Love Bites

Angie Fox

Katarina Volholme D’Transylvania checked her teeth for lipstick and then, as if to tempt fate, added another layer of Sinfully Scarlet gloss. This was it. Her rebel moment. And it had only taken 873 years.

Her fingers shook as she stowed the gloss into the back pocket of her black leather pants. They felt wickedly snug. Glorious. Her mother would have had a heart attack. Well, if her mother’s heart still beat.

Katarina, or Kat as her family called her, belonged to one of the oldest vampire families in Romania. She’d learned to sit straight, mind her manners and never, ever drink from the help. She’d been the perfect little princess. Until now.

Butterflies tickled her stomach. She parted the rich velvet stage curtain, blinking at the overhead lights.

If she didn’t do it now, she never would.

“You ready, sweetheart?” A handsome, grey-haired vamp clapped her on the arm, treating her to a sly smile and a wink as he passed.

“More than you’ll ever know.” Once. Just once, she was going to do something for herself. And if it ruined her reputation for the next century? She’d worry about that tomorrow.

Adrenaline raced through her body as spotlights popped to life.

An exaggerated drum roll sounded as the grey-haired vamp jogged out on stage. He threw his arms out, clearly eating it up. “Welcome toooo Love Bites!” The audience went wild as the game-show band started in on a lively round of theme music. The affable vamp gave an exaggerated bow. Television cameras followed his every move.

“Each week, one lucky lady gets to pick from not two, but three vampy studs to find her one true love. Will it last for the evening, or for all eternity? That’s up for grabs on stage tonight. I’m your host, Frankie G. Winner, coming to you live from Kiev, the undead capital of the world, with the hottest show on Vamp TV.”

Kat sucked in a breath. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea. But, hell’s bells, she had to take charge of her life. Now.

“Sponsored by Swiss Storage. For memories of a lifetime. Trust Swiss Storage. And by Fang-zite. The all natural Male Fang Enhancer. Show her you’ve got a little something extra . . . with Fang-zite.”

“Go,” the stage director ordered.

Kat smoothed her red silk top and, with more confidence than she felt, strutted out under the blaring game-show music and lights, her glam-girl earrings tickling her long pale neck. I am immortal, hear me roar.

The studio audience seemed to stretch for miles. Never mind the countless vamps watching at home. Her stomach tingled.

Her parents were going to kill her.

Stop it. There was nothing wrong with dating. Most vamps got to date. Only the royals were forced to marry people they barely knew. And because of their stupid rules, she’d endured centuries of a loveless marriage. She deserved a little fun.

Frankie brushed his lips against her cheek as the clapping from the audience died down. “Princess Katarina Volholme D’Transylvania,” he said, rolling her name on his tongue like a fine wine. “You are the only daughter of the King of Romania. Newly single after 856 years and I must say you smell terrific.”

Kat smiled inwardly. The perfume was her own creation.

“Are you ready to find the man of your dreams?”

“Bring ’em on,” she purred.

Frankie urged Kat into a cute little perch on a barstool that had to have been designed for a giant. Add that to the fact that she didn’t usually wear heels. The lights suddenly seemed too bright.

Relax. It was just like when Grandpa fought the Byzantines. Move with purpose, move with power.

Kate glided into the hot seat, and eased her glossy black hair from her shoulders. Frankie nodded in approval and she grinned despite herself. If she played it right, no one would even know she’d learned her modern English from watching American Idol.

A blood-red wall separated her from the male contestants. Frankie rested a smooth hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready to meet the bachelors?”

She nodded as the lights came up on the other side.

“Mozart,” he called, “can we get a drum roll, please?”

The flame-haired bandleader spun his sticks and began pounding a wild, jungle beat.

“Let’s say hello to our first contender,” Frankie announced. “Bachelor number one hails from ancient Rome, where he wowed the ladies in the pits of the Coliseum. Today, he runs his own security firm and enjoys extreme sports. But will bachelor number one have the sword and the strength to win this lady’s hand? We’ll find out tonight.”

The audience hooted and hollered. Kat fought the urge to peel at her Wildly Red nail polish. Bachelor number one sounded promising. Then again, her father hadn’t liked the Romans since they’d invaded his lands in the second century. Stop it, she chastised herself. Nothing would please her dad except her marrying Vlad the Detailer. While he wasn’t as obscenely old as her former husband, he was just as vanilla. Worse, he was chief of operations for his cousin, Vlad the Impaler. Kat had met them both at a dinner party a few hundred years ago and let’s just say they were bat crazy, always trying to conquer something. Even if her dad thought Vlad would make a nice, ambitious husband for her, it just wasn’t worth it.

“Our second bachelor hails all the way from England where he was a big hit as a royal executioner at the Tower of London. These days, he makes his living slicing and dicing news articles. Our bachelor is a journalism professor at the University of Missouri. But can mere words provoke the passion of a princess? We’ll find out.”

A group of women in the back started whistling. He must be good-looking. Most vamps were, but still, it took something special to get them going. Kat crossed her legs. She wouldn’t mind being hot for the teacher.

“Bachelor number three hails from the Scottish Highlands. He’s as comfortable in a tartan as he is at the table on the World Champion Poker tour. Want to finally know what’s under that kilt? Bachelor number three is betting on true love.”

She had always wondered about men in kilts. And she was more than ready for a little adventure after being cooped up for the last eight and a half centuries. Vamps mated for life and let’s just say her husband hadn’t exactly gotten out of the castle much.

To be fair, he was almost 2,000 years old when she’d married him. He’d been an old, old, old friend of the family’s – her parents’ choice, of course. He’d spent his nights dissecting the moths that flew into his study window. Or eating songbirds. He’d never had time for Kat. Marrying her had been a favour to her father and the crown, nothing more.

“And now,” Frankie said like he was announcing the cure for sunlight, “it’s time for our bachelorette’s first question.”

Kat sat up a little straighter and began reading the first pink question card. “As you may know, I haven’t been out much in the last few centuries and I’m up for a fun time, maybe even a few surprises.” She emphasized the last word as the card instructed. “Bachelor number one, where would you take me on our first date?”

“Well, Katarina . . . ”

The Roman’s voice sounded smooth, velvety. Kat succumbed to a very un-princess-like fidget.

“I’d take you to paradise, baby, because that’s where you’d be after one kiss from me.”

She forced herself not to gag. The Romans always did like their poetry, but sheesh – she’d expected more from a gladiator.

Kat glanced at the endless audience and immediately regretted it. After living quietly for so many years, it felt strange to be in front of so many people.

She cleared her throat. “Bachelor number two, where would you take me?”

Kat pasted on a smile – practised and perfected over the centuries – as he droned on and on about a picnic by a beautiful lake, one without food (for obvious reasons), without beverages (any and all consumables gave him gas) and not too close to the lake (he had a water phobia ever since his near drowning in 1754). Never mind that he was immortal. Well, she wasn’t going to learn any more. Kat wasn’t going anywhere with bachelor number two.

This simply had to get better.

“Bachelor number three? Where would you take me?”

