Michele Hauf - Her Vampire Husband

“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.