Praise for Michele Hauf

“Cleverly engrossing dialogue, overwhelming desire

and intriguing paranormal situations are skillfully

combined to make this an irresistible read.”

—Cataromance.com on Moon Kissed

“A novel twist on a vampire tale…Hauf mixes well-developed

characters and sparkling dialogue with a

paranormal tale and comes out with a winner.”

—RT Book Reviews

“With dangerous encounters, a myriad of

paranormal beings and even some subtle humor,

The Highwayman is an enchanting love story packed with riveting adventures.” —Cataromance.com on The Highwayman

“In this action-packed delight, Hauf’s humorous

writing and well-developed characters combine for a

realistic story—in spite of its supernatural basis.”

—RT Book Reviews

Her Vampire Husband
Michele Hauf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

A Minnesota native, MICHELE HAUF lives in a Minneapolis suburb with her family. She enjoys being a stay-at-home mom with a son and a daughter. Michele writes the kind of stories she loves to read, filled with romance, fantasy and adventure. Always a storyteller, she began to write in the early nineties and hasn’t stopped since. Playing guitar, hunting backyard butterflies and coloring (yes, coloring) keep her creativity honed. Research for her Mills & Boon® novels has yet to see her stealing jewels or racing cars on a high-speed chase, but…she can pick a lock or bake a mean chocolate cheesecake (with a file inside) if duty calls. You can contact Michele at: PO Box 23, Anoka, MN 55303.

To Jeff: Because I know you would slay a dragon for me.

You are the only knight I will ever desire. Love you.

But really? Because that dragon carcass in the front yard could

get just nasty, not to mention you’d always complain about having

to mow around the tail. And do you think I’d let you hang the

dragon’s head on the living room wall? I don’t think so. Though

we could have a grand backyard BBQ. And just think of the

money we’d save on the grocery bill, not to mention our

new dragon leather attire.

Dear Reader,

I fall in love with all my heroes and heroines. I don’t think a book would work if I did not. But in the case of Her Vampire Husband, I fell so madly in love with Creed and Blu that I wanted to hug them and squeeze them and kiss them and take them home and call them George. This couple is absolutely my favorite fictional couple so far. I wish I could go visit them and see what they’re up to now that I’ve put them through hell and brought them back again. I bet they’re languishing somewhere in Paris, wrapped in a snuggly embrace, unconcerned for the world save each other.

This story is actually the third in my WICKED GAMES series. Each of the books stands alone (you don’t have to read one to understand the other), but if you are interested, look for The Highwayman and Moon Kissed, too!

For a complete listing of my books, and to learn of future releases, stop by my website, michelehauf.com, or my blog, www. dustedbywhimsy.blogspot.com. Or you can follow me on Twitter, twitter.com/michelehauf.

Michele

Chapter One

“I WOULD RATHER BE home dyeing my hair.”

Blu Masterson peeked between the heavy red curtains that stretched two stories high. She searched for her groom, but no particular man stood out amongst the huge crowd on the first-floor atrium of the Landmark Center. The room was ninety-percent male. The few females were vampires.

She saw that the room’s inhabitants had divided, as if magnetic filings to opposite poles—vampires to the right, werewolves to the left.

The dais toward the back of the ballroom had been decorated with a ridiculous white pergola tucked with red roses, and a string quartet played an adagio entirely too upbeat for her heavy heart at this, her wedding.

“But your hair is such a pretty color tonight.” Blu’s best friend, Sabrina Kriss, smooshed her friend’s thick bob with both hands and delivered her a glitter-frosted wink. “You’re just nervous.”

“Nervous? Is that what you call it? I’m marrying a freaking vampire, Bree. A vampire I’ve never met. A vampire I’ve been told is nine hundred years old. And in case you still missed the point—he’s a vampire.”

Bree rolled her violet eyes. She was sidhe, so did not relate to Blu’s ingrained disgust for vampires. Faeries got along with pretty much all the various paranormal nations. Werewolves did not.

As far as Blu was concerned, vampires were vile, blood-hungry creatures. They flaunted aristocratic snobbery that manifested as entitlement, and were possessed of an inhumane fixation on mortal man. They needed mortals for survival, while the species wasn’t worth her time.

Bree asked gaily, “What do you think Ryan—”

“Don’t say his name. Please, Bree. It’ll only make the night more difficult to get through.”

Blu bowed her head and wandered to the window. Tugging aside the curtain, she looked over the dark street outside.

She’d agreed to this idiotic farce of an arranged marriage to appease her father and pack leader, Amandus Masterson. “To show the werewolf nation we are capable of putting aside our differences and embracing the vampire nation,” Amandus had proclaimed, but not without a wink.

Yeah, but he wasn’t the one being forced to marry a vampire.

And it was force.

When presented with the marriage proposal, Blu had staunchly refused. For weeks. She was a princess; no one told her what to do. That argument held little weight within her father’s pack. Blu hated all the Northern pack members. The only one she could tolerate was Ridge, her father’s right-hand man.

And Ryan.

Don’t think of him.

After the engagement had been inflicted, Blu had pleaded and pouted and even went on a hunger strike for two days, but she did love to eat, and self-denial was not her strong suit.

How she wished her mother was still around. Someone to stand on her side. Someone Blu could tuck her head against and sniffle out a few tears to. At the very least, someone who would nod encouragingly as Blu walked down the aisle tonight.

The door opened and a man poked his head inside the room. Blu stiffened and clasped her fingers together.

“There you are.” Amandus Masterson crossed the room to her. The standard proud-father smile was absent from his long, drawn face. Blu would have been surprised had he shown her any sign of pride. He inspected her hair. “What is that ghastly color?”

She looked down, eyeing Bree surreptitiously. The faery had retreated to the wall, arms across her chest and eyes seeking anything but Amandus.

“I should have expected nothing better,” he said grumpily. “Why must you always challenge me, daughter?”

“Challenge? I haven’t said a word since you stepped in.”

Blu had tried every trick in the book to convince Amandus she wasn’t marriage material, until her father had threatened to have Ryan removed from her life. She should have protested more. But she never could find her strength in Amandus’s presence.

And she knew what removed meant. Blu didn’t want her lover harmed because she was too stubborn to play along with Daddy’s game.

No doubt about it, this fiasco was a game.

She had her orders. And now the dread night had arrived.

“Here.” He dropped a heavy ring onto her palm. “The jeweler delivered it moments ago. Don’t lose it. And don’t give me your disdain. Tonight you will not act as your mother so frequently did. You will do as you’ve been told.”

Startled, Blu shook her head minutely. So rarely did he mention her mother. She wanted to grab him by the shoulders, shake him and ask him for more information. Her mother never did as she was told? Had she irritated Amandus, as well? Why had she left?

Persia Masterson had disappeared when Blu was eleven. No trace left behind, no trail to follow, completely vanished. And with the father/daughter relationship as impersonal as it was, Blu would never have the chance to learn the answers to her aching questions.

“The wedding march begins in five minutes,” Amandus stated. “You’ve your instructions, Blu. Don’t let me down.”

“Yes, Father.”

Jiggling the ring in her cupped palm, she waited until Amandus exited and closed the door before she exhaled and caught her shoulders against the wall behind her. Her heart raced and she winced to realize how quickly her anxiety had shot through the roof.

“Remember,” Bree offered as she approached. “It may seem the most awful thing to marry a vampire, but with your vows tonight, you will be leaving your father’s house.”

“Thanks, Bree. I knew you’d be the one to point out the good in this disaster. Tuck this somewhere for me, will you?”

The faery took the ring and sought Blu’s bouquet among the tissue paper crumpled in the florist’s box.

Clasping a palm about her neck, Blu couldn’t decide which was worse—marriage to a vampire or remaining at the pack compound. Neither offered the freedom she desired.

So she would seek a third option, when the time was right.

With a brush of her fingers, she confirmed the three-inch-wide choker was still in place at her neck. Though the gemstones resembled diamonds, they were cheap cubic zirconia. Blu had bought it as a treat for succumbing to her father’s demands—and for protection. She didn’t want any vampires getting ideas at the sight of her neck. It was a futile defense, but it did provide reassurance.

Tonight she needed all the support she could muster.

She wasn’t afraid of vampires. Not that she’d been around many, or had held a conversation with one.

And she wasn’t afraid of a creature because he or she was different. She’d accepted Bree; the faery was her best friend. Years ago she’d had a few witch friends. And her father had once dated a chaos demon; she’d liked her.

Moving in and playing wifey to a vampire? Bring it on. Just because she would sign the marriage contract did not mean she had to like him or go to bed with him.

She would go through the motions. Until her father determined those motions proved successful. But would compliance then see her back at the compound? That was not her ultimate goal.

“It’s time,” Bree said.

The faery hugged her from behind, snuggling her cheek on Blu’s bare shoulder. Her violet-and-blue wings tickled along Blu’s arm, warm with tenderness. “You look gorgeous, honey. There’s not a wolf in the house who won’t shed tears over losing you.”

“You think?”

Female werewolves were rare. Which was why this whole arranged-marriage thing was expected to mean so much and be the catalyst to bringing the two nations together. If the wolves could sacrifice one of their females to marry a vampire, then they could surely stand back and allow peace to reign.

Peace was a long time coming, she had to admit. For decades, probably centuries, the two nations had been at odds. The vampires were the cruelest; they’d hunted and slaughtered her breed without mercy.

And what were the vampires sacrificing? Nothing, as far as Blu was concerned.

Sure, this man she was to marry was some revered vampire lord who belonged to Nava, one of the oldest tribes around. He was called an elder, and there were supposedly but a handful of his ilk walking the earth. That meant little. Only that he was old. Old, old, old.

“Chin up,” Bree whispered.

“It is.” Blu lifted her chin and turned to her friend. “How do I look? I may attract all the male wolves but do you think I can bring a longtooth to his knees?”

“You’re going to have to quit using that word. I don’t think it’ll go over so well with the new hubby.”

“Whatever. Longtooth, bloodsucker, flesh-pricker.” It felt good to rattle off the epithets one last time. “So do I pass muster?”

Bree shimmied her gaze over the tight black sheath Blu wore.

Her bridal shroud, Blu had named it. She’d had it specially designed. It plunged low in the front, clinging and only covering half her high, full breasts. The black silk was slit high on both thighs, clasped at her hips with tiny rhinestone chains. The back…well, there was no back. It plunged to her derriere, and revealed the intricate tattoo her lover—former lover, she amended—had etched into her flesh along her spine.

Ryan had claimed her as his own after her father had grudgingly agreed to consider their engagement. As the pack’s scion, Ryan was the next in line as principal should Blu’s father die. But Amandus thought himself immortal. No whelp was going to wrench away his command.

