Accidentally Married to…a Vampire?(Accidentally Yours #2)(22)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Helena was seized by two steel arms. She felt Niccolo’s heavy breath in her ear. “You go when I say, bride.”

“I’m not your bride, you arrogant ass!” Helena squirmed in a futile attempt to break free. “I’d actually have to marry you to be called that, and it’s never gonna happen! What the hell was I thinking? I love the sun. I love my mother and friends. I love pizza and Twinkies! I don’t love you!”

He turned her so they were nose to nose. His venomous glare burned a hole right through her. “Buon, I have news for you, human. I only have to take your blood to claim you, or in your words ‘marry,’ because you are my mate. We are bonded. I never believed such a thing existed, but now I do! I think of you day and night. I feel every beat of your heart and every breath. I feel every childish, weak emotion! And you’re goddamned full of them!” he raged. “Do they ever f**king stop? It’s driving me mad! Mad! So, trust me, this—us—has nothing to do with you consenting or your ridiculous human love, or this…Tina woman!”

He could literally feel her emotions? Could she feel his, too?

Of course. Since she’d met him, she’d felt lost. Like there was another dimension to her she couldn’t quite articulate. In his presence she definitely felt more turbulent and amplified. It had to be this bond.

Helena gasped as she realized he was bending his head toward her neck. For the first time ever Helena caught a glimpse of those long white fangs. She didn’t know how vampires were made, but she’d seen enough movies to know that many believed it just took one bite.

Or, is that for weres?

Dammit, Helena. Fight, you moron!

Helena kicked and screamed, fighting his unrelenting grip. “No, Niccolo, don’t do this! I don’t want to be your wife!”

With a shiver, she felt his lips—not fangs—press into the soft flesh at the base of her neck.

“But you already are,” he said with an acerbic whisper. “You are my vampire-wife. I tasted your delicious blood the night we met, and now we are bound forever whether either of us likes it or not. The ceremony we’ve been planning was merely tradition, a symbolic gesture to be performed before you are turned.”

Sweet immortal pickle! She’d gotten married at the eternal courthouse and didn’t even know it?

***

Niccolo stormed from the penthouse, charging straight for the elevator, and kicked his black leather boot through the wall. It was paper thin from numerous repairs over the past few months.

“Irrational woman! Who the hell does she think she…” He froze with his finger on the down-button, suddenly feeling like he’d been hit by a blunt object.

He’d actually yelled at her. Yelled at Helena? Then he’d left her crying in a heap on the floor and yelled at her again. A few choice words, too. The shameful truth barreled down on him. “I am a son of a bitch!” I let it happen again!

Being mated to Helena was worse than a curse. It was an abomination of nature. Torture!

For the first few weeks after they’d met, he was in denial. But he researched his symptoms and came to realize he’d been wrong, dead wrong, about this whole mate business.

Yes, there was a connection the first night they’d met, but this…it was ridiculous. And the connection only grew stronger each day.

Cruel! The desire he felt to take her body was nothing short of unbearable. Torturous images replayed in his mind of her soft body writhing beneath him while he pumped himself between her silky thighs. The more he denied himself, the worse his hunger for her became.

Yes. Hungry. So hungry…

He’d never been so goddamned famished. Yet, he could barely feed. And make no mistake about it, he’d tried. But everyone tasted like putrid trash, including the humans he’d sampled from the queen’s pool of willing blood slaves who were far tastier than his normal fare of ra**sts and thugs with the blackest of auras. This morning, out of pure desperation, he’d opted for bagged blood—cold, lifeless, revolting. One of his men compelled him to keep from vomiting.

There was no getting around it. He wanted Helena.

One week to go.

Could he make it? Only if he stayed away from her. But if he did that, he’d never have a chance to win her. He was running out of time. He had to turn her willingly—that’s what Cimil had said.

Why hadn’t the insane goddess warned him that the icing on his frigid misery-cake would be exposure to Helena’s emotions—an IV drip filled with concentrated, irrational, human feelings! Distance dulled the effect, as with any bond, but in her presence, he didn’t know where she ended and he began.

She got angry; he got livid. She felt lust; he spiraled into a sexual frenzy.

Then there were those emotions that lacked descriptive words. PMS, for example. Helena had it on his last visit, giving him the overwhelming, simultaneous need to f**k her and cry uncontrollably.

The f**king part he could relate to, but crying? Vampire didn’t cry!

He could only hope things would stabilize—as others had told him they would—after her transformation.

His hands dropped to his side as he stared at the open elevator doors. His heart thumped wildly against the walls of his chest.

Anger. Sadness. Guilt. Helena is feeling all these things.

He let the elevator leave and turned back to tell Helena he was sorry. Would it be enough? He still couldn’t tell her the truth about his world or how he spent his days.

Buon. To hell with it! I must to tell her I’m sorry. He reached for the front door as Helena screamed from the other side, “You lying leech! And if we’re vampire-married, then I want a vampire-divorce! Do you hear me? I want a divorce!”

Niccolo winced. That was not a good sign.

Chapter 7

Andrus stood in the empty foyer tiled with dingy white marble and illuminated by a lonely, dusty lamp sitting on the floor.

His eyes burned as he ran both hands through the spikes of his hair. It was four in the morning, but he had been summoned by Antonio who believed office hours were for mortals or the weak.

Andrus snarled to himself. The last time he had come, that bastard Antonio had sadistically dangled the one carrot which could make him hop: he promised their situation would soon be evolving.

“Evolving” was not a word Andrus would have chosen. It implied a natural order to things. This long-awaited change would come by brute force. Blood. Pain. Souls lost.

No matter, he mentally shrugged. Life is long. Too long. Without this coming change, it simply wasn’t worth living.