“It’s simple, Katarina.” His voice was low, rumbling. If he’d had a Highland accent, he’d lost it years ago. “I’d ease you onto the back of my Harley, and rev up the engine. After that, it’s anything goes.”

She was suddenly aware of how tightly her black leather pants hugged her legs, her thighs. Kat tried to get her mind off it by focusing on him, but then all she could think about was what he wasn’t wearing on his thighs – or anywhere else under that kilt. Did Highlanders really go commando? And was she ready to find out?

“Bachelor number three,” she began.

“Number one,” Frankie corrected her.

“No, we’re skipping that.” Kat waved him off. She needed to talk to the Scotsman again. She eyed the next question card: If we were married . . .

It would never happen. Kat flipped to the next card. She didn’t need marriage again. She just needed a life, one where she called the shots for a change. Forget the cards. Kat shoved them underneath her. “Bachelor number three–” she folded her hands in her lap in anticipation “– what would you say is your best asset?”

“My attitude,” he said simply. “I don’t give up. I don’t give in. And I know how to treat a woman.” He lowered his voice. “When you leave here tonight, with me, I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”

Like he just assumed she’d go with him. Oh, who was she kidding? She’d made her choice. Kat was going to have her own version of a Highland fling with the utterly delectable Scotsman.

She stamped down a squeal of triumph. Finally! She’d been dreaming of going on a date since she caught her maid sneaking out with a handsome young blacksmith back in the seventeenth century.

Of course there was the issue of the rest of the show. What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever bitten? How many vamps can you fit in your coffin? Name the wildest place you’ve ever slept.

She hardly listened to the answers. She wanted the Highlander.

Fionnlagh MacLaomainn had the little vampire exactly where he wanted her. Sure, he couldn’t see the maverick brunette on the other side of the wall, but he felt her heat like the pounding of a battering ram. Her desire, too. She wanted him.

And why shouldn’t she?

His kind specialized in giving the vamps exactly what they craved. Too bad he wasn’t working for the eager Princess.

Finn cocked an arm over the back of his chair and shifted uncomfortably as the wooden stake he carried rubbed into his back. He never went anywhere without it. Vamps could be damned unpredictable.

Only the wealthiest undead could afford to keep an empath fairy like Finn on staff. Finn was undetectable to vamps when he wanted to be. Deadly too.

Still, he wouldn’t have signed on for this job if it had meant hurting Princess Katarina. He didn’t injure innocents. He would take her back to the King, however. She’d protest. He’d insist. After all, Vlad the Detailer had already arrived for the wedding. The vamp had a reputation for being sharp, focused and utterly obsessed with order. It would go much better for Katarina if Finn delivered her in good time.

Then he could get back to providing real security.

In his last mission, he’d staked a band of assassins. A king as old and powerful as Volholme had made his share of enemies. Still, Finn had a feeling someone new was gunning for the throne. There had been three attempts on the King’s life in the past year. They needed Vlad’s security forces, and perhaps even his cousin’s, before another attack occured. It was a dangerous juncture – too dangerous.

It wasn’t the time for the Princess to be running off.

Well, he’d tracked her, he’d found her, and now he’d bring her back. Finn ran a hand along his jaw as the host of the show asked the male contestants to stand.

In his three centuries with the royal guard, he was used to feeling the base emotions the more unstable vamps carried with them – fear, greed, hate.

Tonight, he was sensing something else entirely.

Finn stood, feet apart, as one by one, Princess Katarina met the poor saps she didn’t choose. He shifted uncomfortably as the heat in his groin built.

Gods be to Glasgow. The vixen couldn’t stop thinking about what he had going on downstairs and it was making him damned uncomfortable. Her father had claimed she was innocent, naive – untouched for at least the last several hundred years – locked in a fargalin’ castle in Romania for God’s sake. Seems it had given her plenty of time to work on her fantasies.

Think of the job.

He didn’t need her approval. Didn’t want her company. Even so, when he stepped around the wall to greet her, he couldn’t help but swell with pride at the way she eyed him. A petite thing, as most women of her era were, with an upturned nose and pouty lips to die for. But there was something else that he hadn’t seen in her file photo – a sparkle in her rich green eyes, an aliveness that he hadn’t seen in a long time. He took her in slowly and wished he was the kind of creature who could give her what she clearly wanted.

The little royal was ready to let loose with about eight centuries’ worth of sin and debauchery. Too bad for her she picked the wrong man to fool around with.

“Hello, Princess,” he said, taking her small palm in his, giving in to the urge to rub his thumb against the soft skin on the top of her hand. “You can call me Finn.”

Her eyes darted down to where he touched her then back up at him. “It’s a pleasure,” she said, her voice low and breathy.

She was more open than he’d ever seen a vamp. He couldn’t read her thoughts, just her impressions. And what she was broadcasting right now made blood rush to parts that he’d rather forget about while on international undead television.

He couldn’t help but grin. He liked a challenge. And this woman was more dangerous than a rabid vampire horde.

The announcer talked animatedly about their supposed dream date: a romantic getaway to Venice, Italy. There, they’d enjoy a cosy gondola ride for two before being whisked away to the terraced clock tower above St Mark’s Square. As the moon rose above the city, they’d get a true taste of classic Venice by dining on a pair of donors descended from the great Renaissance painter Giovanni Bellini himself.

Finn tuned out the rest. It didn’t matter anyway. They wouldn’t be going to Venice. No, the Princess was coming with him.

Kat squeezed her toes against her slick, gold strappy sandals and knew she’d made the right choice. Fionnlagh MacLaomainn was even more delicious than she’d pictured him. Not to mention dangerous. He stood with his feet set apart, chest pulled back, and eyes that explored the entire quivering length of her, and then went back for seconds.

He wore a blue and green plaid kilt, a white linen shirt and had the roughened look of a man who wasn’t afraid to get out there and live life. He had a squared-off jaw, an angular nose, and – her favourite part of all – auburn hair that whispered just short of his shoulders, with bits of gold and grey threaded throughout. Finn had the grace and bearing of a vamp who knew exactly what he wanted, which was perfectly fine with her.

The intimacy of being here, with him, caught her off guard. She felt claustrophobic all of a sudden and, at the same time, exposed.

Kat schooled her expression. He couldn’t know how he’d gotten to her. Just because she’d never been alone with a man who wasn’t a relative didn’t mean she couldn’t handle this. Times had changed. She had changed.

She willed herself to stop shaking as she marvelled at the warmth of his hand, the taste of the air around him. He felt and smelled alive and vibrant, not at all like her recently deceased husband, or even her father for that matter. Kat hadn’t been this close to a vamp her age in, well, too long.

Finn slid a heavy leather coat over his shoulders. “Ready?”

“Oh yes,” she said. She’d never been more ready for anything in her life.

He led her out of the studio and to the sleek black Harley parked outside. She hitched one leg over the monstrous machine and watched in sheer delight as he did the same. It was time to prove Princess Katarina Volholme D’Transylvania could take care of herself.

Finally.

