Fangs, Fur & Mistletoe

  Fangs, Fur & Mistletoe

  By Selena Blake

  “I remember everything,” she whispered, her fangs lengthening.

  “This?” he whispered, a large hand splaying across her lower back. Hot. Strong. Possessive. Pulling her closer until their hips brushed.

  “Yes.” The word came out as a hiss.

  He took her hand and laid it over his heart. The organ beat out a steady rhythm against her palm. She soaked in the heat of his skin, the strength of his chest. “And this?” he asked, his deep voice seducing her as easily as his touch.

  “Yes.”

  She remembered the sound of his heartbeat thundering in her ears. His pulse, visible in the strong artery in his neck. She’d wanted to taste his blood, sink her fangs into him as he entered her.

  She still wanted that.

  He cupped her cheek with his other hand and dipped his head. The light from a nearby lamppost lit his eyes. Just as they had all those years ago, his irises flared, and for the briefest of seconds she thought that maybe he could see to the depth of her soul. No one, not even Valencia and certainly not Dmitri, had ever studied her so intensely.

  “And this?” he murmured again, their lips less than a centimeter apart.

  She smelled whiskey on his breath, one more memory of this night. All she had to do was close the distance and find out if he kissed as well as he did in her dreams.

  Just like that night on the battlefield, his thumb traced her jaw line. And just like that night, desire warred with the knowledge that they were not destined to be together.

  But she hadn’t come to Mystic Isle for together-forever. She’d come for hot-shout-my-name-sex. She’d come here… to come.

  So this time when he glanced back and forth, staring so deeply into her eyes, gauging her response, she let her lips do the talking.

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  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2012 Ecila Media Corp.

  Dedication

  To everyone who’s ever felt that spark of attraction…and not been able to act on it.

  Other Books by Selena Blake

  Series: Stormy Weather

  The Cajun’s Captive (erotic paranormal romance novella)

  Bitten in the Bayou (paranormal romance novella, ménage)

  Seduced by a Cajun Werewolf (previously titled Bound & Determined, erotic paranormal romance, long novella)

  Mated to a Cajun Werewolf (erotic paranormal romance, long novella)

  Stranded with a Cajun Werewolf (erotic paranormal romance novel)

  A Cajun Werewolf Christmas (paranormal romance short story)

  Anthologies

  Stormy Weather anthology (5-in-1)

  Stormy Weather Collector’s Edition (5-in-1, plus interviews, deleted scenes and more)

  Double The Pleasure (2-in-1, ménage edition)

  Ready & Willing (erotic paranormal romance novel)

  Surprising Darcy (short contemporary erotica ménage)

  Just a Little Taste (short contemporary erotica)

  Chapter One

  “Sex, sex, and more sex,” Avery sing-songed, her gaze dancing across the full-color brochure. Even in the dim interior of the stretch limousine, Coco Jeffres could see the gorgeous hotel on the cover.

  Vampire sight was handy like that.

  The couple in the throes of passion stretched across the bottom of the tri-fold pamphlet added validity to Avery’s outburst. Even better, the risqué photo made Coco’s tingly bits… well, tingle.

  Valencia, sitting next to Avery on the bench seat, back ramrod straight, hands clasped in her lap, shook her head. Coco couldn’t help but smile. The driver had met them at the small airport, opened the rear door, and they’d slid across the supple black leather. Despite the vehicle’s spotless appearance and clean linen scent, Valencia and Ceara had promptly listed off all the bodily fluids that were probably coating every surface around them. Mystic Isle was a sex resort, after all.

  But V couldn’t blame Avery for reading straight from the literature. Sex, sand, and sun were the reason she and her four closest coven-mates booked this trip. Well, maybe not sun. The moon would have to do.

  Mystic Isle promised to be the ultimate pleasure playground for paranormals.

  And that was exactly what Coco needed. Playtime.

  The car jostled them ever so slightly, and then swung left. In the distance, the soaring hotel glowed a pale yellow against a backdrop of inky darkness. Izzy helped herself to the minibar and earned a look from Valencia that Coco translated to mean “you’re drinking already?”

