Naked as the day he was born and bloody from battle, Nic had never looked so beautiful. He was Sam's wild man, a magnificent warrior, saving his woman like they had in days of old. And despite her tough side, Sam was secretly thrilled. Her werewolf was really just an old-fashioned knight kind of guy. Jeez, how she loved him. Sam Spade, Mike Hammer, Rick Blaise and the rest didn't have a thing on him, and the real mystery was why it had taken them so long to get together.
Nic stared. Sam's face was smudged with dirt, her helmet gone and her hair a mess. Her shirt was ripped, and the knees of her jeans were black with grime. Well, nobody would call her princess right now—maybe not ever, since she was too spunky for that; too stubborn, and right now too dirty. But she was adorable to him and always would be. She'd make a good wife.
Squeezing her tightly, Nic held on to her. "You can cry you know," he said, his heart fraught with love.
"Nah. Crying is for wimps. Is Alex okay?"
"Yes. He's hurt a bit, but nothing that won't mend." Nic snuggled closer, loving the feel of her against him. "After we took care of Boris, who was working for Nero, we rushed over here."
Sam shoved away, looking up at him. "Boris? I never did trust those beady eyes of his. And Ripley was Nero's wolf!"
"We know. And they are truly among the dead now," Prince Varinski pronounced. "Natasha and Alex are waiting for us about two miles back, near the subway station entrance. I'll stay here for a bit and clean up, but you two should go back and get Alex a doctor." So saying, the Prince started back toward the short tunnel, carrying Nero's head by its now limp snake heads.
Nic thumbed Sam on the chin. "I think, my dear, that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Friendship? Sam gave him a haughty glare and trudged with grim determination back toward the world above.
Where's Paul Bunion's Axe When You Need It?
Almost a day had passed since the beheading of the Meduse. In true vampire fashion, Prince Varinski had ordered up a victory celebration, inviting several close friends who lived in New York, and many of the leaders of the supernatural community. Petroff had wanted to personally assure them that the threat to their community was over, besides flirting with several prominent female leaders.
Nic had stopped by and given Sam an update on his brother several hours after returning to the hotel; he had taken Alex to see a werewolf specialist about the vampire bites that had ripped huge hunks out of his shoulder and neck. His brother was in serious but guarded condition, so after kissing her on the cheek, Nic had gone back to watch over Alex, and Sam had fallen into a deep but troubled sleep.
Now she was entering the foyer of the grand ballroom located on the hotel's second floor. She didn't want to go to the Prince's victory party, but she felt it would be bad manners to not at least put in an appearance. She had booked a midnight flight to Denver, Colorado. Fortunately for her wounded heart, her brother was doing a little Bustin' job there, and she had decided he could use some help.
Sighing wearily, she knew that Nic was not going to be happy about going to bed alone tonight, but then, she wasn't either. What was wrong with that big Bustin' bozo that he didn't love her already? She might not be the loveliest lady on the block, or have legs that stretched to heaven and back, but she wasn't exactly bad-looking either. Besides, she had great hair.
She sighed again. Her excuse for leaving was that she needed to help Bogie; however, reality was a different matter. She truly needed some time away from the oversexed werewolf to come to terms with how she felt about him—and how he didn't feel about her. Nic had just professed feeling friendship for her, and she'd seen his hot, heavy lust, but she was crazy in love with him. She wanted to start planning a wedding and babies. She could just see their cute little cubs with their raven black hair and large gray eyes like their father's. Unfortunately, Nic only "cared" for her, and caring wasn't the same as loving. They wouldn't be trotting off into any sunset happily ever after.
Could she stay in a relationship where she loved so strongly and Nic felt less? Would he grow to love her, as she did him, or was she doomed to eventually watch him walk away? She didn't know if she was strong enough to put herself through that kind of misery, since she wanted guarantees of a happily-ever-after future and needed Nic to love her. If he didn't, then Sam was afraid that eventually she would grow to resent him. She couldn't help it; that was the way she was.
Shrugging her shoulders, Sam entered the room. She had dressed down tonight, due to her depression, in a plain black skirt and solid black sweater. Her hair was pulled up in a severe bun, and her makeup was spare.
Espying her, Prince Varinski strolled regally over, grasping both her hands in his. "Sam! Glad you're here. You did an outstanding job, not only by helping us rid New York of that deadly monster, but also in ridding my castle of its ghosts. I have a check for your latest efforts." And so saying, he handed one over, smiling pompously.
He has a right to be pompous, Sam thought wryly as she glanced at the check with so many little zeros. "Thanks, Prince V. My company can always use the dough and the business."
He touched a bruise on her cheek. "Any others?"
"A few, but it's the nature of the beast," she joked.
He chortled. "Nic is going to have his hands full with you."
"Yeah, well…" Sam hedged; then she asked curiously, "How did Natasha take Boris's defection?"
"Not well. I'll admit to being surprised by it, too. Ripley I could believe, but Boris was a turncoat of a different color."
"Not to mention species."
Dark amusement sparkled in the Prince's gray eyes. "You will give my cousin a run for his money."
Shrugging her shoulders, Sam answered glumly, "I do my best—especially if it will keep him up at night."
The Prince chuckled. "Oh, by the way, I don't know if Nic had a chance to tell you, but he heard from the Hollywood agent he sent Rasputin to. The mad monk is going to be starring in a movie! The Ghost and Miss More."
Tilting her head, Sam nodded, thinking about life's little ironies. "Miss More is that ex-stripper turned actress? The one with the 38-D's?"
Prince Varinski nodded. "The very same."
"Well, I guess the movie won't be a sleeper, since nobody could sleep through her assets—or Rasputin's." She wondered what genre the film would be. It was scary imagining Rasputin as a movie star.
Turning, she scanned the ballroom for Nic. He'd just entered, but before he got two feet, Forest appeared and was on him like a tick on a dog.
Forest, with her low-cut dress, which made Sam see as much red as that hair above the redhead's abundant cleavage. "What a dog," Sam muttered to herself.
Unfortunately, Nic was a female magnet. It was a fact she hated, which made her guts twist as threats filled her brain. If she kneed a werewolf in the groin near Forest, Sam wondered, would he make a sound? Or if a tree branch shaped like a very sharp stake fell on her, would anyone mind? "No way, I'd sell tickets."
Seeing her, Nic disentangled himself and came over to Sam.
"Who let you out of your cage?" she asked him peevishly.
Nic hid his grin. Sam was really terribly jealous of Forest. He found it cute—and foolish. Because all he wanted was her. "Be kind to me. I'm a vanishing species," he said.
"Ha!" Sam wrinkled her nose, which Nic leaned over and kissed.
"You look beautiful," he said, admiring the way her short skirt showcased her dynamite legs. He recalled the way her tight thigh muscles clutched him tightly when they were making love.