That had been a year ago. Amandus had reneged on their engagement when presented with a grander, more delicious proposal.

Her lover had been shattered, but that hadn’t kept them apart. They had been together 24/7 until two days ago when Amandus had sent Ridge to retrieve Blu from Ryan’s home.

“Do you think Ryan will ever have me again?” she asked Bree.

“Of course he will.”

“But I’ll be tainted. I’ll smell like nasty longtooth.”

“I thought you weren’t going to let the vampire touch you?”

Blu lowered her lashes and looked aside. Her reflection in the night-dark window pouted.

The marriage contract the Council had drawn up stipulated that the alliance was not considered consummated until she had accepted the vampire’s bite. It was supposed to be the ultimate bonding in the vampire nation.

If a werewolf wore a vampire’s bite, the stigma would be unbearable. Not to mention the wolf would develop a blood hunger it had never known before.

Blu smirked. “Hell, no. It’s all for show, Bree. Don’t forget that.”

“You won’t let me. Hey, will you let me bless you?”

“I’d love it.”

Blu closed her eyes as her friend drew her fingers lightly down her cheeks and traced over her shoulders and to her hips. Calm and a tingle of joy infused Blu’s pulse. In the wake of Bree’s motions, a fine sheen of faery dust glittered onto Blu’s flesh.

“Blessed be,” Bree said, and kissed Blu on the cheek. “May the stars guide your nights and the sun your days.”

“Thanks.” For a moment she almost dropped a tear. But it passed quickly. “Now, where’s that bouquet? If I’m going to do the bride thing, I intend to be the best damn bride out there.”

She grabbed the posy of black roses tied with a long red velvet ribbon. She sniffed, but the flowers offered no perfume. Pity. She had wished for a distraction from the vampire’s scent, which she dreaded taking into her senses.

“YOU FIND OUT which one she is? Shouldn’t be too difficult to spot a female werewolf in this crowd,” Alexandre said.

“I think they’ve got her secreted away until the ceremony starts.”

Creed Saint-Pierre tugged at his shirtsleeves and traced one diamond cuff link with a finger. He looked over the crowd from his position on the dais. His best friend and best man, Alexandre Renard, stood at his side.

A female wolf should stand out amongst the female vampires, who all, he’d noticed, had decided black was the color for the event. Interesting how the two nations had divided, keeping to their respective halves of the ballroom as if the aisle of red carpeting were the proverbial line drawn in the sand.

While he had led the Nava tribe since the late eighteenth century, and had endured pomp and ceremony of all sorts, Creed did not care for fussy events. Strategy and the hunt were his mien. And when not serving his tribe members, he was a private man, and chose his pleasures carefully.

The very fact he stood upon this dais now represented a three-sixty-degree shift in his thinking. Whether or not he was actually being true to his nature remained to be seen.

That half the crowd milling here in the Landmark Center were werewolves put up his guard. They smelled wild and earthy, and were easily roused with the most innocent of glances. Creed was impressed a fight had not broken out yet. But then, only the trusted few had been invited to the ceremony.

The Landmark Center had been marked a neutral zone for the evening, but he didn’t trust the dogs not to start something. It was so like them. Though he should be more relaxed knowing half the security force were vampires.

Because so many wolves were present, the room was overwhelmingly male. With lots of testosterone floating about, anything could happen. Which was why it was necessary for posted sentries outside and along the inner hallways hugging the ballroom.

Creed never let down his defenses.

“All the dogs in the room,” Alexandre said over his shoulder, as he scanned the crowd, “gives me that aching hunger feeling, you know?”

His second in command never turned his back on a werewolf, for painful reasons. It had been less than a year since Creed had rescued Alexandre from the blood sport.

“I feel like Henri of Navarre on the night of his wedding to the de Médicis bitch,” Creed commented uneasily. He’d been in Paris in the sixteenth century during that event. Nasty memories.

“The Saint Bartholomew’s Day massacre? So what does that make us?” Alexandre asked. “Catholics or the Huguenots?”

“Catholics, most definitely.” Creed had never sided with the losing team.

“You’re actually doing it.” Alexandre’s tone held a smirk. “Never thought you’d go through with it, old man.”

Creed shoved a hand in his trouser pocket, ensuring the ring ordered specially by the Council was at hand.

“I did not believe the wolves would actually put up something so valuable as a female. But they have, and so I am no man to back from a commitment.”

He prayed she was not hairy. Male wolves had hair in abundance on their head, arms, legs and chests. In all his centuries, Creed had never seen a female werewolf, but he could guess she would be hirsute, as well.

Gods, what had he gotten himself into?

For nine centuries he’d walked through this thing called life without once getting involved with any particular female for more than a few months. Only one time had he begun to consider a woman more than a mere plaything and, well—he did not think about her if he could prevent it.

He did not like to be beholden, or to share. Emotion was easy enough, but love? It was not to be dallied with.

He was safe from the falling-in-love part. What vampire could love a werewolf, princess or not? He couldn’t do it. He would simply go through the motions, make the marriage appear real.

A celebratory banquet was planned in a few weeks. The Council would parade them before the same crowd as tonight to demonstrate they were getting along; all would witness a happy couple. Whether or not the woman agreed to the charade, Creed would see she had no choice.

Quite a bold idea the Council had by proposing the vampires resolve their differences with the werewolves by joining a couple together to prove they could accept one another.

Thankfully, love was not a requirement.

After discussion with his tribe, and various other vampire tribe leaders across the United States, it was agreed this match was the thing to do. Creed would be their representative. He was the only choice, for the position required a great sacrifice. He was one of few elders who possessed witch magic. A rarity amongst his kind, he was valued, as well as respected.

The things he had done to obtain such magic would turn the stomachs of most, he felt sure.

More than anything, though, Creed had made a personal vow to himself. This marriage would serve as a means to atone for his past indiscretions.

Sounded magnanimous and honorable, but could he keep such a vow?

A violet-winged faery stepped up to the dais, clutching a bouquet of red roses. She smiled warmly at both Creed and Alexandre. “I’m Sabrina, the matron of honor.”

Creed nodded congenially. Alexandre muttered close at Creed’s ear, “Nice.”

A fine-looking woman, but Creed and Alexandre both kept their interest vague. Faery ichor was an addictive drink, as meth was to humans. Besides, Alexandre already had a gorgeous girlfriend.

“The bridal march is starting,” Alexandre noted.

Creed set back his shoulders and assumed a modicum of hopeful expectation.

Make it look good.

He’d say the vows, kiss the new wife’s cheek and then get the hell out of here. A bottle of whisky waited at home, the good stuff, imported from Scotland. He was going to need it.

“Oh, hell. Really?”

Alexandre’s remark prompted Creed to scan the red aisle to the end of the massive four-story room. The doors closed slowly, having emitted one person.

“Look at that body,” Alexandre whispered appreciatively. “Always thought a female wolf would be more butch. But what in the world? What’s with the hair?”

Creed observed the tall, lithe woman dangling a tight bouquet of black roses at her side. She sauntered down the aisle, long, slender legs catching the eyes of all the werewolves in the room. The wolves all bended one knee and bowed, deferring to her high rank in the pack.

Some vamps even nodded approval. Creed understood their awe.

The dress, what little there was of it, clung to narrow hips, a sensual waist—look at those breasts. There wasn’t much fabric to cover them. Full and round, they twinkled with glints of something…faery dust?

Full red lips parted as she glanced about, taking in every face, every sigh, every wanting lick of lips. Bright eyes, rimmed in dark shadow, fluttered. A diamond choker at her neck glittered.

But the truly startling bit was her hair.

“Green?”

Lime-green. The color of glossy neon plastic. Of irradiated spring buds. Of a spoiled, saucy werewolf princess who didn’t meet his eye as she stepped up the dais to stand alongside him.

Standing as tall as he—thanks to some killer high heels—the reticent princess stared ahead to the officiant in a red robe. She smelled sweet and dark—like candies rotting in the box.

Creed stopped himself from saying hello and turned to face the officiant. If she were not going to acknowledge him, then neither would he.

She stood there. Intensely. The room had melted away and only she existed beside him. How strange. The two of them alone, reluctant symbols designated to save two struggling nations.

Creed shook his head to clear the weird notion from his brain.

Still she did not regard him. Of course it may be difficult for her to cast him a friendly glance. She must be nervous. As he was.

No, not nervous, but expectant. So far things were going far better than he’d expected. She was gorgeous. That, at least, took the sting out of this humiliating event.

As the officiant began to speak, Creed could not focus on the dry words.

She is gorgeous.

Her body is killer.

And those lips and eyes! Not to mention breasts he could suckle at for hours.

But what’s with the hair?

Feeling something he’d not experienced in years—a fine sheen of perspiration—Creed forced himself to listen and not play the fool by missing a prompt.

Such determination lasted a few seconds.

So this was what the werewolves would sacrifice to gain peace? Creed exhaled. A tilt of his head caught the flutter of her thick lashes as she looked over the black roses now clenched to her breast. A fine prize, she.

For a werewolf.

But for a vampire?

“And in joining together a marriage recognized by the United Nations of the Light and Dark, the two of you seal a pact, a promise of peace between the werewolves and vampires,” the officiant recited.

No priest for this ceremony. Creed did not put stock in the human religions, though he did believe in the existence of a God. He wasn’t sure what the werewolves believed in. Didn’t matter.

“Will you, Lord Edouard Credence Saint-Pierre, take this woman as your legal wife, protect and secure her, honor and provide for her, love and cherish her?”

Sounded reasonable enough. Though the love and cherishing part may prove a challenge. Hell, he’d no intention of submitting to either.

Creed smiled at his bride, who did not look his way, and said, “I will.”

The officiant nodded, and asked the same of the princess Blu Adagio Masterson.

Creed wasn’t sure why the word obey was not included in her vows. Should be in there. Without question, the man was the leader and master of the household. How modern times had distorted the positions of power between a man and a woman. He still struggled with it.

When prompted for a reply, the princess suddenly looked at Creed. Soft gray eyes widened at sight of him. Red lips parted. Such white teeth, bright as the diamonds at her neck. She searched for something. Did her eyes water, perhaps to tear?

Glancing over her shoulder, she sought the masses. Did she look for a means to escape? For one strong soul to step forward and rescue her from what she surely felt a horrific fate?

Until now, Creed had not considered her personal sacrifice. The wolves branded vampires with the vile invective longtooth. She could be no different. It must appall her equally as it did him to enter this marriage.

“Princess?” the officiant prompted.

