The Real Werewives of Vampire County

Vera subsided, mostly satisfied. Heather, now in jeans and a light T-shirt, shifted her weight and wouldn’t meet Cassandra’s eyes.

“Are you going to turn her right away if she signs the papers?”

“Maybe,” Cassandra said, folding her skirt over her arm and walking toward the house, not looking back. “It depends on what Gabriel has to say about it.”

Alexis gasped. “You still haven’t asked him?”

“No. He hasn’t been home.”

The other ladies shared knowing looks, but didn’t say a word, following silently in Cassandra’s wake.

Gabriel didn’t bother to look up from his desk when Cassandra appeared in the doorway of his study.

“Not now.”

“Honey, I really need to talk to you.”

“Give me about an hour. I need to finish reading this brief,” Gabriel said, not looking up from the papers spread over his desk. It was the first time he’d been home before eleven in two weeks.

Cassandra leaned on the door frame, toying with the diamond pendant on her necklace as she considered him. He’d barely noticed her short satin robe, the one he’d taken such delight in rubbing himself against less than a month before. Gabriel hadn’t joined her for dinner before her run, hadn’t answered her text messages or e-mails, and had been too exhausted for the last several nights to talk to her about anything beyond kissing her good night—if she was still awake when he got home—before he crawled into bed. She hadn’t asked what was on his plate, but she had gleaned from a few conversations overheard that it involved the welfare of the entire pack.

It wasn’t her, she was sure. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, she was quite certain it really was work that kept him from home and from showing any interest in sex. Aside from that, if he’d been cheating, she would have smelled the scent of another bitch on him—so that wasn’t it. He really was working himself to the bone.

This called for desperate measures.

She slunk forward, putting a roll into her hips, catching his eye. He looked up, twitching a jet brow, one hand racing through dark hair starting to show the first hints of silver at the temples. Cassandra moved behind him, rubbing at the thick knots of tension in his shoulders. He gradually relaxed into her hands, eyes closing.

“You’re working too hard. Come to bed.”

He sighed, arching his back so she could reach his shoulder blades. “I can’t, love. This needs to be done.”

“It’ll still be here in the morning.” Cassandra leaned over to whisper in his ear, nipping his earlobe as one hand slid down his chest to the hard bulge in his pants. “Let me take care of you.”

He groaned, arching up against her questing hand. It didn’t take long before she’d drawn down his zipper and slid aside his silk boxers, freeing him from his pants. Deft fingers worked his arousal with practiced swiftness.

Gabriel didn’t object, his fingers digging into the armrests of his chair until the leather creaked under his hands, watching as if mesmerized by the way she squeezed and stroked him, the way he grew and pulsed under her touch.

His breath hitched in his throat as she bit his ear again, tilting his head to the side to give her access to his throat. A very trusting move on his part. Trailing her lips over the stubble on his cheek, Cassandra whispered again, her voice low and throaty.

“I need something from you.”

In a blur, she was suddenly on her back on his desk, Gabriel pressed between her dangling legs. Papers scattered, flying everywhere before drifting to the floor. His eyes, usually a soft brown, now burned with a harsh amber light as he bent over her, hands exploring the smooth satin of her robe before tearing it open. Cassandra returned his growls in kind, wrapping her legs around his waist to yank him forward, nails raking down his back.

“I need—” She gasped as he bit her, nails convulsing against his back.

“I know what you need,” he rumbled, rough hands sliding lower on her body. Her hips moved to meet his exploring fingers, even as she made a guttural sound of denial.

“No,” she insisted, grasping and pulling at his hair until he paused, looking at her. “Something else.”

He slumped, then rose just enough to meet her own burning, glowing eyes. It took a few breaths for him to calm enough to answer. He had to speak carefully, enunciating each word carefully around the mouthful of fangs he’d sprouted.

“Anything. You know I’ll always give you whatever you want.”

Cassandra smiled, bared teeth behind those painted lips grown into dagger points much like his own.

“I want Tiffany Winters. I want her in the pack.”

“Done.”

And for the rest of the night, neither of them had a chance to fit in another word.

CHAPTER 8

To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

The next day, Cassandra settled in a seat on the patio outside of one of the quieter Starbucks in the neighborhood, cradling an iced latte. Tiffany looked up from her cell phone, setting it aside with a smile as she eased back into the wrought-iron chair. Aside from the occasional patron moving in and out of the coffeehouse, they were alone.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

Cassandra crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair while one finger toyed with the condensation on her latte. She stared directly into Tiffany’s eyes, taking her measure before speaking in carefully noncommittal tones.

“Heather told me that you had an interest in werewolves. Meeting them, in fact. What if I told you that I could help you with that?”

Tiffany’s gaze searched Cassandra’s face. “I’d say I was skeptically hopeful. Ever since the Moonwalker pack showed themselves, I’ve wanted to meet one. Except for Rohrik Donovan and the rest of the Moonwalkers, they don’t exactly advertise their whereabouts, and he doesn’t meet with people just to satisfy their curiosity.”

“No. I suppose he doesn’t.”

“But you will?”

Cassandra paused, latte halfway to her mouth. “You knew?”

“Yes. I knew before I moved here.”

“Was Vera right, then? Are you here to cause us trouble?”

Shaking her head, Tiffany held out a hand, imploring Cassandra to stay seated. Though a touch of yellow had crept into her irises, Cassandra stilled, her mouth pressed into a thin line of displeasure.

“Vera may have made the connection between the New York branch of the White Hats and myself because I used to be married to one of them.”