leaning in to kiss him. “What did your friend have to say? Something about your lover?”

  Even in the darkness he could plainly see her coy pout. “Can you hear through glass doors, vampire?”

  “I don’t eavesdrop, but you were excited about the call and I can make conclusions. Have you seen him since we’ve exchanged vows?”

  “No.” She twisted her wrist from his grip. Stiffening her shoulders, she heeled the floor with a spike. “But what if I had? Would you be angry with me?”

  “Of course I would. You are my wife. You belong to me.”

  “Oh, I don’t belong to anyone. What is it about men that they believe a piece of paper with signatures on it gives them right to lay claim to a person?”

  “Marriage vows are a promise to honor and obey.”

  “Way to beat a dead horse, buddy. I didn’t hear the word obey, and you know it.”

  Neither had he, and he wished damn well it had been included. “Honoring one another means being faithful and exclusive.”

  “Does it?” She strode toward the stairs, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll give you that. But exclusivity would hold true only if the vows were not a sham.”

  She waggled her ring finger at him. It happened to be the middle finger. “Sham,” she repeated.

  He should have never brought up the fact that he wasn’t sure what the witch’s blood could do to him or his magic. No matter what, he didn’t want to find out. And then to tell her he’d used his magic? Fool vampire.

  He hastened to match her pace up the stairs, and beat her to the top, where he wrangled her into his embrace. She struggled and beat a fist on his bare chest. It was a powerful blow and set him back against the wall.

  Stunned, Creed stared at his seething princess.

  “That’s right, vampire. Not a woman you can push around. Strong.” She flexed a bicep muscle. “And owned by no one.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t want to own you.”

  Perhaps he did. Why did he care? He’d never wanted to own a woman before. Yet never before had he been bound in a relationship with one either. Was that it? He’d taken the marriage vows to heart?

  “If this marriage is to work I have to trust you, Blu.”

  She hooked a hand at her hip, powerful and proud. “And I you.”

  “You can. I’ve no designs on other women.”

  “What of those you bite? Don’t you seduce them? Touch them? Lure them into your arms? You think I’m not jealous of that?”

  “There’s no reason to be so.” She was jealous? That nugget of information gratified. “The seduction required for donors is merely a means to an end.”

  “Then start drinking from men.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “To prove to me I am the only woman you wish to touch.”

  “Preposterous.” While he did drink from men on occasion—rare occasions—he preferred women because some level of seduction was involved. “You don’t know what you ask.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Ignorant,” he countered.

  “Not so sure of your manliness, eh?”

  He lifted a finger to come back with another retort, but realized this banter would get him nowhere. When engaged in combat one always discovered the opponent’s weakness. And he guessed hers.

  “If I agree to such an inane thing,” he tried, “then you must hand over that precious pink cell phone and refuse to have any contact with the lover.”

  She pouted, but it was an act. The wild and colorful spoiled princess had broken free of the restraining black velvet. He liked her better this way.

  Creed held out his hand. “Hand it over, and I will make the effort.”

  “But I’ve other friends. And I haven’t spoken to him. Bree gives me reports.”

  “Blu. Please.”

  She tugged the cell phone from her purse and caressed it to her lips, a cherished object.

  Put those lips upon mine. Speak to me as you speak to your friend. Give me that part of you, that focused regard.

  “But you’ll snoop.”

  “Me?” He shook his head. “I’ve no interest in your friends. I’ve no idea how to even turn one of those high-tech things on. You’ve noticed I’ve but landlines in my home.”

  “So you would deny me all my friends?”

  “Just the lover. But it seems your only means to that information is your precious little phone. You ask a lot of me in return.”

  “You’ve never taken blood from a man before?”

  “I have, but it’s uncomfortable for me.”

  The coy princess looked up through thick lashes he could easily imagine dusting across his bared abs. “Sexual?”

  “It can be.”

  “Right, you said it can be orgasmic.” She thrust out the phone, but when he grabbed it, she tugged, unwilling to relent. “I want to watch.”

  “What?”

  “Next time you take blood—from a man—I want to watch.”

  Creed exhaled. She did not cease to challenge. He loved a good challenge. And the defiance in her tone prodded him to accept.

  Yet he feared her watching him drink from anyone would scare her off him for good. Their intimacy was still fragile. They were only just learning each other. And then to witness him in so awkward a situation as taking blood from a man?

  “If you give me that trust,” she said coyly, “I will relinquish this piece of my world to you. No more chatting about the lover. I won’t even think of him.”

  “Instead you will shudder to recall your husband taking blood?”

  “Why do you think it will disturb me? It may turn me on. Two men, breathing heavily? Each wantin
g something from the other? Closely entwined? Creed.” She approached, the cell phone tapping her chin. “If you want to take this marriage to the next level, I insist you show me a part of you you’ve never shown another. Do you dare?”

  He snatched the phone from her. “Tomorrow evening we’ll go out together.”

  A lick of her lips and her wide-eyed flicker of lash promised tomorrow night would be an erotic adventure they would both either regret or relish.

  Chapter Seven

  ALEXANDRE ARRIVED THAT afternoon and Creed greeted him with his usual cold bottle of Michelob. He kept a stash in the crisper drawer of the fridge for his friend. They headed down the hallway.

  “I’ll never understand how you tolerate that piss water,” Creed said as they entered the office.

  Alexandre downed half the bottle and smacked his lips. “Gods’ mead, my man.” He strolled to the sliding glass door and opened it, leaving the screen closed. “It’s hot in this house. Don’t you have air-conditioning?”

  “Having a new system installed next week. The old one broke over the winter while I was in Paris. Bunch of icicles fell into the mechanism and damaged the blades. The waiting list for home installment is insane.”

  “Something even your money can’t buy. Such a domestic life you lead. Must be marriage, eh?”

  “It’s called being responsible. You should give it a try sometime.” Creed slapped him across the back.

  He only teased. Alexandre was responsible with the tribe’s affairs, and if any man deserved to let loose and abandon responsibility, it was Alexandre. He’d suffered at the hands of the werewolves. And in proof, he still bore a long thick scar along his left forearm from having his vein stripped out. Vampires rarely scarred, save for emotionally.

  Creed’s heart held a few scars from wolves. There were reasons he worked the Rescue Project beyond what had happened to Alexandre.

  “You know I’m taking responsibility seriously now with Veronica in my life,” Alexandre said. “I love her.”

  “I’m glad you were able to find someone you can love again.”

  Alexandre nodded, a tilt of his head. He’d lost his wife a hundred years ago in the most vicious way. He’d met Veronica a year ago while on retreat in Paris. The man deserved love. Veronica was good for him.