“Little witch,” Vlad warned.
“What? The angel of death afraid of a shock?” she teased. Belladonna wasn’t stupid. Antagonizing Vlad at home was one thing, but his words rang true. As his wife, she was an extension of him now, a part of his reign, and if she attacked him in public, it would be a declaration of war. Hundreds, if not thousands, of witches and vampires would die if she betrayed the unprecedented peace her marriage had delivered, and she refused to be responsible for the bloodshed. The skull inked on Vlad’s hand heralded violence, but she was no such monster. She wouldn’t incite a war for her mother to fight.
Vlad grunted and tugged her closer as he led her through the packed club toward the VIP seating. “As Rowena’s heir, I’m sure you can take care of yourself, but you are also the first witch to marry a vampire,” he said. “Please don’t leave my sight tonight.”
“Ok, Dad.”
“I’m serious, Belladonna.” He pulled her to a stop and forced her to face him. “As my wife and a witch, you have a target on your head. You should be safe here, but this isn’t up for negotiation. You stay where I can see you, or I send you home.”
Bella gazed up at him, readying to give him a piece of her mind, but his expression gave her pause. It wasn’t control or dominance. It was genuine concern, and as sour as surrender tasted, she conceded. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” Vlad started walking again, and together they bypassed the tight security. Belladonna rarely went to clubs, and she’d never been invited into a VIP section. A thrill rippled through her against her will, and for a second, she let herself pretend that the handsome vampire on her arm wasn’t a ruthless killer who had forced their marriage, but was her date of choice. How thrilling would this night be if she could dance and drink with a man she cared for? Her dress was short. His black suit was sin stitched into fabric. If Vlad was the husband she loved and not an arrangement, she would eagerly surrender to his intoxicating gravity. She would let him drag her into a darkened corridor where they could kiss in the shadows as his tattooed hand slid up her thigh to cup her hips. She might even allow his fingers to slip inside her panties and make her come in the middle of the dancefloor. She had no doubt he would do it too, that he would have no qualms about pinning her to the VIP wall and fucking her hard and fast before someone caught them. She’d never had sex in a public place, but this vampire with his imposing height, powerful muscles, and a face that women fantasized about might convince her to throw caution to the wind and let him show this entire club who she belonged to.
But Vlad was not her husband of choice. He was a brute who stole her from her fiancé. A man that hadn’t asked, but demanded, and she could never truly surrender her heart to such a monster. Granted, she wondered if he’d saved her from Gabriel’s true feelings, but their wedding hadn’t been her decision or romantic. It was a business deal… even if he was built for pleasure.
“We’re early,” Vlad said, releasing her, and his distance instantly annoyed Belladonna as she surveyed their surroundings. The sexiest women in the club hovered around the VIP section like vultures, their predatory eyes on Vlad as they readied for the kill, and a sudden possessivenessrose in her chest. She’d never kissed her husband, but she would hex anyone else for even looking at him. He was hers.
Hers.
Belladonna swallowed at the word, desperately needing to escape his magnetism. It was easier at home when she could torment him and then flee to her room, but in public, politics demanded they present a unified front. Her mother had trained her well. Perception was half the battle. People didn’t question leaders who seemingly never faltered, and war wouldn’t come to the witches if she played the vampire’s wife convincingly. It was just an act, a performance for strangers’ benefit, but it was also torture because it almost felt like they were truly united partners.
“Enjoy yourself tonight,” Vlad said with a smirk, and Belladonna had the distinct impression he could read the damning throughs racing through her brain. “I’ll have to leave you when my contacts arrive, but I’ll be right there where I can see you.” He pointed to the couches hidden in the shadows, and as his tattooed hand lowered, it fell to her hip. With a quick glance at the hovering women, he jerked her closer until their chests collided, and she hated how triumphant she felt at his actions. With one simple move, he’d just screamed an announcement to the club and those lingering beauties. Vlad belonged to the witch.
“Oh, I plan on thoroughly enjoying myself before you lock me back up in your castle.” Belladonna swayed to the thundering music, grinding seductively against her husband. “The question is: can the angel of death loosen up, or is he too old to keep up?”
