Vampire Dragon (15 page)
He nearly told Bronte the joke, but he guessed it wasn’t time yet. Besides, her expression held a clear invitation, so Darkwyn swooped in for a kiss, wrapping his arms around her and putting his hard desire into it.
Bronte moaned and pulled away. “My paying customers are due any minute.”
He walked beside her and ran a hand along her spine.
She half heartedly pushed him away. “Will you please—”
“Sure I will,” he said, enjoying this having someone to play with. A woman of his own.
She stopped in front of a closed casket, standing on end, with a sign that said, STEP INSIDE A SPELL.
“What’s this, then?” he asked. “A
dead
end?”
dead
end?”
“Do what the sign says. Open the door and stand inside.”
“Get in with me?”
“There’s only room for one.”
“We can become one when the door closes.”
“It doesn’t stay closed long enough even for the world’s fastest and most amazing quickie. But if you’re afraid to go in alone, use the ramp for scaredy-cats.”
“I am no cat!” Darkwyn stepped in, watched the casket door close him in, and felt the back squeal open, slowly, so he couldn’t fall out.
He exited to a large dank room with a people-sized spiderweb. No way out except through the center of the web, as indicated by the large floor arrow, but he waited for Bronte.
When the casket door opened, he turned and swooped in for a kiss—but stopped, fast!
A short, skinny, blue-haired old lady giggled. “I
like
this feature. You’re quite the hunky doodle dandy.”
like
this feature. You’re quite the hunky doodle dandy.”
“Thank you,” Darkwyn said. “All in a day’s work. Just follow the arrow through the spiderweb. There you go.”
Bronte now stood watching, her eyes dancing in a new and amazing way.
“You enjoyed that,” he said.
“You have no idea.”
He scooped her in his arms, opened his mouth over hers, and she wrapped her legs around him, still as hungry for him as he for her. “Hint,” she whispered against his lips. “When the door squeals from the other side, the next tourist has gotten in.”
“And it could be anybody, I learned the hard way.” He resumed the kiss and walked them toward the web’s center, her legs around his waist, their lips locked.
Halfway, he leaned her against a cobwebby pillar and had his wicked way with her mouth.
“Keep it up and you’ll bust out of those jeans,” she said, abrading the evidence.
Given the extent of his interest, he should keep his back to the next person out. For sanity’s sake, he set Bronte down, then she dragged him running toward the narrowing center of the sticky web, and as they arrived, a giant glowing black spider jumped out at them from the opposite side.
Darkwyn shouted in surprise, and Bronte chuckled, highly entertained. “I put that crackling blush on Spider Joe just now. I like it. Guess my half-baked magick is good for something.”
“I was not scared,” he said, “My mind was—”
“In your shorts. That’s why I knew it’d surprise you. Step through, then we go down those stairs to the catacombs.”
“Is there a private room down there?”
“No. But there are private caskets. People occasionally try them out.”
“Sick bastards.”
In the crypt, blood dripped down walls, a pipe organ played a funeral dirge, while along the way grotesque, clawed skeletons posed here and there, including on top, or inside, ornate sarcophagi. He and Bronte passed a private stock “blood wine” cellar, and a display of famous vamps’ wall-mounted fangs. She added a few of her magick-spell touches along the way, quite pleased at the colorful, light-show-type results, her delight endearing her to him more every second.
“Ah,” Darkwyn said. “I hear happy music.”
“I don’t hear it.”
“I have keen senses. All dragons do.”
“We were going to talk about that.”
“Sure. Anytime. This is festive,” he said stepping out, embracing the sunshine, and enjoying the sights at the fairgrounds.
“From here,” she said, “you can go to Bite Me for vampire food, eat and drink in our cemetery picnic area, or inside Bite Me. Tourists can skip Fangs for the Memories and use their trolley tickets to get in the fairgrounds.”
“Excuse me. Vampire food?”
