Page 10 of Toadstools and Vampire Kisses

He shrugs shamelessly, irking me further. “I figured that with your bah humbug attitude, to referenceA Christmas Carol…”

“I know precisely what it references,” I snap, interrupting his silliness. “I have read it.”

His nose wrinkles. “It’s a book?”

I growl threateningly at his little game, and Jack throws up his hands in mock surrender.

“I jest, cousin. Of course I know it is a book. I remember when it was published. Though I must say that the cinema brings it a little something extra.”

“Jack,” I warn. “Out with it.”

“Very well.” He sighs as if put upon. “It was the ideal match, and I wasn’t sure if you would go along with it if you knew exactly who she was. You have this thing about yielding to the whims of authority and your strange sense of duty, which I might remind you is the very thing that got you imprisoned in the sleep for over a hundred years. But we needed you. Isadora may have charged me with carrying this out, but aside from Ulrek, there were no other older, powerful vampires who expressed any interest in assisting us. I knew that you would come in what you saw as support for our queen and familial obligation to me.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose in an attempt to relieve the tension I feel rising at a rapid rate.

“I know she is as dull as watching glue dry, but I swear I’ll make it up to you if you stick it out with us. Maybe Jace could work his charm on the frigid—”

His mouth slackens as I plow my fist into his jaw. The crack of impact is rather satisfying but not nearly as much as my cousin falling to the ground, dirtying his pristine clothes. I grab ahold of the back of his shirt and drag him a few feet just for the pleasure of knowing that the dirt and grass was grinding into the fabric before hefting his limp body over my shoulder.

With my burden firmly in place, I stalk back toward the house. I catch the soft glow of eyes as Connor draws closer, his mop of brown curls falling haphazardly over his eyes. He gives Jack’s unconscious body a concerned look.

“Is everything all right?” he asks uncertainly.

“All is quiet,” I affirm. “Jack and I are heading in for our rest period. As you can see, he needs it.”

“Yes,” Connor drawls slowly, his eyes widening. “Sleep well, Reynard.”

“Good hunting, Connor,” I return as I walk away, silently fuming.

Jack is right about so many things about me, but for a male who is so observant, he is entirely wrong about Fran. Knowing that he is still a young idiot is the only thing that keeps my anger in check. That and our blood relation. He was not wrong about that either. What is he is dead wrong about, however, is the notion that I would allow any other male to “distract” Fran. Although I know I cannot be at her side every second without it appearing suspicious, I will be damned if any of those males try their games with her. An intelligent woman doesn’t need the headache of any of them for a mate.

But I dare not even imagine that I could be that one. No, I have settled on the matter long ago, knowing that there would be no mate for me. Fran is just a heartache waiting to happen.

ChapterEight

FRAN

Imoan at the feather soft brush of lips across my shoulder. Then my collar bone. Each kiss draws forth the spark of power within me in answer as pure pleasure swarms me. My lover’s hands drift down my side, a barely-there touch that makes me arch against him in silent demand, fingers digging into the muscle of his powerful arms. My blood stirs as my skin puckers and raises in response. He presses his lips at the top of one raised twining mark, and the skin darkens with the stain of a flower bloom as his hands drag my satin nightgown up my thighs.

He explores me as if captivated by every inch of skin. It is reverent, making me burn beneath his touch. His fingers graze my inner thighs, and I part them greedily. I want this. I want him to…

Bam. Bam. Bam.

Fuck me. I roll over on my bed to blink blearily at the clock beside me as I hear Beast’s sharp growl. Four in the morning. Who the hell is banging on my bedroom door at this hour? As if in response to my silent question, the banging resumes and I groan, dragging the pillow over my head to drown out the sound. My early morning visitor doesn’t take the hint and bangs again, this time more urgently. Beast is already off his doggie bed and facing the door. He glances back toward me and gives the door another growl and begins to bark.

“Beast, hush. I got this. Back to bed,” I chastise, pointing to his overpriced pillow on the floor.

He whines at me but jumps back into his bed, his eyes trained on the door and his ears perked. My great defender is on point to make mincemeat of any threat on the other side.

“This had better be important!” I shout as I slide out of bed and pull on my robe. “So help me, if you’ve woken me up before the crack of dawn as a joke or for something, you will find yourself dealing with an unpleasant malady for the rest of the week!”

My lips thin as I stalk over to the door, ready to give whoever it is a piece of my mind for waking me at this hour. It’s downright rude to pull someone out of their dreams so abruptly.

“And right at the good part too,” I mumble as I reach for the doorknob and pull the door open. “Oh, shit. What happened?”

I gape openly at the disheveled vision of Reynard standing there. Though his long hair is mussed and pulled free from its tie, he somehow manages to look imperious as he cocks an eyebrow at me. That lasts for all of two seconds until he notices my lack of proper clothing and his eyes run down the length of my body as a pale pink stain streaks up his cheekbones.

“I have woken you,” he observes, the words themselves almost coming out as a throaty purr that makes my belly quiver with excitement.

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