She scooted forwards until her hips nestled against the bunched-up fabric of his kilt. “No helmets?”

“We’re immortal,” he said, leaning back into her, “what can happen?”

Kat curled her toes in delight as he took off for the open road.

The wind tore through her hair as the bike zipped through a row of posh stores on Kiev’s premier Khreshchatyk Street. Wrought-iron street lamps cast a warm glow on outdoor cafes and the well-dressed pedestrians winding in and out of each other. Finn gunned the engine as he turned down the narrow Kiev Passage that led out of the city.

Free at last!

Her fingers played along his waist under his jacket. She ventured further, slipping under his fine linen shirt and feeling rock-solid abs. Oh my. Katarina stroked him lightly, revelling in the smattering of goosebumps she left in her wake. She’d ventured and he’d responded. How long had it been since someone, anyone, reacted to her with any kind of feeling other than respect? Or mere tolerance?

The one time she met Vlad, he’d looked straight through her, as if she didn’t exist. She had no doubt he’d marry her without even seeing her, if it was at all possible.

Kat pressed her cheek against the back of Finn’s buttery leather jacket. If the night ended right now, it would have been worth it.

Plus, she realized, a thrill rippling up her spine, they were going the wrong way. The airport, and Love Bites’ private jet, was to the rapidly fading east. Finn was headed west.

She was so right to pick the Scotsman!

Kat wiggled against his firm backside and wondered if there might be a way to glamour him into kidnapping her to the coast. Royal blood had its advantages, or so she’d heard. Oh this was going to be fun, indeed.

On the way through the centuries-old town of Vinnystia, he took advantage of a stop light to twist around in his seat. He was rather dark for a Scotsman, and a vamp. The soft glow of the street lamps played off his features. The night was still young. Finn was supernaturally fast, even when he obeyed pesky things like traffic signals.

She licked her lips. “So what’s the plan, Braveheart?”

He stiffened. “William Wallace was a patriot and a martyr. I’ll not have you making glib comparisons.”

She cocked her head to the side, studying the thunderclouds that rolled across his brow. “Did you know him?” Kat had certainly heard the stories. Her father had called the Scottish rebels a bunch of damned fools. Technically, she shouldn’t have been in awe over a rebel to a king, but darned if she didn’t find the whole thing a touch romantic.

Finn cranked the engine, almost as if he was buying time. Finally he said, “I knew him. I fought under Wallace, and King Robert the Bruce.”

A vampire who fought human wars? Interesting. But not as interesting as what she wanted to do next. She ran her nails to his elbow and smiled inwardly as she felt him stiffen. “So where are you taking me?” she asked, her voice huskier than she’d intended.

Finn gave her a wicked smile. “I thought we’d go on our own adventure.”

“Oh,” she managed, almost surprised that her plan had actually worked. He wiped away that and every other thought when he lowered his mouth to hers.

His lips felt warm, firm and . . . Oh goodness. She’d dreamed of this for centuries and it was so much better than she imagined.

Finn was a man who knew how to take his time. Spirals of pleasure wound through her as he kissed her, slowly. Gently. There was an intimacy she’d never expected from all of the kisses she’d watched on daytime television. He took his time savouring her, tasting her. She loved every second of it.

Just for her.

He wasn’t looking to her out of obligation, not because she was a princess or because this was something owed or something due. For once, it was about Kat as a person, as a woman. It was as if this kiss was the first thing she’d truly owned in her entire life.

She pressed herself against him, hands splayed on his chest. He was so warm, so vibrant. And the way he was making her feel. He took her mouth, her lower lip, her mouth again, with a raw sensuality that made her ache. When his tongue swept hers, she thought she might burn to a cinder on the spot. Just when she was thinking she could lose herself for ever, he pulled away, a mere breath from her.

Dazed, she watched him. The hunger in his eyes, the glaze of her kiss on his lower lip. She was glad to see how it affected him. Other, more modern vamps might do this all the time, but she certainly didn’t.

The closeness, the feel of him. It was almost too much. Her confidence stuttered.

“I’m not easy,” she told him. She didn’t know why she’d said it, exactly – only that she’d needed him to know.

He levelled her with a conspiratorial grin, as if he understood how tough it was sometimes to reconcile this century with all the ones that had come before. “No worries, Princess. It was just a kiss.” He leaned towards her again, ever so slowly, and, just when she thought she would erupt from the anticipation, he brushed his lips over her nose. “Green light.”

She felt the sides of her mouth quirk as he turned forwards. The shock of the engine lurched her against him as they tore off into the night. It was almost like flying.

Closing her eyes, she relished the pleasure rippling through her veins. He couldn’t have known he was only the second man she’d kissed. He made her whole body thrum with anticipation for – Oh my.

Whatever she was going to have to pay for this night, it was so going to be worth it.

She closed her eyes and savoured him for a long while, until the familiar scents of oak and hornbeam trees, roe deer and foxes ebbed into her consciousness.

Kat stiffened against him. Were they in Romania?

His muscles tightened, as if he could sense what she was thinking. “Trust me,” he said.

Finn turned the bike onto a black asphalt road that led through a grove of immense beech trees, their bare trunks like hundreds of soldiers reaching up to the night sky.

Panic skittered down her spine. How could she trust him? She didn’t know him. Not that she had to worry about defending herself. She was a royal vamp, and as strong as a Carpathian wild cat. Still, she wasn’t about to be played for a fool.

Kat reached out with her senses. No, her father wasn’t nearby. She sighed with relief. Still, why would the Scotsman take her to her homeland for a romantic getaway?

The blacktop ended at a painted monastery unlike any she’d seen before. North-eastern Romania was famous for them. They were usually large, ornate affairs, with striking medieval art decorating the outside and inner walls. This one almost looked as if it had been abandoned.

Smaller than the rest, and rounded, it hunkered in a tangle of wild flowers. Waist-high iron crosses ringed the outside of the structure, and garlands of large, fat cloves of garlic hung from the aged wooden roof.

It seemed that the villagers in these parts still had a healthy respect for vampires.

Good for them.

Finn held the garlic aside, so that it wouldn’t bump her on the head as she entered. They didn’t need assistance to see in the dark, but her date lit a series of tapers anyway. She savoured the way he moved through the large, round room.

Wooden benches backed against the brightly painted interior walls, almost as if this was some sort of old meeting place. Or storage area, she noted from the cluster of weather-beaten gargoyles and angels next to her. She watched Finn’s military-precise movements as he touched a lighter to the last of the fat red candles.

She hooked a thumb through her brand-new gold belt. “Would you like to tell me what’s going on here?” An amazing kiss was only going to get the studly vamp so far. It was crazy to come back to Romania. He wasn’t looking at her and, even though she’d never been on a date in her life, this didn’t seem like a happening place.

He turned slowly, as if he didn’t quite want to face her. Candles cast deep shadows across his face. “I’m not a vampire.”

“What?” Her mouth hung open. Thanks to years of ladylike training, she snapped it closed rather quickly.