Give your answer, he persuaded calmly. Do not make a fool of me or you will regret it for generations to come.

Turning her gaze to Creed’s, her bright eyes told him his persuasion had not permeated her thoughts. Vampires never could persuade wolves—or any paranormal, for that matter. Creed wasn’t sure why he’d even tried it. Now was no time to institute his magic, either. Not when a couple witches from the Council were in attendance.

Her gaze slid down his neck, skipping along the jet buttons of his Armani suit, and averted to the faery at her side. The faery nodded encouragement.

When the princess took Creed’s hand in hers, the heat of her flesh startled him. Like his, her skin was a little moist. She was nervous, too.

With the slightest twitch, one side of her red lips curled, she silently promised him she was in for the ride.

“I will,” she declared boldly.

A rousing hoot from the crowd could not have come from a wolf, Creed decided. But the resulting applause was immediately hushed.

Creed nodded acknowledgment to her. The werewolf’s smile slid from her red lips, and she dropped his hand. Contact had been so brief, he wondered if it had even happened.

“You’ve the rings?” the officiant prompted.

Creed drew the ring from his pocket, sized especially for his new wife. He held it up for the crowd to see. Subtle whispers clattered through the room. All knew the meaning of the gift.

He slid it onto Blu’s finger.

Blu? For a woman with green hair? And who wore body-revealing silk and clutched black roses on her wedding day?

What in hell was he stepping into?

“Titanium for strength,” the officiant announced, describing the ring. “And in the glass chamber, witch’s blood. A sign of the vampires’ willingness to cede to the werewolves.”

And a deadly weapon, Creed thought as he let go of the ring. Witch’s blood from before the Protection spell had been lifted. Which meant one splash to a vampire’s flesh would burn the average vampire alive, reducing him to ash.

Of course, the werewolves had overlooked a pertinent detail regarding Lord Creed Saint-Pierre. Though he wouldn’t dismiss the blood could have its damaging effects on him. Or perhaps not. Might it actually aid him? He couldn’t risk finding out.

His bride plucked a ring from the petals of her bouquet and held it high for all to see, before taking Creed’s hand. She fumbled with the bouquet, not sure how to hold it and put the ring on at the same time. Finally, done with it, she tossed the bundled roses out to the crowd.

She offered Creed a had-to-do-it smirk and shrug, and slid the ring onto his thumb. A perfect fit.

“Titanium for strength,” the officiant again announced. “And filled with liquid silver to show the werewolves’ willingness to cede to the vampires. I now pronounce you lord and lady Saint-Pierre. Please kiss your bride, Lord Saint-Pierre, and begin the path to peace.”

Quite a profound demand: Begin the path to peace.

It was all on his shoulders now. Hers, as well. But she merely had to stand there, shifting on her feet and sneering those glossy lips, defying him to dare kiss her.

He would not, no matter that her lips were thick and soft and wouldn’t they be the most exquisite to kiss? He could prick them and suck the blood for an evening treat.

Creed leaned in and, keeping his head tilted before the crowd, brushed her cheek with a kiss. His shoulder-length hair concealed their connection. No one would know if he’d kissed her mouth, save he and she.

She. His new wife.

A wife who flinched as his lips brushed her skin.

How dare she?

She was no better than he. She had walked the aisle, willingly entering into the marriage. There were certain expectations to be upheld. And he would not allow her to dodge them.

Gripping Blu’s bare shoulder, Creed pulled her to him and captured her soft lips against his mouth. She mumbled a protest.

He kissed her harder.

The kiss was not at all distasteful, as he had imagined. Much better than most kisses, actually. And her efforts to push him away only fired his desire to pull her closer. To mark her before all, so they would know she was his.

Only when his fangs descended, and he feared accidentally cutting her, did he relent.

Yet he could use this moment. And he did.

Fangs bared, and wicked smile growing, Creed turned in triumph to the cheering crowd.

Chapter Two

AS THEY ARRIVED at the end of the aisle, Creed felt Blu slip away from his side. He let her go. There were more important things to do right now.

He would always have more pressing matters than tending to a wife.

“You did it, man!”

He received a congratulatory handshake from Alexandre and manly busses to both his cheeks.

“By ‘did it,’ you mean jumped off a high cliff and am now free-falling to my death?”

“Close, I’m sure. But what’s up with the chick’s hair?”

“She’s young,” Creed tried.

It was more a consolation than an excuse for her. Young and alarmingly sexy, she embodied vitality. Creed had felt truly ancient standing next to her.

He’d been transformed to vampire when he was a mere twenty-seven years old. He still looked it. Okay, so perhaps a handsome thirtysomething. But there were days Creed felt every one of his centuries like a weight upon his mind, shoulders and flesh.

“Her youth will serve you well,” Alexandre said on a sly whisper. “The younger ones are the most open to trying new things.”

His second in command winked.

“New things,” Creed muttered. Could this old vampire be taught new tricks? Without the innate need to simply steal them?

He hoped the werewolf could get beyond the naiveté of such youth. If she were to be his wife, she must be able to relate to him on an intellectual level. He would not babysit for a spoiled princess.

“Lord Saint-Pierre.” A tall, gangly gentleman with gray hair and veiny hands stepped forward. The pinstriped suit reminded Creed of a gangster, but the gentleman’s hooded eyes exuded genuine warmth.

Creed slipped his hand into Amandus Masterson’s. Though his new wife was called a princess, the father was not considered a king, merely the alpha, or leader of the pack. So he addressed him accordingly. “Principal Masterson, I am honored.”

“You should be. My daughter is a prize, in more ways than mere beauty.”

“I understand. She is a rarity. You have my promise I will protect and respect her.”

The pack leader nodded acceptance. “It would be foolish of me to ignore the fact she’s a feisty one. She’s a mind of her own, and is very stubborn. That awful hair.”

“She’s lovely. I can only hope to win her admiration.”

“You say all the right things, Lord Saint-Pierre.”

Indeed, he did.

“Now, let’s go have a drink with the Council and get the final negotiations settled. The marriage contract must be signed.”

“It would be a pleasure.” Yes, like pounding a nail into his coffin. “After you.”

THE COUNCIL had gathered in a small room off the main ballroom. The dull lighting blended the red carpet into the red-arabesque-papered walls, and cast a sickly sheen upon flesh, yet Creed could make out faces with ease.

Vampires were considered the Dark by witches. They, in turn, had labeled themselves the Light. Werewolves landed somewhere in the middle, depending on who was doing the labeling. It was all rather superfluous, Creed felt. He had no need for labels.

At least three vampires currently served on the Council. Creed had been asked decades ago to serve, but at the time had no desire to involve himself in the politics of the Light and Dark nations.

Yet here he stood, at the center of the most political move the vampires and werewolves had made in centuries.

A faery, a demon, two witches and a selkie rounded out tonight’s Council representatives. Depending where the meetings were held across the world, various members showed in different numbers. The Council was about fifty members strong, and new members were only inducted when a previous one had died.

Their mission was simple: to keep the peace among the paranormal nations. The key purpose was to keep mortals in the dark. Mortals did not believe in the myths and legends their books and movies touted. And that was the way it must remain. The Council went to great lengths to keep that silence, yet they rarely interfered violently.

Some days Creed wondered if violence were not the only way to make the opposition see the point. He had never subscribed to the whole violence begets more violence theory. A good bloodbath tended to weed out the weak and make the strong rethink their motives.

Or so he had learned earlier in the past millennium.

Don’t forget your vow, he reminded himself. Atonement, remember?

He shook Nikolaus Drake’s hand. Taller than Creed by half a head, the Kila tribe leader’s bald scalp advertised a havoc of twisting black tribal tattoos. He was the gentlest vampire Creed knew. A former brain surgeon, if rumor held truth.

Drake was also a vampire who had magic himself, though it had been obtained by a witch during the Protection, which made his powers much weaker than Creed’s.

Nikolaus was liked by most, and Creed figured it was because he’d only been a vampire for three decades. He still retained much of his human morality.

Creed had morals. It was just harder to recognize them as the centuries stretched them further from immediate access.

“Drake,” he said. “I understand there’s paperwork and such to sign.”

“Yes, the marriage contract is right over here.” He directed Creed to a rosewood table and handed him a pen. “The princess signed it before the ceremony. This is a good thing you’re doing, Saint-Pierre. I think it’ll go a long way toward enacting the peace amongst the nations.”

“I sure as hell hope so.” He scribbled his name at the bottom of the first page that was marked with a yellow highlighter. There were two more pages to sign. “I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when the Council decided this was the way to solve the unrest.”

Nikolaus chuckled and leaned in close to Creed, putting his palms to the desk and shadowing the papers. “You will do us proud, yes?”

The vampires had a lot riding on this marriage. They expected the sporting warehouses—a bane to the vampires’ existence—would be shut down upon the werewolves’ acceptance of their enemy.

Creed desired that, too, beyond any other good thing that should come of this.

“I always give any task my all,” he reassured him. Straightening, he again shook Drake’s hand. “Has Principal Masterson handed over the same olive branch?”

“He has. He’s hopeful for the results. Which can only be measured by the princess taking your bite.”

Creed lifted his brows and sighed. Biting a dog was not tops on his list. But the kiss had gone over well, so he wouldn’t rule anything out.

Amandus Masterson joined them and said, “And what exactly is the sacrifice the vampires are making that is equal to my daughter being bitten?”

Both Creed and Nikolaus silently summed up the pack leader. The old wolf had once been known to ruthlessly retaliate against those he’d marked as his enemies. He’d aged and grown gentler, though the jury was still out on whether or not he’d embraced wisdom.

The Northern pack did not engage in the sport that saw vampires tortured relentlessly and then caged to perform for the wolves until one was literally sucked to an agonizing death. But there was something about the old man that put Creed off.

What sort of man would offer up his only daughter as Amandus had?

“The mere fact I allow your daughter into my home, my very life,” Creed said, “is a sacrifice you cannot begin to understand, Principal Masterson.”

Yet even as he said it, it felt like an excuse.

What, indeed, was his sacrifice? The wolves assumed the vampires were offering up their eldest and most revered. That was true.

“Doesn’t seem balanced,” Amandus muttered.

“The Council approved the terms a week ago,” Drake explained. “If you had a disagreement you should have spoken then.”

As should have the werewolf representative on the Council, Stephen Severo. Creed was aware he showed up irregularly at Council meetings, and wasn’t even sure the wolf had been part of the agreeing quorum.

“You mustn’t feel you are being cheated, Principal Masterson,” Drake continued. “What your daughter is doing will have a resounding effect upon the nations of Light and Dark for centuries to come. I’m proud of your sacrifice.”

