His idea is possible, I suppose, but I’ve never met a witch or wizard who’s that powerful. Most of them can do what Diane, Dr. Cook’s witchy daughter, does back home. She can cast minor spells and contrive complicated charms, given enough time and the right ingredients… but a witch with mind powers or the ability to cast a complex spell to counter my mind altering? Not likely. Could it be a wizard? They are known to do more mental damage, but the spells are quite intricate, and having no innate elemental powers like those a witch is born with would make it unlikely a wizard could pull it off.
“I don’t think so,” I finally answer. “But, you’re right. It could be an option.”
Paul, our undead head chef, saunters toward us. He’s become a sleeker version of himself, thanks to the liquid diet, and is now able to keep up with his kids and slim wife much easier. He nods to us on his way to the lavatory in the rear of the plane.
After emerging from the tiny room, Paul leans against the bar. “Smooth flying, Rafe.” He brushes a lock of dark wavy hair off his forehead. “Will I ever get to add ‘pilot’ to my growing list of super-cool things I know?”
“Ask Drew to teach you,” Rafe answers with an easy-going smile. “The facilities are better in Alaska, but you could probably start on the basics while in Argentina.”
Paul sighs. “This trip would have been great to share with Bunny. I’m still bummed she and the kids couldn’t come.”
“We don’t know what we’re walking into, Paul,” I say. “Bringing them wouldn’t be wise.”
“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. And why are there only male donors for me, Viv?” At my sly smile, he laughs. “What, you thought I didn’t notice Tommy and Bob were guys?”
“Bunny asked me to make sure you were loyal. No temptations for you while I’m on watch.”
Paul looks stricken as he faces away from the passengers in the cabin and leans in, speaking low. “What happens when the men become tempting?”
“You close your eyes,” I whisper, “think of your wife, and jerk off when they leave.”
The smile is absent from his usual jovial face. He nods like he’s received a death sentence. “Okay.”
I flash him a wink. “There’s also a large supply of donated blood on ice coming with us. You’ll do fine.” I reach out and grab his sleeve before he leaves. “You’re gaining control, Paul. Getting stronger each day. Don’t let the urges get the better of you.”
“Put the shoe on the other foot,” Rafe says. “Would you want Bunny spreading her legs every few days when she got hungry?”
Anger colors the cheeks of the good-humored vampire. “No!”
Rafe drains his glass and stands. “Then keep that anger front and center in your brain when you get horny for another person.” He slaps Paul on the back then moves to the bar.
“How do you do it, Vivian?” Paul asks. “Do you ever crave another lover?”
My mind flashes to Jonathan, my hunky werewolf servant with the compact wrestler’s body who tastes like dark chocolate. I’ve stashed ten pints of his blood for the few months in Argentina. Yum. “You channel it back into passion for your mate. You can’t control what your body craves, but you can control what you do with those cravings.”
His shoulders slump. “Why is it so hard?”
“Most vampires want the sex and the blood together. It’s only as we age we can channel the blood-lust into pure sexual lust.” Beeps and a whir come from microwave in the bar area.
“You mean, someday I might want sex from everyone rather than their blood?”
I laugh. “We’re talking centuries, Paul. And maybe not sex from everyone, but some days it may feel that way.”
“Won’t I still need blood?”
“Of course, but not as much. As time passes our kind can feed from other means, like sexual energy.” My thoughts turn inward, remembering some of the old vampires who fed on fear and pain. When their appetites overtook sanity and too many humans were terrorized, the Tribunal of Ancients would send an enforcer to end their madness. I pull my mind away from those horrible years and pat my fledgling’s cheek. “Trust me, Paul. There are a lot worse things than sex and lust to crave energy from.”
The smell of corned beef wafts our way, teasing me of times long past in Ireland. Rafe sets a large plate holding a Rueben and chips on the cocktail table then eases into the chair. “Paul, thanks for making this for me. It heated perfectly, not soggy.”
Paul smiles at the praise and heads toward his card game. Bob and Tommy look up at his approach and then back to their hands. I wonder what they are wagering to make them so serious.