He didn’t bother to sugar-coat it. “I’m an empath fairy. I can pass as a vampire, or any other creature you can imagine. I can look like you, smell like you, feel like you –”

She bolted for the exit.

In a flash, he was around her, blocking the doorway. “I’m also faster than you.”

Well, if he was like most men . . . she brought a knee up to his groin.

He blocked it just as swiftly. “The Princess likes to play dirty,” he chuckled, avoiding a karate chop to his kidneys. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you.” He looped a finger through her sassy gold belt and hung her out like a hooked sturgeon. “There’s no escape, so don’t even try. I was sent by your father.”

It was worse than being kidnapped. More like being sent back to prison. “I won’t do it. You can’t make me go back there.” Not without a fight. Kat mustered her strength and shot him with a full dose of royal glamour. “Your mission has changed.”

He stared at her. “OK.”

“Let me go.”

He eased her to her feet, leaving her with the wedgie of the century.

She shook it off and locked the empath fairy into her thrall. If he could use her, she had no reservations about using him.

“You’re going to be my transportation, my bodyguard.” And, if she was lucky, something else. Of course she wouldn’t glamour him into sex. That would be wrong. But perhaps she could glamour him into a peek at the best body she’d seen in eight centuries.

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered, before she let herself think on it too much.

He hesitated.

Shoot. True, she hadn’t used her glamour in, well, for ever, but this was supposed to come naturally. “Take off your shirt,” she said again and was shocked when she found herself removing her red silk top instead. It slipped from her fingers and rustled into a silken pool on the stone tiles at her feet.

She couldn’t have been more astonished than if she’d morphed into a bat.

Finn gave absolutely no reaction as she stood there in her black silk bra. And why should he? The man was under her thrall. Now if she could just get it to work right.

She tossed her hair off her shoulders and planted her hands on her hips. “Lose what you have going on upstairs, stud.” She wanted to see that chest.

Instead, her hands found the clasp at the front of her bra. “Wait!” she said, slightly panicked as she popped the front clasp and tossed the scrap of silk over a bowing cherub.

Still, his face showed no expression. But her little striptease had done a number on him below the waist.

The truth crept over her. “You’re not even under my thrall, are you?” The supernatural snake.

And now she couldn’t even cover herself. She tried to cross her arms over her breasts. Embarrassment stung her. Fine time for reverse glamour.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

Candlelight flickered over his features and a roguish smile tickled his lips. “I was hoping you’d want to go another round. See if I might take off anything else.”

“I don’t think I could afford the humiliation,” she said, even though she felt far from defeated. In fact, now that he wasn’t bothering to hide his interest, she found his attention to her body quite stimulating.

Too bad he was on dear old Dad’s side of things.

Planting one sexy gold shoe in front of the other, she sauntered up to him so close that the tips of her breasts almost – almost – touched his white linen shirt. That wiped the smile right off his face.

“Tell me,” she said, her Transylvanian accent thickening with her mounting need. “How are you doing it?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I push your own glamour back on you.”

“Indeed,” she purred. “So what does my illustrious father have in mind?”

He gave her a stony look, but she almost detected a softening in him. He checked his watch. “In about two hours, King Volholme is going to meet us here. He wants to have a few words with you before we escort you back to the castle. Your wedding is tonight.”

Dread settled in her stomach. She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t. Kat did the first thing that came to mind. She elbowed Finn in the ribs.

She dashed past him, the night air cool on her breasts. Until Finn’s hand clamped down hard on her arm. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Tears welled up in her eyes. “Well, so am I.” She whipped around to face him. “Do you know what it’s like to have an eternal life where nothing you say or do matters? There’s a reason the old ways die out. There’s a reason things change.”

“Princess, I – ” He looked as helpless as she felt. He swore under his breath and shrugged off his thick leather jacket. “Here,” he said, wrapping it around her shoulders.

It was super-heated from his body and held the dark, spicy scent of him. She wrapped it around herself, taking comfort in the sheer size and weight of it. How long had it been since someone actually cared about how hard this was for her?

“You have to understand,” she said, “I can’t be like this. I can’t live like this.”

She could see the muscles working in his jaw. “This marriage will offer the most security for you, and for your family. You don’t have a choice,” he said, losing steam with each word. “I don’t have a choice, either.”

The thing was, she did have a choice. And she was going to make it.

The Princess blinked away her tears and strode back into the old monastery, more resolute than she’d been all night. Finn braced himself. It was a bad sign.

She stood with her back to him in the circular room, which was fine with him. She’d broadcasted enough raw desire tonight to give him a hard-on for the next year. Burying her in his jacket made it worse. She might not feel exposed any more, but now it was almost like a part of him was covering those luscious breasts, the sweet curve of her back. Heaven help him.

Katarina tossed a wave of black hair over her shoulder and it was all he could do to keep himself from reaching out and touching it.

Which was insane.

He never should have let her take her shirt off. He could have just told her that her glamour wouldn’t work on him. But no. He had to show off. He had to prove something to her. What did it matter anyway? She was leaving with Vlad, and Finn was going back to work for the King.

“Why?” she asked, the simple question stark against the quiet of the night. “You’re not one of my father’s subjects. Why do you have to follow his rules?”

“It’s my job,” he said, as if that answered it all. It did in Finn’s mind. He’d been a soldier all his life and he was good at it. He had the power to fight war and aggression and he’d be damned irresponsible not to use it. “It’s my life.” He heard his voice go husky. “This is what I do.” It was the only thing he did. If he didn’t protect people, keep the peace, well, then he was nothing.

“You don’t even play cards, do you?”

It was finally sinking in just how much he’d deceived her.

“No.” He didn’t have time for frivolity.

He reached a hand out to touch her and stopped just short of her shoulder. The memory of her soft, delectable skin was bad enough. He didn’t need to feel it again – even through his leather coat. He curled his fingers into a fist at his side.

Princess Katarina didn’t understand the sick creatures that were out there in the world, which was how he wanted it. It was his duty to safeguard her and other innocents. Sometimes duty came with a price tag attached. “Your marriage contract is final,” he said, willing her to understand, to accept. “It’s the way of your people. I’m not about to open up you or your kingdom to an altercation with Vlad and his family. Do you remember what his cousin did the last time a king double-crossed them?” The History Channel still did specials on that one.

“I can’t give you your freedom. You’ll have to convince your fiancé, or your father,” he said, knowing at the same time that she couldn’t. He closed his eyes. It was a bad situation all around. But it wasn’t his fight.

She turned to face him, her arms in his bulky jacket folded over her chest. “So I go back and marry the crypt keeper and you spend the rest of your life saving the world.”

He wanted to sigh in relief. Finally, she understood.

She considered him carefully. “So we’re both trapped.”

He blinked. “I’m not trapped.”

She ran her hands along her sides, over her hips, down to where his jacket barely covered her backside. He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. He knew the Princess wouldn’t go down without one last fight.

It wasn’t right. She shouldn’t have to marry a cold, conniving vamp. But there was nothing either one of them could do about it. It was the way of her race. Feeling sorry for her wouldn’t help.

