The Vampire’s Fake Fiancée
That’s what he wanted. The complete advantage. After all she’d put him through, it was only fair. On some level, he continued to feel something for her. He must, he supposed. Not even the vampire council would consider them still married, but they were bonded and always would be. He’d turned her. The council took the role of sire very seriously. For that reason, and another that had been decided before they’d married, he was responsible for her. So yes, he was always going to take care of her. But she’d left him.
He needed her to suffer a bit before he took her back.
He froze. What was he thinking? Before he took her back? At best, it was if he took her back. He reminded himself that was the attitude he had to adopt if he was going to come out ahead with Evangeline. She was far too cunning for him to assume things would go off without some sort of hitch. He would be aware of everything she did, keenly appraising her moves and words and gestures for some deeper motive.
He would not be made a fool of twice.
He pulled his Aston Martin into the small parking lot of the Black Rose. The establishment was a known D&B, or dead-and-breakfast—a small inn that catered to vampire clientele and other supernaturals. There were three in town, but it was no surprise Evangeline had chosen the Black Rose. It was the most luxurious of the trio.
He locked his vehicle and went inside.
He could hear Mrs. Turnbuckle, the D&B’s owner, in the dining room talking to some of the other guests. She was elf or hobbit or some such creature, and known for her hospitality and small talk. The latter being a loathsome practice he considered a waste of air. And since he had neither the time nor the desire to engage in such a purposeless activity, he headed straight for the stairs and Evangeline’s room.
“Mr. Ellingham?”
He’d almost reached the landing too. He steeled himself and turned, keeping his tone civil but free from encouragement. “Mrs. Turnbuckle.”
She was a spry thing in her seventies, with piercing brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and pointed ears that peeked through her wiry blue-gray curls. “Visiting a guest?”
Why else would he be in this miserable establishment? “Yes. Good day.” He attempted to take his leave.
“Wouldn’t be the pretty one in the Thorn Suite, would it?”
He sighed. “Yes. And she’s expecting me.”
“Eva Wynn?”
Was that the name she was using these days? At least she hadn’t used Ellingham. “That’s the one.” He forced a smile and what he imagined would pass for a jovial nod and a polite dismissal. “Good day.”
He escaped the innkeeper and knocked on Evangeline’s door as quickly as possible.
Evangeline let him stand there until he was just about to knock again. His hand was raised when the door opened.
She smiled like she’d just seen him yesterday. She wore a slinky, floor-length black negligee with a matching robe and feathered mules. Her hair was shorter, a darker brown and streaked with deep red, but otherwise, she looked the same. She sucked in a breath and put her hand to her chest. “Sebastian. It’s so good to see you. Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure I was going to see my husband at all after you made me wait all week.”
“It was three days.” Seeing her combined with the flood of her perfume and the sound of her voice hit him like a punch to the gut. The edges of his vision seemed to dim and blur, and his mouth went dry. He wanted to kiss her and shake her and run from the room all at the same time. Get ahold of yourself, man. He pulled himself together and frowned. “And I hardly think you have the right to call me husband after all this time.”
Her smile widened and she backed up, opening the door to let him in. “Oh, Sebby, come now. Sure, it’s been a few years, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re married.”
A few years? Is that how it felt to her? The woman had never been good with sums, but she was certainly aware of how much time had passed. He walked into her room with a great deal more composure than he felt. “It’s been more than a few years and our marriage exists in memory only. There isn’t a court of law in this world that would uphold that bond after the length of time we’ve been separated.”
She closed the door. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right. And I’m terribly sorry about that, I am. Mistakes were made, but I was hoping we could move past that. After all, you are still my sire.” She sidled past him to take a seat in one of two chairs by the windows, bathing him in a cloud of her scent.
He filled his lungs with it, then immediately wished he hadn’t. With every passing moment, he was growing more intoxicated with the need for her. Damn his weakness for her. Damn his sense of responsibility to her.
Maybe that’s all it was. His sense of duty kicking in. Or maybe it was the fact that he’d not had the companionship of a woman since Evangeline had left him.
Oh, he’d thought about other women. Desired them. But he’d never done anything about it. Another wretched side effect of loyalty and duty and bloody responsibility. And perhaps his desire not to have to explain the mess of his life to anyone else.
He distracted himself by studying the suite. The windows behind the alcove where she sat were covered with room-darkening shades on the inside and UV film on the outside. That was standard in every D&B.
She poked at the other chair with the tip of her shoe. Her toenails were painted blood red. His fingers itched to touch her skin. He liked to imagine he still remembered what it felt like to hold a woman in his arms. To feel the press of a woman’s soft curves against his own unyielding angles.