Accidentally Married to…a Vampire?(Accidentally Yours #2)(19)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Yep. No doubt about it; he was perfect in every way. Except, he refused to be intimate with her—that was far from perfect.

He gently pulled away and unraveled his fingers from her hair. She looked up at him wishing he’d keep kissing her.

Instead, he sighed. “Oh, Helena, I can feel it. Something is troubling you. Have my men been unfriendly again? Because if they have, I will let you tear out their eyes this time.”

Helena winced at the thought and placed her palms against his hard chest. “No. Niccolo.”

Amusement sparkled in his dark eyes. “Buon. But they grow back.” He shrugged.

Ugh, would she ever get used to vampire humor? Or, maybe he wasn’t kidding. It was hard to tell sometimes.

“What if I were the one misbehaving again?” She wondered what he’d say.

He laughed. “Then I would punish you like last time…in a very cruel way.” He gently clasped her hand again and then planted a feather-light kiss on her wrist. “Like this.”

Figured. He was always so calculated and controlled around her. She wished she could see the unedited version of Niccolo. She wished they’d have a real fight like a real couple. But he never lost his temper with her. Not once. Not even when she purposefully broke one of his rules just to test him. “You need more time to adjust to my world,” he’d say. Or, “I must do a better job of persuading you that my rules are always to be followed.” Then he would lean slowly into her, and press his full lips to her mouth and roll his tongue against hers. He wouldn’t stop until she was a mindless, gooey puddle. Then he would back away. Sometimes he’d run. Was it because of rule number three? No sex until after the wedding slash transformation.

Why? Well, that was rule number six: no answers until, yes, after the transformation. Helena felt the anger and frustration beginning to take hold.

Sentin appeared in the living room doorway with his standard levity. “Is it time to feed our human?”

Niccolo whipped around in a blur. “How many times have I told you?” he screamed. “You are to call her Helena! Next time, you’ll pay with your tongue.”

Helena grabbed Niccolo’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It doesn’t bother me.” It actually did bother her. A lot. It made her feel like a pet. But yelling and violence bothered her more.

Sentin held out his hands. “Jeez. Touchy-touchy. My apologies.”

Niccolo dismissed Sentin and led Helena to the dining room where there was just one setting. Niccolo sat opposite her across the room-length mahogany table. He’d also forgotten to turn on the lights. Again. She could barely see him.

Helena sighed. “Can’t you sit closer so I can see you and don’t have to yell?”

“I can hear you just fine,” Niccolo responded. “And sitting this way is a sign of a distinguished upbringing. I am not a commoner, Helena.”

Ugh! “No, it’s actually old fashioned and annoying,” she mumbled.

Niccolo stared blankly. “I heard that.”

“I’m sorry, but I like having you close,” she argued, “and you may not be a commoner, but I am.”

Niccolo suddenly appeared at Helena’s side, taking her hand and placing a kiss in her palm. “You are anything but common, my bride.”

Yes, I’m the lucky acorn who fell from the nut tree.

Silver serving dish in hand, Sentin emerged from the kitchen with what looked like fettuccine alfredo. She had no clue where the vampire learned to cook, but he had flare. Except for Italian. He refused to cook with garlic. It was sort of ironic since he was Italian.

Sentin served a heaping pile of creamy, buttery pasta mixed with bits of chicken and red and green vegetables—at least she thought they were that color; it was hard to see in the dark.

Niccolo wrinkled his nose and poured himself a glass of red wine from the decanter set out in front of her.

Helena loaded up her fork and took a mouth full of pasta. Yep. Missing garlic, but edible. She smiled at Sentin who was anxiously awaiting her reaction. “Yummm. Really good, Sentin. Thanks.”

Pleased with himself, he practically floated from the dining room.

She began attacking her food. God, she was famished! She’d passed on breakfast this morning because she’d been too busy writing in her scientific journal. She had pages and pages of things she’d learned over the weeks despite the vampires’ attempts to be secretive. For example, they were more like wolves—pack animals—than they were the cold-blooded loners like Dracula. And there was a clear pecking order, usually associated with age, but sometimes according to physical skills. She’d overheard Viktor telling the other men that Sentin would lead some outing that evening because although he was the youngest, he “moved like a feather.” What an odd skill to value.

But what astonished her most was how little she really knew about her husband to be. He wouldn’t tell her a thing: where was he from, who his parents were, if he had brothers and sisters he loved once. How about friends? He had to have some, right?

Helena washed down her bite of pasta with a gulp of wine and noticed Niccolo was observing her eating.

He had a frown plastered on his face. “Hungry?”

She smiled sheepishly and dabbed her face with her napkin. “Niccolo, when you change me, can we have a dinner party so I can meet your friends?”

“You’ve already met them.”

“I have?”

“My men,” he clarified.

But she never saw them speak or show any signs of camaraderie.

“However,” he continued, "we don’t do dinner parties. Not the kind you’re thinking of anyway. I will explain it all…after.”

Helena wanted to gag at the thought of a bunch of vampires sitting around drinking blood from crystal goblets. Ick. “So, I won’t ever be inviting my girls over, will I?”

Niccolo chuckled, “Not unless you intend on serving them as appetizers.”

“Then, that would be a no.” Helena frowned and took another mouthful. Was he kidding? Would she really never see the girls again? No. She couldn’t let that happen. She’d visit them when they were home for Christmas. Maybe another nighttime bonfire? On second thought, that didn’t go so well last time. Niccolo and she never spoke of the incident, but she still had anxiety over seeing those men dead. The degenerates deserved what they got, but it didn’t make watching them die any easier. Vampires, on the other hand, seemed at ease with killing. That felt wrong somehow.