Moonlight and Diamonds & The Vampire's Fall (6 page)

“She stopped by my place earlier for more sex,” Stryke explained, “and it was the first time I realized she was wolf. When she came, I scented her. How the hell could I have not known before then?”

“Weird.” Trouble pounded his fists together, a sort of tic. “What did she say about it?”

“She didn't want to talk about it. I had sex with a werewolf. You know how rare that is? Back in Minnesota the packs guard their females so well, if you can manage a date it's like breaking into Fort Knox. I don't have a clue why she didn't want to talk about it when she learned I was wolf. But I'm seeing her again. Taking her with me to the wedding.”

“I'll sniff her out,” Trouble offered. “See what's up.”

“Keep your nose away from my woman,” Stryke said with a less-than-gentle nudge to his brother's ribs. “I'll figure it out. She's...complicated.”

“Ah, hell, complicated women are not for me.” Trouble wandered ahead again at sight of a gaggle of tourist girls who couldn't be a day over the age of sixteen.

“This way,” Kelyn called, and they veered to the right to distract their brother's wandering attention. “Let's get something to eat at that gyro place we ate at last night.”

“I'm going to head across the river,” Stryke said. “I want to walk through the Tuileries and check it out.”

“The what?” Trouble asked.

“It used to be the royal gardens a few centuries ago.”

“Dude, I don't care about flowers.”

“I know. That's why I'll head there by myself.” And he didn't need the harassment of his brothers should he manage to find Blyss's place while pretending to be interested in some stupid flowers. “I'll see you two later.”

The brothers exchanged fist bumps, and Stryke headed across a bridge laden with padlocks and toward the garden. He'd eaten a sandwich after Blyss left and wasn't hungry yet, so he didn't miss the food break. Trouble could eat all the time. And Kelyn, well... That kid rarely ate. So he was odd. Stryke worried about him at times. This world was not the place for Kelyn, but he wasn't sure Faery would welcome him either.

The Tuileries was a disappointment. Where were the flowers? It was mostly espaliered trees and trimmed shrubs and some marble statues. The French had strange ideas about gardens, that was for sure.

Crossing a wildly busy roundabout intersection, Stryke then wandered down the Champs-Élysées, taking in the elegant storefronts and dodging tourists who wielded armloads of shopping bags. He pulled out his phone and clicked on Blyss's address. The GPS located her immediately. About two blocks from where he stood.

Spying a stand selling flowers, he detoured.

“Can't show up uninvited
and
empty-handed.”

He purchased some flowers then wandered deeper down the narrow streets that hugged three-and four-story buildings that he guessed must be centuries old. He knew Paris had been drastically redesigned sometime in the nineteenth century by Haussmann, and Napoleon had also torn down many structures, but the ancient history remained. Everything was elaborate, the building fronts featuring carved stone edifices and mascarons and even gilding on some of the stone and ironwork. Locked gates and digital entry systems clued him he had entered a ritzy neighborhood.

Stryke suddenly felt very underdressed in his Boundary Waters T-shirt and jeans with the worn hems dusting his scuffed Doc Martens. Maybe this was a bad idea? Showing up at a socialite's pied-à-terre looking like a tourist? He wasn't even sure what pied-à-terre meant, but it sounded cool.

He paused on a street corner paved in cobblestones. A red Vespa scooted by, and an elderly woman with gray hair bound behind her head and a pair of leather chaps nodded at him. The image made Stryke smile and he decided to go for it.

But as he stepped off the curb he heard the click of high heels.

“Are you stalking me, Monsieur Saint-Pierre?”

He turned to find Blyss looking like some kind of magazine model in a tailored pink dress and matching high heels. One hand clutched a slim purse and in the other dangled a dainty bag sporting the store name Pierre Hermé. She'd changed since seeing him only a few hours earlier.

“Uh, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd see if I could find your place.” He held out the red roses, bound with twine. “These made me think of your lips.”

She strolled slowly across the street, her eyes never leaving his, and the sexy tilt of her head pretty much went straight for his loins. She traced a delicate fingernail along a rose petal. Stryke could smell her perfume and the sweetness inside the bag she carried. Must be pastries. Yet he couldn't scent her wolf now.

“So you've found me.” She walked across the street, away from him.

That was it? She hadn't taken the roses. “Uh, maybe you want to invite me up?”

She paused before a steel door, her fingers perched upon the digital entry pad. Did she have to think about it? Yep, he should have tried more for suave instead of tourist with his look today.

She punched in the code, pushed the door open and strode inside. She didn't close the door, so Stryke took that as an invite to follow. The woman had a way with leading him places. And he liked what happened once he arrived.

Closing the door behind him, he saw she walked through a small open courtyard lined with militantly trimmed green shrubs and simple flowers. It was amazing how Paris had all these hidden gems of greenery tucked in private courtyards. Reminded him of being home in the country.