“Blood pudding, blood sausage, blood soup. Ethnic foods prepared different ways. We have steak tartar, hold the tar. Bloody claws are curly fries and catsup. Dead cow’s a burger. Bangers and elbows: macaroni and sausage. Pub food.”
“Sounds delicious.” And he meant it. At the fairgrounds, Bronte, the Vampiress of Drak’s, was treated like the Queen of the Dead, and she played to her followers, even signed autographs.
After her fans left, she apologized and pointed to a giant wheel standing on its side with people inside. “That’s Zachary’s coffin wheel.”
Darkwyn covered his eyes from the glare of the sun as he looked up. “Amazing.”
“The seats are eco-friendly coffins. And beside the wheel, those mythical carousel figures were carved by Rory MacKenzie, a world-class carver, from Salem and Scotland. His wife, Vickie Cartwright MacKenzie, is one of the most famous high priestesses in Salem and my best friend.”
Darkwyn took Bronte’s hand. “Let’s enjoy the sun, since we work at night.” On the carousel, he set her on a mermaid figure, taking the sea dragon beside her. “I recognize some of the figures, Asena, the blue-maned she-wolf carrying a cub in her mouth; Pegasus; a silver unicorn; faeries and dragons. Nice.”
“Zachary made the sofas from rocking coffins. My favorite figures are the white tiger, the seahorse, and the phoenix, because of our building—and now your tat. Actually, I love the whole mythical carousel. Our unique rides draw people from all over the world,” Bronte said. “Wholesome family fun. I didn’t take you into every nook at Fangs. It really is a scary, fun-house thrill for the
unjaded
.”
unjaded
.”
“I love this carousel thing,” Darkwyn said. “My cares disappear with this music and these colorful figures. That ride, over there, the twirling one; is that Zachary’s, too?”
“Yep.
The Tipsy Blood Vessel
. I get nauseous riding in circles, but Zachary and our customers love it. See the red crosses on each little boat; they symbolize blood. That boy invents more things.”
The Tipsy Blood Vessel
. I get nauseous riding in circles, but Zachary and our customers love it. See the red crosses on each little boat; they symbolize blood. That boy invents more things.”
“Did he invent the games?”
“Casket Ball and Sucker Bets, games of chance and skill, yep, both Zachary’s. I’m telling you, he’s a boy to go into business with.”
“Let’s have a blood-sticky apple and go back inside. I can’t kiss you out here.”
“Pull up a grave and have a seat,” she said, leading him to the Tucker family’s historical cemetery, where stone graves sat, like tables, above the ground, because of the water level.
“Grave,” Puck squawked. “A place in which the dead are laid to await the coming of the medical student.”
Bronte frowned at the bird. “That’s not true.”
Darkwyn bit into his apple. “It was true when Ambrose Bierce wrote it.”
Bronte tilted her head. “Hey, didn’t you want to ride the coffin wheel?”
“Zachary wants to show it to me, so I’ll wait. He invented it, after all. He is a good boy, your Zachary.”
“He’s rather out of this world, is my Zachary.”
Darkwyn shrugged. “So am I. He’s in good company.”
Bronte raised a skeptical brow. “I think the jury’s still out on that.”
TWENTY
With Darkwyn ready to work that night—looking good
enough to strip and jump—Bronte brought him to her front door, again, to orient him. “We close to tourists when we open to vamps, who go up to the second floor using either that elevator or these stairs. Both lead to the Master’s Den, where you, the Master Vampire, will reign supreme. In your den you take tickets first, then hand out masks.”
enough to strip and jump—Bronte brought him to her front door, again, to orient him. “We close to tourists when we open to vamps, who go up to the second floor using either that elevator or these stairs. Both lead to the Master’s Den, where you, the Master Vampire, will reign supreme. In your den you take tickets first, then hand out masks.”
“Is that all I do?”
