Her Vampire Husband. Michele Hauf
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if she were going to withhold information about her change during the full moon, then he would keep his stuff private, too. Most especially the magic. If the wolves discovered his usage of it, they’d go straight to the witches, and then the war between witches and vamps would be renewed.
Creed had enough on his shoulders with the werewolf princess prancing about his home.
After unlocking the BMW, he climbed inside and headed home. All he wanted to do after taking blood was lie back and enjoy the mellow ride.
THE HOUSE WAS DARK, save for the light at the end of the hallway, which told Creed that Blu had found the theater room. The loud music was an even better indication.
Tonight should have been his movie night. He liked viewing movies on the plasma TV, sitting in the dark with a sexy woman draped in his arms. After a long drink of hot blood, he usually had a driver escort her home because his persuasion stole her memories for the evening.
Who said drinking blood had to be all horror and chills? He’d done enough of that in the Middle Ages. Flash the fangs, freak ’em out and suck them dry.
That was so gauche now. A man must possess style, decorum.
“Hell, you really are an old man,” he muttered. “You don’t bother with the scare anymore, just popcorn and sex. Dieu.”
Erratic sound blasted from the room. The wolf must have turned the volume to eleven. He wanted quiet tonight, to enjoy the lingering blood swoon.
“Silly wolf. This vampire can still do the scare.”
Marching down the hall, he fisted his hands and had achieved a tight anger by the time he pushed the double doors open. Prepared to march in and flash some fang, Creed paused.
The lights were on. Poufed pink feathery stuff bobbed in the air two rows down. The room touted six rows of four seats on each side.
On the screen, Mick Jagger pranced and rasped through “Sympathy For The Devil” as Keith Richards ground out a solo.
Tucked on one of the wide theater seats—rather, draped—Blu grooved to the beat, her long legs hooked over the seat before her. Those pink feathery things were some kind of high-heeled shoes Creed had only seen in black-and-white romance movies.
The pink hair bobbed in time to the music.
“Pink?” Anger dissipating, he strode down the aisle.
A see-through sweep of black fabric dashed across her legs and part of her stomach. The rest of her was clad in black lace providing only a little more coverage than the bikini had earlier.
“Loud enough?” he shouted.
She hadn’t noticed him yet. Why should she? Her eyes were closed and she beat the air with delicate fists in time with Charlie Watts’s drum kit. Weren’t wolves supposed to have excellent smell?
Creed leaned over and glided his fingers up her smooth calf.
She startled, her legs sliding down and her shoes hitting the floor. “Whoa! Dude, way to go for the creep.”
He reached for the remote tucked in a cup holder, and muted the noise. “You discovered the sound system.”
“Oh, man, this so rocks. Surround sound in this little theater? I could live in here.”
“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”
She sat up on the chair arm, the gossamer robe sliding away and exposing maximum flesh. She looked like a high-priced hooker in her bubblegum pink hair and pushup black lace bra. Add the spiky heels and she was dressed to earn a pretty penny.
Not that he would know anything about hookers. Not from this century, anyway.
Creed sat on the chair arm across the aisle. Her exotic perfume, which could be suntan lotion with its tropical coconut aroma, carried across the aisle, prodding at his blood swoon. Just relax, and sink into the sensation…
“Is it okay I’m using this room?” she asked. She made no move to tug the robe over her flat, tight abs. Not that the sheer fabric would conceal anything. Those legs were so long. They could wrap around his back and hang on for the ride. “I didn’t know when you’d be home. Were you…out?”
“Out?” He could play the innocent as well as she could.
“Well, you know.”
“I’m not sure. What do I know?”
She sighed and pointed to her neck. “You know. Pulling a Dracula.”
“Pulling a—?” Was she really going to insult him with a reference to a fictional character?
“The sucking thing.”
“Ah. You mean the part where I answer the call of instinct to survive?”
“Yeah, whatever. So what do you do? Stalk hookers in the night or something?”
“Look who’s talking. You appear as though you tickled one and she sneezed her attire all over you.”
Affronted, she sat straighter. The move pushed up her breasts so they strained against the black lace.
Creed sucked in his lower lip. Mercy, but the wolf had a nice pair.
“I’ll have you know there’s probably not a hooker on the streets who can afford this bit of black lace. It’s from Paris.”
“Ah? As am I, or thereabouts.”
“That’s right, my hubby the Frenchman.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. The position did amazing things with her breasts. Creed could see the rosy circles surrounding her nipples. “Always had a thing for Frenchmen.”
“Is that so? You could have fooled me.”
“Frenchmen who don’t bite,” she said with a scratch at her neck. “So what’s the deal with you going out? I should think a rich guy like you can afford to have your bites shipped in.”
She was so gauche and, yet, entertainingly so. Tonight’s wig matched the pink marabou and it bobbed sexily against her porcelain-fine jaw as she nodded to the muted beat.
“Normally I entertain donors here at the house. I didn’t want to disturb you though, so my hunting habits had to change.”
She shrugged. “I don’t care. So long as I don’t have to watch.”
Creed stretched an arm along the plush velvet cushion and propped an ankle across his knee. No harm in marveling over her. Drawing in her delicious scent. “You know, some do like to watch. Taking blood is a sensual act.”
“Yeah? Maybe for the vampire.”
“For the donor, as well.”
“Donor? You mean victim.”
“They’re not victims if I don’t harm them.”
“You don’t consider a bite harm?”
“I use persuasion to erase their memory of our transaction. The bite heals overnight and they wake with only minor soreness.”
“Donors? Transaction? Okay, that’s enough.” She pressed the off button on the remote and stood. “You’ve thoroughly creeped me out.”
“And you continue to intrigue me, Blu. Did you intend to seduce anyone in particular tonight with that clothing choice?”
“This little thing? Dude, this is what I wear to bed.”
He rubbed his throbbing brow. “I am not a dude. Your language skills impress me little.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re an old man who’s lived it all, seen it all, and must be so cultured and refined. Ha! I can actually mean it now when I talk to my girlfriend about my old man.”
“Do