Her Vampire Husband (6 page)

Blu spooned in a load of sugary sweetness. Milk
trickled down her chin and she swiped it off with the back of her hand.

This time she sensed his arrival before the kitchen door swung inside.

“Morning, darling,” she offered coquettishly.

Blu admonished her inner flirt. She’d come so close to kissing him last night. If he hadn’t smelled like blood, she would have.

Good save. Way to stay in control.

Mostly. The dude didn’t have to know what had gone on behind closed doors.

Dressed impeccably, as usual, Creed wore another Armani suit, unbuttoned to reveal a slice of shirt that matched the whites of his eyes. The shirt, too, was unbuttoned, exposing a patch of pale flesh. Diamond cuff links advertised his wealth.

Blu had no idea how rich the man was, but much richer than her family was, she felt sure. The pack compound might be larger, but this mansion had all the luxury goods. Marble floors, gold faucets, high-thread-count sheets and plasma TVs.

A girl should take advantage of her new bank account. She was his wife, after all. And didn’t wives have access to all of their husband’s cash?

“Sleep well last night?” he asked.

“Blissful,” she answered, then caught his knowing smirk.

What was that about?

Morning paper in hand, Creed eyed the massive bowl of cereal. “Why don’t you pour the milk in the box and eat it that way?”

“Oh, ha-ha. The vampire made a funny.”

He sat before the table, across from her, and smoothed the paper neatly before him. “You eat a lot.”

“Worried I’m going to get fat on you?”

“I suspect you run it off. How far do you run every day?”

“I’m guessing I’m getting about ten miles doing your estate five times in a circle.”

“I could get you a treadmill.”

“Oh, right. Why don’t you get me a leash, too?” She chomped a huge bite, milk trailing down her chin again. “And while you’re at it, a special room with all my chew toys and a doggie bed.”

“I didn’t mean to offend, Blu. Though you seem to take offense at the drop of a hat,” he muttered.

Blu sneered mockingly.

He looked up from the paper and zoomed in on her chin. He made a brushing gesture over his own chin.

Blu tried to lick away the dribble of milk but in the process sprayed out a pink kernel of cereal. It rolled across the paper and landed near Creed’s finger.

The vampire stared at the cereal and the wet trail drawn across his immaculate paper. Blu could sense his anger;

it smelled acrid. Bet the man had never had his life upset. Bet he called all the shots. Tribe leaders were like that, all in control and in charge. Or so she imagined.

On the other hand, the leaders she was accustomed to liked upset, chaos and mayhem. Hmm…well, if he was of that nature, the guy hid it well.

He flicked the cereal piece and it pinged the bowl and soared onto the floor.

“No points for you,” Blu said. “Want to go for a goal?” She displayed a pink puff between her fingers.

That got a smile from him. Pleased with her attempt to crack his hard armor, Blu popped the cereal into her mouth.

“So what do you do for fun, Creed? If we’re going to do this marriage thing right we have to
do
things. Like go out dancing or clubbing.”

“I abhor the raucous scene and find the stuff that qualifies for music nowadays considerably lacking.”

“Figured as much. I suppose a game of chess at the local fencing club is more your speed?”

“How about sailing?”

“Seriously?”

“No. I’m not keen on open water.”

“Nor am I. But you had me for a second there. One point for the vampire. So what
have
you done, in all your centuries, to have fun?”

He folded the paper and set it aside. The white shirt
enhanced his European bone structure. He was not overtly handsome, but every time Blu looked at him she saw something new to wonder over.

Today it was his chin, darkened with fine stubble. The slightest cleft drew her eye. The indentation was as wide as her smallest finger, a place a girl could dip her tongue for a taste.

If the girl wanted a taste. Which she didn’t. Not at all.

“Fun?” He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. Then, he leaned forward, moving himself into her space. Was that enthusiasm in his expression? “In the fourteenth century I used to steal armor from the opposing troops then set their barracks on fire.”

“And that was fun?”

“It was. At the end of the sixteenth century was the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre. Killed a good number of Huguenots in that.” He settled back and eyed her narrowly. “You feel a bit like a Huguenot after that charade of a wedding ceremony?”

“I’m not following.”

