Accidentally Married To...A Vampire? (11 page)

Okay, that settles it. See. Nothing to be afraid of. Just go out there, introduce yourself, and have him point you to the kitchen.

She peeked one more time outside the bedroom door and shut it once again.
Dammit.
Tomas was just too big and deadly looking. He also had the whole supernatural vibe going. It rattled her bones.

“Ma’am,” she’d heard a low voice on the other side of the door.

Helena gasped and covered her mouth.

“Miss Strauss? I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there.”

Crap. What should she do? If she didn’t answer, she’d look like a coward. For some bizarre reason, images of chickens flashed in her mind. Didn’t the stronger hens always peck at the weaker ones until they were sad looking and without feathers? Did vampires think themselves the stronger hens? She couldn’t show weakness and let them peck her.

Helena took a deep breath and yanked open the door. “What? What the hell do you want?” she barked.

Tomas took a step back, but didn’t appear at all bothered by her tone. “Niccolo told me that I was not to disturb you under any circumstances. But I doubt he anticipated you’d stay in your room without eating for an entire day. So, considering he’ll take my head if you suffered under my care, I thought I’d risk it.”

“Oh.” Helena cautiously eyed him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so…rude…”
But you scare the hell out of me.

A tick of amusement flashed in Tomas’ eyes. “I can see you are not quite comfortable with leaving your quarters just yet, so may I order you some food?”

Helena lifted her chin. She was determined to bury her fear, and that included her wobbly knees that seemed to recognize she was talking to a lion who, under normal circumstances, viewed her as a tasty gazelle. “Sausage Pizza and…Dr. Pepper.”

Tomas stared for several moments, fear filling his eyes. “I am certain we can find you a pizza, but I was not aware you are ill and require a doctor. Niccolo will have my head.”

This was going to be a very, very long day.

***

Eight Sad, Long Weeks Later…

Helena stared out the window of the obscenely spacious penthouse overlooking Central Park. In contrast to the stark white walls and white modernist furniture, outside was a vision of drab, sooty gray. The late afternoon rain pattered against the tinted glass, which partially obscured the breathtaking view, all twenty million dollars of it. Not that she cared.

Sadly, this day was one she’d repeated more times than she cared to remember in recent weeks: alone, waiting, and too much time to think.

Even her thick beige turtleneck and wool socks weren’t enough to ward off the coldness lurking in her bones today. Reality had finally sunk in, gonging like a huge bell, really.

I left my home and family for Niccolo.

She still hadn’t figured out what she would eventually tell everyone. Right now, they believed she was on the east coast conducting research for a marine biology outfit in New York. If anyone knew the truth, her best friends Ann and Jess, her mother, they’d all say she’d lost her noodle. Helena barely grasped the situation herself, and no amount of journaling could fix the facts because they didn’t add up to anything that might be recognized as logical.

Almost three months earlier she’d gotten herself stranded in the jungle where she met a vampire—irresistibly sexy…yes! But nevertheless, a real live vampire. She’d then become inexplicably stricken by the urge to spend every waking moment, for the rest of her life and every moment thereafter, at his side.
Like a damned puppy!

Yes, he had saved her neck, but the intensity of her feelings still didn’t make sense. And frankly, she was exhausted from trying to figure it out.

Oh stop. You sound like a one woman Maury Povich show entitled, Whaa! I Hooked Up with a Vampire and it Sucks!

Yeah, but it does kinda suck. Doesn’t it?

Keeping up the lies was a full-time job on its own. And she couldn’t not answer her cell or ignore texts. People would start to get suspicious. This morning’s reply to Ann was supposedly sent from the corner café as she waited in line for her triple, skinny venti. Really, she was staring at Niccolo’s Nespresso in the kitchen, waiting for the light to turn green.

A burst of cool air rushed through the room. She spotted Niccolo’s towering form in the doorway. His gorgeous face displayed his trademark smile—dimpled, arrogant, full of mischief.

Helena sighed. He was just so damned beautiful it stole her breath every time she looked at the man. And dammit, if she didn’t still feel euphoric in his presence. Even now, when she was having such painful doubts about the future, the raw masculine energy he radiated was downright addictive.

“
Mio cuore
, I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice pure decadence. He was wearing his usual black pants. Sometimes they were leather or fine tailored wool, other times linen. But always expensive. Always black. Today, they were snugly-fit, soft black denim. A perfect choice to go with the tight, black, V-neck sweater, which accentuated the ripples of muscles covering every inch of his sublime body. A warrior’s body.

With his eyes locked on her, he glided over and clasped her hand before he gently pulled her into him. His thick waves of black hair tickled her face as his massive frame melded to her. He raised his strong hands to the sides of her head, buried his fingers deep in her curls, and slowly pressed his lips against hers. His cool touch never failed to ignite a potent explosion of butterflies in her stomach and deeper down.

Yep. No doubt about it; he was perfect in every way. Except, he refused to be intimate with her—that was far from perfect.

He gently pulled away and unraveled his fingers from her hair. She looked up at him wishing he’d keep kissing her.

Instead, he sighed. “Oh, Helena, I can feel it. Something is troubling you. Have my men been unfriendly again? Because if they have, I will let
you
tear out their eyes this time.”

Helena winced at the thought and placed her palms against his hard chest. “No. Niccolo.”

Amusement sparkled in his dark eyes. “
Buon
. But they grow back.” He shrugged.

Ugh, would she ever get used to vampire humor? Or, maybe he wasn’t kidding. It was hard to tell sometimes.

“What if I were the one misbehaving again?” She wondered what he’d say.

