Her Vampire Husband. Michele Hauf

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