Page 10 of Tryst or Treat (Season’s Readings #3)

V lad started leaving his office door open while he worked in the hopes that Belladonna would pass by in her daily efforts to make his life miserable, and while she was doing a magnificent job of tormenting him, she was also the highlight of his day. Who knew being ignored by a young witch in shorts could be so exhilarating? Perhaps he’d spent too many decades interrogating and torturing the vampires’ enemies because he’d clearly lost his mind. He rarely saw the witch, the unrest outside this home setting his fangs on edge, but this war with his new wife oddly brought him a sliver of peace.

Until she walked by his office wearing just a tee shirt that barely covered her ass and a pair of ghost socks with two cats in tow. Vlad stood up and blinked his dark eyes. Two cats? Since when did they have two black cats? Maybe he was seeing double. He had to be.

He stepped into the hallway and followed as his wife wandered toward the courtyard. His office was located at the rear of the mansion, meaning she went out of her way to spite him. The cooler the fall weather became, the more time she spent outside… and the smaller her clothes became. Seemed she thrived on Halloween weather, and he thrived on the glorious sight of her beautiful form.

“Why do we have two cats?” Vlad chased after her, hoping she would stop before she reached the door, and to his relief, she turned around. She never answered him unless he asked about Broomstick, which was why he’d suddenly become a cat lover. “And why is that cat so big?”

“That’s Fang,” she said with a pointed look at Vlad’s mouth. “He was a stray with a bit of a temper and a torn ear, so naturally, I named him for you.” She scooped up the big cat as if he were the sweetest angel, and Vlad wondered if she was lying about the cat’s attitude until the animal hissed violently at him.

“You’re hysterical,” he said dryly as Fang cuddled against Belladonna’s chest with a mocking expression, taunting him with the reality that the cats received more of his wife’s affection than her husband did. “Although if you truly wanted to name him for his attitude, you should have named him after yourself, little witch. You certainly have me beat in that regard.”

“Says the angel of death who forced me to marry him,” she said, and surprise flickered across her face, as if she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Better I marry you and trust my ring to keep other men away than let you go and be driven to kill anyone who looks at you.” Vlad stepped forward until he hovered over her, watching with a sick sense of pride as her chest heaved at his words. “I knew you were mine the minute I laid eyes on you, little witch. Marrying you was the only civil choice, but your safety in my house has made you forget who I am, so let me remind you.” He reached out and gripped her chin with his tattooed hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. Fang hissed at his closeness and sank his razor-sharp fangs into his flesh, but Vlad didn’t so much as blink as the cat drew blood. Maybe she’d named him after the right person, after all.

“Do you know how many men I’ve killed with this hand?” he asked. “How many witches I’ve murdered? Other vampires I’ve butchered?”

Belladonna shook her head, and while fear didn’t plague her eyes, there was a healthy dose of wariness.

“I’m not a leader who doles out punishment, then hides from the bloodshed. I believe he who orders the execution should have the balls to carry it out, which is why I tattooed this skull on my skin. It’s to remind my enemies that I do not cower in the face of death. I don’t back down from the violence. I’ve ripped men’s heads from their necks with this hand, and when I saw you, I knew I would rip apart anyone who so much as thought inappropriately about you. It’s why you’re safe in my house. Why you can parade around wearing practically nothing smelling like divinity in the flesh. My vampires know what I would do if they made you even slightly uncomfortable.” Vlad stepped closer until their chests almost touched.

“So, yes, I married you. Seemed the better option than me stalking you for the rest of eternity and slaughtering any man who dares come near you, don’t you agree?”

Belladonna swallowed, her chest heaving at his words, and he smirked at how fast her heart beat, at how the scent of her arousal coiled through the air. He knew she must suspect what he was fairly certain of. She must be feeling the effects of why he claimed her. Her desire curled thick and sweet between them, and her reaction made him want to lean forward and finally taste her lips. She could fight all she wanted, but their story would end the same. He could feel it deep in his soul. This woman was his.

“I have business at a club tonight.” Vlad dropped her chin when she didn’t answer, remembering his reason for following her, and he watched her stumble back with amusement. “I want you to come.”

“With you?” she asked. “Outside of this house?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not afraid I’ll run.”

“No. But if you do, I’ll chase you. That’s a promise.”

Her eyes flared, and for a split second, Vlad wondered if he should be nervous. She seemed too interested in that idea.