“That’s only the beginning. It’s an honor for a vamp to receive a mask from you, a sign of your approval. White masks for the VIP—Vampires in Play—room. They get black masks if they’re heading for the Music Room, red for the Crimson Room, green for the Green Room. As Master Vamp, you wear a gold mask.”
“A mask? Me? Bad enough you make me wear a ring. I think I changed my mind about playing vampire.”
“A garnet ring, symbolizing blood. This is not play. It’s work. Besides, you’re my bodyguard. Who better to guard me than the man who will sleep in my bed, tonight?” she asked, toying with his ascot, hoping to interest his libido. “Please don’t change your mind.”
“Is this what you call ‘manipulation’?” he asked.
“Yes, how am I doing?” Truth was, she wanted him in her bed as much as he wanted to be there. “Abstinence after last night and at Fangs, earlier, would kill us both,” she said, “and you know it.”
“Are you saying you would deny me if I quit?”
She sighed. “I’m confessing that I need your help.”
He looked to make sure they didn’t have an audience before he kissed her, his cool lips torturing her with a hint of lust, a reminder of the night ahead.
She went back for more. “Please wear the mask,” she begged against his lips before stepping back. “They’re our bloody freaking logo. They define us.”
“When you get mad, your breasts rise and get all heavy,” Darkwyn said, appreciating the sight. “I like it.” He combed his hand through the curls along her spine. “I am in lust with a violet-haired seductress,” he admitted, indicating that he was on to her turn-him-on tactics.
“I will wear the mask,” he said after focusing so much on her breasts, her nipples stood to attention. “Thank you for asking so sweetly,” he whispered in her ear.
She stepped away, to regain her composure. “I’m sorry I’m throwing you into the deep end tonight with little to no training.”
“The deep end of what?”
“Drak’s.” She started up the stairs, sensually aware of Darkwyn behind her. At the top, she turned to look down at him, almost. “You look ‘take me to bed’ sexy in your tux.”
He raised his chin uncomfortably. “I hate the stand-up collar on this cape. Did you say bed? Now?”
She rolled her eyes and led him to his station. “The v-shaped counter is for you to stand behind. It’s made from the toothy grill of a junkyard car Zachary cut up and converted into your glitzy-gold station, and a vamp’s first stop.”
Darkwyn approved with a stroking hand. “The gold and black magnificence of my den calls to me.”
“That’s a man/car thing.” Bronte shook her head as she took a fresh gold mask from behind the counter. “Turn. You’re the handsomest vamp mate I’ve ever had.” She slipped the mask on and hooked it behind his ears. “Good fit.”
He faced her. “Mate?”
“Yes, mate, as far as anyone who comes to Drak’s is concerned.”
He brought her close. “As far as
I’m
concerned—” Mid embrace, Darkwyn was ripped from her arms.
I’m
concerned—” Mid embrace, Darkwyn was ripped from her arms.
“Boris!” Bronte shouted. “No!”
Quickly getting the upper hand, Darkwyn raised the man in the air by his collar, and whipped him back as if to throw him across the room.
“Darkwyn, don’t. Boris was trying to protect me.”
“Sire,” Boris said, voice trembling. “I had not seen your Master’s mask, the sign of your station. I humbly beg pardon.”
Darkwyn set him down and pulled her aside, making Boris nervous. “Sire?” he asked her.
Bronte straightened Darkwyn’s ascot and smoothed his tux lapels. “ ‘Sire’ is a term of respect for you.”
“Is he for real?” Darkwyn eyed Boris.
“Tell him I’m yours,” she whispered. “Vamps take their lifestyles seriously.”
“The Vampiress is mine,” Darkwyn announced, and pulled her against his side. “I would protect her with my life. If she had not intervened, I would have broken your neck.”
“Way to sneak in a threat.”
Hopefully, Boris will pass the word
, Bronte thought,
and that will be the first and last threat Darkwyn receives
.
Hopefully, Boris will pass the word
, Bronte thought,
and that will be the first and last threat Darkwyn receives
.
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