She threw him a challenging look before pulling out of his hold. With a spin in time to the beat, she sauntered to the bar, enjoying his eyes on her swaying ass, and she smiled with pride as she waved the bartender down. It was a dangerous game she was playing. Tormenting her husbandhad somehow become her favorite thing to do, and she worried it was less about angering him and more about him watching her. His gaze was so intense, so focused, her magic could practically feel him touching her. She’d looked forward to his attention, to his longing, to his appreciation. His gifts hadn’t stopped either. He bought her something daily, whether it was clothes, the food she liked, supplies for her new cats, or fall-scented candles and lotions. Vlad spoiled her when all she did was frustrate him, and he’d kept his promise. He hadn’t touched her, nor did he ask for anything in return. He was thoughtfully generous, and his refusal to touch her no longer seemed like a blessing. Now she feared it was a curse.
“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked.
“Whiskey, straight up,” she said. She didn’t like whiskey, but Vlad did, and she was committed to consuming things he enjoyed without sharing. She still hadn’t let him try her pumpkin-spiced lattes. “Just one,” she added when the bartender’s eyes flicked over her shoulder to her approaching husband.
“Yes, ma’am.” The bartender grabbed a bottle and poured the whiskey, but before Belladonna could grab it, Vlad’s tattooed hand shot out and captured the glass.
“I don’t think so,” Vlad said, throwing cash on the bar as he lifted the whiskey to his lips. “I don’t know if you're old enough to drink, little witch.” He smirked, reversing her insult on her. “Besides, bad girls don’t deserve to have fun. They get punished, so you can’t have this unless you promise to behave.” He stared down at her with a challenge. “How about it, wife? Are you going to be a good girl?”
“Screw you,” Belladonna said, holding his gaze, and Vlad’s eyes brightened at her resistance. With swift movements, he tilted his head back and poured the whiskey into his mouth, but before Belladonna could blink, his tattooed hand shotout and gripped her jaw. She gasped at the sudden contact, and he pulled her open mouth toward him until their chests collided. She inhaled at his closeness, at his scent, at how hard he was against her belly, and his eyes burned with such intensity that her magic grew unbearably hot. A man had never affected her magic before, and she moaned at the overwhelming sensation.
Vlad’s fingers gripped her chin harder, forcing her lips to part, and then he leaned forward with a dangerous wink. Without warning, he spat the whiskey into her open mouth, holding her gaze the entire time, and Belladonna swallowed as her body hummed with arousal. Her thighs pressed together in a desperate search for relief, and her breathing faltered. She drank down every drop of the alcohol, her magic tasting him in the whiskey's burn. She wanted more, but not the faint taste of him in the liquor. The taste of his tongue against hers, and she rose onto her toes.
“Good fucking girl,” Vlad growled, lowering his mouth to hers. They were inches apart. Centimeters. A single breath away. Belladonna had never longed to kiss anyone so badly, but just before her husband’s lips crashed into hers, a familiar voice muttered a string of vulgarities behind them with disgust.
Belladonna jerked away from Vlad, eyes landing on Gabriel’s scowl, but it wasn’t his expression that made her instantly cry. It was his words. It was what he’d called her. His voice had been low so that none of Vlad’s entering colleagues heard him, but she had. She’d heard the vile and degrading things he’d called her, and unable to face him or her husband, she fled to the bathroom in tears.
What is wrong with you?” Vlad grabbed his son’s biceps and yanked him away from the group as Belladonna raced beyond his reach, tears streaming down her face.
“What’s wrong with me?” Gabriel challenged. “You’re the one who stole my fiancé on my wedding day, and the little slut doesn’t seem all that upset about it. She looked pretty cozy with you there, Dad.”
“You can be angry at me all you want,” Vlad said, his tone dangerously cold and sharp. “I realize I took what was yours, but you aren’t in love with her. She isn’t right for you.”
“And how do you know that? You’ve been in Europe for years. You didn’t see us together.”
“Because if you loved her, you wouldn’t have let me take her. You would have burned down that church to get to her.”
“How could I?” Gabriel spat, ripping his arm free of his father’s hold. “You wouldn’t let me anywhere near the church.”
“Do you think that would’ve stopped me?”Vlad asked. “Do you think someone just handed me my role as leader of the vampires and wished me luck? No, I took it with blood and sacrifice. My predecessor had reigned for too long, his rule too corrupt, and I was nothing. I was young and unimportant, but I saw something I wanted. I let nothing stop me, and I would do the same for Belladonna. If you truly loved her, the earth would have thundered with your rage. You would’ve challenged me in that church, but you didn’t, which proves my point. She isn’t your mate.”
“Mate?” Gabriel froze. “You can’t seriously think a witch is your mate?”