The old man nodded and, slapping both arms across his chest, nodded toward another wolf in the room, and wandered off.

“You’re very good at that,” Creed said to Drake.

“Smoothing over the differences?”

“Actually, I was going to say bullshitting, but I suppose your explanation is better. So I’m off to find the new wife. Any words of wisdom before I do?”

“My wife used to be my enemy,” Drake said. “She’s taught me not to judge a person from the outside. Our hearts can be more alike than different.”

Creed nodded and smiled. It sounded good in theory. But Drake wasn’t the one taking a dog home with him tonight.

BLU SHOVED AWAY the chocolate martini Bree tried to get her to drink. “For later,” Bree had coaxed, “when your husband tries to bring you to his bed.”

She didn’t need a loosen-up drink. “Bed is the last place I’ll follow that vampire tonight. Ugh. Do you think he sleeps in a coffin?”

She’d heard some longtooths engaged in the practice, though it was unnecessary to their survival. The novelty, or something stupid like that, was their reasoning.

“No coffins, sweetie. Don’t think things like that.”

“Thanks. Call me soon, okay?”

Blu did her best to control a tear when hugging Bree goodbye. A stroke of her friend’s wings showed her love and gratitude.

Outside the back door was where the vampire had said he’d drive up to get her after he’d spoken with the Council. Blu shrugged a palm up her arm, but before she could wonder if the shiver was from the cool breeze or nerves, she squeaked at the hard pinch to her upper arm. Spun about, she stifled a defensive scream at the sight of her lover.

“Ryan, what are you doing here?” Shadowed by his overwhelming bulk, he still held her tightly. She struggled, but that only made his grip go tighter. Normally she wouldn’t react defensively, but tonight was not a normal night. “Father said you were not to come near this place. You risk too much.”

“I had to see you, Blu. I’ve been kicking the wall all day thinking about you and that longtooth in the same room together. Promise me you won’t share his bed.”

When he released her, the pinch at her shoulder stung. He was never aware of his strength, and always went too far.

“It’s an easy promise.” She leaned in and kissed him quick on the mouth, but he grabbed her by the neck and forced the kiss longer, harder. She mumbled against his mouth and pushed his chest, forcing him to the wall. “That’s enough. I don’t want to mess up my makeup and have the vampire suspect. Get out of here. Now. Before he sees you.”

“Maybe I want him to see me.”

“Ryan.”

“Fine. I’m gone.” He toyed his fingers along the ends of her green hair. “But don’t forget the sacrifice I’m making for you, Blu. Soon it’ll just be the two of us.”

She gave him a small smile and nodded. Tugging her wig back into place, she kept her back to him as he loped off down the alley.

In theory his plan sounded too good to be true. But it was all she had to hope for, so she subscribed to Ryan’s plan for her freedom. For now.

A black BMW 7 Series pulled up from the opposite direction Ryan had left. No streamers or shaving cream announcing the newlyweds decorated the classy vehicle. Thank the goddess. The vampire lord stepped out and opened the passenger door for her.

Blu stood clutching her arm where Ryan had squeezed her and took in Lord Saint-Pierre. About as tall as Ryan, which put him a head taller than her, yet more lithe, not so bulky. Streamlined muscle did stretch beneath the fancy suit. Charcoal hair spilled onto his shoulders. She liked dark hair on men, but not vampires.

She did not like vampires. And that was all that mattered. He may be the most handsome and stylish man for miles around, and still he would not turn her head.

Sliding inside the car, Blu did take note of his manners. No man had ever held the door for her. It wasn’t entirely offensive.

They drove in silence for what seemed forever. Away from the rush of the ceremony and in the quiet confines of the BMW, Blu moved her hands up her bare arms, mining for warmth. The air-conditioning blasted.

What to say to one’s new husband whom she’d known less than ten minutes?

“Turn that down,” she blurted. “You want an ice cube for a wife?”

“Sorry.” He grimaced. Flicked the control knob to Off.

More miles of quiet followed. Creed tapped the steering wheel, but didn’t offer conversation. The radio was not on, which Blu would have preferred, and the interior was soundproofed from outside noises.

Blu could not stand uncomfortable silences. Life was to be lived, loud, proud and wild. “Up all night, sleep all day” was her motto.

But now she appreciated the sharp silence.

Never mind he was her husband. Her vampire husband. That creeped her out on so many levels.

How to converse with someone she had no interest in?

She tangled her fingers in the glossy strands of her wig. Maybe ask him how he dared to kiss her like that in front of everyone? So brazen. So freakin’ dominant. Hadn’t she suffered the alpha males enough? This little foray was supposed to be a vacation away from all the testosterone she literally breathed daily living at the pack compound.

Thinking of testosterone…

She could still taste the vampire on her mouth. It wasn’t like blood—she wouldn’t know that taste—but it wasn’t like her lover’s taste either. This taste was different. In ways that shouldn’t intrigue her but did.

“You spoke to my father,” she stated. Okay, so the silence was beginning to grate on her.

“Principal Masterson is a fine man. The leader of the Northern pack?”

“Since Severo stepped down.” She looked out the window. Raindrops spattered the glass.

Severo. The former principal of the Northern pack who had stepped down to become a lone wolf. He’d married a vampire last year. He had been the one to suggest this idea to the Council and to encourage her father to put her hand in for this ridiculous scam.

Why could they not use his marriage as an example?

Blu recalled something about Severo’s wife being changed to vampire only after they had fallen in love. Supposedly it wasn’t the same situation.

It was a good thing Severo had not been at the wedding. Blu knew exactly how hard she’d swing a fist at him when she did see him. Hard enough to draw blood. A loose tooth would serve the icing on the cake she hadn’t gotten to taste this evening.

“So,” she said, “what are we to do with ourselves? You’re taking me to your home?”

“Yes, I live at the edge of the suburb, but more in the country.”

“What are your intentions?”

“You are my wife. I had assumed we would do the married thing.”

“The married thing.” She tapped the rain-streaked glass with a knuckle. “What does that imply exactly?”

“Living in the same house. Appearing to others as a couple. Conversation.”

She waited for him to summon further examples but he did not. Because he could not? He was not so pleased with this arrangement either, she bet.

At least they had one thing in common.

“Sex?” she prompted.

“Of course.”

“You wish.”

“The marriage must be consummated.”

“The Council’s idea of consummation is not sex.”

“You would take my bite?”

“When hell freezes over.”

The car swerved sharply, shoving Blu roughly against the door. She sensed her husband’s smirk as he pulled through an automated gate and onto a cobbled driveway that curved before a three-story brick mansion.

Supposedly her new hubby lived in France during the summer months and wintered in Minnesota. He’d moved back to the States a few months early after agreeing to the marriage. What a freak. She’d take the glamour of Paris all year if given an opportunity.

The estate fronted by climbing vines initially impressed Blu until she decided it wasn’t so grand. Her father’s compound covered more acreage, and the pack probably owned more surrounding land—no thanks to the greedy vampires.

“Big mansion,” she remarked. “You must have servants.”

“Gardener and Housekeeper.”

Short, to-the-point answers. Wasn’t he the one who’d suggested marriage implied they converse?

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a real conversationalist?”

The car abruptly stopped and he shifted into Park. Blu jammed her heel into the floor mat to keep from lunging forward.

Twisting and leaning his forearm on the steering wheel, Creed turned to her. “Let’s get things straight between us, shall we? I can assume we are both uncomfortable with this arrangement.”

“Hallelujah.”

“Yet while I have vowed to myself, and my tribe, that I will do everything in my power to make this work, for the sake of both nations, I suspect you have made no such personal vow.”

“Vows are so medieval. I’m just here for the show, Credence.”

“It is Creed,” he corrected.

“Creed,” she tried. “So alpha. Shouldn’t you have a vampire name like Damien or Lucien or—”

“Or something inane like a color?”

Blu gave him her cheek, peering out at the increasing rain. Bastard.

“Our first fight,” he said. “I suppose that falls onto the list of what is expected of married couples, eh?”

Despite herself, Blu smirked.

“Let’s go inside and I’ll give you a tour. I understand your luggage was delivered earlier. I’ve ordered it placed in our room.”

Our room? She closed her eyes and bit the inside of her cheek. Since puberty had struck, and she’d become a kind of beacon to male wolves, she had been fending off testosterone like a vaccine-resistant plague.

She didn’t need it from a vampire.

“Could you please leave me alone a bit?”

“Here in the car? But it’s raining.”

“Please, Creed,” she said softly. “I need a few minutes to myself.”

He didn’t reply, and instead opened the door and got out. Unmindful of the rain, he strode to the front door and left it half-open to expose the soft golden light shining within.

Blu pressed the side of her head to the passenger window. Her reflection wavered in the glass; green bob smooshed against a cheek, and dark eye shadow smears. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling more swiftly and harder than the rain.

“Creed Saint-Pierre,” she whispered. “Don’t hurt me like the others have. Please.”

SHE SAT IN THE CAR for fifteen minutes before Creed wondered if he should go out for her. Was she pouting? More likely trying to prove she would not listen to his authority.

It wasn’t difficult to guess she would be obstinate to a fault. She was so young and inexperienced. He would teach her manners and respect. It was the very least he could do—send her back to Daddy more respectful and submissive.

Because he would send her back eventually.

Creed paced before the glass-and-stone-tiled bar that curved along the wall in the main room. This mansion had been built in the seventies and retained much of the original design, only now he could pass it off as retro.

He liked the massive fieldstones set into the floor and the open three-story entertainment and living area. It was a sort of landing, a place to relax and order his day, before venturing outside or to his office in the back. Once or twice he’d held parties, and the guests usually convened in this spacious room or outside by the pool.

He glanced up the curving red-carpeted staircase. He’d had her things—three large traveling trunks—delivered to his bedroom. She hadn’t liked that.

Resisting a smile, he decided she would have to get used to answering to a new authority. Surely she must have practice. Packs revered their females yet would never allow them to step out-of-bounds. They were also fiercely protective of the rare female wolf.

How had Creed managed to simply drive away tonight with a valuable female without bringing the wolves upon him?

Could this peace thing really work?

“I’ll be damned if it does.”

When the door opened and a sodden green-haired werewolf stepped inside, Creed sucked in a breath.

The thin fabric that had barely covered her breasts was now wet, revealing the gorgeous shape of them, erect nipples and full, delicious volume. He did love to caress a woman’s breasts. To lick at them. To nuzzle into them and suck her to climax. Heaven.

“You keep staring like that, vampire, I’m going to have to punch you.”

