Chapter Twelve
The underground community of Ţărână
6:33 P.M.
Two weeks later, late November
Hadley hated the half-demon home-wrecker who was Thomal’s wife on sight.
First off, Pandra Costache acted very nice. The smile she aimed at Hadley when she shook her hand appeared genuine, whereas Hadley’s smile felt like deformed plastic, while her eyes probably visibly bulged as she stretched her peripheral vision to its utmost in order to see all the woman without, you know, using obvious “elevator eyes.”
Pandra was extremely pretty—another mark against—her hair a luxuriant golden waterfall flowing down her back, her face a Grecian sculpture, and her body overly fit in the kind of way only achieved through supernatural genes. Yes, Hadley was going with that excuse.
From her inspection, Hadley couldn’t find anything to explain how a former rapist was now one of the community’s elementary school teachers. Or what on earth kind of mother this Pandra person could possibly make. Hadley couldn’t imagine it being a good one, although her assessment probably wasn’t being helped by her first introduction to Pandra happening two days after Thanksgiving.
Four years ago, on Thanksgiving, Pandra had raped Thomal, her cruel act not only leaving Hadley’s relationship with Thomal in a smoldering ruin, but destroying Thomal’s brother, Arc, as well. Pandra also abused Arc that fateful night, and—according to scuttlebutt—he never fully recovered.
Wherever Pandra went in town, Arc generally tried to avoid the same location. So understandably he and his wife, Beth, weren’t here at this taster party being given by Marissa, Charlize, and Lara for a small group of friends. “Marissa’s Restaurant” would reopen in two weeks’ time as the aptly named “Three Friends’ Place,” and this was a pre-celebration party.
Chelsea and Gábor Pavenic were among the gathered friends. Hadley met both of them more than four years ago at a cocktail party thrown in the mansion’s garden parlor.
Gábor was a smart-mouthed warrior with black hair buzzed down to a mere stubble, dark bedroom eyes, and a bull skull tattoo wrapping his left bicep. Chelsea was a petite blonde spitfire who couldn’t hold her liquor, and tonight they laughingly reminisced about how she got drunk at the cocktail party and claimed a vampire’s fangs compensated for his small weenie. In Chelsea’s defense, none of them had known they were standing in a roomful of vampires. Chelsea was one of the women who’d been caught in the recent Ovulation Disaster, like Nyko’s wife, Faith, and she was sporting a pregnancy bump.
Relatively new to Hadley were Charlize—although they were becoming fast friends as roomies—and Lara. Hadley also didn’t know Lara’s invitees, two black-haired male Vârcolac, Kardos and Amza.
Kardos was Lara’s squeeze.
According to the never-ending flow of scuttlebutt, Lara met Kardos on her first day in town. When she arrived at her new apartment, Lara discovered the garbage disposal was broken and the sink clogged. She’d called a plumber.
In walked Kardos.
Lara took one look at the man in a tool belt and went gaga.
Kardos fell equally hard for her in one glance—or one whiff, since Vârcolac could often tell a potential mate by scent.
Lara, now soaring on the bliss of instant love and eager for someone else to feel the same, had set up Hadley on a date with Amza, a plumber buddy of Kardos’s, for tonight’s taster.
Instant love was not to be.
Not even close.
Amza was just…he was… God, he was a plumber.
Hadley winced. Even inside her own head that sounded horribly stuck up. She was having a hard enough night already without turning into her mother—ragging on a man for being a plumber was something Fallon Wickstrum would do, not her. Hadn’t Hadley divorced a mega-successful breadwinner for the sake of her own happiness, something her mother would never have done? Precisely. Hadn’t Hadley likewise resolved to date a more average Joe type, a guy just like Amza? Yes. Exactly. And in Ţărână, weren’t the plumbers very well-thought-of, revered as engineering geniuses for having invented a system able to bring water down from one-half mile above and dispose of waste discreetly That’s, you know, super wow, right?
Hadley secretly rolled her eyes at herself. Now she sounded lame, or like an overly-pampered princess, which she kind of was. Hadley was born eight weeks premature, and even though she’d never been a sickly child, her mother always fussed over her a lot. The extra attention made Hadley feel very cared for…except for times like now when her thoughts turned all judgy. Then she just felt spoiled.
“Okay, these are the next goodies,” Lara said as she set a rectangular tray of finger food on the tall countertop in front of the partygoers.
The chefs’ workstation sat just behind this tall counter, where Charlize, Marissa, and Lara stood, chatting and cooking and radiating cheer. All three chefs wore their hair pulled up and were dressed in pristine white, their outfits identical, although each sported a different style of hat: Marissa wore a French beret, Lara, a toque—the typical puffed-up popover chef hat—and Charlize, a plucky beanie.
