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.”