“The Catholics and the Huguenots—or Protestants, if you prefer—came together for the marriage of Henri of Navarre to Marie de Médicis. Two opposing forces wed in hopes of uniting the religions. Much like we were wed.”

“Right. But you said it resulted in massacre?”

“Yes.” Creed tapped the paper absently. “Catherine de
Médicis, along with her son King Charles IX, ordered the Huguenots slaughtered.”

“You think that’s what will come of our marriage? A slaughter between the nations?”

“I hope not, Blu.” He looked aside, then dismissing the dread topic, offered gaily, “I’ve had plenty of fun. In the eighteenth century there were the opera and salons. Salacious gossip was bantered about. Lives and destinies were created, changed and destroyed with a mere word or an exquisitely biting twist of phrase.”

“I’ve always had a passion for the eighteenth century. Paris. I like the big poufy dresses and the sexy frock coats the men used to wear. Man, do I love a fop!”

“Really?” His eyes softened and he spread his fingers on the table, not far from the milk trail. “That was a comfort time for me. I used to wear damask and velvet frock coats. Alençon lace and diamonds at my wrists and jabot. Nothing but the finest to attract the ladies.”

“I bet you attracted them far and wide.”

“I shouldn’t say so, but…well, yes. This fop had his choice of women.”

“You’re not so foppish now.”

“I’ve worn many costumes over the centuries. I find my current situation the most comfortable, though I often long for the medieval times when battles were fierce and bloody and wenches were, well…submissive.”

“You men and your attraction to a submissive woman. Ugh. So much testosterone.” She stabbed her spoon into the cereal. “Were you ever in love, Creed?”

“Never.”

“Come on. Not even a little bit? You’ve had, what, nine centuries to fall in love?”

“As you have said, love isn’t real. It’s only for losers of the game. I prefer lust and instant gratification.”

She could so get behind the instant—and self—gratification.

“Sex, too?” she prompted.

“Lots of it. With the most beautiful women.”

“Did you bite them all?”

“Not always.”

“Huh. So vampires can have sex without biting?”

“We can control those urges, yes. Did you expect we were nothing but lust-crazed blood-hungry creatures?”

“No.” She sat back, her appetite fulfilled after half a box of cereal. “Yes. Maybe. I’ve not spent time with vampires. I can only go by what I’ve been taught. Living with the pack, you can imagine the talk I overhear about longtooths.”

“I hope to change your mind. And to remove that horrible slang term from your vocabulary.”

Longtooth? Yeah, it was horrible. But so was a vampire calling her breed
dogs.

“Fair enough. And maybe I can change your mind about werewolves.”

“You already have, Blu.”

“One point for the werewolf!” She lifted the bowl and tilted it back, swallowing the pink milk. “I love cereal.”

“I noticed.”

“I think I’ll go for some Count Chocula next time, what do you think?” She waggled her brows at him.

“If it gives you a twisted thrill, do as you must. You’ve—” He brushed his chin again.

Blu slurped her tongue out to lick the sweetness. “Love me or leave me, Creed, this is how I am. Messy and colorful.”

“And turned up to eleven.”

“You know it.”

When he nodded, as if to grudgingly accept her, she decided that was better than she’d expected of him. At least he wasn’t telling her what to do. And that gave him more points than the scoreboard could handle.

“So about those diamonds you used to flash for the ladies,” she said. “Betcha they cost you a pretty penny. You think you could front your wife some cash to go shopping? What’s yours is mine, yeah?”

“I don’t see a problem with that. I’ll call my accountant and arrange for a credit card in your name.”

Pleased with the snag, Blu wiggled appreciatively on
the chair. “That was easy. I promise I won’t go overboard. I mean, I’m not into diamonds. The choker I wore at the wedding was rhinestone. Good enough for me. But I do like shoes.”

“Do as you wish with it. Buy an entire rainbow of wigs, if you must.”

She pumped her fist triumphantly. “Score.”

“Back to your idea for us to do something together. What do you say to a night on the town?” he proposed. “A fine restaurant and then a walk in the park?”

“Sounds far too romantic for this old married couple.”

“Sounds like the perfect means to get to know one another better. We should learn our lines for those who wish to observe our progress. Shall we say seven?”

“I suppose it’s the closest I’ll get you to letting your hair down and living it up. Should I dress up?”