“These are Roasted Carrot Harissa Crostini,” Lara clarified. “Careful, they’re a little spicy.”
Everyone took a crostini except for Hadley and Breen. They were standing several feet back from the tall counter, a couple of leprosy-ridden loners, no partners to love them. If Breen was at the original cocktail party way back in the day, Hadley couldn’t remember him. He was the type of man who tended to fade into the wallpaper—although now she would probably always think of him as Boner Man.
Kardos didn’t take a crostini sample either, but only because both his hands were still full of other treats. So Lara picked up a crostini and fed it to him. Their gazes locked on each other with identical looks of sensual warmth.
Get a room. Hadley didn’t say it, but, jeez.
While everyone made yum-yum noises, Hadley edged forward and filched two crostini. She gave one to Breen.
He un-shoved his hands from his pockets long enough to accept it with a nod of thanks. He didn’t eat it.
His lips were probably too busy compressing over Charlize’s laughter. His wife was being wholly entertained by something Amza just said, and the plumber was lapping up Charlize’s attention. After Hadley’s lukewarm reception of him—she’d tried to be nice—Amza’s bruised pride probably needed some serious tending, and who better to give a man a lift than a knockout like Charlize?
Hadley gnashed off a bite of crostini, chewed, then discreetly spit it out into a napkin. It was too spicy. She took Breen’s crostini back and tossed it in the trash with hers.
Breen gave her another nod of thanks.
She glanced around for her wine. She needed to pour more alcohol on this party, now.
“Here’s Short Rib Ragù,” Charlize said, “served on a biscuit.” She set out a small tray, and everyone reached for a sample at once. Charlize’s biscuits were already legendary.
Amza was still dealing with his crostini, so Charlize copycatted Lara and held her ragù creation to Amza’s mouth for him to try, and—
And then Amza was no more.
Several women gasped.
Hadley blinked at the empty space where Amza had just been. It happened so quickly, she wasn’t able to follow the exact chain of events, only that one minute Amza was wrapping his lips around Charlize’s offered treat, then the next he was on the floor, rolling on his back and groaning.
Breen was standing over him with knotted fists, his fangs half-elongated.
Bright blood poured from Amza’s mouth.
Oh, dear Lord… Breen had punched Amza!
Gábor snorted.
Thomal cursed under his breath.
“That’s my wife,” Breen said in a low tone.
Charlize’s cheeks reddened. “I’m not your wife, you fucking piece of shit.”
Amza grimaced in pain. He was now minus a front tooth. This upped his Huckleberry-Billy-Bob number while simultaneously plummeting his potential boyfriend score down even lower than the zero it’d been all night.
Oh, God, she didn’t mean to be so rude. It was just that…I mean, Amza is…
Come on.
He was a man who’d invented a brilliant sewage system.
Mute, Dev strode over and pulled Amza to his feet.
The party broke up after that.
Hadley downed the last of her wine while she watched two on-duty warriors usher Breen and Charlize off to pay the piper with Toni.
Kardos took Amza to the community dentist, and Lara went along.
The rest of them loitered in the street outside Three Friends’ Place.
“Soooo,” Gábor drawled, scratching the side of his face, “do you think ‘fucking piece of shit’ is Charlize’s regular pet name for Breen, or does she sometimes go with, you know, ‘cocksucking motherfucker.’”
Thomal snorted out a laugh.
“It’s not funny.” Chelsea scolded. “Those two are in a horrible position.” She reached down to adjust the strap on her three-inch high heels. The small woman definitely needed the extra height, but her sticking-out belly threw off her equilibrium, and she bobbled the move.
Gábor steadied his wife.
“I can’t imagine being bonded to a man I didn’t love,” Chelsea added.
“I don’t know what kind of position she’s in,” Gábor said in a dry tone. “But Breen is being tortured. He had to watch his mate practically stick her fingers in another dude’s mouth.” Gábor flashed Marissa a look. “What the hell’s the matter with your friend, anyway?”
Sighing, Marissa swept off her beret with a tired gesture. “Charlize is a bit of a wild girl.”
“A bit.” Gábor made a sound in this throat like a drain backing up. “She’s off her fucking cork. No wonder Dalakis had to pull a domination bite on her.”
Marissa frowned. “A what?”
From one step behind Marissa, Dev shook his head vigorously at Gábor.