  As the limo entered a circular drive, Coco leaned her forehead against the warm glass. Since vampires couldn’t create their own heat, she sought warmth wherever she went. This week in the South Pacific would be pure paradise for her heat-seeking toes.

  Nevertheless, she remembered the list and jerked her forehead back.

  “Look at that fountain!” Brochure forgotten, Avery pointed to the trio of nude women carved from stone. They each held a jug over their head, water pouring out down their bodies.

  “Dat certainly sets da mood,” Izzy said, a small smile curving her burgundy lips. She tossed back the rest of her drink and replaced the glass in the snazzy cup holder.

  Ceara didn’t say a word, nor did she glance at the statue.

  When the limo pulled to a stop beneath a wide portico, the five of them unclipped their seatbelt. A handsome man in uniform opened the back door and offered his hand to each of them. A blast of warm air shot through her as she alighted from the car.

  Coco paused briefly, eyes closed, to soak it in. She smelled salt and a hint of Plumeria and knew that she would remember that combination and this night forever.

  The massive hotel towered above them. As resorts went, Mystic Isle was as luxurious and sexy as they came. Even the architecture and materials were sleek and sensuous.

  “You weren’t kidding,” Coco murmured as they crossed the sumptuous threshold.

  A thrill of excitement bubbled through her bloodstream. Warmth. Freedom. And if the plethora of half-naked-well-defined-male flesh was any indication… she had a darn good chance of getting lucky.

  The lounge had been transformed from tropical pleasure dome to winter wonderland by a smorgasbord of fake snow, evergreen boughs, Christmas trees and menorahs. A Fae dressed in a skimpy Mrs. Claus costume teetered by on insanely high heels.

  The girls were right. Winter solstice would be the perfect time to start fresh. To wake up her bruised ego. Not to mention her libido.

  “Do I ever kid?” Valencia asked. The tall, lithe brunette led the way across the polished, sand-colored tile. Coco couldn’t see her friend’s face, but she’d be willing to bet the other woman’s perfectly plucked eyebrows were raised in question.

  Valencia Fabelle never joked. To those who didn’t know her, she was about as warm as ice. Sophisticated, elegant, she was the top dog of their coven. Not that she ever needed to remind anyone of that. The mansion they called home had been passed down through Valencia’s family and it oozed money and class. Just like its owner.

  The luxury hotel wasn’t that much different. Five crystal chandeliers hung in a perfectly straight line down the atrium, pouring warm light onto every corner of the room. Be still her sparkle-loving heart. Coco lowered her gaze to the potted palms and low slung white chairs.

  A group of sinfully handsome men crossed in front of Valencia, swim trunks hanging low on their hips. Black tattoos covered their biceps.

  They headed through a set of doubl
e doors that lead to a patio, and Coco paused to admire their perfectly toned bodies. It was good to be immortal. The tingle of excitement turned to raw lust. V was right, Coco really had been in a funk since she’d broken things off with Dmitri two months ago.

  Throwing herself into her volunteer work and learning Gaspard de la nuit was no way to solve the problem at hand. Mastering Ravel’s most poignant piece would not bring her to orgasm. It would not make up for the three years she’d spent with a bastard who’d rather make another dollar than pleasure his woman.

  “Last one to the beach buys drinks!” a masculine voice shouted before another swarm of rock-hard bodies ran by, flip flops slapping against the tile.

  She sucked in a breath, desire ricocheting inside her like a pinball. Yes. That’s exactly what she needed. A hard male body that would make her forget Dmitri’s parting words and the time she’d wasted.

  Valencia halted in her tracks. Her chin-length bob didn’t move as she glanced over her shoulder and shot Coco and the others a knowing look. Her lips, slathered in Bloodlust, a color Chanel made solely for Valencia, curved up. V liked to keep her distance, but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy looking her fill.

  Unlike most vamps who had an appetite for sex, V was, as far as everyone knew, celibate. She wasn’t a touchy/feely person and she certainly didn’t like people crowding her space. Even now, as they strode toward the concierge, V led and the rest of them followed at a safe distance.