“I did say a fine restaurant. Which may mean not quite so colorful.”

“You don’t like orange?” she said of her latest wig selection.

“It’s not one of your better colors.”

She pouted.

“I prefer the violet.” His smile was so charming that Blu was inclined to believe him.

H
ALFWAY THROUGH HER JOG
around the estate, Blu paused at the fence and shoved aside the overgrown hornbeam vines. She’d not shifted to wolf form this afternoon—her usual running shape—because she needed to do something.

Her wolf could only stay cooped up for so long. She needed the wide-open fields beyond Creed’s estate. As well, the wolf was drooling for a lope through the nearby forest. And something might come up that would require she leave the estate on more than two feet.

By observing the crews of wolves and vamps camped out front, she’d learned they took breaks on alternate shifts. Around four in the afternoon, both factions were trading shifts, which left the estate unwatched for about twenty minutes.

She’d always wondered what it would be like to be a
celebrity for twenty-four hours, having the press drooling over every tidbit of her life. Now she’d changed her mind. This was plain ridiculous. Who cared what she was doing? And could they actually get shots of her with those cameras?

She didn’t need to avoid the snoops; she just preferred doing this out of their interest. They couldn’t sight her at the back of the property. She hoped.

Pushing aside the wide glossy leaves, she grabbed the cool iron fencing. A weird vibration hummed through her fingers and at her wrist. Not like electricity, but almost like the vibrations Blu felt when Bree used sidhe magic.

Something mechanical clicked.

Blu startled, releasing the fence. Her T-shirt tugged across her stomach, as if someone pulled it from the side. The hot burn of metal grazed her skin.

Stumbling backward, she landed on her butt, legs sprawled and arms catching her from a complete backward body slam into the grass.

“What the hell?”

Lifting her shirt, she studied the torn fabric. A red burn mark slashed across her stomach. It hadn’t cut skin but the abrasion stung. Something had come close to doing some serious damage.

“Damn, that stings. Feels like…” A substance she didn’t want to consider.

Crawling forward, she cautiously searched the grass, being careful not to get too close to the fence again. Touching the fence had activated something. She’d thought it sidhe just moments ago, but that made little sense.

A ward? Possible. The vampire would very likely have his land warded as a means to security.

“Would have been nice if he’d told his wife about that.”

Though they could do physical harm, wards were usually invisible. Yet she’d felt something solid touch her. And it had burned her flesh. Inspection of her stomach showed an abrasion, though the skin hadn’t been torn.

A glint of silver on the ground attracted her. She reached for it but pulled back before touching it.

“A silver dart? Is that some kind of joke?”

No wonder, despite it not opening flesh, it burned liked a mother. She’d have to douse the abrasion with alcohol to see that no trace of silver remained on her skin.

She prodded the deadly thing with her running shoe.

“Silver. Which means this ward is specific for werewolves. Lovely. Forget Green Acres, I’m a prisoner at Stalag Vampire. The hubby is so going to hear about this one.”

T
HE WEREWOLF PRINCESS
of the wild hair colors and revealing clothing could do subtle well. Almost too well
after she’d trained him to look forward to her sexy exposed curves.

The clingy black velvet dress rose to the base of Blu’s neck and plunged to her knees. Her arms and lower legs were the only part revealed. Even the back was covered. Unfortunate. Creed would enjoy a lingering study over that tattoo.

Tonight’s wig was snow-white. She preferred the chin-length style that emphasized her fine bone structure and sensual red lips. Was it the thick lashes or the dark eye shadow that kept his attention straying to those gorgeous gray eyes?

All in all, understated glamour, he decided. The only thing she needed was a string of pearls to fit with the silver-screen Hollywood types. But this was Minnesota, and she would stand out, silver screen or not.

The restaurant was so exclusive he’d had to offer the maître d’ a large tip to secure a table on short notice. It was worth it. Creed had not accrued billions to let it spoil in a dusty bank vault.

Blu hadn’t surprised him this morning by asking for money. It bothered him little to give her a credit card. Again, why let it rot in a bank? Even if the princess could shop a blue streak, she’d never dent his finances. And if she brought home more of those sexy next-to-nothings like he’d caught her in the other night, then all the better.