I lean closer to my husband. “Do you think Bob and Tommy will do okay on the island?”
Rafe nods, swallowing a bite of his sandwich. “They’re good guys. Tommy will make sure everyone stays in line; he’s pretty good at herding cats and managing without being overbearing. And I trust him to anticipate Paul’s needs before Paul does. Bob can help when Paul decides to cook—which you know he will—and maybe work with the gardener during the day.” He swigs another long drink and a few harsh lines of exhaustion soften from his face. “Our main issue will be the housekeeper’s barely-legal daughter, doubling as a maid this year.”
The ends of my lips curl up as I recall the dark, good looks of Rosia. Her eyes snap with life, and she knows exactly how to sway her hips to attract a man’s eye. “Dalton might exert his fatherly protection and insist his daughter work in the gardens with him while we’re in attendance.”
“Last we spoke, he said his wife called her younger twin sisters to help out this season.”
Picturing the women we’ve met before, I can’t help but feel amusement. They’re all as pretty as Dalton’s wife, Flavia, and will provide ample distraction for the two men, not to mention a major temptation for Paul after Rafe and I leave for Buenos Aires alone. Chelly’s light hair and full curves will stand out like a beacon compared to the small-breasted, exotic-looking brunettes.
“Paul might have a hard time resisting Dalton.” My eyes dance with humor, teasing my spouse. “He’s a suave and sexy guy.”
Rafe wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin and tosses the fabric onto the empty plate. “You’ve managed to resist him for almost two decades.” A warm palm lands on my thigh, caressing the leg through linen trousers. “However did you cope?”
Heat fills me, burning a path from Rafe’s hand to my privates. “I’ve got this big stud of a husband I ravish daily. Thankfully, the old man doesn’t need Viagra yet.”
Rafe’s laughter booms across the cabin. The four other passengers glance in our direction, then back to their interests. “All thanks to you, dear—and those magical sips of blood I have every now and then.”
My lids lower, and I gaze at him through my thick lashes. “Surely, it can’t all be just me?”
Rafe leans in, and our lips meet. His soft mouth molds to mine, the tip of his tongue gently begging entrance. I open, and he deepens the kiss, plundering my mouth like a starving man at his first meal in weeks. A throaty growl escapes one of us. Could have been me—I’ve been known to growl once in a while.
A soft, electric tingle enters my mind as my husband telepathically speaks to me through our mate-bond. The day I need a pill to be ready for you is the day you need to shoot me.
Put the old dog out of his misery, eh? You’ll not get rid of me that easily. A warm hand caresses the back of my head and holds me in place while Rafe pillages my mouth. When I hear a throat clearing, I pull back. No need to put on a show. Should we retire to the bedroom?
Rafe ends the kiss and stares into my eyes. Sixty-five years together and you still have to ask? Heat fills his gaze, as a predatory grin curves his lips. Get your ass in there or I’ll pull a cave man and throw you over my shoulder and carry you back.
I rise from the chair and sashay toward the bedroom cabin at the end of the narrow hallway, feeling the burning gaze of my lover on my backside the entire time. The cell phone clippe
d to my waist vibrates, with its usual horrible timing. I answer while opening the privacy door and hear the gruff tones of my werewolf servant across thousands of miles.
“Have you landed?”
In man-speak that means, I’m worried you haven’t called. I try to swallow the humor in my response. “No, we haven’t.”
“What’s the hold up? Problem at one of the refueling spots or weather?”
A sigh escapes me as I climb onto the queen-sized bed and recline against the upholstered headboard. A feral look in his eyes, Rafe closes the door with his foot, hands already pulling off his shirt.
“You guessed it,” I say. “We hit several storms, and the winds were against us.”
A muffled “hrmph” reaches me from the other end of the line and I stare at the flesh slowly revealed by my spouse. The hard sculpted planes of his chest slip into view, and he tosses the shirt at my face—his not so subtle hint to get off the phone.
Rafe stretches his arms over his head, bending at the elbows to avoid hitting the aircraft’s low ceiling and then leans right and left working his cramped muscles. God, that man has delicious abs. Saliva fills my mouth at the thought of licking the hard stomach ridges.