Or hell, depending on the woman.

She strode past him and dropped her shoes and purse on the damask sofa. With the same nonchalance, she plopped onto the sofa and put up her feet on the Brazilian ironwood coffee table. The wood wasn’t supposed to get wet.

Creed went around and shoved her feet off it with his heel. “Your manners are lacking. But what should I expect?”

“From a werewolf? I suppose you expect me to romp about on your furniture and tear it apart with my teeth. I probably better not wash or comb my hair either because that would destroy your mental picture of me. Should I stop shaving my legs and do the whole hairy thing?”

Creed paced to the bar and poured two fingers of whisky. Putting it back in a tilt did little to curb his annoyance. Irritating as she was, though, he couldn’t deny curiosity. He had expected her to look much different. Distasteful.

Not like a colorful and very sinful dessert.

“Let’s do the tour and get you situated,” he said, leaning over the back of the couch.

She stood before he could slide his gaze down her dress. “Can we save the tour until morning? I’m tired. I just want to shower and hit the hay. You have a stable out back? Wouldn’t want you to have to board an animal in such a fine home.”

“Your things are upstairs in my room. Our room.”

“Yeah, I heard you out in the car.”

The green chin-length hair bobbled as she strolled around the end of the couch. A fire he couldn’t imagine being ignited in such cool depths flamed in her quiet gray eyes.

“Our room?” she reiterated.

“You are my wife.”

“You expect me to sleep with you before I know anything about you?”

“You will sleep with me?”

“Didn’t say that.”

How infuriating she was to raise his hopes so easily, and then dash them. But at least she was talking to him. And looking at him. And weren’t those lips devastating? Could he have one more kiss before he tucked her in?

Tucked her in? Hell.

Could he get beyond the age thing? Creed had never discerned age before, because if he did then he’d always end up the old man to the young women he’d pursued. Nine centuries was hard to beat.

“I want my own room,” she said, and started toward the stairs, strappy shoes dangling from a couple fingers. “It would be cruel of you to force me into your bed, vampire.”

Cruel, but wicked fun to watch her squirm to think he would try to take her only hours after meeting her. But, to his disadvantage, he was not that kind of man. Women must be pursued and seduced. Their favor must be won.

“You can take the room at the top of the stairs,” he said, following her upward. “Housekeeper keeps it made up for guests. It’s not as elaborate as my room, but until you’re comfortable with our situation it should serve.”

She strode to the door and turned, pressing her palms and hips into it, while leaning forward in a slinky come-on. The front of her wet dress clung to her breasts, exposing the dark curve of an areola.

Was she teasing? Or was it his heightened attraction to something so new and utterly baffling that had him seeing the sensual in her every move?

“Situation,” she pronounced precisely. “Is that what you call a marriage?”

“I’m sure it’s a much better word than you would choose.”

“You’re right. I call it a farce.”

He could not deny the word hadn’t crossed his mind a time or two.

“You did agree to the terms. And you said vows before a healthy number of representatives from both nations. And you signed the contract.”

“As did you. But do you really think this is going to work?” She patted the bottom of her hair with a palm and pouted coyly. “That we’ll fall madly in love and set an example that will bring the werewolves and vampires together in some kind of freaky lovefest? Come on, Credence.”

He did not care to hear his name spoken that way. The memories it stirred would only hamper his need to remain staunch and in control.

“Madly in love?” He pressed a hand to the door over her shoulder and leaned in. The move put her off, which pleased him. Come on, princess, you’re not allowed to tease without retaliation. “At this very moment, I can’t imagine that happening unless hell turns to ice. You, Lady Saint-Pierre, are standoffish, spoiled and contrary.”

“And you are an aristocratic bore.”

“Uneducated,” he countered.

“Old.”

“Uncouth.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

He smiled. “Ill-mannered.”

“Ah. I’ll take that one. And I’ll counter with dull and uninteresting.”

Did she really want to play this game? Because he’d show her how far from dull he could get.

Creed slid a hand over the sparkling choker caressing her neck, fitting his fingers up under her chin. Her eyes flashed defiantly. A bit of the faery dust had nestled at the corner of her eye, glinting mischievously.

“Tease,” he countered softly.

“You like it though.”

That glint in her eyes would be his undoing. It challenged, bedeviled and defied with a knowing he thought her too young to possess.

“I prefer my women to follow through with their promises.”

“I’ve promised nothing,” she said.

“You promised to honor and obey me.”

“Obey was not in the vows. Trust me on that one, buddy.”

Now he smoothed his hand under her jaw. The jut of her chin was sharp. Every bone stood out, defining, creating remarkable dimensions to explore. Her flesh was soft, warm, alive. And beneath the flesh, her blood smelled darkly sweet, a wicked perfume.

“You had better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking, longtooth.”

The demeaning curse should not go without a swift slap.

Though he wasn’t taken to harming females, some could only be controlled with physical coercion. Like witches. And others. He’d once worked with a female vampire bounty hunter in the fifteenth century. She’d liked it rough.

But Creed had made a vow. And he had meant it when he’d promised her father he’d protect his daughter, and ensure no harm came to her. Some things in war and love were never fair game.

So instead, Creed leaned in for a kiss.

She was quick, sliding her fingers over her lips before he could make contact.

Creed tugged her hand away. She struggled, and because he didn’t trust his strength, he conceded, flinging back her arm and stepping away.

Pacing before her, he looked to the carpeting, not wanting to show her his defeat.

“You’ve already stolen one kiss from me,” she said, defiance brightening her tone. “The rest should be earned. If you can earn them, I’ll be more than willing to give them.”

And she slipped inside the guest room and slammed the door.

Creed fisted his fingers at the door. A nasty condemnation slid across his tongue, but he gave it no voice.

Turning and stomping down the hallway, he threw open the door to his bedroom.

“Green-haired wench,” he muttered. “Thought I’d had to deal with the last of your kind in the sixteen hundreds.”

Chapter Three

BLU TRACED A FINGER along the stainless steel kitchen countertop. Cold, precise, engineered for maximum inhospitality.

Much like her new husband.

The glass-fronted cabinets displayed many crystal goblets, snifters and shot glasses—and only a few plates. The wine fridge was as big as the regular refrigerator. She peered at the labels on the wine bottles. Some bottles had hand-printed labels and the years were from the seventeenth to the nineteenth centuries. She was no expert, but did know some rare wines sold for tens of thousands of dollars.

“Nice. Bet he’d throw a fit if I tapped into one of those.”

Much as she’d like to witness a vampire conniption, wine didn’t interest her; she needed food. Sustenance. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday noon. Her prenuptial nervous stomach hadn’t allowed her to do more than nibble. Now her stomach growled like a banshee.

She opened the fridge door and gaped at the bleak interior. “What? You have got to be kidding me.”

“Bonjour, my new wife.”

She spun to find Creed leaning against the counter. She hadn’t heard him enter. Bad werewolf. She should have smelled him the moment he came down the stairs in the other room. Vampires had a vivid scent, earthy and yet refined, perhaps a little sweet.

Damn, she was off. It was the house. It was filled with new and odd smells. And it was so open and vast. She couldn’t acclimate.

Or it might be nerves still.

“You’ve no food,” she complained.

“Never had a need for it.” He stared at her head, a curious grin toying with his expression.

“Yeah? Well, I require food to survive. I’m famished.”

“I’ll send Housekeeper out for something. What do you like?”

“Anything edible. Preferably meat, fruits and veggies. A nice porterhouse steak would fit the bill. You seriously don’t eat? Must save on the grocery bills. Please tell me you don’t have a fridge with bags of blood in here somewhere. That would so make me retch.”

“Wouldn’t want to see that. Though now that you’ve put the unsavory image in my brain it’s stuck there.”

“You’re welcome.”

She closed the fridge door and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her stomach. Now she scented him strongly. Dark, spicy, brewed together with some kind of masculine musk.

“And just so you know,” he added, “I don’t do bagged blood. It must be warm and have a heartbeat.”

“Peachy. Thank you for that image.”

That pleased him enough to grant her a lift of brow. “Turnabout is fair play, and all that.”

She’d give him the point. But only because he wasn’t so awful to look at during the day, even though the shades were pulled on all the windows, reducing the daylight to a dim mire. Hair blacker than the dress she’d worn last night feathered about his face. Eyes equally dark studied her curiously.

“What’s wrong, vamp? You’re staring again.”

“Your hair.” He gestured, his fingers tracing a loose circle between the two of them, but gave up trying to figure it out. “Yesterday it was…and now it’s…”

“It’s called violet. You like it?”

Head tilting, he seemed to search for something nice to say, but decided silence was best.

A shake of her head swung Blu’s shoulder-length violet bob. The long bangs that dusted her eyelashes tangled in the silken strands and she blew upward to disperse them.

“I think it’s one of my better colors,” she said perkily. “Goes with the skirt, too.”

He studied her plaid pleated miniskirt, drawing his eyes the length of her legs, where she twisted the ball of one foot on the floor. She was barefoot, the only way to go when not out partying.

“You’re quite a loud dresser, aren’t you?”

“Loud?” Blu chuckled heartily. “This is but a whisper, buddy. And it’s me, take it or leave it. I like to play with my looks. You don’t like it? I don’t much care. Now where’s the housekeeper? What’s her name?”

“Housekeeper.”

“Yeah. What’s her name, and I’ll go tell her what kinds of food I like.”

“Housekeeper,” he stated again. “That’s what I call her.”

“You’re not serious?” Blu did air quotes, and repeated, “‘Housekeeper’? Poor chick. Doesn’t even garner a name from her employer? Bet you’re loads of fun at the office Christmas party.”

“I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Of course not. Because you’ve banned fun, right?”

“And I think you’ve fallen into the fun barrel, gotten stirred up and tumbled out the other side.”

“If that’s a comment on my clothes, I’m not biting. Color is my thing. I don’t like to blend in.”

“One would think a wolf would prefer more natural camouflage, or an understated look.”

“So you’re all up on my breed now, are you?”

“Not at all. I know only a little.”

“Which is obviously less than nothing. So! I’m heading out for a jog after I find the housekeeper with no name. Where are the best places to run around here?”

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

“I didn’t ask your opinion. I need some directions. You got a computer? I’ll check the neighborhood on Google. We are at the edge of a city suburb, yes? I think I saw some houses last night. Kinda far off though. This is like Green Acres to me.”

“I mean, you shouldn’t go out alone. In fact, I insist you do not. It’s not safe.”

Blu swung a look at the man. He was serious.

“Dude, I’m a werewolf. If some mugger tries to take me on, I’ll give him what for. Not like anyone would be out here in the boonies, anyway.”

