Page 8 of Tryst or Treat (Season’s Readings #3)
I f Belladonna could wield magic, she would’ve burned the entire mansion to the ground, roasting every vampire inside to dust, but not a single spark of power emanated from her twisting fingers. It didn’t stop her from trying, though. Just because her magic wouldn’t manifest in this house didn’t mean she couldn’t practice casting the spells, didn’t mean she couldn’t picture Gabriel’s face as her hands twisted another powerful spell.
Within minutes, she was sweating, the burn of her muscles glorious as magic flowed through her. She couldn’t cast it, but she sensed it flooding her veins, and she savored the internal power. For the first few days after Gabriel destroyed her world, she’d taken to lying un-showered and un-fed in her bed, but as the early hints of fall crept through the air, reminding her how much she loved autumn, she resolved not to wither away in this expensive prison. Gabriel may have made a fool of her, breaking her heart, but she was Rowena’s daughter, heir to the most powerful witch in the country. Her ancestors had overcome far greater obstacles than an unfortunate arranged marriage and a brutal heartbreak, and she was determined not to be defined by one man’s rejection and another’s control. She had no magic, no support in this house, no potions to brew, but strength was only one strategy in warfare. She wasn’t helpless, even if her situation whispered that she was, and while she couldn’t go toe to toe with the angel of death in his territory, she could punish him in other ways.
The more she practiced her dormant magic, the more the idea appealed to her, and by the time she was done exercising, she was eager to escape her bedroom. She showered, taking forever, so she used all the hot water, and then she carefully applied the expensive make-up Vlad had bought. At first, she’d felt strange wearing the clothes he’d picked out, but now she liked the idea of fighting this battle with the very weapons he gave her. She donned the shortest pair of shorts she found and then pulled on a tiny tank top. The shirt was meant for layering, clearly not intended to be the sole article of clothing, for it showed too much cleavage and midriff. She’d never worn something so revealing, but one look in the mirror confirmed she was hot enough to burn this house down without magic, and with a wicked smile, she exited her room.
“Hi, boys.” She waved at two guards as she sauntered down the stairs, and though the vampires knew not to gawk at their boss’ young and nearly undressed wife, both of them grunted in surprise at her sudden appearance.
“It’s such a nice day,” she continued, wondering how long it would take Vlad to arrive. “The air is cooling, but witches thrive on fall weather. The world bundles up, but I can’t get enough of the crisp breeze on my skin.”
Neither vampire spoke, but she didn’t miss how both of them suddenly possessed stiff necks that refused to let them look down .
“We’ll I’m off to the kitchen to make a pumpkin-spiced latte. Or maybe some apple cider,” she said, waving over her shoulder. “I drink so much of those during the fall, I swear it makes my blood sweet and spicy. I wonder? Do vampires like spiced blood?”
“They might, but they’d lose their head if they even thought of tasting yours,” Vlad said behind her as she busied herself brewing the coffee, and she smiled triumphantly. He’d arrived faster than she’d expected.
“I know I saw canned pumpkin in the pantry,” she whispered to herself, completely ignoring the sexy-as-sin vampire leaning in the doorway. “Lattes are much better with the real stuff and not the artificial syrup.” She captured the can and some spices, making sure she bent over more times than necessary. “Oh, boys?” she shouted as she leaned out of the kitchen door, avoiding Vlad as if he wasn’t there. “Would you fine gentlemen like a coffee?” She felt Vlad’s stare burning the nape of her neck as she ignored him, and it took all her willpower not to laugh. “What am I saying? Of course, you two want coffee. I’ll make you some.”
She whirled back around, careful not to glance in her husband’s direction, and busied herself at the stove. He said nothing, but he didn’t need to. His eyes observed her with such intensity she felt his gaze as powerfully as if it was his hands. They moved up her legs to her hips. They lingered on her breasts, focused on her throat, studied her full lips, but no matter how intently he glared at her, she pretended he wasn’t there. Men like Vlad were never ignored, and she might not be able to physically fight him in this house, but torture him? That she could do, and by the tension in the air, he was burning alive.