Katarina lowered her hands and shifted so that his jacket hung open in the front. He swallowed hard, but kept his composure. Barely.

“You live for your duty—” a flicker of sadness crossed her face “– and it seems I will have to do mine.” The candlelight threw shadows under her breasts, into the hollow of her belly. “But we should live first.” She smiled at him like a goddess of old. Only a slight trembling at her collarbone gave her away.

He opened up his senses, readied himself for battle. Immediately, he felt her nervousness, but more than that, he almost staggered sideways at the brunt of her sheer, unadulterated hunger for him.

Oh hell.

“Be careful, Princess,” he warned, his throat tight.

She lifted a slender shoulder. “You said it yourself. I can’t escape you. I can’t glamour you. In two hours, I’m going to be taken away, forced to live out what could be the rest of my life locked in another castle.” She took one step towards him, then another. “You’ll go back to your job.” She toyed with the waistband of her downright addictive black leather pants. “Tell me, Fionnlagh MacLaomainn, what can we do with our last two hours of freedom?”

His mouth went dry.

She shot him through with a look that practically brought him to his knees. Her next words were mere whispers, but he heard her clear enough. “No one ever has to know.”

Sweet heaven.

Maybe he couldn’t change the way either of them lived, but they could have a night to remember. He specialized in keeping secrets. None of the vamps could read him. And she had no reason to provoke even more ire from her father. Besides, she and the King would have little or no contact once she was shut away in Dracula’s Castle. By MacLeod’s lock, was he actually considering this?

He gripped the hard leather belt at his waist. The mere thought of touching her had fire coursing through his veins. “This isn’t going to change anything,” he warned. He wasn’t going to go soft. He wasn’t going to let her go. He wasn’t going to go off mission just because she let him touch her.

She tilted her chin up. “I know,” she said, challenge blazing in her eyes. “At least give me a memory to last the next 800 years.”

Her back smacked against the cool stone wall, as for her pants, well, she didn’t really care what he’d done with her pants. Somehow the gold belt still rested on her hips, shimmering in the candlelight.

“Eager much?” she asked, wiggling her hips.

Finn stared at the flickering gold band snaking across her belly button. His gaze moved lower and he about choked. “Let’s just say it’s been a while for me too.”

He growled most deliciously and swept her into a crushing kiss. She felt lavish, wanton, alive. And when Finn’s hands trailed up her sides and cupped her breasts, she darn near bit him. She couldn’t help it. This was all so new, so fresh, so utterly perfect.

She drove her fingers through his hair, revelled in the way her bare body scraped against his. He twined her legs with his, the wool of his kilt rubbing her in the most delightful place. Still, she wanted more.

Hadn’t she said she was going to find out what Scotsmen wore under their kilts?

While his mouth did exquisite things to her upper chest, Kat drew her fingers down his back, pressing small circles along his spine. Down to where the tartan clung to that groove of muscle at his waist.

“Oh my,” she said, as she observed how the evidence of his desire made the rough wool fabric stand on end.

He chuckled low in his throat. “You don’t know the half of it,” he said, spreading his legs for her.

Fingers shaking, she touched his knees, drew her hands up his legs, all the way to his “Bicycle shorts?”

He swallowed hard, as if the wait was killing him.

“It’s . . . ” she began, wondering just how much bigger he’d be if he wasn’t crushed into the shorts. It was an enticing, almost intimidating thought.

She lifted the tartan to get a closer look. Sure enough, his powerful thighs were encased in matching cloth bearing the Royal Arms of Scotland.

She lifted a brow.

“Trade secret,” he hissed through his teeth. “It’s the only way I can ride a Harley in a kilt.”

“It’s not a very good secret,” she informed him. And with that, she liberated his kingdom once and for all.

Yow. The Scotsman did not disappoint. As she paused for a moment, trying to decide exactly what to do with her new find, Fionnlagh MacLaomainn took things into his own hands.

He kissed her cross-eyed before devouring her collarbone, her neck, that little spot behind her ear. He nibbled, he sucked, he trailed his hot mouth all the way down to her – Oh my.

Finn used his tongue on her breasts, his teeth, and she darned near slid down the wall, undone by the pleasure of it all. Only one thing kept her standing – she wanted more. She held the back of his head, raked her fingers through his hair and willed him to go on for ever.

She almost climbed the wall when his fingers found the very centre of her. She was soaking wet with need and she gasped with surprise. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before. He caressed her, parted her, rubbing her in ways so that she thought she might burst. All the while, he kissed her breasts, her belly button, her . . . “What in the world are you doing?”

Kat never knew one person could do that to another and she certainly hadn’t imagined how bone-crushingly delectable it would feel. He licked her, sucked her, tasted her everywhere until she exploded once, twice. “Finn!” The ankle grip she had around his neck would have flattened the average man, but Finn was certainly not an average anything. She gave up, threw her head back and released a very un-princesslike scream of pleasure.

“Is this another one of your supernatural powers?” she gasped, only half joking.

“We haven’t even gotten to the good part,” he said, standing.

She wrapped her fingers around his length. Her excitement rocketed as she sensed her power. If only she knew what to do next. “I’ve only ever done it in a bed. In the dark.” Even that had been a few hundred years ago.

Finn kissed her like he was ready to devour her. He broke away, chest heaving. “We’ll go slow.”

Slow was bad, she wanted to say. This night was not about holding back. She wanted him hard and fast and now.

“No,” she said, and nearly shrieked at the loss when he stopped. “Wait,” she said. “I meant not slow. I didn’t mean, oh hell – now, Finn. Now!”

He groaned and surged forwards. It stung, but she didn’t care. She grabbed his perfect butt and forced him forwards. “More!”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he heaved against her ear.

“Then don’t stop.” He couldn’t stop now.

With a loud shout, he pushed himself inside her. She gasped at the bliss of being completely and utterly possessed. She’d never felt it. Would never feel it again.

Don’t think. Just feel.

At some point, they ended up on the stone floor, the kilt under her, Finn above her. She was surrounded in the scent of him, the feel of him, as he drove into her, over and over. She revelled in it. Clutched his back, luxuriating in the muscle and power and strength she found. It was bliss. He was heaven. And if he was trying to make up for the last 839 years, he was doing a bang-up job.

When she came for the third time, he came with her, groaning against her ear as he spilled himself inside of her.

When she felt sufficiently able to speak, she tipped her head forwards against his. “Is it always like that?” she asked. Because really, if it was, then her life before this was even more pathetic than she’d imagined.

He chuckled against the crook of her neck, “Princess,” he said, pressing wet kisses across her skin that made her all squiggly again, “it’s never like that.”

A chill crept down her spine, despite the warmth of the man currently rubbing his cheek against hers. She’d never have this again. Never have him. What good was it to experience so much when she’d be forced to live without it for the next millennium?

She pulled him closer. After centuries more of neglect, she might not even care any more.

“It’s time,” he said quietly, pulling away from her. She let him go, and felt the cool air creep in between them. He really was magnificent. Lean and strong, all bone and muscle and . . . yum. Well, she might as well look. She’d never see it again.

