Poppy glanced nervously between us, some of the fine lines around her eyes tightening as she studied me pointedly. I’d been getting that reaction repeatedly lately and I could imagine the thoughts riding through the observer’s mind: When is the vampire going to snap? Will this be the night Lorcan Rowe murders my friend?

  Yes, friend… because such was what Wanda was to Poppy, and I was willing to place a bet on the fact that my little witchly paramour considered the gypsy to be her closest friend.

  Poppy was a little thing, pretty and blonde, and effervescent of personality. She was also so wholesome, one might expect her to magic a bake sale into being at any moment. Gypsy magic did not work in such ways, but if anyone could manage the feat, it would be Poppy. She was quite powerful in her potions—possibly more so than even she understood. Regardless, underneath the warm mother hen lay the soul of a grizzly bear. No, the little gypsy wasn’t physically strong enough to stop me if I went for Wanda’s throat, but she’d bring every ounce of magic she had to defend her friend.

  And it was that loyalty and fierce protective quality within her that had earned Poppy not only my utmost respect, but also my sincerest friendship.

  “I am quite aware you have a name, love,” I responded as I watched Wanda’s eyes narrow on me. She was growing quite testy, and I had to admit her fire was quite… attractive. “Wandellmellia Celestine Depraysie.”

  Wanda’s hands flew to her hips, and she swiveled toward me with a half-snarl of frustration. Poppy hiked up the skirt of her emerald evening gown and danced back a step to avoid being skewered by Wanda’s bony elbow.

  “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

  “Isn’t it your name?”

  Her lip curled as she stared up at me. “You think you’re very funny, don’t you?”

  “I’m a man of many talents, my dear.”

  “What do you want?” she snapped. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m in the middle of a conversation.”

  Wanda gestured broadly behind her and just missed backhanding Bailey, another of her friends and one of the foremost mediums within city limits. Bailey took her cue from Poppy and backed up to give us both room. It was only Betanya who offered me a knowing smile and quick nod in greeting. I returned both.

  Then I took a step toward Wanda, so our bodies almost touched. This close I could count every long, dark lash that fringed her smoldering eyes. Her pupils were dilated, which could have been a fear response. However, the pink flush beginning at the nape of her neck and sweeping up into her cheeks hinted at something altogether less sinister.

  “I have a request, my lovely.”

  “What?”

  “A dance.”

  She further glared at me. “I said I’m busy.”

  She jumped slightly when I braced a hand on her waist, and goosebumps ran over the length of her skin when my lips traced the shell of her ear.

  “I need to touch you,” I whispered. “One dance, or I might be liable to find a sprig of mistletoe with which to ambush you, and we both know how you detest kissing me.” I chuckled heartily to convey the fact that I knew she enjoyed the mating of our tongues, no matter how she attempted to deny it.

  “The times we’ve tried to dissolve the bond and found ourselves… close… don’t count, since that… that closeness was magically induced. And that time in your office was a mistake. You were hungry, and I was… well, I was clearly insane.”

  “That argument is a noble attempt.”

  “It isn’t an attempt!”

  “Well, regardless, it failed.”

  “Ugh, you’re so frustrating,” she mumbled and glared up at me even as I grinned in response.

  “Frustrating, perhaps, yet I am not afraid to admit that I have quite enjoyed every moment our lips touched and I do hope we shall have future chances to… taste one another.”

  “Lorcan, we can’t,” she said, and I could have sworn she sounded a bit put out. “You know as well as I do that every time we touch… it’s not a good idea under the best of circumstances but with the bond…”

  “I won’t kiss you unless you ask me to, sweetling,” I said, cutting her off before she could begin babbling nervously and incoherently. She’d never forgive herself for indulging in something so decidedly un-witchlike.

  “Okay.”

  “Allow me hold you for a three-minute slow dance. If afterwards I’m still feeling on edge, I promise you can call upon the oversized sloth to throw my arse out. I’m sure he’ll be happy to oblige.”