“There are wolves and vamps camped outside the estate.”

“What?”

“I’ll show you on the security cameras if you must see. I checked this morning. I suspect both factions will be keeping a close eye on the two of us.”

“Well, that’s unfair sportsmanship.”

“I agree. And I suspect if you go out alone they may not simply observe. The vampires might threaten you and the wolves, well…”

Yeah, she knew what to expect from the wolves.

“Ever hear a wolf do a catcall?” She winked. “Those guys are randy as hell, always.”

And a very good reason for her to stay nice and safe tucked inside. Yet seclusion here with the enemy was not going to be a day at the park.

“I had assumed so. And you being the lone female wolf in the vicinity…Well, your safety is my concern.”

“You say that like you love me so much,” she mocked.

“I…”

“I know, I know, you promised my father. You take those marriage vows so seriously, like some honorable knight’s vow to protect and serve.”

“I’ve served under three French kings and various vampire tribes. I’m accustomed to taking vows and standing by them.”

“Whatever.” She peered out the window. The estate’s west side backed up to a lush forest. “You’ve a lot of acreage. Is it all marked off with the fence I saw out front last night?”

“It is.”

“Bet I can run around the property awhile. I have to run, you know. I need the exercise. It’s my nature.”

“A werewolf thing?”

“Exactly.”

“And what about when the full moon arrives?”

She tilted a sultry gaze at him. She knew when he discerned that she was flirting because his eyes lit up. But he didn’t understand it was all in fun, and the confusion on his face pleased her.

So now he was getting to the questions that mattered. One in particular that must be burning a hole through his uptight brain. He had married a werewolf. What the hell did that mean?

“What do you think will happen when the moon is full? Think I’ll wolf out and attack you?”

“Blu, please. I know enough about werewolves to avoid them, or to catch them by the throats with a blade if they charge me, but I’m not up on everything. Besides, I’ve stood before my share of werewolves in my day.”

“I bet you have. Slaughtered many?”

She read so much in his condemning gaze. He wasn’t going to answer the question, though Blu suspected the answer was more than many. Rare did a vampire and werewolf encounter one another without bloodshed. At least, she’d never known differently.

“I’ve only ever encountered the male of your breed. They are formidable during the full moon when they are in shifted werewolf form. But I know little about the female.”

“Then you’ve some learning to do, buddy.”

She tapped him on the nose and breezed past him, determined to exit before she decided a punch would serve better than a mere tap.

The audacity of him to assume she would wolf out because the moon was high in the sky. She wasn’t like her male counterparts.

She was much more dangerous.

And the sooner the vampire learned that, the better off they’d both be.

CCREED EMERGED FROM HIS office after making phone calls to the major tribe leaders in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area. He confirmed the werewolf princess was in his care and that things were running smoothly. Whatever that meant.

His perception that things were running smoothly was hindered by his vacillating notions about werewolves: befriend them or kill them. Centuries ago, such would have been an easy call. But now, he struggled to find the answer that would serve him best.

Another phone call checked with Alexandre on the Rescue Project. He liked to be kept abreast of all happenings with the project. If a new sporting warehouse was located or if a lone vampire had been reported missing, he would send out the team.

All was quiet on that front, but the information did not put him at ease. The whole calm-before-the-storm thing was an accurate measure of anything the werewolves did.

Leaving his office to walk off his anxieties, Creed padded barefoot through the living room. An awful stench teased his nostrils. “What the—?”

He followed the odor to the kitchen, and wandered in and caught Housekeeper as she was tidying up.

“She doesn’t like it rare?” he asked.

“Yes, rare.”

“Smells like you grilled a cow to oblivion. And you did it inside?”

“There is the special grill on the stove, my lord.”

He’d never paid any mind to the appliances. “Gods, I hate meat.”

“I enjoyed the opportunity to cook, my lord.” The woman bowed to him and slipped by.

Creed preferred his help obedient. This one should have asked him first before firing up the grill. On the other hand, they never did stick around long enough for proper training.

He opened the fridge. It was stocked with a colorful array of fruits and vegetables. The freezer held cuts of beef, pork, chicken and—he thumbed a plastic-wrapped package—buffalo?

“Ghastly.”

He could barely remember what it had been like to eat so long ago. The flavors and smells were too distant to recall, but the knowing it had satisfied still remained within him.

Admittedly, he envied Blu for her appetite. While blood satisfied now, he wouldn’t mind the occasional taste of truffle, oven-warm bread dripping with butter or even steamed fish. Food—beyond a lick or nibble—would make him sick, though.

He was just thankful he could consume wine and whisky with no more effect than a dizzy head. He liked that he could get a little drunk off alcohol. Not drunk, actually, but looser. Relaxed.

He imagined Blu would be a sight drunk. She was already so colorful and in-your-face. A few goblets of wine might see her dancing on the tables.

Not a horrible image, when he considered those long sexy legs. They grew up to her armpits. And those hips would rock so sensually…

But then, she was now his wife. Decorum must be learned. He wasn’t about to appear in public with the foulmouthed brat until he’d polished her up a bit.

Make that a lot.

Summoning a simple wind spell, he waved his hand and conjured the wind through the window screen and curled the breeze about the kitchen. The air hooked into the scent molecules and carried the officious smell out with it.

He’d have to watch his usage of magic. He felt sure the wolf would have questions. Which would then lead to accusations. He preferred to avoid the conflict. The best defense was always to pick and choose the battles worth fighting.

Centuries earlier he’d made a promise to the Council—the witches foremost—that he would not use his magic skills. It was either that or be magically shackled to prevent him from doing so. He preferred living without being bound by a spell.

Wasn’t as though he used it in large amounts. About eight hundred years ago, the spell had been put in place to make witch’s blood poisonous to vampires, and to prevent the vampires from enslaving witches. Though he could drink from a Protected witch simply because he’d been drinking from them since before the spell, and had obviously developed an immunity.

Didn’t matter now. The spell had been demolished a couple decades earlier. Though he had no need for magic, he did find it made life easier and he hated to lose it completely.

Strolling through the living area, he noticed movement out on the patio. Violet movement.

“Those wigs. I wonder what her real hair color is?”

He snagged a pair of sunglasses from the cupboard beside the patio door and, checking skyward to make sure the mechanized sunshades were drawn over the vast patio, went outside.

She had tugged a lounge chair off the tiled patio and onto the grass, which was not protected by the massive canvas shades that rippled in the breeze.

Having purloined a pair of his sunglasses, her eyes were hidden behind the black lenses. Her long lean body stretched along the slatted wooden chaise. The bikini did not cover much territory.

But a thin strip of pink fabric covered her obviously shaved mons. She was tan there. Creed decided she must lie out often. Probably in the nude, because he didn’t see any trace of pale skin around the edges of the small strip that didn’t cover more than the most important parts. No clue as to what her natural hair color was there, either.

Bemused, he glided his eyes along her shapely skin. Equally small triangles stretched over such perfect breasts, Marie Antoinette would be jealous. Perfect globes, high and proud.

“You have this thing with staring at me, you know that?”

Creed realized he leaned over her, as if he were a mortal inspecting fruit displayed on the grocer’s counter. He straightened and stepped back onto the patio tiles.

He could withstand indirect sunlight for ten, fifteen minutes tops, before it began to burn his skin, though he could go about in the day if the sky was overcast. There was no magic spell that would make him impervious to the UVs.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

“This is my home now. And since I’m not allowed to leave the property without an armed guard, I figure I’d make the best of it. Why don’t you join me?” She patted the grass beside the lounge chair where the sunlight beamed strongly. “Oh, right. Burn, baby, burn, eh?”

“It’s why I spend a lot of time in Minnesota. Not much sun here in the wintertime.”

“So that’s why the vamps are thick as blood here. Pun intended.”

Creed pulled a lounge chair to the edge of the tiles and sat in the shade, stretching out his legs. They reclined parallel to each other, she a goddess of the brilliant day, and he ever a slave to the night.

“I envy you,” he said before he could stop himself.

“What for? My ability to soak up the UVs without dusting to ash?”

“No, your reckless abandon. You’re very free.”

“I don’t see any shackles on your wrists.”

“I mean inside. Underneath that violet wig. You don’t care what anyone thinks, and that’s refreshing to me.”

“Yeah, I bet you think about everything before you say it. Wonder how your words will make others react.”

“Not at all. I’ve been around long enough. I say and do as I wish. And I have certain expectations—”

“You expect to have met.”

She flipped to her stomach and propped her chin on her forearm. The backside of the bikini bottom was but a string.

Creed suppressed an appreciative moan. A man could bounce a quarter on that ass. And look at that tattoo. It was a tribal design, but delicate, flourishing up her spine in a gorgeous arabesque.

“Look all you like,” she said.

“Don’t mind if I do. You don’t normally sunbathe wearing a swimsuit. Why today?”

“So you’ve been looking for tan lines. Naughty vampire. You think I’m going to give you a peep show? Now you’re starting to sound like the wolves in the pack.”

“Don’t ever compare me to a wolf.”

She smirked. “Dude, don’t worry. That would be too flattering.”

The chair creaked when he leaned abruptly forward. “Do you purposely mean to offend, or is it your nature?”

“I think it’s a little of both. Hey, you don’t have to talk to me. There’s a whole big yard—oh, right. Pale boy needs to stay under the protective covering. My bad.”

She was right; he didn’t have to suffer this abuse. But to reach over and admonish her with a swat to that sexy ass might convince her he wanted to touch her.

He did want to touch. What man could resist such a tantalizing display? But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d won this round.

“You like to swim?” he tried.

“Nope.”

The violet hair splayed across her face and the dark sunglasses. Surely she could still see him, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t look away from that incredible ass. Softly rounded, so firm, and taunting him to stroke his fingers over the sun-heated skin.

Damn, was he getting hard looking at a werewolf? Of all the absurd—

“Penny for your thoughts,” she cooed. The tip of a pink tongue lashed out to stroke the underside of her upper lip. “But I bet they’re worth a mint.”

“You’ve a great ass,” he conceded. “Nice tits, too.” Leaning back and stretching an arm behind his head, he tilted up his sunglasses. “You’re the complete package, Blu. Why on earth did you agree to this marriage when you could have been married off to a fine werewolf, most likely a pack leader?”

“I was promised to the scion of the Northern pack.” She tucked her head into her creased elbow, away from him. “Tattoo is from him.”

Interesting. What little Creed did know of pack politics was that a scion either had to kill the current principal or wait for his death. In this case, Amandus Masterson’s death. So how would the principal putting his daughter forth for this marriage screw with the scion’s plans?

