Michele Hauf - Her Vampire Husband

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.