“Do you boys want whipped cream?” She called over her shoulder. “I don’t know why I asked. Of course, you do.” She poured three coffees and then sprayed healthy doses of cream on top. A wicked idea flooded her mind, and she knew she was tempting fate, but she couldn’t stop herself. She twisted so Vlad had a clear view of her profile and aimed the nozzle at her mouth. Whipped cream cascaded past her lips, and she moaned as she swallowed. A loud and suggestive moan. A dollop fell from the nozzle to land on her chest, and with exaggerated movements, she wiped it off before licking her finger.
Vlad growled at her performance. His voice was deep and primal and predatory, a menace only an ancient vampire could accomplish, and she hated how the vibration settled in her core. She hated that she was attracted to her husband. She wanted to despise him, but something about the angel of death spoke to her soul. She couldn’t explain it. She didn’t want to explain it, but her new and powerful husband set her body ablaze with a single sound more than Gabriel had with even the most passionate kiss.
Vlad inhaled, and with horror, Belladonna realized he could scent how he affected her. With urgent movements, she captured the tray of coffees, and sauntered out of the kitchen, almost running into his solid chest as if she didn’t see him barring her way.
“I bet you boys have never had a pumpkin-spiced latte prepared by a witch before,” she said as she offered the two stiff-necked guards the coffee, but when they declined the drinks, glancing warily over her shoulder at the man burning a hole in her back with his glare, she forced herself into their personal space. “I made these for you. It’s extremely rude not to accept.”
Both men shifted uncomfortably, but when she refused to leave, they captured the mugs.
“Go on,” she encouraged with a smile, and the vampires hesitantly lifted the beverages to their lips. They took the tiniest sips, their eyes widening at how delicious her coffee was, and satisfied that she’d gotten what she came for, she turned toward the courtyard, her mug in hand and not a single one for her husband. “Enjoy!” she called, smirking to herself at Vlad’s scowl when his guards proceeded to finish their lattes. It was a small win, but a win all the same, and for the first time in weeks, Belladonna felt like herself.
On Monday, Belladonna wore tiny black shorts and an even smaller tank top. On Tuesday, she wore a black dress that Vlad was certain was actually a nightie. On Wednesday, she donned an orange sports bra with too much push-up and black leggings, looking like an adorable yet delicious pumpkin. On Thursday, it was a black sweater that barely covered her ass… and nothing else except for knee-high ghost socks he’d purchased on a whim, and today she wore an orange bikini that he bought without realizing how small it was. And why did Vlad know what she’d worn every day? He’d memorized her clothes because the images were burned into his brain. For an entire week, his young wife had paraded around the house in her revenge outfits, talking to everyone but him, and he was ready to explode. He swore he wouldn’t touch her until she begged for it, and she was putting his resolve to the test. He wasn’t sure what had possessed her. For weeks, she’d avoided everyone, and now they couldn’t get rid of her. His guards knew he would rip out the hearts of anyone who looked at her disrespectfully, so he wasn’t worried about her safety. His sanity, on the other hand? That was in danger.
Belladonna was currently sitting by the pool in her orange bikini, soaking in the new fall sun, and he both loved and regretted his decision to buy her that suit. It barely covered her ass… the ass he wanted to sink his fa ngs into. She would look exquisite with his bite mark on her perfectly shaped cheeks. He would dig his teeth in and taste how sweet her pumpkin-spiced-flavored blood was, and then he would slip her bottoms to the side, baring her pussy to him so he could take her from behind while staring at his bite mark.
Vlad shook his head and growled. He needed to get a grip, or his beautiful wife would be the death of him. He also needed to buy her more of those bikinis… and supplies to brew pumpkin-spiced lattes. She’d yet to offer him one, making them for everyone in the house but him, but he didn’t mind. Many of his men were angry about his decision to bring a witch into their ranks, but their resentment had softened significantly since she started treating them to her lattes. She could make them every damn day if peace was the result… and because while she wouldn’t acknowledge him or let him sample the coffee, she always shot whipped cream onto her tongue when he was watching. He was a sick bastard, but it was quickly becoming his favorite part of the day, especially since it showed him exactly how she would look on her knees for him.