“The werewolves will be landing in two hours.”
What? Oh yeah, I’m still on the damn phone. Jon’s referring to the inn’s summer guests, who plan to hunt Alaska’s native game during their stay. The upcoming arrival must be what triggered his call; he’ll be tied up for the rest of the day. Rafe reaches for the button on his pants, and I track every movement of his supple fingers. “Good. Any last minute questions for me, Jon?”
“No. Our mind connection is getting fuzzy. I can’t feel much of you in my head.”
“I think it’s the distance.” He should count himself lucky—I doubt he’d want to see my husband getting naked. Then again, knowing Jon’s conflicted emotions regarding Rafe and me, he just might enjoy the view. “You’ll do fine this summer. We’re only a phone call away if you need us.”
“Yeah, and including stops, you’re over a full day via plane. I’m not reassured. And for the record, it’s not me and the pups I’m worried about—or even Asa, for that matter.”
Jon loves teasing Pat and Eric, our new permanent werewolf members, by calling them pups. Makes the two grown men squirm in their desires to correct him—but both are pretty smart and resist his goading well. “I’ll be fine, Jon.”
“This is your first year in seven without me there. What if you need me?”
Rafe’s vampire-sharp hearing listens to both ends of the conversation. He snorts his disagreement on the likelihood of needing Jon and thrusts his jeans down past his hips, taking his tight boxer briefs with them.
My mouth dries at the sight of my husband in all his aroused glory. I clear my throat to hurry the phone call along. “This year we’ve got Drew and Paul here. Things will work out.”
Rafe steps out of his clothing and leaps onto the bed, straddling my body. His muscular arms bracket my torso propped against the headboard, and the heat of his breath fans my cheek.
“Okay, gotta go. I’ll call you when we land.”
“Wai—”
I click off the phone and toss it to the floor before wrapping my arms around the man I love more than anything in the world, including my own semi-immortality.
Chapter Two
Jonathan
The line drops. I can picture, all too well, why Vivian ended the call—a half-naked Rafe. Her husband distracts her way too easily. My worry of being so far from the couple’s side grows, gnawing at my stomach.
Will he be quick enough, strong enough, observant enough to protect her and keep them safe in Argentina? I should be there to make sure her enemies don’t get to her at a weak moment. A sigh escapes me as I slip the thin cell into my flannel shirt pocket. Time will tell—but for her sake, I hope they made a smart choice.
An ache in my chest has me knuckling a fist and rubbing a sharp circle. The sound of banging pots and pans pulls my attention from the quiet foyer to the activity in the dining room. Eric and Pat, balancing loads of cookware, move toward the side door leading to the hot tub grotto.
“What the hell are you two doing?”
Pat looks at me—his crooked nose hanging over an infectious grin. “Dude, we’re setting up a cooking station by the spas. Good idea, right? It’ll be a great party spot for the Weres.”
A glance out the window reveals they’ve already set up a large drum-like grill and three folding tables. I love the thought of grilling outside now that the weather is bearable—not warm, but not below freezing all the time either. I grunt my approval. “You won’t need all the pasta pots and such. They’ll be easier to use on the stove in here.”
“Jerry lent us a grill station with three gas burners. We’re setting that up next.”
I nod, suppressing a laugh as Eric’s broad shoulders ease sideways to squeeze through the doorway with his arms loaded full of supplies.
“Fine. But take care of everything yourselves. And no drunken cooking mishaps like last month, understood?”
Pat’s face sobers at the memory of burning half their cabin’s kitchen after passing out while boiling water. A Were has got to be pretty damn drunk not to wake up at the smell of melting cookware. Thankfully, they came to when the flames started and put out the fire before they lost any of their limited possessions.
“Yes, sir,” Pat says in a serious tone. “Count on it.”
I can never tell if the crafty little bastard’s telling me what his new alpha wants to hear, or if he’s genuine. Next time I catch the bugger in a lie, I’m going to pound on him a bit so he knows I won’t take his irresponsible behavior like many before me. Eric has a harder time lying to my face and comes clean when caught. I think watching a whoop-ass session will work fine for him.
