by Michele Hauf
“As to business…” His second in command tossed a brown file folder onto the desk. “Here it is.”
Inside the folder Creed found a few pages detailing phone records and GPS surveillance notations. And a color photo.
“Ugly sucker, isn’t he?” Alexandre commented.
The werewolf pictured was talking to someone out of the frame, pointing a beefy arm as if giving directions. His muscles bulged grossly out of a shirt that barely covered his oversize pecs.
“Do wolves do steroids?” Creed asked. “That is just hideous.”
How could Blu favor something so overtly muscle-bound? The wolf was bald, which lent further credence to possible steroid use. Hadn’t she said she liked her men hairy?
“I verified he’s with the Northern pack,” Alexandre commented, tipping back the rest of his beer. “But here’s the freaky thing. A new pack out of the west has been creeping toward the Twin Cities area. Headed by Dean Maverick. Ryan has been very close to them. Packs don’t usually shake hands and play buddy-buddy.”
“Much like the vampire tribes,” Creed affirmed.
“Right, so why does the information track Ryan to the Western pack six times over the past month?”
“You put someone on him to continue the track?”
“Yep.”
Creed read the information page. Ryan was a last name. His first?
Oh, this got better and better.
“Eugene?”
Alexandre confirmed with a smirk.
“I didn’t think packs are interrelated,” Creed said. “Blu mentioned Ryan is the pack’s scion, next in line after her father. If Amandus Masterson knew his scion was chumming up with the Western pack he’d have the dog’s head in a vise.”
“From the little I know about pack politics that chummy situation would be a rarity. About as rare as the females. You sure she said she was promised to the guy? Maybe she was going behind daddy’s back, having an affair?”
“Maybe.” Had he heard Blu wrong? Possible. She cooed so sweetly when she talked about the lover.
The bald, beefy, ‘roid-addicted lover.
Creed had stood before many a man who’d towered over him and mastered him in physicality and bulk. Yet he rarely lost a battle when properly armed both physically and mentally.
But wolves were a different foe. When in were form—shaped as a man—the vampire and wolf were an equal match. But should his opponent shift to werewolf form—half man, half beast—all bets were off. Then the vampire had to utilize cunning to enhance his lacking brawn. And pray he had a good supply of silver. The silver needed to enter the wolf’s bloodstream to do damage.
Thank the gods, or Blu would be dead right now.
Creed made a mental note to alter the wards this evening to accommodate his wife.
“You ever consider she could be a spy?”
Creed’s head shot up at that question.
“I’m just saying, man. We have our spies. They could have theirs. And what better way to infiltrate a tribe than by putting a spy right next to their leader.”
“I…don’t think she is. I always find her either out sunning herself or listening to tunes in the theater. Clothing and chatting with her friends are the princess’s pastimes. She is incapable of espionage.”
“Could be an act. It’s something to keep at the back of your mind. Be careful, Creed.”
“You know I always am. So how are things with the tribe?” Creed tossed the file onto the desk and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “I feel so ineffectual having to step down for a few weeks while I settle into this marriage.”
“Chill, man, I have everything under control. I’ve got Revin Parker keeping an eye on the sporting warehouses. And the dissention in Russia with one of our splinter tribes has already been contained. We’re replacing Novachek with that German guy, Einer.”
“Fine choice for a leader. Good work, Alexandre. Will I have a job when I wish to return?”
Alexandre smirked and waggled a brow.
“That’s what I thought. When the cat’s away…And the rescue operation? No word of any forthcoming blood matches?”
“I’ve got my man Revin on it. Haven’t heard a thing, but as always, we’re prepared to move at the drop of a hat.”
“Good. Don’t hesitate to call me when you learn of a match.”
“You know I won’t. So where’s the wifey today? Thought I’d get a glance at that wild green hair.”
“She’s sunning herself, as usual.” Creed nodded toward the patio door, but Alexandre was already there, peeking out and around the corner. “You stare too long and I’ll have to throttle you. Out of principle, of course.”
“Of course.” Alexandre stepped inside. “Because a vamp shouldn’t care less about a werewolf, right? Her hair’s blue today.”
“You haven’t seen the violet wig. It’s positively lush.”
“Lush? Creed, my man! Doesn’t sound like a word a man in hate would use. You falling for the dog?”
“She’s not a dog,” he answered too quickly. Alexandre’s brow lifted in disbelief. “At least, I haven’t noticed any wolfish behavior from her. She’s quite humane, and not at all hairy.” He delivered Alexandre a smug grin.
“Yeah, but wait until the full moon comes.”
“Did you come up with details about that?”
He’d asked Alexandre to find as much information on the female werewolf as possible without going to the Council. He didn’t want them thinking he was uneducated about the wolves, though he was, regarding their females.
He hadn’t avoided werewolves over the centuries, but all contact had resulted in drawing their blood. A man couldn’t take the time to study them when always engaged in combat with one of them. He did know their methods of battle, however. They liked to herd away the weaklings and slaughter them first.
But that was all medieval knowledge. Though the wolves hadn’t evolved much over the centuries, there were now no full-out battles or wars like in the good old days. Pity.
