AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m pretty sure my jaw was resting on my chest, because when Ophelia looked up at me, all traces of the young human faded like smoke. Her face hardened into more familiar lines. She narrowed her eyes at me. I raised my hands in defense.
“I didn’t see a thing,” I promised her.
She arched her eyebrow, gave Fitz one last pat on the head, but said nothing. Gabriel came out the front door, leaning against the porch post as Ophelia made her way toward her sporty red Corvette. I’m sure the act of driving that down Main Street made her an object of obsession and envy, but frankly, I found it rather obvious in terms of jail-bait appeal.
Ophelia opened the door, tilted her head, and considered me for a moment, her piercing blue eyes glowing at me through the shadows. “I am very glad that Missy’s money has landed in your hands. I think you’re going to do far more fascinating things with it than some tawdry housing development.”
“So, now isn’t the time to tell you about the Dracula theme park I have planned for the back fifty acres?” I asked brightly. Gabriel snickered but covered it by a hearty clearing of the throat.
“For both of our sakes, I’m going to assume that was a joke,” she muttered, climbing into her car and giving us one last flash of thighs.
Ophelia departed, leaving my head spinning with the possibilities of Missy’s money. I would never have to worry about paying the property taxes. I would be able to keep the house up for centuries to come. The Early family legacy, such as it was, was secure.
I could travel. I could finally see all of the places I’d dreamed of seeing all my life. Edinburgh. Tahiti. Beijing. Granted, I would see them at night, but still, I could go. I would just have to talk to Gabriel about safety precautions and passport issues for the undead.
I could adopt one of those orphans on TV who make you feel so guilty. Hell, I could adopt a whole family. I would donate a catalogue full of children’s and young adult books to the library. I could secure funding for Half-Moon Hollow High School’s computer lab. (The students were still using Commodores.)
I would have to do all of this anonymously. You wouldn’t believe how quickly relatives come out of the woodwork when money comes into play. Lottery wins bring out kin you never knew existed, and they all have inventions to invest in, trailer payments to be made. My cousin Glory (who was, sadly, male) won a $10,000 scratch-off once, and within twelve hours, our great-uncle Stuart had moved his camper onto Glory’s driveway.
Of course, if my family found out I had money, I’m pretty sure I would die in a mysterious window-treatment accident, and Jenny would immediately claim it as my next of kin. And given my last couple of months, death by Venetian blinds was becoming more likely.
Note to self: Write a will. Leave everything to Zeb.
I squealed and hopped into Gabriel’s arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. Fortunately, he did not drop me. “You are now dating a very well-off woman. And I know it would be against your gentlemanly principles to ask just how well off. And it’s even further against my own good character to tell you. But let me put it this way, if you ever run into financial trouble, you don’t have to worry.”
“That’s sweet but unnecessary,” he said, pulling me against him.
“Maybe I’ll let you be my cabana boy.” I sighed.
“I will not dignify that with a response.”
He chuckled but held me to his chest with a sort of quiet desperation, pulling me so close that breathing would have been an issue if I needed oxygen. Obviously, his conversation with Ophelia had upset him more than he was letting on. Was this Jeanine an old girlfriend? A current girlfriend? What sort of “situation” would require the council to step in and interfere?
As Gabriel clung to me, I stroked his hair, knowing that no matter what I said or asked, it wouldn’t make either of us feel better. So I let him hold me and pretended that everything was fine. It was the loneliest I’d ever felt in his presence.
11
Over the past 100 years, female weres have embraced certain human mating rituals. Werewolf males who neglect to present their mates with meat or floral offerings on a birthday or anniversary can expect to sleep in an actual doghouse.
—Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were
I was a little nervous about what vampires get each other for Valentine’s Day, because, as far as I knew, it could involve actual hearts.
So, when I found a white box on my doorstep, tied with a huge red bow, I went into full-on spastic girlie-girlie mode. There was squealing. A lot of squealing. For just a minute, the inside of my head was like a living Lisa Frank poster.
The contents were … unexpected. For one thing, I didn’t know whether Gabriel was actually going to be in town on Valentine’s Day. And second, I’m usually a white cotton panties kind of girl, occasionally a black cotton panties kind of girl. But if Gabriel was game for the red satin bustier thing, I could give it a try.
Yes, giving your girlfriend naughty lingerie for Valentine’s Day is tired and cliché, and I’d spent years railing against the commercialism and crassness of a holiday designed by corporate America to compel men to buy their way into a lady’s affections and make single women feel pathetic and alone. Of course, at the time, I was pathetic and alone, so pardon me for taking the opportunity to feel smug for a day.
Gabriel’s gift was a modern twist on the classic Victorian corset, buttery soft satin in a perfect Valentine’s red, stretched over whalebone. It was some sort of miracle underwear, cinching my waist into a tiny point and giving me anatomically improbable cleavage, all without cracking my ribs. The hem of the bustier just barely skirted a pair of satin briefs, which were connected to a pair of lacy black stockings with the thinnest of red silk ties. I struck a languorous pose in the mirror and—despite looking pretty damned hot, if I do say so myself—felt a little ridiculous. I looked like a cover model for the romance paperbacks my mother read. All I needed was a title like The Tempestuous Schoolmarm spelled out over my head in an overcurlicued font.
Still, I slinked around the house and lit the vanilla candles. I wanted to build some ambience for Gabriel to appreciate before I jumped him. My home was considerably more welcoming than it had been the last time he visited. I hadn’t had disposable income in a while, so after months of scrimping and saving and buying generic market-brand blood, I went into a sort of online shopping fit. I bought blackout curtains for every window in the house, a new comfy couch, a bigger fridge. I even booked a prefab contractor to come out and attach the garage to the house with a covered walkway. It was like babyproofing for someone with fangs.
I was feeling adored and very in touch with my inner sex kitten when he showed up at my door later that night.
“Someone earned himself a very nice Valentine’s Day ‘dinner,’ “ I purred, leaning against the door frame. “In case you didn’t notice, ‘dinner’ was in special naughty secret-meaning quotation marks.”
Gabriel stared at me, his expression blank. I liked to think it was the barely there black dress I was wearing over the lingerie hindering his neurological processes, but … no.
