Free Her Vampire Husband by Michele Hauf

finger.
    The vampire stared at the cereal and the wet trail drawn across his immaculate paper. Blu could sense his anger;
    it smelled acrid. Bet the man had never had his life upset. Bet he called all the shots. Tribe leaders were like that, all in control and in charge. Or so she imagined.
    On the other hand, the leaders she was accustomed to liked upset, chaos and mayhem. Hmm…well, if he was of that nature, the guy hid it well.
    He flicked the cereal piece and it pinged the bowl and soared onto the floor.
    “No points for you,” Blu said. “Want to go for a goal?” She displayed a pink puff between her fingers.
    That got a smile from him. Pleased with her attempt to crack his hard armor, Blu popped the cereal into her mouth.
    “So what do you do for fun, Creed? If we’re going to do this marriage thing right we have to do things. Like go out dancing or clubbing.”
    “I abhor the raucous scene and find the stuff that qualifies for music nowadays considerably lacking.”
    “Figured as much. I suppose a game of chess at the local fencing club is more your speed?”
    “How about sailing?”
    “Seriously?”
    “No. I’m not keen on open water.”
    “Nor am I. But you had me for a second there. One point for the vampire. So what have you done, in all your centuries, to have fun?”
    He folded the paper and set it aside. The white shirtenhanced his European bone structure. He was not overtly handsome, but every time Blu looked at him she saw something new to wonder over.
    Today it was his chin, darkened with fine stubble. The slightest cleft drew her eye. The indentation was as wide as her smallest finger, a place a girl could dip her tongue for a taste.
    If the girl wanted a taste. Which she didn’t. Not at all.
    “Fun?” He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. Then, he leaned forward, moving himself into her space. Was that enthusiasm in his expression? “In the fourteenth century I used to steal armor from the opposing troops then set their barracks on fire.”
    “And that was fun?”
    “It was. At the end of the sixteenth century was the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre. Killed a good number of Huguenots in that.” He settled back and eyed her narrowly. “You feel a bit like a Huguenot after that charade of a wedding ceremony?”
    “I’m not following.”
    “The Catholics and the Huguenots—or Protestants, if you prefer—came together for the marriage of Henri of Navarre to Marie de Médicis. Two opposing forces wed in hopes of uniting the religions. Much like we were wed.”
    “Right. But you said it resulted in massacre?”
    “Yes.” Creed tapped the paper absently. “Catherine deMédicis, along with her son King Charles IX, ordered the Huguenots slaughtered.”
    “You think that’s what will come of our marriage? A slaughter between the nations?”
    “I hope not, Blu.” He looked aside, then dismissing the dread topic, offered gaily, “I’ve had plenty of fun. In the eighteenth century there were the opera and salons. Salacious gossip was bantered about. Lives and destinies were created, changed and destroyed with a mere word or an exquisitely biting twist of phrase.”
    “I’ve always had a passion for the eighteenth century. Paris. I like the big poufy dresses and the sexy frock coats the men used to wear. Man, do I love a fop!”
    “Really?” His eyes softened and he spread his fingers on the table, not far from the milk trail. “That was a comfort time for me. I used to wear damask and velvet frock coats. Alençon lace and diamonds at my wrists and jabot. Nothing but the finest to attract the ladies.”
    “I bet you attracted them far and wide.”
    “I shouldn’t say so, but…well, yes. This fop had his choice of women.”
    “You’re not so foppish now.”
    “I’ve worn many costumes over the centuries. I find my current situation the most comfortable, though I often long for the medieval times when battles were fierce and bloody and wenches were,