  “You mean Roy?” she asked, quite quizzically.

  “I do indeed.”

  Her full lips pressed together in what she probably hoped was a reproving line. The effect was somewhat ruined by the mischief that danced in her eyes.

  “Well, I suppose if dancing with you for ONE song and only one keeps you from doing anything drastic…” She turned back towards her gaggle of friends, and narrowly avoided a collision with Fifi.

  “Is everything okay?” the succubus asked.

  Wanda nodded. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t spike the punch without me.”

  Then my witchly goddess slid her hand into mine and stared straight ahead as we moved toward the dance floor, ignoring the raised eyebrow I gave her.

  “And what exactly are you going to put in the punch, sweetling?”

  “It’ll be garlic extract if you keep flapping your lips.”

  I threw my head back and chuckled heartily—the laugh shaking my entire person.

  “Shut up and dance, Rowe.”

  I was only too happy to oblige.

  ***

  “You know, I’ve always found Byronic vampire types insufferable,” I mused, spinning Wanda in a slow circle as the notes of The Carpenter’s Merry Christmas Darling crooned through the loudspeakers.

  It was quite an irritating ditty, if I did say so, myself. But then, most Christmas music set my nerves on edge. The absolute worst, though, was the braying, goat-like bleating of Mariah Carey’s voice.

  But, back to the Yule festival at hand… Wanda and I had been forced into the corner of the dance floor closest to the piano by the expanding group of dancers. A handful of waltzing faeries took up the prime spots on and above the dance floor, and a few humans and exotics alike had gathered in a ring to watch them dance. Faerie dances were really something to behold, and mortals could waste their lives in faerie circles just staring at the beautiful bastards.

  Wanda had laid her head in the hollow of my throat, and her steady breath against my skin was a maddening flicker of sensation. I had to focus on the thrum of her heart, to tell myself I didn’t want that enchanting beat to cease. Not ever. Not without her permission.

  Just then, Mariah Carey’s blasted ‘All I want for Christmas is you’ came on and I felt my will to ‘live’ waver slightly. “Blast,” I murmured.

  “Blast?”

  “I revile this song.”

  “Oh? It’s one of my favorites.” I was quite certain it was NOT one of her favorites, but she was just choosing to be difficult, as she was wont to do.

  “Pity, I had thought you the perfect woman but now…”

  She laughed, and warm breath feathered over my skin. Even her laugh was too damned appealing. Was there an inch of this woman that wasn’t perfect? I didn’t imagine it was the bloodthirsty bastard within me that made me believe as much. No, it was just her. Beautiful, prickly Wanda. I’d been doomed from the start—from the moment I came across the accident and chose to get involved.

  “What the spell were you talking about regarding Byron, anyway?”

  “Oh, Byronic vampires?” She nodded as I continued. “This millennium has produced an army of the gobshites. I’ve lost count of the number of baby vampires I’ve met in nightclubs, hunched over the bar, sipping blood from good crystal, whining about what a Greek tragedy their lives have become.”

  Wanda looked up at me with a big smile. “You obviously don’t have enough to do with your time if this is the stuff you think about.”

  “You do not understand because you aren’t fully vampire,” I answered on a frown. “Anyway, Rupert should not be bothering with assassins for you or me. He should be grateful I’m focused elsewhere, so I don’t go on a one-man crusade to end the little blighters.”

  “Is Rupert sending assassins after us?” she asked, worry in her voice.

  “No, no,” I answered immediately, realizing the mistake in my choice of words. “No one has come after us, my dear, and no one will until the time is right.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means there are rules and procedures Rupert must follow according to Hollow charters and that’s exactly what he’s doing.”

  “Biding his time?”

  I nodded. “Precisely.”