“You loved him,” he guessed. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t love him. I loved having sex with him and being his girl. He was my lover. But I’ll never fall in love. It’s not in my nature to give my heart over to a man. Remember that, vampire. It’s all an act. That’s all it can ever be between us.”

Creed closed his eyes behind the sunglasses.

Indeed, an act. He wasn’t stupid. He’d entered this marriage with eyes wide open and his brain working all the angles. But there were so many variables he hadn’t anticipated.

Like being attracted to his wife. Physically, that was. So far their exchanges had only reinforced to him that she was spoiled and most likely unwilling to put forth as much effort in this marriage as he would.

What he did know for sure was this conversation didn’t need to happen. They were only required to play their parts before observers.

Though he couldn’t be sure the vamps and weres camped outside the perimeter of his estate weren’t using telephoto lenses to take pictures. They could have the damned yard bugged, as well.

But they wouldn’t get past his security. Should a werewolf breach the fence by means other than the front gates, silver darts were set to find the target all around the perimeter.

As for vampires, he didn’t fear challenge from any.

So why was he sitting here trying to converse with the obstinate one? Logic determined they would need to get to know one another, to make it look good. She seemed amenable to that.

Or was it that the view was so spectacular? Before last night he’d thought it impossible to consider kissing a werewolf, let alone get a hard-on from looking at her body. Yet right now he sported some serious wood from the visuals she broadcast.

What was wrong with him?

Mon Dieu, he needed to take blood. It must be nearing the end of a fortnight since he’d last taken a donor. He could go as long as a month without sustenance, but two weeks was best. If he considered stroking the heat-softened flesh of a woman who should be his greatest enemy he wasn’t at the top of his game.

“Besides,” she added, “love wasn’t a requirement.”

“No, it was not. Quite a relief, eh?”

“Tell me about it.”

He caught her gaze for a nanosecond before she looked away. Caught. He could smell the longing on her. He was sure of it. Or, at the very least, interest.

“Do you swim?” she suddenly asked.

“Every day.”

A dip in the cool waters would serve to chill his insubordinate lust. But he usually dove in wearing nothing. He wasn’t sure he owned swim trunks, though he could dive in wearing his skivvies.

Why the hell not? If she was going to flaunt her sexy curves before him, he shouldn’t be prudish about stripping before her.

“That’s what I came out here for, as a matter of fact.”

He stood and felt her gaze upon him as he strode over to the pool. A woman’s regard was a fine thing, but more so when she wished to deny that interest.

Peeling off his shirt, Creed tossed it aside onto another chaise. A stretch of his torso flexed his tight abs. He retained the physique of a warrior even though his battle days were long behind him. And though sword, ax, bullet and fangs had entered this ancient body, he retained no scars.

“Stare much?” he volleyed at her.

She turned her head into her arm. “Nothing to see, pale vampire dude. I prefer my men hairy anyway.”

He may be pale, but he was nothing to sneeze at.

Stepping from his pants, Creed snapped the band of his black boxer briefs. She was looking again. He could feel her curiosity as a tangible wave through the air. Felt great. Felt…different.

Closing his eyes, he whispered too softly for even paranormal ears, “You do prefer me.”

Out his peripheral vision he saw Blu lift onto her elbows, as if she’d heard something. A whisper only he could make audible through air magic.

Take that, snotty werewolf princess.

Diving, he hit the water with a sharp cut and swam the entire pool length before surfacing on the other side. When he flipped back his hair and swiped the water from his eyes, the violet-haired goddess knelt at the pool’s edge.

“Thought you said you didn’t swim?” he asked.

“I don’t. I just…Did you hear something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. A whisper?”

“Did they wed me to a mad princess?”

She snapped her fingers, dispersing droplets of water. “Whatever. Hey, you know what cold water does to a guy’s dick?”

“The water isn’t cold.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Starting a backstroke, Creed was amused he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t avoid looking.

BLU DIALED BREE’S NUMBER and slipped into the guest bathroom attached to the room she was staying in, locking the door behind her. Bree rambled on about how sexy her new husband was and how daring of him to kiss her in front of everyone like that.

“Yeah, whatever. He’s sex with fangs. Not. So did you talk to Ryan after the ceremony? Did he say anything to you?”

“Haven’t seen him. But you know I only see him if he stops into the bar.”

Bree danced strip at the Goddess in St. Paul on weeknights. She was an amazing dancer with a body Blu envied. And the wings rocked, too. Blu had always wanted wings. Instead, she got stuck with the hairy wolf stuff.

“He was there last night, waiting for me outside the Landmark. I had to be quick with him because I didn’t want the vampire to see. You’ll call me when you talk to him, right? And you’ll ask him about me?”

“You know I will. Even though it’s only been a day, I’m sure he misses you to death, Blu. But tell me about your first night? Did you and he…you know?”

“Miss I-Take-My-Clothes-Off-For-Strangers can’t say the naughty words? Please, Bree. I slept in the guest room. You think I’d have sex with a strange man?”

“You have done it on occasion.”

“Yeah, but they weren’t vamps.” And don’t remind her of those disastrous stranger sex encounters. “I hate thinking that I’m sitting in a vampire’s lair.”

“It’s your lair now, too.”

“I’d prefer a cave. Doesn’t feel friendly, whatever you call it. Would you come over, Bree? I don’t have anyone to talk to and he won’t even let me go out to jog.”

“Sounds kind of Neanderthal.”

“He hasn’t dragged me around by my hair yet, but I wouldn’t put it past him. There are vampires and werewolves camped at the end of the property, spying on us. He thinks they might do something to me.”

“Protective fellow. How romantic.”

“Whatever.”

She swung her legs up onto the vanity and leaned against the wall. Mr. Romance had been hoping she’d look when he’d stripped to go swimming. Sexy muscles had cut through the water with precision and unnatural speed. Pale as he was, he didn’t need a tan to highlight the tight abs and delts.

She’d only looked to make him feel good.

That was her story and she was sticking to it.

“All right, I’ll give you one thing,” Blu said. “He does have a great body.”

“So you did peek!”

“He went for a swim. Couldn’t avoid the browse over his abs.”

“All muscles and brawn?”

“I suppose. Nothing like Ryan, but nothing to sneer at either.”

“Ryan’s a freak of nature. He’s got too many muscles.”

“Yeah, but I love to lick them. I miss him, Bree.”

“You need to not think about him. He’s your past now, Blu. Why don’t you stare into your hubby’s eyes for a while? You might find something interesting in there.”

“Yeah, like bloodlust.” Blu palmed her throat. “It’s going to be so gross if I see him drink someone’s blood. He’s not coming near me with those fangs.”

“Fine, but will you let him prick you with something else?”

“There’s my nasty girl.”

“That’s me. Always eager to hear about everyone’s love life. Please promise me you’ll give him a chance, Blu. You’re both in the same situation. Doing something for an entire nation you don’t even know. You should be bonding over this, cleaving to one another. It’ll make you stronger, I promise.”

“Bree, you do know cleave has two opposite meanings. I’ll take the prying-apart definition.”

“I meant the clinging-to-one-another definition.”

“Yeah, I know. You, Bree, are always too positive about everything.”

“It’s the faery dust.”

“Will you slip me some of that stuff next time I see you? My supply is running low.”

“Sure! Now quit hiding in the bathroom and go get to know your hubby.”

Blu smirked. Leave it to Bree to know she was hiding out.

“It’s getting dark. I think he’s gone hunting, or whatever it is they call stalking mortals for blood. Pulling a Dracula. Yeah, that’s what I’ll call it.”

“That gives you time to shower and slip into something sexy before the count returns. Try a little flirtation on your hubby.”

“Yeah, but flirting will mean a promise to him.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Woman cannot survive for more than three days without sex. I know you agree with me on that point.”

Blu rolled her eyes. She was not going to agree, much as she did. “Goodbye, Bree. Talk to Ryan for me, and call me back.”

“Love you, Miss Blu!”

Blu snapped her cell phone shut and tucked it beneath her chin. The faery was entirely too cheery and centered for her own good. If such a thing as Zen Sidhe existed, Bree was the poster fey. The girl needed a good shake—like being forced to marry her complete opposite—to give her a dose of reality.

What was the opposite of faery? Hmm…maybe a demon.

But Blu couldn’t begrudge Bree the positive vibes. Bree was the only one who actually believed this marriage had a chance.

Sliding off the vanity, Blu tugged the bikini strings loose and stood naked before the walk-in shower tiled in polished river stones. She slid her palms down her stomach and hips. It always made her feel apprehensive when a man stared and hungered after her.

Creed couldn’t keep his eyes from her. It had made her nervous so she used her snotty comebacks to disguise it. Living at the compound, she’d learned a few sharp words sometimes proved more effective than a slap that could be construed as rough foreplay.

She smoothed her palms up to cup her breasts. A glance over her shoulder studied her body in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the back of the door.

Let the vampire look. She was the one who would decide if a look could turn into a touch, and a touch into something more. It was high time she took control of her life. It was not something she’d had at the compound.

Peeling the wig from her head, she shook out her hair and flicked on the shower.

Flirting with her husband?

She did need something to keep her from getting cabin fever. And if it put her in control? All the better.

Chapter Four

THE DONOR FELL AT Creed’s feet and collapsed, arms and chest folding over her legs. Creed swayed against the rough cement wall, catching his palm against it, as the swoon shimmered through his body.

After nine centuries, taking blood still never failed to satisfy. Nothing near a raging orgasm, but a sweet tease similar to it. And with age, the high all vampires called the swoon lasted longer, fixing to his veins in a lingering shimmy of sensation that he could draw out for hours. Of course, that was due to the blood magic he’d gained from a witch. And since that little exercise of magic didn’t harm anyone, he wasn’t about to give that up, vow or no vow.

He licked his lips. The blood wasn’t as tainted with beer as he’d expected. Perhaps haunting local bars should not be marked completely off the list.

Normally he invited a select clientele to his home when he needed to drink. But he couldn’t do that now. It didn’t feel right with the wife at home. He didn’t want to answer any questions she would have.

Besides, if she were going to withhold information about her change during the full moon, then he would keep his stuff private, too. Most especially the magic. If the wolves discovered his usage of it, they’d go straight to the witches, and then the war between witches and vamps would be renewed.

Creed had enough on his shoulders with the werewolf princess prancing about his home.

After unlocking the BMW, he climbed inside and headed home. All he wanted to do after taking blood was lie back and enjoy the mellow ride.

THE HOUSE WAS DARK, save for the light at the end of the hallway, which told Creed that Blu had found the theater room. The loud music was an even better indication.

