Chapter 15
FRANK N. STEIN
“You’re not a vampire at all, are you?” she utters, her usually rosy complexion ashen as she stares up at me.
She doesn’t speak again as her gaze darts over my face, and I realize my mistake in saving her idiotic life.
Although there was no recourse to outing myself when the one blasted human I’m trying to keep alive decides to throw herself atop tall buildings and use house fixtures as a thrill-seeking device.
I stand with my feet planted wide, having jumped down the almost two flights of stairs to catch her in time.
Her question is what halts my pitch forward into the depths of my power and pulls me from truly letting my rage overtake my senses.
The soft scent of her, a mixture of orange blossom and vanilla, greets my nose, and I grit my teeth in response.
It would be easier if she smelled vile.
She licks her lips, and a snarl lifts my lips at the maneuver. She tossed herself off a flight of stairs on purpose, the manipulative chit.
Annoyed beyond all reason, I drop her abruptly, mildly amused by her harsh exhalation when she lands on the marble floor. From her cursing and mutterings its clear she’s fine.
She looks on in horror at the broken marble tile beneath my feet.
The female to all appearances is sane, but toys with her life and chooses to send what most would consider a fortune to animals.
“Why the cat and dog fund?” I find myself asking, wanting to know why she would do such a thing, what her possible reasoning could be, all while pushing away the question of why I care what a human does at all.
Her brows pull low as she frowns at me, her usually smirking lips pursing in a tight line as she gingerly raises up on her arms.
Fucking serves her right; I hope her ass smarts for days.
“Because they need help, and usually nobody tries to protect them,” she says.
The words stun me.
Red blooms in her cheeks, as if she somehow embarrassed herself with the admission, and I oddly wonder why when nothing seems to phase this woman.
Most humans can be easily put into boxes. Greedy, despot, pervert, bigot, and the list go on.
So few of them place genuine value on the life of others, puppets to their own selfish desires and whims, while most are slaves to a system created to hold them in check. The entire species sheep to those that seek to lord over them, living blissfully unaware that the supernatural exists.
Not the case with this one. Oh. She goes into a box alright, only it's labeled Pandora and is chock full of chaos and spite.
I take in her luscious curves, how her breasts are so large they fill even my hands, at how her wide hips flare away from her body and the memory of her tastes makes my mouth begin to water as I stare down at her.
I frown. I’d question why I’m having such a reaction to her, but then again, I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge.
“Sir?” Bruno’s clear voice rings out from the side entrance.
“What?” I bark out, not taking my gaze off the woman in front of me.
“We’ve brought what you asked for,” he says.
Her wide green gaze brightens and her lips curve into a soft full smile that seems to light her up from within. “Edgar!” she shouts, stepping around me.
I glance back at the parlor doors and find Bruno smiling down at Bernadette, while Nero carries the cat crate at his side, scowling.
My gaze clashes with Nero, who arches a brow, most likely due to her presence. He’s probably wondering why I haven’t thrown her into a dark room by now. They’re both dressed in black suit and tie, their usual garb when on mission.
“Oh hi, I’ve missed you so much,” the female gushes, her voice higher in pitch and dramatic.
She makes give me hands at Nero, who seems more than happy to be free of the animal as he practically shoves the carrier into her waiting arms.
I watch as she kneels and tugs a lump of dark grey from the tiny cage.
“How did the goon squad treat my baby, huh?” She tsks.
I turn to see Nero’s grey gaze darken, his lip curl into a look of disgust at being labeled such a thing.
Her gaze alights with mischief when she turns around holding a large grey furball.
“Goon squad?” Bruno scoffs, and his hand comes down to pat her shoulder roughly. “I’ll have you know, the goon squad spent its morning ensuring Mr. Edgar Allan Paw’s sutures were healed before we brought him.”
He reaches out to touch the cat, and she smiles in return showing a familiarity with him that I don’t like.
A red haze comes over me when her face morphs from skepticism to pure joy and gratitude as she carefully lifts the cat to view its anatomy.
“Oh my gosh, thank you. They said it would be weeks before he was better. How did you do that?” she asks.
A smile pulls at her lips, one she’s never bestowed on me, and I have the urge to pummel Bruno for telling her about the cat’s health, when it was I who insisted the fucking animal go through Talbot clinic in the first place.