  Owing to the fact that the extension Rupert had granted us was long since over, we were both understandably nervous about what might happen next. We had attempted to break the blood bond more times than I could count, but the result was always the same—failure. Recently, with the re-appearance of Betanya, we were hopeful that Betanya’s magic, when fortified with Wanda’s and that of another powerful witch, Olga Fischer, would be enough to break the bond, but the jury was still out.

  Because Betanya had only been returned to the scene for two weeks at most, we had not yet attempted the spell. Betanya had required healing time since Roscoe, the vampire who had blooded her, had also very nearly murdered her. I did believe that her magic was fully restored to her by now, so it was most likely only a matter of time until we attempted the spell once more.

  Wanda’s lips curled into a smile against my skin. I wanted to tilt her face up and taste those sumptuous lips again. She was soft and pliant in my arms, and everywhere we touched, she was covered with goosebumps. She’d slipped her hands beneath my suit coat to curl her fingers into my waistcoat. If we were any closer, we’d be one.

  Chapter Three

  She wanted to kiss me.

  I could see as much in her eyes.

  If it weren’t for this damned bond we shared, she would have. I would have. We could have had each other without fear. She’d kiss me without reservation, and I would test her skin with my teeth without fear. If she hadn’t taken my blood, lovemaking between us wouldn’t equate to a death sentence.

  She finally lifted her gaze to meet mine, and the smile on her face almost knocked a completely unnecessary breath from me. In all the time we’d been seeing each other, I don’t believe she’d ever really smiled at me. At least not like this. Wanda was prone to scowling when I was in the vicinity, but if she were in a giving mood, she’d toss me a sultry smirk every now and again.

  But real, authentic smiles from Wanda were rare occurrences—gifts.

  Her real smile made my undead heart squeeze tight. The subtle play upon her lips morphed her stunning face into something transcendent. Just for a moment, her face was bright with a fierce sort of joy. Lines I hadn’t noticed before fanned out from around her eyes, hinting at a lifetime of smiling. A lifetime I’d never been privy to and sorely wished I had been. And yet the thought of her past smiles only brought me to the fact that I’d stolen her present smiles from her.

  I was going to give them back, no matter what it took. I could only hope the birthday gift I planned to bestow upon her later would do just that—bring a genuine smile to her lovely mouth.

  I slid a hand up from her waist, tracing the contours of her bare back. The frock ended just above the curve of her magnificent arse, but I didn’t dare venture south. Even if doing so wouldn’t violate the social contract of groping one’s date in public, Wanda would hex me for even trying.

  Her skin was warm, smooth, and incredibly soft to the touch. I wanted more, needed to satisfy the hunger for her flesh, for her blood. I needed her to be mine. It would be so easy to guide her to a corner and—I wrenched myself away from her, squeezing my eyes shut.

  “Lorcan?”

  My gums ached, and the tang of my own blood washed across my tongue. The instinct to bite her was so strong, I must have bitten myself on reflex, just to satisfy the need.

  When I cracked one eye open, I found Wanda standing feet in front of me, hands clutching empty air, a startled look on her face. She examined my expression critically, and the mirth drained away from her face. Another stolen smile. Damn it.

  “It’s getting worse,” she whispered. It wasn’t a question.

  “I can handle it,” I ground out. “I will handle it.”

  “It doesn’t look like you’re handling it.”

  I nodded and paused for a moment or two. “I believe I’ve found a way to control myself. Just… just give me a moment, sweetling.”

  Her eyes were soft, and a little sad. I didn’t think I’d ever seen that expression on her face before. Not aimed at me, at any rate.

  “Whatever you’re going through… it’s hurting you,” she said.

  “It’s my own damned fault.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”

  But, we both knew it was. “I shouldn’t have presumed to make the choice for you all those months ago. This is just my own comeuppance.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have made the choice for me,” she agreed. “But it wasn’t as though I was conscious to make the choice for myself.” She nodded. “And after all this time… it is what it is, Lorcan, and we can’t change it.”

  I closed my eyes as I tried not to scent her—not to hear the increase in her heartbeat and the way the blood rushed through her veins. I felt my fingernails curling into my palms.