Finn’s entire body stiffened as he checked his watch. “By Skara Brae, we’ve been at it for three hours.”

Mmm . . . she sat up on her elbows. Her entire body felt sated, and a little wobbly. “It couldn’t have been three hours.”

“And then some.” Finn frowned, studying the shredded bottom of his kilt.

His fault for putting his tongue in places she’d never dreamed a tongue could go.

She stood slowly and ran her fingers through her tangled hair as she watched him dress. At least her father was late. She considered it a gift. The King had a reputation for putting business over everything else. And that, Kat sighed, was exactly what she was – an item to be bartered and handed off to the royal with the most influence to peddle.

Finn handed her a conservative, medieval dress like the one she’d worn for the last 800 years. And like the ones she’d wear for the rest of her immortal life. She stuffed the shapeless, long-sleeved, high-necked bundle of brown velvet and trim over her head.

The lace itched at her neck in a way it hadn’t before, now that she knew what it felt like to live without a noose of fine Romanian needlepoint. She pulled at the intricately woven fabric, almost wishing she hadn’t known how her life could be.

Finn gathered what little they’d brought with them, the muscles in his back working as he double-checked his weapons.

He was so powerful, so alive. Not just because he lived and breathed, or because he could walk in the light. Finn lived his life. And for a while, when she’d been with him, he’d made her feel that she lived hers too.

Kat reached into the pocket of her gown and found a royal headpiece – a shapeless, formless cap of black thread and pearls. Her fingers moved of their own volition, weaving her long hair into a braid around her head and tying the velvet ribbons under her chin.

Having him – if only for an evening – had almost been worse than not having him at all. Because now she knew what she was missing. And it would kill her.

Finn frowned at his black satellite phone and strapped it back into his pack. “Your father’s party isn’t answering. He sat back on his heels as he checked his watch. “We’re more than an hour past the pick-up time.”

Kat licked her lips at the fact they could have been caught.

“Impossible,” he said, “I would have sensed them coming.”

“Would you at least pretend you can’t read my thoughts?” she asked. It was bad enough that her life was an endless, open book. She didn’t need him telling her what she was thinking.

He slung his pack over his shoulder as he strode towards her, a contrite hitch to the side of his mouth. “I can’t read your thoughts, just your feelings.” He touched his forehead to hers. “And I apologize.”

Finn folded her into his arms. Safe.

Kat closed her eyes and let his warmth wash over her. Yes, she’d be sad later, and she’d mourn him, but right now, she had him.

Finn rubbed her back through the heavy velvet. “I don’t know how to say this easy, so I’m just going to say it.” He drew back and considered her carefully, his expression sombre. “There’s no reason for your father to have missed our rendezvous. Worse, he’s not answering his phone.”

Apprehension seeped through her. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he said, all business. “But we’re not going to waste anytime wondering. We’re going to the castle.”

So this was it. She swallowed hard and stared at the grey stone floor. He was taking her back to Varstnic Castle. She’d be married before sunrise.

Finn had told her to expect it. Still, a tiny part of her had held out hope.

“Come on.” He wrapped her hand in his and led her towards the door. “We need to leave.”

“Can I at least wear your jacket?” she asked, feeling silly but needing it all the same.

With great tenderness, he helped her into the coat. She savoured the warmth and feel of it, wrapped it around her so tightly that something poked her in the back.

“Ow.”

He rubbed his thumb along her jaw. “It’s just a spare stake. It won’t hurt you.”

“Right,” she said, proving they couldn’t go five minutes without one of them thinking of his job. Well, unless they were occupied as they had been earlier. Parts of her body immediately turned to liquid at the thought.

Finn looked flustered too. “Just—” he closed the jacket firmly around her “—just don’t touch it. That, either,” he said, as she pulled a heavy black gun out of the pocket.

“Bullets can’t hurt me.”

“No, but that gun shoots holy water. Hard and deadly accurate. Put it away.”

Kat considered the gun, before stuffing it back into his coat pocket. Too bad. Where she was headed, it could come in handy.

Like a true Scot, he rode commando. Had to. The vixen had ripped the biker shorts right off him. Not that he’d minded. What started out as an act of mercy had turned into something else entirely.

Finn gunned the engine. If he could save her from this, he would.

He’d promised to return her to her fiancé. It was the way of her people, what her family wanted. He’d clear up what he hoped was a misunderstanding with the King about the drop-off scenario. Then he’d go back to the kind of hard-nosed jobs that kept her world safer.

Problem was, deep down he didn’t think the King had made a mistake about the pick-up time. The King was rigid, precise. In the three centuries he’d known the man, he never knew the King to ditch his part of a mission – especially when his family was at stake.

The lack of a royal entourage tonight meant one thing – while Finn had been off diddling the Princess, King Petronius Brasov Volholme D’Transylvania, Lord of the Seven Clans and Romania was under attack.

Finn turned on to Highway 11 to Brasov, Transylvania. Whatever was going on, he had to keep Katarina out of it. She might be strong, and downright wicked when she wanted to be, but she wasn’t a warrior. And he didn’t know what he’d do if something happened to her. The mere thought of it made his gut clench.

Because she was the mission.

Yeah, right.

Finn steadied his breathing, the way he’d been taught. Slowly, he disentangled himself from the emotions of the little vamp behind him. Her quiet sorrow was a thousand times worse than her protests.

As they neared her father’s castle, he opened himself up to the night. Along with the pine and dog roses in the air, he smelled danger too, the sticky sweet remains of deception and evil.

His fingers tightened on the Harley as he zoned in on the threat – three vamps and something else.

Varstnic Castle loomed like a spectre on the mountainside. Finn had travelled supernaturally fast, but they were running out of night. It didn’t affect him in the slightest. Finn could walk in the sun. As for Katarina, he didn’t even want to think what could happen to her if he didn’t secure the castle by sunrise.

Just under an hour.

Finn powered the bike up the steep mountain passage. The Harley spit rocks as the tyres fought for traction. He took them all the way to the limestone gorge that snaked around the edge of the property, and parked in a patch of Russian thistle. “We walk from here.”

Worry clouded her eyes. “My father is in trouble, isn’t he?”

Finn didn’t answer.

Instead, he helped her unwind her long dress from the bike and led her down as she dismounted. It reminded him of the way he’d assisted the ladies of old, and he quickly dismissed the thought. Kat wasn’t a simpering maiden. He wasn’t a knight and this was no fairy tale.

Katarina’s ancestral home jutted from the rocks above them as they made their way to the stone bridge at the edge of the property. The night was eerily silent. He didn’t like it one bit.

Finn kept her hand in his, and focused on what lay ahead.

Moss clung to tightly packed stones of the ancient castle. It was four feet thick in most places. Little had changed in the last several centuries, save for the secret entrance Finn had commissioned for the King.

You never could be too careful.

Kat clutched Finn’s arm as he led them through a thick forest of spruce. She knew what was coming: home. Well, Finn was just doing his job.

