Destined for an Early Grave(2)

“This is a weekend getaway?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice.

He traced his finger on my lower lip. “This is our vacation, Kitten.”

I was still dumbfounded at the notion. “What about my cat?” I’d set him up for enough food for a couple of days, but not for an extended trip.

“No worries. I’ve sent someone to our house to look after him. We can go anywhere in the world and take our time getting there. So tell me, where shall we go?”

“Paris.”

I surprised myself saying it. I’d never had a burning desire to visit there before, but for some reason, I did now. Maybe it was because Paris was supposed to be the city of lovers, although just looking at Bones was usually enough to get me in a romantic mood.

He must have caught my thought because he smiled, making his face more breathtaking, in my opinion. Against the backdrop of the navy sheets, his skin almost glowed with a silky alabaster paleness that was too perfect to be human. The sheets were tangled past his stomach, giving me an uninterrupted view of his lean, taut abdomen and hard, muscled chest. Dark brown eyes began to tinge with emerald, and fangs peeked under the curve of his mouth, letting me know I wasn’t the only one feeling warmer all of a sudden.

“Paris it is, then,” he whispered, and flung the sheets off.



“…we’ll be arriving shortly. Yes, she’s very well, Mencheres. Faith, you’ve rung me nearly every day…right, I’ll see you at the dock.”

Bones hung up and shook his head. “Either my grandsire is concealing something, or he’s developed an unhealthy obsession with your every activity.”

I stretched out in the hammock on the deck. “Let me talk to him next time. I’ll tell him things have never been better.”

The past three weeks had indeed been wonderful. If I’d needed a vacation, Bones had needed it more. As Master of a large line and co-Master of an even bigger one, Bones was always watched, judged, challenged, or busy protecting his people. All that responsibility had taken its toll. Only in the past few days had he relaxed enough to sleep longer than his usual few hours.

There was just one black spot on this pleasure cruise, but I’d kept it to myself. Why ruin our time off by telling Bones I’d had more of those silly, meaningless dreams?

This time, they went unnoticed by him. Guess I wasn’t kicking in my sleep anymore. I couldn’t remember much of them when I woke. All I knew was they were about the same faceless blond vampire from the first one. The one who called me by my real name, Catherine, and ended with the same cryptic admonition—he is not your husband.

According to human laws, Bones wasn’t my husband. We were blood-bound and married vampire-style, though, and the undead didn’t do divorce. They weren’t kidding about the whole “until death do you part” thing. Maybe my dreams represented a subconscious desire to have a traditional wedding. The last time we’d attempted that, our plans were demolished by a war with a vampire who thought unleashing deadly black magic was fair game.

Mencheres met us on the dock. Even though Bones called him grandsire, since Mencheres was the sire of the vampire who’d turned Bones, he looked as young as Bones. They’d probably been similar in human age when they were turned into vampires. Mencheres was also handsome in an exotic way, with a regal bearing, Egyptian features, and long black hair blowing in the breeze.

But what really caught my attention was how Mencheres was flanked by eight Master vampires. Even before I stepped off the boat, I could feel their combined power crackling the air like static electricity. Sure, Mencheres usually traveled with an entourage, but these looked like guards, not undead groupies.

Bones went up to Mencheres and gave him a brief clasp.

“Hallo, grandsire. They can’t be all for show”—he nodded to the waiting vampires—“so I expect there’s trouble.”

Mencheres nodded. “We should leave. This ship is announcement enough of your presence.”

Reaper was painted in scarlet letters across the side of the boat. It was in homage to my nickname, the Red Reaper, which I’d earned because of my hair color and my high undead body count.

Mencheres didn’t speak to me beyond a short, polite hello as we trotted from the pier into a waiting black van. There was another identical van that six of the guards got into. When we sped off, that van followed us at a close distance.

“Tell me about your dreams, Cat,” Mencheres said as soon as we were under way.

I gaped at him. “How do you know about that?”

Bones also looked taken aback. “I didn’t mention it, Kitten.”