No human medical facility can rival Talbot’s, and it seemed practical to get the animal checked over before allowing him behind our walls.
Simple enough to get the animal treatment and healed within minutes rather than weeks.
“Go to your rooms and take the cat with you,” I bite out, my tone brooking no argument as I watch them begin to chitchat like old friends.
Bruno, catching on quickly, steps away from her with an easy smile on his affable countenance.
“And if I don’t?” she responds, one red eyebrow raised in question.
“I’ll have a padded cell constructed to hold you and even have matching strait jackets made for you and Edgar for the remainder of your stay.”
I let myself imagine her for a moment tied down with white buckles, naked, wanton, and lusting as I recall how flushed and warm her skin turns when she comes. The desire to force her into a mewling begging creature incapable of argument comes to mind. She wishes I’d get her a straitjacket.
I half expect her to argue, but with the cat on one hip, she pushes her blue glasses up the bridge of her nose and shrugs, a smile I don’t trust sweeping her face.
“Fine. No need to go renovating the place on my account. I’ll be in my room if you need me, master,” she says, with a saucy wink. She curtsies, holding out one arm awkwardly before swiveling and giving me her back.
I watch transfixed as she makes her way up the staircase, her hips swinging as she whispers sweet nothings to her pet.
I turn to catch Nero scowling, his expression deepening into disgust when noticing which wing she’s sleeping in.
As a security detail, I’m sure he’s aware that the room she heads to connects to mine, another reason the unpredictable woman chose it no doubt. Although whether I bar the door or not, will be a question for later.
“Odette was spotted in the village,” Bruno says, catching my gaze with his as soon as my captive is out of earshot.
“When?” I ask, ignoring how the mere thought of the witch this close sending ripples of alarm down my spine.
“How should we know?” Nero scoffs.
“What he means to say is, we were a tad preoccupied with tracking down a pet for our new very human guest when the witch queen decided to pay a visit,” Bruno says, covering for his abrasive brother.
I glare at Nero. The male stands in my own foyer issuing challenge, and I note that I barely react. In the past, I would have ripped into him and at the very least made an example of him, and now no hint of emotion present.
Whereas the barest hint of resistance from the red-headed beast upstairs, and I want to beat my chest and force her to my will. The current under my skin has hardly settled since coming into contact with her, but a challenge from an able-bodied male does nothing.
“When was this?” I ask.
“Someone called in as soon as the witch queen showed herself, about twenty minutes ago. We were alerted as soon as we touched down, but by the time we arrived, she’d disappeared. We came here straight after with the cat,” Bruno offers.
What the hell could she be wanting here?
As far as I know, I’m one of the only people who could possibly incapacitate the witch queen, although if she were to fight me, it wouldn’t end well.
A battle between us would quite possibly destroy the village and would be counterproductive in the extreme bringing much attention to the area.
“I’ll handle it if she returns.” I glance down at the empty cat carrier, wondering if she may need the blanket for the cat. Traveling with strangers, even in comfort can be traumatic for any animal.
My jaw clenches.
Why am I concerned about a cat that’s not even mine? I inwardly groan. When am I not caring for someone else’s pet?
“That’s not all,” Bruno states.
“What else is there?”
“We’ve been offered one million dollars,” he says.
“Each,” Nero mutters, his tone unamused from the doorway.
A wide grin spreads across Bruno’s big lips. “To give a full interview about how you and your fiancée met.”
“What?” I thunder.
Fuck me.
“You’ve gone more than viral. So far, videos of you and the human are reaching beyond fifty million views, and it’s only been a couple of days,” he chuckles.
I frown and grab my phone from my suit pocket, quickly scrolling through my social media to affirm what he says.
Thousands of comments and tags from fans, well-wishing the engagement on my feed in every social imaginable.
Some comments are asking what dress designer she will be wearing, while others are attacking Bernadette, but the most overwhelming question seems to be when the big day is.
“We get extra if we give out the engagement details and wedding venue,” Bruno chuckles, crossing his arms over his black Kevlar-covered chest.
“This can’t be happening,” I fume.
“Someone videoed her grabbing and kissing you. When she announced you were getting married, it didn’t look like you were saying no,” Nero offers.