Her Vampire Husband. Michele Hauf

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