They were served; Blu had actual food, and he a snifter of Armagnac. Blu questioned the waiter about the silverware. No, it was not real silver, he apologized dourly. The answer pleased her. Though Creed noticed she then pressed a palm over her gut and winced. Hmm…

The waiter pulled the gauzy white tent closed to conceal their booth from other tented booths in the airy dining room. Kissing booths, they were called. The restaurant was famous for surprise wedding proposals and, as well, notorious for dramatic breakups, all within the not-so-private-as-one-would-wish gauzy tents.

A swallow of brandy warmed Creed from the inside out. In keeping with the theme of the restaurant, he intended to earn a kiss by the end of the meal. This marriage, sham that it was, had best start making progress sooner rather than later. He had no intention of failing the Council’s expectations—until it was necessary he did so.

Kisses were not required, only a mutual companionship—and a bite—but he felt a kiss now and then certainly couldn’t hinder their effort to compromise.

“You’re sure you don’t mind watching me eat?” she said, a forkful of lemon chicken lingering near her bloodred lips.

“Not at all. I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who so heartily attacks her food. It’s exciting.”

“Don’t tell me my gluttony turns you on.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Okay, you’re just weird, vampire. But I can dig it. Watch this.” She forked in a piece of chicken dotted with capers and closed her eyes to savor.

“I remember capers,” Creed said. “A Greek delicacy. Very tart. Do you know they are actually unopened flower buds?”

“I do. Imagine that. Eating pickled flowers. So decadent.”

“You like decadence.”

“I do, but I don’t get nearly enough of it. The pack compound was more redneck beer and bruisers than nightclub fun, you know?”

Another forkful of dinner passed her lips. A drop of lemon sauce dribbled down her chin, which she skillfully mastered with a dab of napkin.

“I bet,” she said, “despite your need to appear refined, you have some very decadent moments.”

“I’ve been known to debauch and indulge with the best of them. That eighteenth century was a good one.”

“But no longer? Now you’ve retired from the raucous and prefer to wither away in your big old estate?”

“Your presumptions of my social life are all wrong, Blu. If it is decadence you crave, I can give you that.”

“Really? But that would require…”

He waited for her to summon the truth of them. Five
days married and they were still no closer than they had been that first night. Perhaps more comfortable around each other, but the divide between them gaped.

“That we get along?” he provided.

“We do get along.” A sweep of crusty French bread through the lemon sauce occupied her. “Much better than I expected we would.” She stroked her stomach again, making a sour face, but dismissed it quickly. “I still barely know you. To do so I need some basic details.”

“Such as?”

“Hmm, okay, basics. Let’s start with some fun get-to-know-you questions. What’s your favorite car?”

“BMW, all the way. Though I’ve a Bugatti in Paris.”

“Hmm, you like to go fast, spend the big bucks and be recognized for your taste.”

“All that just from my choice of vehicle?”

“Yep. I like Hummers. They’re so masculine.”

For a woman who claimed exhaustion from the alphas in her life, she surprised him. Perhaps the redneck lifestyle, as she’d put it, was ingrained in her.

“Who’s your favorite singer?” she asked, followed by a loud crunch of bread.

“A tie between the castrato Farinelli and Frank Sinatra.”

“A castrato? Dude, you are so strange. I’m not even going to analyze that one.” Munching constantly, she queried further, “Favorite color?”

“Black.”

“Black is not a color. You’re treading emo territory, Creed, except without the angst. Though I’m sure you can brood with the best.”

“What is emo?”

“It’s too difficult to explain to the older generation. So—”

“What is your favorite color?” he asked. “I’ve seen so many on you.”

“It changes daily. The whole rainbow is my favorite. Next question.” She eyed him discerningly. “How’d a French guy end up with a name like Creed?”

“You don’t think it sounds French? Perhaps not. My full name is Edouard Credence Saint-Pierre.”

“Now that’s a mouthful.”