Well, not really, but he'd use his imagination. It was necessity when surrounded by tarmac, buildings, and nothing but humans for miles and miles.

Blyss veered right and disappeared into the cool shadows.

He hastened his steps to keep up with her. Normally, Stryke could follow another werewolf by scent alone. Why was it that he had only sensed her innate wolf when they were having sex? It was as if the adrenaline had to be rushing through her system to stir whatever pheromones his wolf could react to.

And he understood the subject of their breed was off-limits. It shouldn't bother him, but he couldn't help being curious. How often did Blyss happen upon another werewolf? Was it so common to her that she'd grown bored of the discussion? Couldn't be.

He'd lucked out. And as little as he knew about her, he did like her. Could something come of this? He daren't hope, but at the same time, his inner wolf howled with joy.

* * *

Blyss opened her front door. Stryke looked so innocently hungry staring at her with that adoring expression and underlined by the gorgeous bouquet of roses. The wedding wasn't until tomorrow but she believed his excuse that he had been walking in the area.

She never invited men into her home. It wasn't wise. Once invited in, it was often difficult to make them leave after she tired of them. And they sometimes returned. It was a sticky business to have to deal with.

And this particular man was more than man. He was werewolf. The last creature in this world with whom she wished to be intimate.

Alas, she had ignored any intuition that would have kept her safe from that emotional danger. And even as she vacillated with grabbing the roses and slamming the door in his face, the compulsion to pull him in by that awful T-shirt and let him have his way with her was even stronger.

She couldn't resist his wild allure. It was an accidental allure, she felt sure. The man wasn't a master seducer. Though he was an amazing lover. And he wasn't suave or polished, as she preferred her men. He was a rough and awkward man from the United States, of all places, who had happened to fall into her scheme, and now he was milking it for all he could. Because he knew something about her that others did not.

Would he use that information to blackmail her such as Edamite Thrash had?

He thrust the roses forward. Sweet blackmail, if there was such a thing. And that smile. She wanted him to teach her all the things that smile promised.

Blyss took the bouquet by the ribbon-wrapped stems, and then she grabbed her suitor by the shirtfront and pulled him inside. Turning, she walked down the long hallway, roses dangling at one side, man clutched at her other side.

If she was going down the wrong path, she might as well do it big. At least, until the wedding was over and she held the key to her future safe in hand.

Chapter 5

S
tryke followed Blyss down a long white hallway and into a kitchen that gleamed white and silver. It looked like something out of a minimalist designer's dream. White marble countertops, not an appliance on the counter, no signs it was a kitchen if not for the sink and sleek, glass-fronted fridge that sported wine bottles down one side.

Placing the roses on the counter, Blyss veered left into a living area that featured a white furniture set beneath a ceiling that was entirely glass. It was like standing in a conservatory without the plants. Everything was white. He didn't dare sit down because he'd been walking through Paris. His shoes must be dirty.

How could a person relax in a place so white?

The gorgeous contrast of pink silk and blackest hair and eyebrows turned and tilted a brilliant red smile at him. “I didn't think I'd see you until Saturday. But now that you're here...”

She pushed her hand up under his T-shirt, her glossy nails gliding over his abs. At the erotic touch Stryke sucked in a breath. The intention in her eyes was apparent. This woman went from cool to boiling faster than a rocket ship.

He abandoned his need to ask about her werewolf and instead slid a hand about her hip and pulled her to him. Her fingernails dug in at his chest, and one of them tweaked his nipple. Yep, that gave him a hard-on.

“You are so hard to resist,” he growled.

“Then why must you? I certainly have no intention of denying myself what I want.”

“I'm guessing you are a woman who likes to be spoiled.”

“Very much so.”

“Then why me?” He caught her hand against his chest, the shirt between his hand and hers. Leaning closer to her face, he tried to scent her innate wolf but could not. “Am I just a fling?”

“Of course you are.” She kissed his mouth without making a connection—more like breath against breath—just enough of a tease to keep him close to her. “I never get attached to a man. It's a rule. Can you deal with that, Stryke?”

It sounded fifty ways wrong. But he needed only one reason to stay. And that reason had grown hard as steel, standing at attention, ready for some action.

“Works for me,” he said and lifted her up against him.

As her thin pink skirt slid up high, she wrapped her legs about his hips and Stryke set her on the back of the white sofa. He bent to kiss along her neck, smelling only the sweet flowers that blossomed on her skin. The heat of her combined with the sweetness melded into an intoxicating perfume that he inhaled deeply. Still no wolf. He'd ask her about it later.

He slid down the zipper at the back of her dress, his fingertips strolling slowly over her skin, the straightness of her spine, until he felt the sexy divots that topped her derriere. There he rocked his thumbs against the concave curves.