She hesitated as he drew her into the clearing that housed her family’s small cemetery.

“Not this way.” Kat held back, shivering against him.

He hated bringing her here, but if they were going to get into the castle undetected, this was their only choice.

Life-sized brass effigies stood ramrod straight, in concentric circles. The earlier statues dressed in ancient robes, the latter in medieval garb, some in nothing at all, green tarnish staining the joints.

Kat spoke her words as if drawing each one from somewhere deep inside of her. “I haven’t been here since . . . ”

“Your wedding. I know,” Finn said quickly.

Finn ran a thumb along the smothering velvet at the waist of her gown, and caught it against the loop of the gold belt she still wore underneath. If he could save her from this, he would.

Like peeling the layers of an onion, Finn took Kat’s hand and began leading her through the generations. He felt her pause at the memorial to Baghatur the Decapitator, the infamous Byzantine Conqueror, but he pulled her onwards. His job didn’t leave room for sentiment.

As they neared the centre of the graveyard, she stiffened and clutched her hand to the neck of her gown.

He gave her a quick once-over. “Are you OK?”

She wound her fingers through the stiff lace at her throat. “Do you have to ask?”

“For the record, this isn’t my idea of a dream date, either.” He diverted a portion of his empath senses her way and was hit immediately with her overwhelming desire to flee. He paused when they reached the centre of the inner ring, the final resting place of Illi the Father. The statue, as naked and muscular as Michelangelo’s David, held aloft a bronze dagger. “I need you to stay here.”

“Of course,” she said, eyeing the path they’d just taken.

“If I’m not back before the sun rises, go to ground.”

She nodded.

“Kat.” He cupped the back of her neck and leaned in for the last best kiss of his life. He descended on her with mouth and tongue, pushing her, tasting her, scorching them both with the intensity of what they had found together.

Pleasure swamped his senses. He ground her closer, needing her like he’d never needed anything before in his life. He couldn’t have her, didn’t deserve her. But he would save her.

He smoothed her arms to her sides, his body aching for one final touch before he unleashed the full force of his empath abilities and froze her on the spot. She stood stock still, the epitome of desire.

Finn stepped back from her immobile form. “I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it, even as the expression in her eyes went from confused to downright hostile. He couldn’t let it affect him. Finn had work to do.

He knelt at the feet of Alulim the First. Brushing aside the leaves at the base of the statue, he quickly located the security punch pad and dialled in the code. “Don’t worry,” he said, refusing to let himself look at her, “I’m not leaving you defenceless.”

Why did he have the sudden urge to show her? Touch her? It was ridiculous. Finn gripped the heavy metal trapdoor. It opened with the groan of joints that hadn’t been worked in years.

A ladder led down into the dark. Finn launched his fairy sixth sense down the narrow opening and found it empty of life.

“You stay here,” he said, glancing back at her and immediately regretting it.

He made one final check for the stake at his back and the knife at his belt before descending into the darkness. “Once I leave you, you’ll be able to move again. But don’t even think about following me. You can’t.” He’d designed the maze of passages under the castle long after she’d been married off the first time. No one, except for him and the King, knew how to get in or out. Smelling him, tracking him would be impossible.

She had to know he was doing this for her, and her family. But somehow, he doubted she’d gotten the message. And when Finn slammed the door behind him, a small part of him broke.

Think of the job.

He moved down the ladder soundlessly and with no need for light. Not that he could see in the dark like Katarina, but he could sense the objects and creatures around him.

The wet brick walls felt cool to the touch. Finn hadn’t been down here in at least a century, yet he recognized the familiar odour of mildew and clay. Above, he heard Katarina’s fury as she shook off his trap. She had to understand why he did it. From the way she cursed, Finn could almost believe that she was a mercenary, like him.

He did it for her own good. He had a feeling he was about to walk into a bad scene and he didn’t need to be worrying about the princess. And he sure as heck didn’t need her to see what might happen to him – or her father. As he drew closer to the King, he could feel more of the old vampire’s life force. It was weak, threatened.

Finn wound his way through the underground passageways. He slid through an opening in the panelling of the throne room with hardly a sound. The immense chamber lay dark and heavy from neglect. Years ago, this had been the centrepiece of the King’s court, but Volholme had tired of parties long ago. Too bad. A few extra vamps could have come in handy tonight.

Finn moved soundlessly through the house, edging along the main corridor as the King’s scent grew stronger and stronger. The unknowns were holed up in the King’s study. Finn knew from experience that there was only one way in or out. He flexed his hands, ready.

He’d have to take out the empath fairy first.

Finn paused outside the door.

“This is your final warning,” a cold voice stated.

Finn’s heart pounded. Inside, the grey-haired King lay back in his leather chair, a war axe with a blade as long as a man’s forearm threatened his carotid artery. One wrong move and his head would be off.

Katarina’s fiancé, Vlad, held the axe.

The truth of it slammed into Finn. Vlad had been behind the attempts on the King’s life – the promise of security forces, a mere trick to facilitate a hasty marriage with Katarina.

The ruthless vamp’s chin shook and spittle clung to his yellowed fangs. “Sit up. Up! Do it or I execute your only heir.”

Finn about choked when he saw Katarina’s brother frozen to the spot, pink tears of rage in his eyes. Behind her brother stood an empath fairy. His yellow beard had grown longer and he had a new scar over his left eye, but Finn would have recognized Athol Grim anywhere. Shite. Athol had fought with Longshanks. And he was damned good at killing.

Adrenaline surged through Finn.

It was a power grab – plain and simple. Vlad couldn’t assume the throne without direct ties to the Volholme bloodline. He needed to marry Kat and drink from her. If he couldn’t do that, he needed the King dead. But not by his own hand or retribution would be swift. No, Vlad needed the King to kill himself.

Finn didn’t have much time, but he did have a plan.

Silently as the night, Finn moved back through the corridor and into the music room. He pressed his back to the bronze-leaf wallpaper and, with every bit of will he had, he forced himself to take on the intoxicating scent and spirit of Katarina. He thought of her joy in finding him, her lust for life, that damned gold belt. He called up everything that was good about her.

And then he waited.

“I smell her,” Athol said from the study.

“Well, go get her!” Vlad demanded.

Finn fought back a growl as he projected thoughts of Katarina, his Katarina, just inside the music room. He pictured her running her long fingers over the edge of a snow-white baby grand.

Finn could practically feel Athol salivating.

He’d kill the traitor. He’d kill them both. Finn only wished he could do it slowly.

Athol surged into the music room, a gleaming silver hook raised to snare Katarina. Finn stepped behind him and slit his throat.

He lowered the fairy to the floor and thanked the gods that the real Katarina wasn’t here to see any of this.

Then Finn morphed into a spitting image of Athol. Well, at least the vamps would see it that way. Finn stuffed Athol’s wooden stake into his belt and hoped he could get close enough to Vlad before the King did something they’d all regret.

What he needed was a distraction.

Finn strode back to the King’s study, still trying to figure out the second part of his plan. His instincts had never let him down before. But as he came upon the portly King at the end of a blade, he wasn’t so sure he was going to like what happened next.