“Indeed. My mother was English, so I assume that’s where the middle name came from, though I never asked her about it. It’s a mystery to me. She always called me Creed when my father wasn’t around. And as a man who has lived so long, it is necessary to change my name every century or so. I rotate between some form of Edward or Creed.” Elbows to the table, he clasped his hands before him, forefingers to his mouth. “My mother would have appreciated my use of her nickname for me. I miss her, even after all these years.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Or it could be pitiful. One of the disadvantages of immortality is that one tends to outlive their family. Soon they are left with no blood relations. Friends wither and die. It’s one of the things I envy about the wolves, actually. Their packs are true family.”

“You’ve the tribe.”

“Yes, and they are close to family, but it’s not the same. Though I do claim Alexandre Renard as a sort of pseudobrother.”

“Did you create him?”

“No. I’ve never made another vampire.”

“In all your centuries? Wow. That must have required restraint.”

“Not really. I’ve never believed I’ve the right to change a person’s life through such a drastic means. I’ve enough to atone for as it is.”

“That’s why you’re so kind about not insisting I take your bite.”

He shrugged. “It’s not kindness. I would bite you the moment you showed sign of lowering your aversion to it just to taste the sweet darkness that runs through your veins.”

She tucked her wrists close to her chest, hiding the undersides of her arms from him, and the veins. “That sounds gross.”

“Trust me, Blu, it is heaven. Orgasmic.”

“Really? So you come every time you bite someone?”

“Not unless it’s a sexual situation. Which it isn’t always.”

A bite of bread dispersed flaky crust across the front of her velvet dress. Without thinking, Creed swept his fingers over the fabric. She clasped his fingers tightly.

“That wasn’t an invitation to touch.”

He relented and she brushed away the crumbs. Sitting back, she patted her mouth with the cloth napkin, then tapped the silverware. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands now.

So she was unsettled at his little touch. Score one for the stodgy old vampire.

The waiter swung by and Blu ordered dessert. He left them, closing them in the gauzy tent. “When
will
I get the invitation, Blu?” “You’re waiting for
me
to make the move?” “Perhaps. Normally I would take what I want, but we are so opposite, and you haven’t given me any signals yet, so I don’t want to offend. On the other hand, the black lace last night could be construed as a signal.”

“It wasn’t.” She looked aside. A lie. But he knew that already.

Blu played a game, writing the rules as she went along, and forgetting those rules as quickly. He’d never faced an opponent quite like her before. The challenge appealed on so many levels, most especially the sexual.

Creed slid his hand across the tablecloth, parallel to hers. Her dinner forgotten, she seemed to wait for something. Was she wondering if she could make a dash out of here? Or deciding what her next move would be?

“Okay, we’ve done cars, colors and names,” she said. “What’s your favorite means of dispatching werewolves?”

“What?”

“Silver darts?” she snapped.

What could she possibly be getting at? Her attitude had quickly turned cold—Oh, hell. Creed’s heart sank. He slapped his hands on the table. “Blu, you didn’t? The fence?”

“I almost took a dart to my gut this afternoon. Well, in fact, I did. The burn mark just faded before we left tonight. Lucky for you I found aloe in the first-aid kit. Nice way to start the peace brigade, vampire. Slay your wife before the week is up?”

“Is that why you’ve been clutching your stomach?”

“It still aches a little. Silver burns me, Creed. Had it cut my skin and entered my bloodstream I’d be pushing daisies.”

“If I had known you were going to poke about the fence like that I would have warned you. I thought you were running the grounds. My security is there for a purpose. The wards have been in place long before the peace talks began. What were you doing?”

She toyed with the end of the fork. “I need wide-open space. I thought to dig a hole under the fence. There’s a huge forest behind your estate. And I wouldn’t go anywhere near the spies camped out front.”

“Dig a hole?” The image of her getting those long slender fingers dirty—ah, perhaps it would be
paws.

There were so many things he still did not know about his wife. Did he want to know about them all?

“Blu, why didn’t you ask? There’s a gate at the east end. It’s hidden behind vines and trees, but it’s there. If you promise to stay away from the spies, I’ll give you the remote tomorrow.”

“A remote? Cool.”

He stroked her arm lightly, still overwhelmed at her confession. “You could have been seriously hurt.”

“Or dead. Silver kills wolves dead, buddy.”

“I know. Damn it, I would have never forgiven myself.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded.

Now she patted his arm tenderly but didn’t linger. “It’s cool. I should have told you or asked. Any other booby traps on the grounds I need to beware of?”