The Ninja Vampire's Girl. Michele HaufЧитать онлайн книгу.
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The Ninja Vampire’s Girl
Michele Hauf
Coco Stevens has a taste for adventure—enough to risk stealing a halo from a Fallen angel to help her sister. But she never imagined her mission would land her in the arms of a scarred—but still dangerously sexy—vampire!
Zane is on his own quest to hunt a Fallen angel, and will do whatever it takes to win…including bite the interfering Coco. Even if it joins them by an erotic bond that warms both vampire and mortal's blood with desire…
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
One
London
I glided down the vast marble hallway, which was trimmed in gilded and plaster frieze, relieved to be away from the ballroom tucked amongst the wigs and damasks, satins and frockcoats. The party was to die for, the people gorgeous and the champagne and chocolate endless.
But I was not here for drink or flirtation.
Veering toward the lone ottoman, placed in the center of the grand hallway, I plunged onto the tufted velvet and turned onto my back. The tight corset squeezed my ribs but I liked the snuggly feeling. And it pushed up my breasts nicely, making me feel sensual and womanly.
Alençon lace at my elbows hung over my wrists, and I blew it aside to inspect the mehndi stained onto the palm of my hand. It was traditionally worn for weddings and celebrations, but I had hopes the sigils worked into the design would provide protection.
Scanning the three-story room with a vaulted ceiling that looked as if Michelangelo had set up a scaffold beneath, my eyes took in the elaborate gold frieze, gaudy paintings and portraits, and crystal chandeliers. So much artwork in this hall, it resembled something from the British Museum.
"It could be anywhere," I muttered, sliding my hand down the black satin corset.
The red damask bodice was sown to the corset, but the red ribbons tying down the front of the corset were for show. Too busy for my taste, but the whole costume worked for this adventure.
I did like adventure. Adventure was my middle name.
Along the ceiling, plaster angels had been worked into the cornices, but they were all pudgy cherubs. Nothing so bold and virile as what I had hopes to find.
A musical jingle sounded in the stillness. I tugged a cell phone out from the side of the corset where it nestled against my breast, and answered.
"Cassandra? Yes, I'm here at the party. No, haven't found it yet. You're sure Leonard Marshall has one?"
My sister shuffled papers on her end—that would be a sweet little flat in Berlin—while my eyes strayed over the painting of a grazing horse, and then to the more modern, and frankly, groovy canvas that featured bright-colored rings dancing over a black background.
"It's got to be there, Coco."
"Wait." I sat up, wincing as the corset dug into my ribs. "I think I found it. Talk to you soon, Caz."
Tucking away the phone, I approached the groovy canvas hung above the right corner of the doorway. I squinted discerningly. One ring on that painting was most definitely not like the others.
"Score."
There was enough fancy plasterwork and wood chair railing on the wall to facilitate a makeshift rock climber like in the gym I attended…okay, so I paid membership fees, but the last time I worked out was too long ago to remember.
Pushing aside the bothersome poufy skirts to reveal my legs, I fit my ballet flat above the baseboard plaster decoration, found finger-holds above a cherub's head and started to climb.
I'd left the hallway door open about a foot and the music from the ballroom—18th century harpsichord fused with techno thump—promised the revelers would party all night in celebration of Midsummer. I wasn't much for parties. My adventuring kept me pretty busy. And I could hardly think to celebrate when my sister was in trouble.
Securing my fingertips along the top of the door frame, I managed to boost up with my toes. The ring secured onto the canvas was a reach away.
My toe slipped on the satin hem of the dress. I slapped my free hand high, clasping the ring…and teetered backward into a freefall.
The woman landed in my arms, a flailing scatter of limbs and swishy satin. I caught her easily, her huge dress disguising her fey weight.
"It's not every day a bloke catches an angel," I said. "And looky here, this angel comes complete with halo."
She kicked and struggled so I let her stand and shuffle away. She shook the halo at me, prepared to spout some nasty reply, but she did not. Her jaw fell, and her bright green eyes fixed to my face.
"It's not polite to stare, love." I stroked my cheek. "It's just a scratch."
She summoned courtesy, and straightened her delicate shoulders. "Sorry. I, uh…" She held the halo before her, momentarily marveling over it, then quickly tucked it behind her back.
The corset cinched her breasts high and firm. I licked my lips. I could go for some of that.
"You going to share?" I queried, cautiously pacing toward her, while she stepped backward, away from the door. I reached out with my mind to touch hers. The persuasion innate to my kind would serve my means to success. "Hand it over, love."
"I'm not your love. Who are you? What do you want?"
"I want that pretty halo your daring adventure has earned you."
"Well, as you said, it was my daring adventure. That makes it mine. So bug off, creep. Er…I um…"
Her bright red lips parted. The hand holding the halo out of sight slid across her skirts, displaying the cheap-looking silver ring of ineffable metal.
I focused the persuasion. Just a little deeper…
Her long, dark lashes fluttered. Any moment now the halo would be mine.
"Wh-what are you doing to me?" She put up her free hand to block the unseen intrusion. "I can feel you trying to control—Are you a—Are you a vampire?"
Ouch. This woman was in the know. My persuasion scattered and dropped. She turned to run.
"Guess I'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."
I beat her to the ottoman center of the hallway, and wrapped an arm about her shoulders as I landed on the big comfy island. Pulling her shoulders against my chest, I bent to sink my fangs into her juicy, thick jugular.
Blood oozed down my throat. Sweet mercy. When was the last time I'd sipped so fine a vintage? Mortals tended to be polluted with fast food and pharmaceuticals. This woman tasted pure, sweet and a little like chocolate. Delicious.
But I had a task to tend.
Reaching about with my free hand, I groped for the halo, but she flailed madly, and it was hard enough keeping her neck at my mouth.
A kick from beneath her fussy skirts proved ineffectual. I clamped my hand over her mouth just as she screamed. Her wide eyes did not look at me, but instead, over my shoulder.
The door behind us slammed against the wall.