And after the hunts in the 1950s the vampires had expected the wolves to become extinct. But they were a hearty breed, no matter the challenges the vampires pressed upon them.
“There’s little information about the female,” Alexandre said. “And we lost our pack snitch right after I got the info on Ryan for you. Sorry. But I think I have a good lead on a new one. Why don’t you ask the wifey for information?”
“I’ve tried. She likes to dance around things. Never gives a straight answer. And when she does, it’s usually a lie. She’s still nervous around me. I’ll give her time.”
“Moon’s full soon. You should prepare if, well, preparation is necessary.”
“Right. Do try to establish that new snitch, will you? The information the former had been giving us was invaluable. What the hell happened to him?”
“Er…” Alexandre eyed the floor.
“Again?”
If anyone had a good reason to hate the werewolves it was Alexandre. It had only been nine months since Creed had rescued him from a blood match. Made it difficult for him to work with the snitches. A single withheld bit of evidence or sarcastic comment, and Alexandre liked to rip out the wolf’s heart through its chest.
Blood directly from the heart was quite delicious. But again, rather medieval.
Hell, who was he to judge? Had a week of domesticity already softened his bloodlust?
“I hope you burned the body.”
“Taken care of,” Alexandre replied. “Sorry, man. It’s hard to forget sometimes.”
“No apologies necessary. So I’ve been thinking we need to contact Truvin Stone’s wife. Lucy is her name. She heads a paranormal debunking agency out of Venice.”
“What for?”
“Because they do excellent public relations and work with the mortal news stations. I want to expect peace, but know to prepare for chaos in the coming weeks. If anything untoward should occur between the werewolves and vampires we’re
going to need spin in place.” “Good thinking.”
“That is why I’m the leader, and you’re not.” Alexandre conceded with a smiling nod.
WITH HER BACK AGAINST the mansion’s outer wall and one foot propped on the stucco, Blu listened outside the screen door. The men’s voices grew softer as they walked down the hall toward the front of the house.
She’d seen Alexandre gaping at her from around the corner. He was the vamp who’d stood next to Creed during the wedding ceremony. Another male who wasn’t blatantly handsome but irrepressibly sexy.
And he liked beer. One point for that vampire.
Sliding the screen door open, she slipped inside Creed’s office. She’d wrapped a blue gossamer sari around her waist after sunning herself, and now the fabric caught on the doorknob, jerking her backward.
“So stealth, Blu.”
She unhooked herself and tiptoed into the room.
She didn’t have to look long or hard to find something of interest. A plain brown folder lay on a desk that was bare except for a closed MacBook. Thought the vamp didn’t do technology?
Briefly, she wondered if her cell phone was in his desk drawer. She wouldn’t look. It had been a fair trade.
She touched the corner of the file folder with one finger, sliding it to face her.
Glancing toward the open door leading into the hallway, she listened fiercely. The front door closed.
She must be quick.
Inside the folder was a photo of Ryan. “Not a very flattering shot.” He looked like a nightclub bouncer whenever he wore those shirts with the sleeves cut off. She did attempt to get him to dress more subtly than his usual redneck garb.
But who was she kidding? Ryan would never get into manscaping.
Closing the folder, she shook her head. “He’s checking up on me. What did I expect?”
All was fair in…“War,” she muttered, feeling the venom muster.
Strolling the room, she eyed the shelf of books on the wall near the door. History, mostly, save the volume of Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus.
“Seriously? Why, Lord Saint-Pierre, you do surprise.”
Twisting her hips to shimmy the skirt—it was weighted around the hem with beadwork—she savored the sweep of fabric across her bare legs. She then noticed the massive battle sword hung on the wall opposite the desk.
“Interesting. I wonder if it’s his.”
The handle was wrapped with worn black leather. There were symbols etched along the blade and inlaid curlicues of—Blu hissed as a touch burned her fingertip.
“Silver,” she said, and sucked on the tip of her finger.
And the weapon had definitely seen use. Against werewolves?
“Snooping?”
At the booming voice, Blu jumped and let out a chirp.
Creed stood in the doorway. Filled the doorway, actually. Those broad shoulders made her wonder if he’d wielded the sword on the wall. The stubble on his chin had darkened and grown up below his bottom lip, darkening the sexy cleft. He’d also started a mustache. It added a rugged macho touch she couldn’t deny.
He entered and she stepped back, fearful of what he might do, having caught her out. His gaze swept the room and landed on the file folder—not in the same position he’d left it.
“I was tanning, and thought to explore the property. Your door was open, so—”
“So you decided to snoop.”
She shrugged. “Just gathering information on the husband. Kinda like you’re doing with the wife.” He tracked her gaze to the folder. “Nice sword.”
“It’s a battle sword.”
He took it from the hooks, swung an arc behind him and brought the tip under her chin. Blu chirped again.
“When I was mortal,” he said, “I served the Capetian kings. Two of them. They were my feudal lords. I went into battle at their command, and in turn received land to plow.”
“D-did you have a family?”
“My lord had decided I was more valuable swinging a sword than tupping a woman and chasing after younglings, so I was denied that privilege.”