I shudder realizing the implication of my thoughts. My musings seem, dare I say, permanent in their tone. Christ, the little fuckers are growing on me.
Wanting to push any complex concepts out of my brain, I follow my ears toward the back of the kitchen where the buzz of a Sawzall rips the air. Dirt and dust on the once-clean tile floor scratch under my step. Maybe it is best not to cook in here for a while. Good thing werewolves aren’t picky and will probably gorge themselves while in wolf form, if they catch anything.
I open the door to the small storage room next to the walk-in freezer and weave past the pushed-aside metal shelves and stacked boxes. Temporary work lights on hooks hang from the ceiling and illuminate the windowless space to a near-blinding brightness.
Asa angles the power tool blade through the exposed subfloor plywood. Within a week, the new spiral staircase leading into the basement command center should be completed. Framing a secure closet around the stairwell and installing locks will be the tedious part. But now, it’s time for demolition. I rub my hands together, ready for some good, old-fashion destruction. Glad I didn’t miss it.
The whine of the jagged saw shuts down when the young vampire sees me. “You need something, Jon?”
“Yeah, I came to help with demo. Where are the sledgehammers? Don’t we get to bust through beams and shit?”
Asa’s stoic face doesn’t crack at my attempt of humor. “If you want to ruin the structure and create more expense to repair the damage, sure. But this isn’t a wall we’re tearing down—we’re building inside a room we’d like to keep intact.”
“Just kidding, man.” I smile at his deadpan look. Guess my joking is lost on the undead bastard. “Did you clear the drywall and insulation from the basement side, and check for wires and pipes before you started cutting? Oh, and remember to turn off the power in that section?”
“No, I’m a complete idiot who didn’t build out the entire command center and five basement rooms with you this past winter.”
“Good. Glad to see you only need to cut through live wires once to learn your lesson.”
Asa gives me a flat stare and raises one eyebrow toward the s
mooth bald expanse of his shaved head. “Can I get back to work, now?”
“Wait—did you print the file on the new arrivals for me?”
“Yeah. It’s on the kitchen table in Rafe and Viv’s apartment.”
We’ve been using the suite in their absence, and I’m debating on temporarily moving in when the guests are here. I wouldn’t have to trek from my cabin in the woods every morning.
I curb the longing to smash my bare hands through the subfloor Asa’s cutting. The release of strength and call to action would drain the tension coiled in me… but might reveal my frustration from being away from her. Apparently, the eight-mile run this morning wasn’t enough. God, I feel a syringe of adrenaline pricking at muscles below the skin, just waiting for the right moment to explode into movement.
I exit the construction site and enter the couple’s apartment via the key-carded security door located in the rear of the kitchen.
The warm tones and bright jewel colors accenting the living room always projects a warm welcome. The scent of the happy lovers wraps around me, pummeling my gut with a boxer’s right jab. Damn, I miss them. Our mind connection had strengthened since the hunt, but weakened when they were a few hours away on the plane.
Could I push and try to reach her? Should I? I need a break from them, mentally, but losing complete touch with her, even for a few minutes, makes me queasy. After I almost died when Vikram attacked me in the gym months ago, they’ve brought me much closer. I feel what they feel when they look at and think of me. They love me, and in Rafe’s case, he hates me a little, too. I can’t blame him, after all, for years I wished him dead and wanted his wife for myself.
When I pledged my loyalty to Vivian over seven years ago, I never expected any relationship between the three of us to evolve. That’s what I get for jumping in with both feet without a backward glance. Granted, at the time, I was hoping she wasn’t too attached to her human husband, but that didn’t prove to be the case.
While sinking onto the cushy couch, I grab Vivian’s favorite lap blanket, bringing the soft red knit to my nose. Images of our trio relaxing for another of Rafe’s movie marathons fill my head. It took over two months until I felt comfortable joining the love birds on the couch, previously isolating myself on the chair closer to the TV.
Big Game (The V V Inn, Book 3) Page 2