“I can’t find her,” Finn said, imitating Athol’s gruff voice.

The vampire’s face reddened. “I can’t kill him until I take her blood!” He pressed the blade into Volholme’s skin, licking his fangs as a trickle of blood ran down the King’s neck.

Almost to himself, Vlad said, “I can’t kill the King—” a twisted smile formed on his lips “—but I can kill the boy.” He turned to Katarina’s brother.

Finn braced himself, ready to blow his cover, when Vlad stiffened and gasped. A volley of acid rained down, scorching the vamp’s face. Finn ignored the poison and went for the blade, wrenching it away. In a split second, Finn separated Vlad’s astonished head from his neck.

Blood poured from the vampire’s throat as his body thudded onto the thick green carpeting.

Finn wiped his face. Water. Holy water.

He hastened to the King’s side. “Are you all right?”

Volholme nodded while Finn did a quick once-over to make sure the King was, indeed, free of holy water and in one piece. When he was satisfied he’d done his job, Finn glanced back at their rescuer.

Katarina stood in the doorway wearing nothing but his leather jacket and the black lace bra and panties that had driven him wild back at the monastery. She held his holy water gun in one hand and rested the other against the door jamb like a Playboy bunny. For a moment, nobody moved.

“Katarina!” the King boomed, the ruddiness returning to his cheeks. “For Varstnic’s sake, cover yourself,” he said, more affronted by her lack of clothing, it seemed, than with his brush with death.

“Yaaa!” Katarina’s brother lunged at Finn, fangs out, until Finn froze the unfortunate vamp once again.

“It’s me,” he said quickly, morphing back into himself.

“Thank the ancestors,” said the King, who looked quite relieved to see Finn instead of Athol in charge.

Katarina strode up to Finn.

“Nice jacket,” he said.

“I was cold.” She laughed and wrapped her slender arms around Finn’s waist.

Finn looked down at her, never so glad to see anyone in his life. “How did you make it through the underground passages?” He racked his brain. “You can’t smell me, sense me.”

“Ah.” She winked. “But I can smell me on you.”

Finn warmed just thinking of it. It didn’t help that she was beaming up at him. Finn found himself wearing a lopsided smile of his own. “You should wear that outfit more often.”

She blushed. “I got the idea from a contestant on American Idol. She wanted to shock the judges.”

Finn raised a brow. He wasn’t one to argue with unusual tactics.

“What did you mean ‘smell her’?” the King demanded, rubbing at his neck. “And unfreeze my son!”

Finn did and the Prince staggered forwards and caught himself on the edge of an antique suit of armour.

“What have you done to my daughter?” the King demanded.

Katarina straightened. “Nothing that I didn’t want done,” she said quietly. All eyes turned to her. She stood, arms folded, the prim and proper aristocrat in a leather jacket and a thong.

The King spared a glance at Vlad’s wilted, headless body to the left of the red velvet drapes. His eyes hardened as he assumed the chair behind the desk like an executive.

Katarina balled her hands into fists. “Stop looking at me like that. None of this would have happened if you didn’t try to force me to marry again.” She wrinkled her nose at the body on the carpet. “All he ever wanted was my blood so he could kill us all. Great matchmaking, Dad.”

The King remained silent, thoughtful.

He might have the luxury to ponder the old ways, but Kat did not. She might have run away before, but now she was ready to stand up and fight for a new life. Her life. She squared her shoulders and took one bold step towards her father, then another. “I’m not property that you can barter off. I’m a living, thinking being.” She closed the gap between them. “I’ve lived with this for 800 years. Eight hundred years! Don’t you think it’s time I get to choose what I want to do with my life?” She looked at him earnestly, her emotions naked on her face. “It’s my time now.”

Her father rested his thick arms on either side of the chair. He suddenly looked very old. “OK.”

“What?” Kat asked.

“You’re right.” Her father waved his hand. “You’re right. Your mother’s right.” He bit at his thumb and took stock of her. “You know she ran off to Bulgaria when I told her you were to marry right away. Let’s just hope she’s not on a dating show.”

Kat looked at him like he’d sprouted an extra set of fangs. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes.” He nodded. “As long as no more of your future husbands try to kill me. Perhaps your mother is correct when she says you should stay single for a while.” He dug something out of the pocket of his brown velvet waistcoat. “One moment.” It was a BlackBerry. Kat almost fell over as her father started texting. “I’ve been bowing to the pressures of old traditions—” he gave her a knowing look “—but maybe it’s time the King stops bowing.”

She didn’t even know her father owned a phone. Then again, her late husband had forbidden phones, so it wasn’t as if her Dad could have called her anyway.

“There,” the king said, hitting send. He eyed Kat. “Your mother will be thrilled. Everybody else will have to learn to deal with it.”

She drew Finn’s jacket around her and stood before her father. “As long as we’re shaking things up,” she said, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach, “I want to date.”

The King’s eyes widened and he tipped forwards in his chair as if she’d just said she wanted to streak naked through Kiev Square.

The Prince barked out a laugh. “Princesses don’t date.”

“Says the old, archaic law that you just changed,” she said to her father.

Volholme frowned. “Who would you even date?”

Kat’s hope surged as Finn stepped forwards.

Finn turned to Kat. The earnestness in his expression almost made her melt. “Katarina,” he said, as he took her hands in his, “I’m sorry. I can’t.” He chose every word carefully. “I care about you too much.”

“What?” Kat and her father both asked.

She couldn’t believe it. Men. No matter how many centuries they lived on this Earth, they were still clueless.

“I have to protect you,” Finn said, as if that explained it.

The King ground a beefy hand over his mouth, thinking. “You know, that’s a good idea,” he said. “I can’t think of a better way to protect my only daughter than to stick her with an empath fairy. Besides,” he said, sizing up Finn, “314 years without a vacation day is too long for anybody.”

“Father!” Katarina rushed to him and clasped his hand to her cheek.

“But what if there’s another assassination attempt?” Finn asked. “You know as well as I do that we’re going to be hearing from Vlad the Impaler.”

“You’re not the only empath fairy on the planet,” the King said. “Relax. Seize the day. Carpe diem and all that.”

Finn couldn’t have looked more shocked if the King had sprouted wings.

Volholme rolled his eyes. “What? You’ve never seen the Dead Poets Society?” The King shrugged. “Never mind. It’s not about vampires anyway.”

Finn broke out into a smile as it finally began to sink in.

Kat swelled with gratitude, hope and pure joy. She couldn’t have hidden it even if she’d wanted to. She ran to him. And that’s all it took for the immortal warrior to surrender.

With a whoop of joy, Finn lifted Katarina in his arms. She revelled in the feel of him as she slid down his body and back to her gold sandalled feet.

The King stiffened. “Just don’t let her out of your sight,” he warned.

Finn wrapped his arms against Kat, his grip warm and steady, his wide mouth set into a permanent grin. “Believe me, I won’t.”

Content

Love Bites
Angie Fox