Gábor scrunched his forehead at Dev but then kept talking. “A domination bite.” He tapped a spot above his collarbone, the same place where Charlize had worn a bruise after bonding with Breen.
Hadley had spotted the leftovers of the bruise the day Charlize and Breen toured the family neighborhood with Toni.
“Goes back to the old days,” Gábor went on, “when vampires used to mate with vampires. It was a way for a male to get his woman under control, if, you know, she got too uppity.”
“Excuse me?” Marissa’s voice rang with outrage. “Get his woman under what if she got too what?”
Rubbing the side of his nose, Dev raised his eyes to the cave ceiling.
“Yeah…huh? What’s the big deal?” Gábor shot a look at Dev.
Marissa likewise rounded on her husband.
Dev lifted both hands, palms out. “I’m going to stand here and very much enjoy not discussing this.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Gábor gestured brusquely. “It’s not like we use the bite anymore. Vârcolac females are strong as fuck and used to be prone to violence, so males needed a way to ratchet down a fight if things spun too far out of control. But you Dragons”—Gábor affectionately chucked his wife under the chin—“are soft as little lambs.”
Chelsea slapped at his hand. “Is that why you’ve never used a domination bite on me? Because you don’t think I’m tough enough to cause you problems?” She narrowed her eyes and glared.
Pandra reached over and pinched Thomal’s ear. Kind of aggressively, it seemed.
“Yeah, yeah,” Thomal drawled, “I see you there.”
Gábor pushed his lips out as he considered his wife. “Is this one of those times when no matter what I say, I’m in trouble?”
Chelsea crossed her arms and thrust out a hip. “Maybe you’re not the only one who has a domination move, smart guy. Maybe I’ve got one. Did you ever think of that?”
Gábor chuckled. “You don’t weigh any more than a wet boot. Well…” He smirked at his wife’s belly. “Maybe not now.”
Chelsea’s gaze swept over her husband indolently. “So you’re saying you don’t think I can dominate you?”
Chortling, Gábor scanned the group. “Is this a trick question?”
Chelsea grabbed Gábor’s hand. “We’ll just see about that.” She marched off toward home, tugging her husband along with her.
Gábor glanced back over his shoulder and waggled Groucho Marx eyebrows at them.
* * *
“I’m in trouble again, aren’t I?”
When Charlize asked this question, Breen didn’t look at her. He sat in a chair in front of Toni’s desk with his forearms resting on the armrests and his fingertips splayed wide on top of his thighs, keeping his focus on his bruised knuckles.
The timing for being called on the carpet before Toni totally blew. She just had a knock-down, drag-out with Jacken—Breen heard the two yelling at each other while waiting outside her office with Charlize—and when Donree showed Breen and Charlize to their seats, Toni looked about as unhappy as he’d ever seen her: eyes piercing, jaw held at an inflexible angle, a vein prominent between her eyebrows.
Toni’s patience was clearly already sitting at a negative integer, and I’m in trouble again, aren’t I? was answered with a firm chop of her hand in Breen’s direction. “You are bonded to this man, Charlize. I don’t know how many different ways I can tell you this to make you understand.”
“I do understand,” Charlize shot back. “What I also understand is that I agreed to be Breen’s blood donor only. You said he and I would lead separate lives. I assumed this meant we could date other people.”
The tips of Breen’s fingers whitened on his thighs. She…wants to date other men?
“You assumed incorrectly,” Toni contradicted in a cool tone. “Being bonded to Breen means you are his woman. Whether you chose to reside with him or not, the biology of your bond remains an indisputable fact.”
“For him, maybe. But I’m not Vârcolac, so I’m not restricted by a biological bond. I can fuck other people if I want to without my brain imploding.”
Toni stilled.
Breen swiveled his head in a steady motion until it was turned to the side enough for him to look at Charlize. If he moved any faster, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. He was barely maintaining control over the sudden jealousy and possessiveness roaring through him, his veins practically bleeding acid with it.
Technically, what Charlize just said was true. Her biology would let her have sex with another man—not that anyone would end up living through the experience.
Charlize did a quick scan of their faces. “Hey, sorry,” she said, tossing her hands negligently in the air. “Just keeping it real here. I have needs, okay? And I haven’t been laid in three weeks.”
Toni inhaled a measured breath. “Male Vârcolac are very territorial, Charlize. To the bonded side of Breen, you two are married. If you sleep with another man, it would be considered an act of infidelity, and in this community, that’s a crime.”
“A crime? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m being very serious,” Toni answered her flatly. “The mated bond is sacred. Willful disregard of it is punishable with jail time. Any more flirtatious actions on your part will land you back in court.”