  “Do you need to leave, Lorcan?” she whispered, and I heard her take a step nearer me. “Do you need to… feed on someone?”

  “No,” I answered almost immediately, the idea of feeding on another woman distasteful in the extreme. “No one’s blood can compare to yours,” I muttered, shaking my head in disgust. “Everyone else is… practically flavorless, a taste akin to water.”

  “But the bloodlust needs to be satiated?”

  “No,” I answered, still clenching my eyes shut as I tried to calm myself down, tried to disengage the desire running rampant through me. But, it didn’t appear to be working. “I need… I need your help.”

  “Okay,” she answered immediately. “How?”

  “Sing… sing that awful Mariah Carey song.”

  “What?”

  I opened my eyes and found her frowning up at me. “The bloodlust has me,” I answered between clenched teeth. “I need to focus on something I… abhor.”

  She paused for a moment or two, took a deep breath and then started singing, “I don’t want a lot for Christmas,” she started in quite an odious rendition of an equally odious song. Just what I needed.

  “Keep going.”

  “There is just one thing I need…”

  I started to feel the bloodlust disengaging, releasing me from its vice-like grip. “More.”

  “I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree…”

  I released the crushing pressure of my fists and opened my eyes as I focused on Wanda’s words.

  “Make my wish come true… All I want for Christmas is… you.”

  I nodded—Mariah Carey had come to my rescue, and the bloodlust was now in submission. “Very good, my dear, thank you.”

  “Santa Claus won’t make me happy with a toy on Christmas Day,” she continued with a vixen’s smile.

  “Please, my dear, you may stop now. I’ve got myself under control.”

  “I just want you for my own. More than you could ever know—”

  “Wanda, dear, fairly soon we will run the risk of my murdering you just to make you cease.”

  She laughed and then I laughed and then we both just stood there, staring at one another. There was no sum of money I would not have paid to have known her thoughts at that very moment. Her expression was a peculiar one and I could not place it. Seconds later, it was gone and so was the moment.

  She frowned up at me then. “You could have had me, you know,” she said, brows knitting together.

  “Had you?”

  She nodded. “Back when we rescued Olga from my mother’s cabin in the Blue Shadow Hills.”

  “I recall.”

  “Genevieve had all but drained me,” she continued. “I was so close to death, Lorcan, I wouldn’t have blamed you or been angry with you.” She smiled then and nodded. “Undead is better than dead-dead, especially if ‘death by jealous vampire bitch’ would have been my epitaph.”

  I shook my head and did not share in her humor. No, this subject was far too serious to me. “It’s not a life for you. Losing your magic… it would kill something inside you. I’m not a murderer, Wanda, in full or in part.”

  Her swallow was audible, even over the swell of the music. I thought I saw something akin to tears in her eyes, but when I blinked, the glossy shine was gone.

  “Don’t get maudlin on me, Rowe. If you start sulking and proclaiming your undying, tortured love for me, I’m going to have to add you to my hit list.”

  My laugh came out higher and more hysterical than I meant it to. “God forbid.”

  Her smile returned, but it was strained. “So, what brought this on?”

  “Well, I believe it all started when I gave you my Kiss last year—”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not that, smartass. This topic. I thought we’d just agreed to one dance.”

  “And yet it’s now been three.”

  “We aren’t dancing.”

  I offered her a hand and, after a second of hesitation, she took it. We kept a careful distance between our bodies this time around and moved in a slow square.

  “I’m afraid I’m turning into a monster,” I said on a sigh. “A terminally angsty, serial-stalking monster.” I gave her a smirk, and she gave me a raised-brow expression.

  “What should I do about that?”

  “You should stake me.”

  Her mouth curled up at the edges, a sly smirk instead of a smile. “Oh, I’ve been saying that from the start. Glad I have your stamp of approval, though. I think I have something in my purse that would do the trick.”