Fangs for Nothing(7)

He tugged at his sleeve, and just when he would have ripped off the ruffles oozing from his wrist, Saxon’s new wife, Zelda, approached them.

The bride should be the center of attention on her special day, but this woman was impossible to miss any day. Almost six feet tall in bare feet, she was an absolute Amazon in her six-inch, patent leather, thigh-high boots. Above the boots was an expanse of pale thighs encased in fishnets that disappeared under a micromini leather wedding dress. The skintight skirt cinched into a corseted top, which barely contained high, firm breasts that had probably cost her more than the whole wedding.

Especially given what they must have saved on alcohol, Drake thought bitterly. But he did almost admire that this woman dared to wear all white. Her hooha might be perilously close to being exposed to the whole reception, but she was going to wear virginal white.

“Hello, guys,” Zelda greeted them with a smile that always made Drake a little nervous. Of course it could be the cat-o’-nine-tails that had also served as her wedding bouquet, which she now absently tapped against her outer thigh. Did Saxon really enjoy whips and chains?

Drake shuddered. That had never been his thing. At all.

Sure, Zelda was hot in a statuesque, unnaturally shapely and intimidating way, but she was definitely not Drake’s style.

Out the corner of his eyes, Drake noticed a curvy brunette hurrying through the courtyard toward the cupcake buffet with a fresh tray of minicakes.

Cupcakes.

Even those irritated Drake. But the woman carrying them, on the other hand, now she was more his style—all sweet looking, with ample curves. Natural, ample curves. Soft and warm against him, offering him her sexy little body. Yeah, that was how he liked his women.

Not armed. He looked back to Zelda. That was so not his idea of a dream woman.

Of course, he couldn’t imagine anyone finding Saxon to be her dream man. Especially not as a husband.

Something about the fact that these two—a flaky vampire keyboard player and a gigantic, silicone domme—had managed to find love, depressed Drake almost as much as the lack of liquor.

Weren’t weddings supposed to be uplifting? His gaze returned to the cupcake table, but the curvy woman had disappeared.

“The wedding was beautiful,” Katie told Zelda with her usual generosity.

Zelda beamed, her wide, bloodred smile, making Drake uneasy again. Of course, the bouquet/deadly weapon was still swishing idly at her side.

“I think so,” Zelda said and the two women sank into conversation about decorations and dresses and wedding songs. Funny, even a Pollyanna-like Katie and a sniff-my-boots dominatrix like Zelda could find common ground discussing wedding preparations.

Cort took another sip of his bog water and perused the scene, seemingly quite content with the festivities, if the courtyard could be described as festive. The tables were decorated with bloodred roses arranged in black miniature coffins. Red candles burned everywhere, and the guests looked like a combination of undertakers, the dead, and the crazy-ass dommes who killed them with . . . with things like—Drake’s gaze dropped to Zelda’s bridal whip—things like that. Even the cupcakes were decorated with red frosting, black piping, and small silver handcuffs made out of fondant.

At least that part was apropos. Marriage did mean being shackled to someone else. Until death do you part . . . or until the divorce papers were signed.

Drake scanned the crowd once more, then leaned closer to Cort and muttered “You know you are at a pretty fucked-up shindig when the vampires are the cheeriest ones in attendance. And the least scary.”

Cort chuckled, still looking content to be there.

Drake tried to affect the same collected air, but the lace at his throat itched. And his knee breeches tugged in all the wrong places, and one of his hose was sliding down into his big buckled shoe.

“This sucks.”

“Shh,” Cort hissed, and Drake saw Saxon standing at his elbow.

“Hey, bestie,” the goofy blond greeted him. “Bestie man, that is. How are you digging the pah-tay?”

“I’m dressed as a pirate, where’s my fuckin’ rum?” Drake asked.

In typical Saxon fashion, he was unaffected by Drake’s scowl, or he thought it was a joke. “Dude, I think I have some butter rum Life Savers in my backpack.” He looked around, suddenly appearing very confused. “But dude, I don’t know where my backpack is.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Drake said.

Cort chuckled again.

“So have you tried one of the cupcakes yet? Zelda hired this new caterer who specializes in gourmet cupcakes, and they are supposed to be totally fab.”

“We’re vampires,” Drake pointed out slowly. “Cupcakes aren’t really part of our diet plan anymore.”