He laughed. “Then I would punish you like last time…in a very cruel way.” He gently clasped her hand again and then planted a feather-light kiss on her wrist. “Like this.”

Figured. He was always so calculated and controlled around her. She wished she could see the unedited version of Niccolo. She wished they’d have a real fight like a real couple. But he never lost his temper with her. Not once. Not even when she purposefully broke one of his rules just to test him. “You need more time to adjust to my world,” he’d say. Or, “I must do a better job of persuading you that my rules are always to be followed.” Then he would lean slowly into her, and press his full lips to her mouth and roll his tongue against hers. He wouldn’t stop until she was a mindless, gooey puddle. Then he would back away. Sometimes he’d run. Was it because of rule number three? No sex until after the wedding slash transformation.

Why? Well, that was rule number six: no answers until, yes, after the transformation. Helena felt the anger and frustration beginning to take hold.

Sentin appeared in the living room doorway with his standard levity. “Is it time to feed our human?”

Niccolo whipped around in a blur. “How many times have I told you?” he screamed. “You are to call her Helena! Next time, you’ll pay with your tongue.”

Helena grabbed Niccolo’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It doesn’t bother me.” It actually did bother her. A lot. It made her feel like a pet. But yelling and violence bothered her more.

Sentin held out his hands. “Jeez. Touchy-touchy. My apologies.”

Niccolo dismissed Sentin and led Helena to the dining room where there was just one setting. Niccolo sat opposite her across the room-length mahogany table. He’d also forgotten to turn on the lights. Again. She could barely see him.

Helena sighed. “Can’t you sit closer so I can see you and don’t have to yell?”

“I can hear you just fine,” Niccolo responded. “And sitting this way is a sign of a distinguished upbringing. I am not a commoner, Helena.”

Ugh!
“No, it’s actually old fashioned and annoying,” she mumbled.

Niccolo stared blankly. “I heard that.”

“I’m sorry, but I like having you close,” she argued, “and you may not be a commoner, but I am.”

Niccolo suddenly appeared at Helena’s side, taking her hand and placing a kiss in her palm. “You are anything but common, my bride.”

Yes, I’m the lucky acorn who fell from the nut tree.

Silver serving dish in hand, Sentin emerged from the kitchen with what looked like fettuccine alfredo. She had no clue where the vampire learned to cook, but he had flare. Except for Italian. He refused to cook with garlic. It was sort of ironic since he was Italian.

Sentin served a heaping pile of creamy, buttery pasta mixed with bits of chicken and red and green vegetables—at least she thought they were that color; it was hard to see in the dark.

Niccolo wrinkled his nose and poured himself a glass of red wine from the decanter set out in front of her.

Helena loaded up her fork and took a mouth full of pasta.
Yep. Missing garlic, but edible
. She smiled at Sentin who was anxiously awaiting her reaction. “Yummm. Really good, Sentin. Thanks.”

Pleased with himself, he practically floated from the dining room.

She began attacking her food. God, she was famished! She’d passed on breakfast this morning because she’d been too busy writing in her scientific journal. She had pages and pages of things she’d learned over the weeks despite the vampires' attempts to be secretive. For example, they were more like wolves—pack animals—than they were the cold-blooded loners like Dracula. And there was a clear pecking order, usually associated with age, but sometimes according to physical skills. She’d overheard Viktor telling the other men that Sentin would lead some outing that evening because although he was the youngest, he “moved like a feather.” What an odd skill to value.

But what astonished her most was how little she really knew about her husband to be. He wouldn’t tell her a thing: where was he from, who his parents were, if he had brothers and sisters he loved once. How about friends? He had to have some, right?

Helena washed down her bite of pasta with a gulp of wine and noticed Niccolo was observing her eating.

He had a frown plastered on his face. “Hungry?”

She smiled sheepishly and dabbed her face with her napkin. “Niccolo, when you change me, can we have a dinner party so I can meet your friends?”

“You've already met them.”

“I have?”

“My men,” he clarified.

But she never saw them speak or show any signs of camaraderie.

“However,” he continued, "we don’t do dinner parties. Not the kind you’re thinking of anyway. I will explain it all…after.”

Helena wanted to gag at the thought of a bunch of vampires sitting around drinking blood from crystal goblets.
Ick.
“So, I won’t ever be inviting my girls over, will I?”

Niccolo chuckled, “Not unless you intend on serving them as appetizers.”

“Then, that would be a
no
.” Helena frowned and took another mouthful. Was he kidding? Would she really never see the girls again? No. She couldn’t let that happen. She’d visit them when they were home for Christmas. Maybe another nighttime bonfire? On second thought, that didn't go so well last time. Niccolo and she never spoke of the incident, but she still had anxiety over seeing those men dead. The degenerates deserved what they got, but it didn't make watching them die any easier. Vampires, on the other hand, seemed at ease with killing. That felt wrong somehow.

“So, what
do
good vampires do with their time besides buying extravagant penthouses, hunting Obscuros, and saving tourists in distress?” she asked.

His dark brows furrowed. “I cannot speak about my world. You know this. You already know too much for your own good.”

Helena wanted to shout—they needed to talk and trust each other like real people! She needed to be treated like his equal, not kept like a pet. She was about to say so, but the moment she gazed into his deep espresso eyes, her anger evaporated.

His expression had also transformed. He was thinking lusty thoughts. Not sure how, but she could tell.

So, is that what vampires do with their time? Sex?

She swallowed hard and crossed her legs while her mind flooded with images of bed-play, shower-play, floor, kitchen table, and in front of the fireplace-play. God she wanted him. She wanted to feel those reams of hard muscles. She wanted him stretched over her naked body. Writhing. Panting. Pumping.