“I gotta taste you.” He pulled her from the couch, turning her, so her gorgeous ass faced him. Bending to lick the Venus dimples above her hips, he curled his hands around in front of her mons. One glided up toward her breasts; the other sought the moist warmth between her legs.

“Blyss,” he muttered against her sweet skin. It wasn't so much her name as an experience, and he intended to take it to the maximum. “So good.”

She turned and put up a foot on one of his shoulders, forcing him to kneel. So that was the way of it?

“S'il vous plaît,”
she asked sweetly.

He didn't know what that meant but that wasn't going to stop him from taking and giving what he desired. Stryke kissed her mons and glided his hand up her thigh until her wetness enticed him to dash his tongue down her hot seam. Mmm...he was hungry now.

He lashed at her sensitive apex and her body shuddered in response. Fingers clasping his hair, she balanced there on the back of the couch, one leg sliding over his shoulder, the other, toes barely touching the floor.

Reaching up, he was rewarded with her hand clasping his. She squeezed tightly every time his tongue hit the spot. She moaned appreciatively.

The best feeling a guy could have? Kissing a woman between her legs as she came, her thighs squeezing his face and her hands tugging him in desperate release. That he could make her ride a high like this gave him immense satisfaction. He felt pride and also needed to feel her heat wrapping about his cock.

Before he could stand, Blyss sank to the floor and straddled him, taking his erection inside her. She was so wet and still spasming from the orgasm. The tug and tease on his cock lured him to a speedy orgasm.

Werewolf or not, this woman was something else.

* * *

Blyss woke to the sun beaming across her face. Half of the apartment was capped by windowed, cathedral-style ceilings. She thrived on the sunshine, and this bedroom with the slanted ceiling and the windows that faced the eastern sky fed her very soul.

She yawned and then realized there was a tremendous body heat lying next to her. He mastered the bed, as if staking a claim.

She silently swore, clutching the bedsheets up over her breasts. And yet, she could only blame herself for this mistake called Stryke Saint-Pierre. When she'd spied him on the street yesterday afternoon, she should have stepped around the side of a building and pressed her back to the wall as if a thief fearing capture, and waited for him to leave. But something about him had inexplicably compelled her. Drew her to him as if starved for the lust and sensual cravings he seemed to fulfill every time he touched her.

She turned onto her side, and the movement startled him awake. He reached over and pulled her against his chest, sliding his hand up her stomach to cup her breast. He whispered sleepily, “Come here, glamour girl.”

Mercy. If this was a mistake then why did lying next to Stryke feel so right?

* * *

Stryke dressed as the shower clattered in the next room. Blyss had woken, slipped out from under his arm and padded toward the bathroom. “See you tonight,” she had called. “You can let yourself out.”

A cold send-off.

He considered pulling his clothes off and lying back on the bed in wait. They could make love again. He could lose himself in her. Fall into her strange world of glamour, perfection and sensory disguise. Because he forgot everything when wrapped in Blyss's arms.

But he knew she wanted him gone by the time the shower stopped. Call it instinct. She was a hard one to figure. She was hot and wild in bed, but out of it she was like porcelain. Smooth and cool to the touch. And not at all wolflike.

He glanced about the bedroom, seeking something, anything, that would clue him to her breed. Not sure what he was looking for exactly. Wasn't as if wolves kept totems around signifying their packs, or—

He wondered what the name of her pack was. Obviously, she didn't live within the pack, as most tended to gather in large compounds. Of course, many had a central gathering place while the members had their own homes and lived away from the pack.

That was how he planned to form his pack. A central compound for gatherings while the individual families lived in their own homes. It was a good way to build a strong yet diverse community.

Tilting his glance upward, he squinted at the bright sunlight beaming through the overhead windows. He hadn't taken the time to look up last night to sight in the moon. He bet lying here beneath the full moon was awesome.

That was, if the full moon didn't tug at his need to shift to werewolf. The last thing he'd do in this city was shift and risk being seen in werewolf shape. He wondered where Blyss went to shift.

So many things he wanted to ask her, and yet there was no way to bring up questions without causing her affront. He was damn sure she'd slap him or storm out again should he even whisper the word
werewolf
.

His shoes were out in the living room somewhere. Stryke wandered down the hallway. He was afraid to touch anything for fear of leaving a stain. Near the couch he shoved his feet into the Doc Martens, and as he was walking down the hall to the front door, his phone rang.

He closed the front door behind him and answered.

“Stryke, where are you? I thought you were going to help with errands today?”

His mother, Rissa. Indeed, he had offered to ferry her about Paris as they collected whatever was needed for tonight's ceremony. His mother was at the Santiago mansion today. They lived in the 7th, which if he knew the city—and he did not—might be across the river from where he currently was. It was near the Eiffel Tower; he did know that much.