Tonight should have been his movie night. He liked viewing movies on the plasma TV, sitting in the dark with a sexy woman draped in his arms. After a long drink of hot blood, he usually had a driver escort her home because his persuasion stole her memories for the evening.

Who said drinking blood had to be all horror and chills? He’d done enough of that in the Middle Ages. Flash the fangs, freak ’em out and suck them dry.

That was so gauche now. A man must possess style, decorum.

“Hell, you really are an old man,” he muttered. “You don’t bother with the scare anymore, just popcorn and sex. Dieu.”

Erratic sound blasted from the room. The wolf must have turned the volume to eleven. He wanted quiet tonight, to enjoy the lingering blood swoon.

“Silly wolf. This vampire can still do the scare.”

Marching down the hall, he fisted his hands and had achieved a tight anger by the time he pushed the double doors open. Prepared to march in and flash some fang, Creed paused.

The lights were on. Poufed pink feathery stuff bobbed in the air two rows down. The room touted six rows of four seats on each side.

On the screen, Mick Jagger pranced and rasped through “Sympathy For The Devil” as Keith Richards ground out a solo.

Tucked on one of the wide theater seats—rather, draped—Blu grooved to the beat, her long legs hooked over the seat before her. Those pink feathery things were some kind of high-heeled shoes Creed had only seen in black-and-white romance movies.

The pink hair bobbed in time to the music.

“Pink?” Anger dissipating, he strode down the aisle.

A see-through sweep of black fabric dashed across her legs and part of her stomach. The rest of her was clad in black lace providing only a little more coverage than the bikini had earlier.

“Loud enough?” he shouted.

She hadn’t noticed him yet. Why should she? Her eyes were closed and she beat the air with delicate fists in time with Charlie Watts’s drum kit. Weren’t wolves supposed to have excellent smell?

Creed leaned over and glided his fingers up her smooth calf.

She startled, her legs sliding down and her shoes hitting the floor. “Whoa! Dude, way to go for the creep.”

He reached for the remote tucked in a cup holder, and muted the noise. “You discovered the sound system.”

“Oh, man, this so rocks. Surround sound in this little theater? I could live in here.”

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

She sat up on the chair arm, the gossamer robe sliding away and exposing maximum flesh. She looked like a high-priced hooker in her bubblegum pink hair and pushup black lace bra. Add the spiky heels and she was dressed to earn a pretty penny.

Not that he would know anything about hookers. Not from this century, anyway.

Creed sat on the chair arm across the aisle. Her exotic perfume, which could be suntan lotion with its tropical coconut aroma, carried across the aisle, prodding at his blood swoon. Just relax, and sink into the sensation…

“Is it okay I’m using this room?” she asked. She made no move to tug the robe over her flat, tight abs. Not that the sheer fabric would conceal anything. Those legs were so long. They could wrap around his back and hang on for the ride. “I didn’t know when you’d be home. Were you…out?”

“Out?” He could play the innocent as well as she could.

“Well, you know.”

“I’m not sure. What do I know?”

She sighed and pointed to her neck. “You know. Pulling a Dracula.”

“Pulling a—?” Was she really going to insult him with a reference to a fictional character?

“The sucking thing.”

“Ah. You mean the part where I answer the call of instinct to survive?”

“Yeah, whatever. So what do you do? Stalk hookers in the night or something?”

“Look who’s talking. You appear as though you tickled one and she sneezed her attire all over you.”

Affronted, she sat straighter. The move pushed up her breasts so they strained against the black lace.

Creed sucked in his lower lip. Mercy, but the wolf had a nice pair.

“I’ll have you know there’s probably not a hooker on the streets who can afford this bit of black lace. It’s from Paris.”

“Ah? As am I, or thereabouts.”

“That’s right, my hubby the Frenchman.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. The position did amazing things with her breasts. Creed could see the rosy circles surrounding her nipples. “Always had a thing for Frenchmen.”

“Is that so? You could have fooled me.”

“Frenchmen who don’t bite,” she said with a scratch at her neck. “So what’s the deal with you going out? I should think a rich guy like you can afford to have your bites shipped in.”

She was so gauche and, yet, entertainingly so. Tonight’s wig matched the pink marabou and it bobbed sexily against her porcelain-fine jaw as she nodded to the muted beat.

“Normally I entertain donors here at the house. I didn’t want to disturb you though, so my hunting habits had to change.”

She shrugged. “I don’t care. So long as I don’t have to watch.”

Creed stretched an arm along the plush velvet cushion and propped an ankle across his knee. No harm in marveling over her. Drawing in her delicious scent. “You know, some do like to watch. Taking blood is a sensual act.”

“Yeah? Maybe for the vampire.”

“For the donor, as well.”

“Donor? You mean victim.”

“They’re not victims if I don’t harm them.”

“You don’t consider a bite harm?”

“I use persuasion to erase their memory of our transaction. The bite heals overnight and they wake with only minor soreness.”

“Donors? Transaction? Okay, that’s enough.” She pressed the off button on the remote and stood. “You’ve thoroughly creeped me out.”

“And you continue to intrigue me, Blu. Did you intend to seduce anyone in particular tonight with that clothing choice?”

“This little thing? Dude, this is what I wear to bed.”

He rubbed his throbbing brow. “I am not a dude. Your language skills impress me little.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re an old man who’s lived it all, seen it all, and must be so cultured and refined. Ha! I can actually mean it now when I talk to my girlfriend about my old man.”

“Do you speak of me?”

“Hell, yeah. I told Bree all about our skyrockets-and-lightning wedding night.”

“Blu, do you ever tire of this front you put on constantly?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sex incarnate had no idea how hot she made him merely by standing there, one leg out jauntily and twisting on the heel of her shoe. Or maybe she did.

Yes, she must be aware of every single move she made, and how best to move for the optimum impact on the opposite sex. And yet—

“You keep people back with your blasé attitude and your snotty comments. Why is that? Are you afraid to allow people close to you?”

She stepped across the aisle. Legs spread and hips high, she bent over him. Her breasts were level with his line of vision, but he instead looked into her eyes. There in the depths glittered a sadness Creed was beginning to realize may have been there a very long time.

Why he realized that, he did not know. Because she came off as hyperfun, sexy and all about the flirt. Truly, was it a facade?

“I let a lot of people close, Creed,” she said precisely. “The ones I trust.”

“How does one go about cracking your exterior? If you won’t accept the trust I offer, then I’ve no means of winning this game.”

“That’s your problem. You think this is a game.”

“And you don’t? You’ve played the Tease Card yet again. I’ve known you but a few days, but already I’ve learned that’s your favorite one.”

“Is not.”

“Prove it.”

The pink wig bopped at a jaunty angle as she cocked her head, considering. She had to know she played him. The sexy clothing was a dead giveaway. Who wore an outfit like that to listen to music? No, she had been expecting him.

Blu leaned closer, the tips of her pink hair dusting his wrist. Red lips hovered near his and her breath played over his mouth, his chin. Coconut air surrounded them. Beyond that scent though, something darker and sweeter lingered. Werewolf blood.

Creed’s heartbeat slid across the plate and hung suspended, waiting for the next play.

“I like to tease,” she whispered, her eyes dazzling across his.

“That is apparent.”

He would not reach for her, though it killed him to remain aloof and uninterested with her warm, enticing flesh so close.

No. Werewolf blood interested him little. Let her have this hand. Let her see she could trust he would not always need to be in control. That was how the masters gained enemy ground.

But it was difficult to restrain himself. Her breasts were right there, barely enclosed with mere wisps of black lace. A flick of his fingers would splay them across that luscious, tan flesh.

“You’ve been drinking blood?”

He nodded.

“Thought so. No kisses tonight, husband.”

With that, she strode out in a sweep of flowing sheer fabric and bouncing pink marabou.

No sympathy for this devil tonight. Creed eased a hand over his erection. Each time, her teasing play made him harder. The werewolf princess was getting under his skin.

And he liked that just fine.

But no man was a rock. Nor could any sane vampire avoid the lure of the exotic. Damn, but her blood smelled delicious. A dark sweetness he would know, and soon.

BLU CLOSED THE BEDROOM door and tugged off her wig. Sliding a hand down her neck, she traced her fingers over the warmth between her breasts and down her stomach where she absolutely flamed.

“Insufferable vampire.”

That man—that vampire—had gotten her hot. And he hadn’t even touched her.

It was the way he had looked at her. Those dark irises, surrounded by impeccable white. Focused. Delving. Promising. And maybe bemused. Like, if she had touched him, he would have touched back. And that touch would have so been worth the effort of waiting in the theater room for two hours before he’d finally found her.

And when had she ever been turned on by a man’s voice? Creed’s was calm and measured, but had a burnished edge of darkness that vibrated at the base of her throat. Mercy, he could fuck a woman with that voice.

“This is so wrong.”

And yet, she’d set out this evening on a quest to gain control. And strangely, she’d earned some. He now knew it was she who would set the pace between them.

Maybe.

She turned her cheek against the wall. It was papered in old-fashioned flocked arabesques, and whispered against her skin. Sighing, she eased a finger down inside her black lace panties. She was wet. For him.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong!”

But while flirting with a vampire should be disgraceful, it didn’t stop her from satisfying the ache that yearned for appeasement. She stroked herself, slowly, steadily.

The image of Creed’s sexy stare haunted her. Let him look. Let him hunger for her. Let him…make her hot and horny.

She didn’t need a man to feel good. She could take care of business by herself.

And she did, bringing herself to a climax, clinging to the wall, yet wanting it to be a man’s broad shoulders she clung to instead.

CREED PAUSED AS HE PASSED the guest bedroom door. Whimpers, moans, a huffing sigh. The sounds inside were unmistakable. She was…

“Pleasuring herself?”

Had she been turned on just now in the theater room? Had the saucy pink princess gotten as hot as he had?

“Oh, my sweet, wicked werewolf.”

He turned to grip the doorknob but stopped himself.

A smile crept onto his lips. The werewolf had gotten hot for the vampire.

Nodding, he stepped back and crossed his arms. “Nice.”

OVER A MIXING BOWL of Cap’n Crunch, Blu drowned her morning blues. She had never been a morning person. And though she’d yet to tip the night into dawn since the marriage—and had been getting to bed far too early—she still didn’t have to like the new day.

A few taps checked her cell phone. No messages. Come on, Bree, I need contact with the real world. And Ryan was being strangely silent. Had he already found himself a new girl? No, he was probably busy with the Western pack.

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.

Chapter Five

HALFWAY 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.”

THE 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?”

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