Vampire Dragon (21 page)

Read Vampire Dragon Online

Authors: Annette Blair

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #General

BOOK: Vampire Dragon
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Bronte pursed her lips. “What’s the point?”
Distracted again by Bronte, Darkwyn had to force himself to pay attention to Vivica and not his future wife’s perfect mouth.
“They’re turning the scene into a circus, like you tried to do with the cats on the news this morning, Darkwyn. Making it look as bogus as a well-orchestrated publicity stunt.”
“I guess, when you come right down to it,” Bronte said, “the harder we attempt to agree with the truth, the less true it sounds.”
“Right.” Darkwyn nodded. “It’s like protesting too much in reverse.”
“Exactly. Oh, and Bastian’s wife, McKenna, is here. She’s quite the actress, hawking her dragon kites and Frisbees like a pie seller on the streets of London. She keeps a good stock of both on hand at the Dragon’s Lair for her B and B customers’ children. She had this idea, and I went for it. The look of ‘cashing in’ just adds to the general air of tactical publicity, raising it another notch toward the ultimate faketastic rip-off.”
“One of the bigger news crews pulled away just after she set up her booth. I think it’s working.”
“It makes me, as the owner of the Phoenix, look greedy, though, doesn’t it?”
“Bronte, always remember that even negative publicity is good publicity. Pay attention, because soon you’ll see other tourist spots trying to cash in, or tout their own supernatural being. Call it advanced marketing, Salem style.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Bronte said, frowning and chewing the lip that Darkwyn wanted so badly to kiss.
TWENTY-EIGHT
 