“I think it'll take half an hour to find the place,” he said to his mother. “Then you've got me for most of the day.”

“Most?”

“Are you going to release me from servitude to get ready for the wedding?”

His mother laughed. “Of course. Could you pick up some
pains au chocolat
on your way here?”

“I have no idea what that is, but I'll try my best to sniff some out.”

“Chocolate pastries, son. Point your nose toward chocolate. You know how much I love my sweets.”

“Will do. See you in a bit, Mom.”

The phone rang again before he even stuffed it back in a pocket. This time it was a brother asking for directions home from someplace beyond the ring road that circled the city proper.

“Don't you have GPS, Trouble?”

“I did, until I lost my phone. Dude, it's like country out here. But the countrywomen sure are fun. Kelyn and I met a bunch of faeries last night. They are hot. Where are you, anyway?”

“I'm finding much better luck in the city,” Stryke offered as he exited the courtyard and strode over the cobblestones. “Listen, I have no idea where you are. I'm headed to the Santiagos' right now to drive a carload of wedding-crazed women all over.”

“Ah hell, sounds like you got the shit job today.”

“It'll make looking forward to this evening and my date with Blyss all the sweeter.”

“She's the wolf who's weird about it, right?”

“Right. I think I see a place selling those chocolate things Mom wanted. I gotta go. Why don't you have Kelyn fly up above the trees and locate your position?”

“Good call. See you later, bro.”

* * *

Blyss sat before the vanity in a lace pink La Perla bra-and-panty set. Pink marabou fluffed on the toes of her kitten-heeled slippers. Carefully, she drew eyeliner beneath her lower lid. Her hair was still up in a towel, but she liked to do her eyes before drying it. Rest of the makeup was done after her hair. It was a two-hour morning ritual.

And it was nearly noon.

She could have lingered in bed with Stryke well into the afternoon. His skin against hers had been insanely exquisite. His hands gliding across her limbs, caressing a breast, even tracing her lips, was a feeling she didn't ever want to forget. His mouth at hers. His moans harmonizing with hers. His hard, hot cock buried within her.

Blyss sighed, and her reflection blinked, messing up the eyeliner.

“What the hell am I doing?” she muttered as she swiped a tissue over the mess. “I don't turn into a swooning schoolgirl when a man knows how to make love to me. I remain calm and distant, and thank him for whatever sparkling gift he wishes to give me.”

Stryke had gifted her gorgeous red roses. Nothing that could be resold, such as diamonds or platinum, or even a new car. She'd collected hundreds of thousands of dollars in gifts over the years. All of which were now gone. Ransomed to pay for her addiction.

“It's not an addiction,” she whispered. “It is necessity.”

Because she couldn't live as a werewolf. It was unthinkable.

And she did still own one gift—the gallery. Would she have to sell it to pay for her habit?

It wasn't a habit; it was her lifestyle.

The mobile phone sitting on a silver tray played the opening organ notes from Schnorr's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. The caller ID was blocked. Blyss knew exactly who it was from the ringtone. She drummed her fingers on the vanity.

The phone rang insistently.

She finally picked it up.
“Oui?”

“Mademoiselle Sauveterre.”

Even knowing who it was, her heart dropped to her gut. And it pulsed so erratically she clutched at her stomach, feeling as though she would be sick.

“You have
Le Diabolique
?” the deeply calm yet sinister voice asked.

It was Edamite Thrash. A demon. Her supplier.

“It is in transit. I'm to collect it tonight.”

The diamond had been their deal. If she obtained the
Diabolique
diamond, he would forget that she owed him five hundred thousand euros and also front her for another year's supply. Those pills were what suppressed her werewolf.

“I don't understand, Mademoiselle Sauveterre. I know the diamond has been taken from the gallery.”

How he knew about that secret operation, a crime she intended to keep out of the media by replacing the original stone with a fake, was beyond her. She hadn't been in to check on the fake today. There was no reason to. And if Lorcan should see it he wouldn't be able to tell it was a fake.

“I had to divert suspicion from me in order to get it out of the gallery,” she said. Any chance of Lorcan finding the diamond on her had to be reduced. The handoff to Stryke had been the only plan she could live with. She hadn't expected the suit loan, though. “I will have it in hand tonight and can bring it to you tomorrow.”

“I'll send a car for you in the morning.” The phone clicked off.

Blyss dropped the phone on the marble vanity. Her makeup supplies scattered, spilling across her lap, and she caught her face in her palms. Tears slid down her wrists.

There were six pills left in the jar she kept on the vanity. And she must take one today.

She sat up abruptly. “No.”

Racing down the hallway and into the kitchen, she clicked on the iPad and selected the calendar app. Counting out the days, she tapped her finger on the end date. And there, at the bottom of the day square, was a tiny circle.