“Flirtatious…? Oh, for God’s sake. I was just talking to Amza, not—”
“You were feeding another man with your fingers. That’s flirting. Behavior even remotely flirtatious is unacceptable.” Toni gave her a stern look. “There can be no touching. No coy smiles. No tossing your hair or batting your eyelashes. No conduct that could possibly be misconstrued as innuendo or seduction in any way whatsoever. I very much need you to make a special effort to understand what I’m saying here, Charlize.”
Charlize’s complexion turned scarlet and her eyebrows furled into a tangled knot. She sat in fulminating silence for a moment, her breathing erratic, then demanded, “So who the hell can I fuck in this tight-wad town?”
Toni gestured at him. “Breen.”
Charlize blasted air. “You said there wasn’t supposed to be any intimate contact between us!”
“Yes,” Toni agreed. “But that’s because you chose to be Breen’s donor only. There can be no halfway within the bonded relationship.”
Breen looked up.
“It’s either an exclusive and intact marital union with all the attendant intimacies,” Toni continued, “or the celibate life of a donor.”
“What the ungodly fuck?!” Charlize went rigid in her chair. “Celibate?! Are you crazy? It didn’t say anything about celibacy in the manual.”
Because it wasn’t true.
Once a Vârcolac couple was bonded, they could fuck like bunnies. Living together generally wasn’t an issue, because most Vârcolac marriages were happy ones…although sometimes things went haywire. Dev’s parents, Pettrila and Grigore Nichita, were a prime example of a married couple who’d never particularly liked each other, but fed for requisite blood and probably occasionally went horizontal. Not an optimal situation, but do-able. Breen didn’t know why Toni was making it sound un-do-able, but when he glanced at her, the muscles on the side of her cheek facing him flexed, as if to warn him not to contradict her. She was probably working a plan he couldn’t see.
He kept his mouth shut.
“The mistake in the manual will be rectified,” Toni said coolly. “The community has never dealt with a situation like yours and Breen’s before, so—”
“Then maybe,” Charlize cut in, speaking in short, irritated syllables, “you should approach it with a little more leeway.”
Toni eyed her stonily. “I’m afraid the natural laws of Vârcolac culture cannot be rewritten, Charlize, even for a reason as important as your sex life.”
Charlize’s face blazed red again, darker than before.
A soreness bloomed in Breen’s chest, dead center, right where his radar was. Every Vârcolac formed a sixth-sense connection to his bonded mate, this radar-like link allowing him to pick up on her emotions. Breen’s was currently telling him that Charlize was very upset…which he could see well enough for himself. Her profile was cracking, the lines at the sides of her eyes beginning to resemble fissures.
He knuckled the sore spot. Man, he felt really bad for her. Charlize didn’t deserve this. He was the one who’d bitten her when she didn’t know what was what. He was the one who’d relentlessly gone after her until she agreed to have sex with him. He was the one who’d punched Amza and got them dragged here, which was a shame on a lot of levels. A trained warrior should never haul off and hit a normal citizen, and Amza was a good guy.
“Have I made everything clear?” Toni asked tersely.
Charlize’s mouth seamed into such a tight, embittered line, her lips nearly disappeared.
Toni waited.
A clock ticked, but softly, with well-oiled mechanisms. Out in the hall, Donree wished a good evening to Dr. Jess, the other community doctor, a tall, lean Vârcolac, who kept himself so neat and sanitary, he verged on prissy and—
Breen’s brainwaves did an up-spike when Charlize rounded on him with savagely narrowed eyes. “You’re not going to say anything about this? You’re just going to sit there like a lump?”
He stared at her. And stared some more—so apparently the answer was, yeah. But he hadn’t expected to be drawn into this part of the conversation. He’d prepped for having his balls busted for hitting Amza, not for this.
“Jesus,” Charlize hissed. Rounding on Toni again, she gestured rigidly at him. “How the hell do you expect me to form a relationship with a man who shows about as much emotion as a potted plant?” Tears brimmed in her eyes, then her throat pumped and spasmed, and her jawline stretched taut.
Breen twisted his lips out of alignment. Watching her try not to cry was almost worse than her actual crying.
She lost the battle long enough for a single tear to slip onto her bottom lashes, and the look in her eyes turned childlike, as if she were a kid who just broke her mother’s favorite vase and had been seriously reamed out for it.
It sent Breen’s lungs collapsing to the floor, this private moment with her younger, scared, sort of lonely side. He realized then—somehow, he didn’t know how—that she didn’t really want to date or screw another man.
She just wanted someone.