 
Because they needed to close Fangs for the Memories to
tourists on time, tonight especially, Bronte sent Zachary to tell Bastian and Jaydun not to let anybody else off the trolley and to put the END OF LINE sign behind the customers already in line.
Finally, at dusk, with a half hour window before Ogden and Vivica planned to open Drak’s to the vamps, and while the fairgrounds staff prepped for the evening shift, a small group of wedding guests took their places on the beach by the fairgrounds.
Bronte looked forward to meeting Darkwyn’s family: Jaydun, his best man, Bastian and his wife, McKenna. But from inside, she saw Rory MacKenzie, friend and carousel carver, alone among the guests, which made no sense.
She guessed she’d find out why Rory came
without
Vickie after the wedding, though she’d much rather have her friend beside her. Meanwhile, she flipped the switch to light the fairgrounds with thousands of colored bulbs.
Vivica came in carrying a box.
“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing,” Bronte said.
Vivica opened the package and set a lovely vintage fingertip veil on her head. “This is from Vickie, especially for you from The Immortal Classic.”
“It’s beautiful, but—is Vickie stuck there at her vintage dress shop, and unable to come? Because I saw Rory outside.”
“One question at a time,” Vivica said. “You don’t know if you’re doing the right thing? Do you love Darkwyn?”
Bronte shivered, worried about what she was getting him into. “I’m afraid to. Loving him could kill him.”
“But you can’t help yourself?”
“What if I’m just bringing him into danger and he dies because he wanted to marry me? Why, Vivica, does he want to marry me? It can’t be just to give me a green card?”
Vivica looked up from the veil. “What green card?”
“The one you gave him that made him legal, of course, to make me legal when I marry him.”
“Sit,” Vivica said, and she sat, as well. “Bronte, the only green card I gave Darkwyn was my business card. I’d need to do some research, but I’m not sure the holder of a green card can make a spouse legal.”
“We’re marrying for nothing?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Vivica took her hands. “You’ve never confided in me, but I’m a good judge of character, yours and Darkwyn’s. Darkwyn is marrying you because he wants to be here for you. Because he wants
you
. He’s no dummy. You’re a prize, Bronte McBride. A real catch.”
“A catch!” When she so desperately wanted
not
to be caught. “I’d laugh at the horrid pun, if I didn’t want so badly to cry.”
“I’ll have to ignore that. Biting my tongue on my curiosity comes with the job description.”
“Zachary and I are running from the mob,” Bronte admitted. “So if anything happens to one of us, you do what you have to do to take care of the other, please? And keep this between us.”
“I hear you, and I’ll keep your confidence. But if you’re trying to protect Darkwyn, he’s a grown man. He knows what he’s doing. Haven’t you heard? He’s a famous and powerful Vampire Dragon. And he’s yours.”
Nausea rose in Bronte. “What does that mean?”
“It means this is the best life he’s ever had, because of you, despite any potential danger from either direction, yours or his. You’re his other half. His heart mate, and that means a lot where he comes from. He cares deeply for you, Bronte.”
“I wish I could believe that, though he’s so . . . special. But I’m not lovable. I’m not.”
“He watches you all the time, winces if you bump your knee, melts if you glance his way. He’d give his life for yours.”
“
That’s
what I’m afraid of.”
Vivica stood and went back to arranging her veil. “Your groom is hero material. What we all want in a husband. He knows the real you and he wants you, anyway.”
“But he
doesn’t
know the real me. I need to tell him before he marries me—a full disclosure—so he knows how dangerous saying ‘I do’ could be for him. Vivica, will you send him inside for a minute?” So he’d know, before taking a wrong step, that winning her was a battle lost before it started.
Vivica went to get Darkwyn while Bronte paced. “I’m a fake!” she said as he walked in.
He cupped her shoulders, brought her a hairsbreadth closer. “I know you are not a
real
vampire.”
“No, it’s worse than that. My name is fake. So is Zachary’s. We’re running from the mob.”
“I can protect you from a mob.”
“Not a mob.
The mob.
One of the Canadian families.”
“A mob is like an army, no? I’ve fought armies with skill, and I wasn’t half so strong back then.”
“No. No, you don’t understand. Mafia? Mafioso? Mob.
The family.
The godfather?” She huffed at Darkwyn’s blank look. “My stepfather, Zachary’s stepgrandfather, is the head of a mob family. He lends people money, and when they don’t pay him back, he murders them for kicks. Zachary and I, we know too much. We have to be eliminated.”
“ ‘Eliminated.’ ”
“Listen, Darkwyn, let me put it this way. My tattoo, the sword in dragon wings, it’s a symbol of my need to slay my past, mine and Zachary’s.”
“That explains why you got a dragon slayer tat before you knew I existed. Now as for your stepfather wanting to eliminate you. That means push you aside, right? Why not just leave you here, then?”
Darkwyn so didn’t get it, but why would a gentle dragon who ate his food “still kicking” understand the feral brutality of the mob? “No, listen, Darkwyn, Enrico Sanguedolce, my stepfather, married my mother, Zachary’s grandmother, and he murdered her, too, among so many others. You’re not safe, Darkwyn, if you stay with us. Go be a dragon man somewhere else. I’m letting you off the hook.”
“Hook?” He looked above them. “I see no hook.”
“Do you know what
sangue
means? Blood. And
dolce
means sweet. That’s my stepmonster’s motto. Blood is sweet.”
Darkwyn brightened. “So that’s why you opened a vampire haunt, to go with your name?”
“Wha—No! That is so
not
meant to be my name.”
His eyes twinkled.
Was he about to tease her at a time like this?
“What care I for blood? I told you, Bronte, blood doesn’t make me faint.” Darkwyn took her in his arms like he . . . cherished her. “I was told that I would find my heart mate here on earth. That she would not be easy to find, or keep. And I found her—you—within minutes of arriving, then I feared I’d see a heart mate in every female, but no. No one else, that day or since, has a heart that speaks to mine, only the woman who mocked me and then ran from the power of our connection. You knew right away, too, Bronte, did you not, that we were heart mates?”
“No.” She turned her back on him to give herself strength. “No, you’re wrong. Go now, before you get killed for that naïve, if generous and open, heart of yours.”
He embraced her from behind, pulled her firm against him, her back to his front, his hands poised oh so carefully, almost
beneath
her breasts. “Away from you I will wither and die,” he whispered, warming her ear with his hot breath, her dear dragon, “and I do not just mean that my physical need will wither. The rest of me will, too. My heart especially. And my soul.”
“At the moment,” she said, her voice cracking, “I rather doubt your ability to wither.” Bronte half sobbed, half laughed. “There’s another problem, and this is the worst of it: Darkwyn, I can never really love you.”
“I do not ask you to. I do not know the meaning of love. We are alike, you and I, bruised hearts encased in stone. Love? What is that? How can you miss what you never had? I accept the lack. You should, too.”
“No, I’m dangerous. Seriously. Everyone I love dies. Dad. Mom. My sister, Brianna, even Gina, who was like a grandmother to me when I was little.”
Darkwyn cupped her face. “You still have Zachary.”
“And sometimes I’m
afraid
to love him, too, but I do love that boy, and, Darkwyn, Zachary comes first always, before you I mean, even if you and I marry. Do you understand?”
He tilted his head, even his mouth tilted, his eyes bright and all for her. Eating her up with his gaze, she would say, and liking it, the dolt. She huffed. “Why are you still standing there? Most men would have run by now.”
“I understand you better than you think. I see no problem. And there is the leaping, which is very fine, indeed. Can we get married now?”
“Dumb damned dragon!” She stepped into his arms, and he brought her high so he could bury his face between her breasts. She wrapped her legs around his waist to hold on and revel in the touch of his tongue against the tender skin of her breasts. “My best feature, my breasts,” she said. “I call them Sugar and Spice, because they’re everything nice.”
“Mmm.”
He came away with glazed eyes. “You are everything nice.
You
are your best feature. Wedding now, please?” His eyes opened wide. “And Bastian has been telling me about something called a honeymoon. I cannot wait.”
“You looked that word up, didn’t you?” Did he ever look like an old-world rake right now. If she were a Regency virgin, she’d swoon at the sight.
He slid her down his body until their lips were inches apart, and he kissed her with ravenous hunger, almost as hungry as she was for him. His gentling of her, so tender and sweet, made her forget why they weren’t outside getting married already.
He set her down. “May I have the honor of escorting you to the high priestess who will perform our wedding ceremony?”
“I don’t want to put your life at risk, and I don’t need you, I don’t.” She fisted her hands against his chest.
“Yes, you do, and what’s more, you want me. You need me and you want me. I am grateful.”
“More importantly, Zachary needs you. I am marrying you for Zachary’s safety, and for no other reason. Just remember that.”
“Whatever you choose to believe, and choose to deny, especially to yourself, is fine with me, as long as your answer is yes.” His kiss calmed all her doubts, disappeared them in a magick more powerful than she’d known, more powerful than Jagidy and flying cats, until only they existed, and they
must
be together . . . for Zachary.
She toyed with a button on his vest. “In a physical way, I guess I do
want
you,” she admitted, “but, Goddess help me, I shouldn’t be so weak.”

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