  While they were here to enjoy everything the resort had to offer, Valencia was here for one reason and one reason only. Mystic Isle was home to a world class spa. Mud wraps and massages were the one exception to V’s no touching rule.

  V gave the well-dressed woman behind the polished reception desk her name. “Fabelle.”

  “Oui, Mademoiselle Fabelle.” the woman switched to perfect French. Her dark gaze raked over the group.

  What a bunch of misfits they must seem. Tiny Izzy wore a black babydoll tee with the words “suck this” stretched across her breasts. Her lipstick was so dark it sometimes looked black, and her jeans had a permanent impression of the deck of playing cards she always kept in her back left pocket. Despite her attempts to appear untouchable, her platinum blonde hair and ice-blue eyes made her look like a porcelain doll.

  Before Avery had been turned, she’d been an athlete. She’d won a gold medal for the four hundred meter discipline. Today she wore yoga pants, flip flops and a zebra print tank top. Avery was always ready to hit the mat, and according to her, men found drawstring pants almost as irresistible as garter belts.

  Ceara, the youngest member of the coven, wore a gray jumper and sandals. Her clothes were as reserved as she was, and it had surprised Coco that the twenty-something vamp had agreed to come to the island with them.

  Valencia was the most striking of their group. She kept her midnight-black hair chiseled at her chin with perfectly straight bangs cropped just above her eyebrows. Her porcelain skin was completely flawless and her blue eyes could freeze a man with fear at ten yards. Her wardrobe was filled with exquisitely tailored suits that made the most of her tall, lean body. Tonight she was dressed to the nines, as usual, in a black asymmetrical two piece suit with white piping. Looking at V made Coco feel like she’d stepped back into the 1950s.

  Coco knew she was a rare sight. In her one hundred and thirty years she’d only met three other black vampiresses. Her blue eyes should have made her even more unique, but blue eyes and vamps went hand in hand.

  Despite the variety in their group, the concierge didn’t bat an eyelash. She simply hit a few keys on her keyboard and then glanced up at V again with a professional smile. “Your cottage is ready. I’ll have your bags brought right out. Boyd will show you the way.” She waved a hand toward the man standing beside the desk.

  “Merci,” they all said, turning. A handsome Adonis appeared in front of them. Tall, blond, with eyes almost the same shade of blue as Valencia.

  “Valencia, beautiful as always,” the man murmured. V raised her hand, looking as graceful as the prima ballerina she’d once been. The man kissed the back of her hand, almost bowing before her.

  Coco’s eyebrows shot up. Avery caught her gaze and mouthed “what was that?” Coco shook her head.

  “Charming as ever, Latham.”

  Was it just her or had V’s voice gotten huskier?

  The man glanced ever so briefly at the receptionist. “Shauntee, I’ll show them to their cottage.” He slipped Valencia’s hand into the crook of his arm and turned toward the large glass doors at the end of the atrium.

  “Okay, how totally weird is that?” Avery whispered.

  “You have known Valencia longest. What was dat?” Izzy asked.

  Coco stared after her coven-mate. After fifty-one years she thought she knew all there was to know about Valencia Fabelle, but evidently there were still mysteries to be unraveled. “I have no idea. But things are about to get a lot more interesting.”

  They hustled to catch up, following V and the Adonis down a wood-planked path.

  “Everyone here is so good-looking,” Ceara commented as they passed a pool, then a bar.

  “You included,” Avery replied. She and Coco slipped their arms through Ceara’s. As the youngest and newest member of the coven, Ceara was still learning the way of the vampire. She was all of twenty-two, a purebred. Her parents had been murdered by a rogue demon during the spring and she’d come to live with them shortly after. She was quiet, studious and almost passionless, except when she played her violin.

  Izzy was only a few years older than Ceara, but different in almost every way. Coco and Valencia had found her, turned her, after Izzy had been raped, battered and left for dead. Coco couldn’t imagine going through something like that. To be so young and to have her whole life changed so completely. It was no wonder Izzy never let a man into her heart.