“You mean the feudal lords could tell people what to do back then?”
“Oh, yes. They owned the entire village, and every man, woman and child in it. So I fought, because I enjoyed it.”
“And your lord gave you this sword?”
“Oh, no. We were forced to procure our own weapons and armor. The set I owned was dented and rusting, a hand-me-down from my father. During one particular battle, I strayed from the vanguard and ran across a werewolf. Never seen one of those before. It wielded a sword—this sword.
“I fought for my life, not knowing what kind of hell-forsaken creature dug its talons into my flesh. Somehow, I ended up defeating the thing.”
He met her eyes. Blu cast him a wondrous gaze.
“I still look back and wonder how it happened. Dumb luck is the only answer I can come up with. I cut its head off with this sword.”
She dropped her fascination. “The wolf’s sword had silver in it?”
“That was something I added later.” Creed reverently smoothed his fingers over the inlaid design. “There were vampires in the woods watching me that night. It was less than a fortnight later that I joined them. And not by choice.”
“I see. They saw in you a wolf slayer and weren’t about to lose that prize.”
“Exactly.”
“Tough luck, sounds like to me. But you got to keep the sword.”
“I wielded it in battle through six centuries. Wolfsbane.”
“Wh-what?”
“The name of my sword.” He glided the tip along the bottom of her blue wig. “Wolfsbane.”
“No kidding?” She pressed her fingers over the blade and shoved it away. “You kill many more wolves with that thing?”
He relented. “Hundreds.”
“Yeah, I bet you savored every bloody cut, too.”
“I did. The act of swinging this blade and spilling wolf blood onto the ground is in my very DNA. It is the most natural thing.”
Reality crashed upon Blu with daggers to her heart. And she had begun to think this pairing would actually work?
The man had slain hundreds of her kind. No matter how long ago it had been, or how refined he appeared now, inside Creed Saint-Pierre’s blood flowed with the kind of vengeance that would allow him to take another man’s life.
Another wolf’s life.
She couldn’t look at him. A horrible yet familiar pain twisted in her gut. He was like all the other testosterone-laced bullies she’d thought she had escaped.
Stupid werewolf princess. Did you think you could really be free?
When Blu made to leave he thrust the flat of the blade against her stomach. “We’re not done talking. I asked if you were snooping. Did you look in the file?”
“Of course I did. Spy much?”
“Merely ensuring all enemies are accounted for.”
Like some kind of battle lord. She’d discounted his mettle too quickly. And she was beginning to think she was in over her head. “I thought we were doing the peace thing here?”
“You tell me.” Sweeping the sword around his back, Creed stepped into her personal space. He towered over her, a formidable presence who could command with a look. “Let’s establish a truce, shall we?”
“Like you don’t spy on me and I won’t snoop on you?”
“And seal it with a kiss.”
Kiss the enemy? Surrender to the one who wielded a freakin’ sword named Wolfsbane?
Blu glanced aside. Her hands shook and she clutched at her skirt to hide it. The pack relied on her to play this through. And much as she hated her father, she had equal determination to get away from his control. The control all men wished to force upon her.
But most of all, she was no quitter.
“Put the blade away first,” she said.
Creed drew up the sword and inspected the blade down the center, a master of battle checking the blood groove
for remnants of lives taken. With a satisfied nod, he replaced it on the wall.
Blu stood in his arms before she could realize he’d taken her from her feet. She stubbed a bare toe against his shoe, and wobbled. A firm hand across her back secured her. The string on her bikini top slipped high. It wouldn’t take much to pop the small triangles of fabric from her breasts.
“Truce?” he prompted, his eyes taking note of the tiny bits of fabric. Blu recognized the lust that hungered there. She was too nervous to toy with it though.
Pressing her hands to his chest, more to stabilize her weakening mien, Blu nodded. “Truce.”
They kissed urgently, the killer of werewolves claiming his battle prize with a masterful stroke of command. And even as the sword glinted in her peripheral view, Blu could not deny him the spoils.
His mouth opened to invite her and she slid her tongue against his. Crash. Take me deeper. Following the race of her heart, Blu’s breaths quickened. He crushed her body to his, and she stood on tiptoe to stay there.
With his thumb, he brushed the side of her breast, teasing at the bikini string. She prayed it would not come undone. She hoped it would.
Blu liked to feel overpowered. Controlled. Taken.
Rather, she was used to the feeling.
But it was different when Creed held her. Though he did overwhelm her, she felt a certain safety in his arms. She needn’t fear harm from him, or a raging tantrum. He would master her as he saw fit, but he would not force her to submit.
The realization sparked a wondrous sigh from her.
“You are happy with a truce?” he said against her mouth.
“Momentarily.”
“I’ll take that.”
Chapter Eight
FOR THE EVENING’S ADVENTURE Blu chose an appropriate bloodred wig. It was shaved short and bouncy at the back with long chunks that veed to points at the corners of her jaw in front. Bettie bangs finished the bloodsucker look.
A punky black leather corset dress hugged her body. Dozens of buckles gathered down one side and along the tight suede skirt.