“I’m meeting some colleagues,” he continued, trying not to fantasize about chasing her. “They prefer to do business in clubs. They think it stops me from shedding blood. I bought you all those beautiful dresses, but since you refuse to wear them around the house, put one on and come with me. You can dance while we talk.”

“No,” Belladonna spat, but he saw the lie in her eyes. She was refusing out of spite, but she desperately wanted to go.

“We’re leaving at 11 p.m.,” Vlad said, petting Fang’s head as his blood dripped onto the cat’s fur. “I would prefer you wear one of those expensive dresses I gave you, but if you’re still wearing this tee shirt and socks when I come to collect you, then so be it. I’m sure you would rather party in a designer ensemble, but it doesn’t matter to me either way.” He turned and strode toward his office. “11 p.m., little witch. And test me if you like. I don’t care if everyone in this city sees you in this cute tee shirt, but are you really willing to walk into a vampire club dressed like that?”

It was 10:55 p.m., and Belladonna stood in her underwear before her bed, staring at her outfit options. She had five minutes left to decide, and if she didn’t don one of them, she predicted Vlad would make her go in her bra and panties out of spite.

“What do you guys think?” she asked her cats, who were currently lounging on her pillows. Despite his attitude toward everyone who wasn’t a witch, Fang had instantly taken to Broomstick, and Belladonna tried to ignore the metaphor for her and Vlad the animals offered. “Do I wear sweatpants to spite Mr. I’m-So-Scary-Yet-Way-Too-Sexy, because let’s face it, that would be funny, or do I wear this gorgeous little black dress that still has the price tag on and… holy shit, that’s a lot of numbers.” She slammed the dress onto the bed with an irritated groan. “I haven’t left this house in two months. I’ve seen no one but vampires. I’ve worn nothing but shorts and bathing suits, and I need to wear this dress.” She snatched it back up and held it before her body, showing off for her cats as if they understood her dilemma. “It just feels like surrendering if I wear this, and I can’t surrender. Not to him. Sure, Vlad isn’t who I thought he was… okay, yes, he is. He’s absolutely the monster my mother warned me about. He forced me to marry him… but he also hasn’t hurt me. He doesn’t touch me. I assumed he would make my life hell here, but oddly enough, it’s been pleasant.”

Belladonna groaned as she fell backward onto the mattress. “I hate men.”

Footsteps interrupted her pity party, and she bolted upright. “Shit.” She grabbed the little black dress, tore the tag off it, and shimmied into it faster than she thought possible. “Shit, shit, shit.” She raced for her shoe rack with the dress still unzipped as a knock rattled the door. “One minute!” she called.

“I said 11 p.m.” Vlad shoved the door open, and Belladonna yelped, tripping on her undone heels.

“Don’t just barge in. I could’ve been naked!”

“Little witch, this is the most clothes I’ve seen on you in weeks,” Vlad said. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I need to put my shoes on.”

“I told you that you would wear whatever you had on at 11 p.m.”

“You’re an asshole!” She chucked her stiletto at him, but he caught it with perfect reflexes.

“And you’re late,” he said as he caught the second heel she launched at his head, and then he lunged for her and threw her over his shoulder. “Bye Fang. Bye Broomstick. Don’t wait up.”

“Put me down!” Belladonna pounded his back, her bare feet flailing and her dress hanging open. “Stop being a dick and put me down.”

“As you wish.” Vlad picked up his pace as he carried her down the stairs and out the front door, where he deposited her in the waiting car. He slammed the door in her face and then walked to the driver’s side, tossing her heels into her lap as he slid behind the wheel. “Put your shoes on and let me zip you up. Did you really think I would let my wife out of the house undressed and embarrassed?” He grabbed the zipper and pulled it up her spine, his knuckles brushing her bare back as he moved, and Belladonna had emotional whiplash from his sudden shift in demeanor. “Inside our home, you can do whatever you want, but out here in the real world, you are my wife. You’re an extension of me, of my family, and my power. Whether you like it or not, you hold a position of respect, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone disrespect you.”

Vlad extended his arm, and Belladonna slipped her hand around his biceps as the attendant parked the car. The club was teaming with life, the line already down the block, but Vlad led her toward the VIP entrance. A secret thrill ran through her as every woman watched with jealousy, both at their instant access and the sex appeal of her date. Combined with the freedom to cast magic, Belladonna couldn’t resist the urge and shot a jolt of electricity through her fingers into her husband’s suit-clad muscles.

“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 possessiveness rose 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 husband had 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 shot out 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.