  As a purebred vampire, Coco had been fighting in the war by the time she was Ceara and Izzy’s age. Now she spent her days teaching women, Izzy included, how to protect themselves.

  “Can’t wait to get me some of that,” Avery murmured as they passed a couple in the midst of a passionate embrace. The only thing keeping the two vertical was the palm tree they were pressed against.

  Coco felt another drip-drip-drip of desire in her veins. Her steps slowed as she watched the man palm the woman’s breast. The two moved against each other like water over a beach. Back and forth. Fluid. Effortless. His lips sought the woman’s throat.

  “Come on,” Izzy whispered. “We will lose Valencia if we not hurry.”

  At their friend’s prodding, they picked up the pace, hanging a left at a tall Plumeria shrub. Coco hit a wall and bounced backward with an oomph.

  “Sorry, ladies,” the wall said.

  Coco lifted her gaze from the thin trail of dark hair that led south to black swim trunks to perfectly sculpted abs. Higher still, she quickly took in the strong, wide shoulders, and zeroed in on the most handsome face she’d seen in a century. Oh my.

  The man who had a delicious English accent stared back at her with soft gray eyes. She knew those eyes. Had seen them in the midst of battle, ablaze with power and deadly intent. They’d reminded her of a cool, morning fog… the kind a woman could get lost in.

  The air in Coco’s lungs stalled, her whole body seizing.

  The smile curving those oh-so-kissable lips transformed his face, and for a moment she wondered if he was actually the same wolf she’d exchanged blows with. But there was no mistaking those eyes.

  “Our fault,” Ceara murmured, ever submissive.

  The gorgeous werewolf stepped aside, extending his hand in the direction they were heading.

  Though the battle had been well over a hundred years ago, Coco remembered the adrenaline rush. The youthful energy. The clang of weapon against weapon. And this man. This werewolf with the soft gray eyes.

  Her enemy.

  Avery and Izzy tugged her forward, but she felt like she was walking thro
ugh quicksand. “Mmm,” Avery said, none too softly. “I wonder if he’s available. I could get used to having that in my bed.”

  Coco cut her friend a look and saw that Avery was looking back in the direction of the werewolf.

  “Did you see that ass?” Avery added.

  “He seemed to have eyes for Coco,” Ceara said.

  “Don’t be silly.” Coco scoffed, pegging her with a glance. He couldn’t -- they couldn’t… it’d been a long time ago. In the heat of battle. Attraction in the heat of the moment. Didn’t everyone want what they couldn’t have?

  Swallowing, she rushed ahead. The Adonis was opening the cottage’s front door as she came around the bend. She needed something to drink. Something that would make her forget the past. And the handsome werewolf who made her hot and wet with a single glance.

  Adonis waved Valencia inside as Coco’s foot hit the first step of the wraparound deck. She hardly gave the space a second glance.

  “C, what’s wrong?” Avery’s voice called.

  V turned worried eyes toward Coco.

  “Everything okay?” the Adonis asked.

  Coco pulled up short. Her gaze skipped over the beautiful furniture to the glittering blue pool outside the floor to ceiling glass doors. She took another second to compose herself. “Fine. I’m just thirsty. Long flight.”

  Seemingly satisfied, Avery turned toward the beach. “Look at this.” She squealed, ever excitable.

  The Adonis smiled and Coco’s breath caught for the second time that night. Being that handsome, having such a potent effect on women, should be against the laws of nature. And by the look in his clear blue eyes, he knew just what he did to the female population. “I’ll leave you ladies to it. Enjoy.”

  He didn’t carry himself like any immortal she’d ever seen. Lithe and graceful, lean and powerful… yet not a vampire. A Fae, perhaps… No. His ears weren’t elongated.

  Hands in his pockets, he strode out the door just before two men entered with their cases. V rushed forward to rescue the black leather train case she was so fond of. For an antique, it looked brand-new. But that wasn’t a surprise. Valencia Fabelle took impeccable care of everything she owned.