Mikhail frowned. “That wasn’t your fault. He should have been honest with you.”
She waved aside his attempt to defend her. “I was young and foolish. A few weeks after the wedding, Max asked me if I would like to wear beautiful gowns and go to lovely parties forever. I said yes.” She brushed away her tears with an angry swipe. “Can you imagine giving up mortality for such a ridiculous reason?”
“Did you know he meant to transform you?”
“No.” She gave Mikhail a wry look. “It was a bit of a shock when he attacked me.”
Mikhail gritted his teeth. It was a good thing the bastard was dead.
“I was so foolish. I gave up my chance to ever have children.”
Mikhail’s heart squeezed as the memory of his daughter swept across his mind. “You wanted children?”
She nodded, and another tear rolled down her cheek. “Then I made the mistake of complaining to my father. I didn’t go into any details, but it was enough to make him suspect that the rumors were true.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I was a coward. I knew my father hated Max, but I did nothing to dissuade him. Max trusted me, and I let him down.”
“So it was your father who killed your husband?” Mikhail asked.
“Yes. He staked Max while we lay beside each other in our death-sleep. Father left his ring in the ashes so I would know it was he. I feared that Max’s vampire friends would avenge him by killing my father, so I begged him to flee to America. He asked me to accompany him, but I was too afraid to go. I abandoned him when he was in danger.”
She sniffed. “I joined the Coven Master’s harem in London, where I would be safe. Then later, when the Germans were bombing London, I fled to New York. As usual, I took the cowardly way out.”
“That was self-preservation. The underground lairs were no longer safe.”
“And then my friend, Vanda, was in danger. The Malcontents blew up our nightclub and wanted to kill her, and I left her. I went back to London.” She turned to face him with tears running down her cheeks. “Don’t you see why I’m ashamed? I’m a coward who fails the people who count on me. I abandon them when they need me the most.”
Mikhail stared at her, stunned by the ferocity of her self-recrimination . Was she trying to earn redemption as VampWoman? She’d be lucky if she wasn’t rewarded with an early death. “I can understand the need to make up for past mistakes, but what you’re doing now, you’re putting yourself in danger—”
“You don’t approve.” She dried her cheeks with an impatient swipe. “I shouldn’t have confessed everything to you.”
“No! I’m glad you told me.”
“But you could never understand how I feel. You’re so incredibly huge and fierce. I doubt you’ve ever lost a battle or ever let anyone down.”
He flinched.
“Do you even know what it’s like to be filled with guilt and regret?”
He pinched his eyes shut to avoid the memories that flooded his mind. “Enough.” He opened his eyes to find her staring at him.
“You do know,” she whispered. Her hand lifted toward his face, but before she could touch him, she blinked and withdrew her hand. Her gaze dropped to his chest. “Then you do understand.”
“I understand that each time you endanger yourself, it will scare the hell out of me.”
“But you hardly know me.”
That much was true. For almost two hundred years, he’d assumed she was selfish and vain. And why wouldn’t she be, when she was the most beautiful vampire in the world? But instead of feeling superior, she had actually been ashamed of herself. She’d used the snooty image of an arrogant viscountess to hide her self-doubt and vulnerability.
With a small shock, he realized that Lady Pamela had been the masquerade. VampWoman was the true Pam.
“You’re . . . Mikhail?” Her gaze lifted back to his face. “From Moscow?”
“You know of me?”
She blushed. “Everyone knows who you are. You’re a full head taller than the other men, and they’re rather large. Of course, the rumor is that you’re some sort of fierce medieval Viking and that you came to Russia centuries ago to pillage and plunder.”
“Is that what they say?”
Her blush deepened. “Well, I was in a harem for years. There wasn’t much to do other than gossip about the men.”
“I’ve always thought you were beautiful.” He touched a lock of her hair. Now he realized she was just as beautiful on the inside. And he’d been a fool to avoid her all these years.
He moved closer.
Her eyes widened. “What—?”
He touched her cheek and wiped the moisture of her tears with his thumb.
“I-I should be going.”
“So soon?” He grazed his thumb over her lips. They were as soft as he’d imagined.
She gulped. “I believe our work here is done.”
He slid his hand around her neck and leaned over till his mouth was a mere inch from hers. “Pam.”
“Yes?” Her rapid breaths puffed against his skin.
“Prepare to be plundered.”
With a gasp, she teleported away.
Chapter Three
“COWARD!” LADY PAMELA yanked off a boot and threw it on the parquet floor of her bedchamber.
How could she have behaved so cowardly? Six months of planning and practicing to be a stronger and more fearless person, and what had she done? She’d run away just like she had in the past. With a disgusted groan, she tossed her other boot on the floor.
Perhaps it wasn’t too late. Less than a minute had passed since she’d fled in fear. She could teleport back and . . . what? Allow that huge barbarian to kiss her?
A shudder skittered down her spine.
“Coward,” she muttered. Instead of running away, she should have slapped the brute soundly. Or better yet, she should have used some of her newly acquired martial-arts skills to fling him over her shoulder.
Her breath caught. Was it even possible to fling such a man? He was so enormous. As immovable as a giant boulder.
And his eyes had turned red.
Her hands flew to her cheeks, and she felt the heat of a blush. His eyes had turned red.
When she’d first spotted him, she’d been shocked by the sheer strength of his presence. It felt like he had swallowed up her entire field of vision, so she could hardly even see the other men. Or hear them.
His eyes had turned red. Because of her.
Why, oh why had she told him so much about herself? What had possessed her to confide in such a huge brute? Although he had seemed rather attentive and understanding for a barbarian.
She chased that thought away. He was a barbarian. He had attempted to kiss her. Prepare to be plundered. The gall of the man!
She jumped when a loud pounding shook her door.
“Lady Pamela? Is that you I hear?”
That accent could only belong to Miss Cora Lee Primrose—a Southern belle, transformed just prior to the American Civil War, and one of Pamela’s friends who shared the London townhouse.
“Yes, I have returned,” she answered.
“Well, land sakes, come out of there and tell us how it went. We’ve been worried sick about you.”
“I’ll be down shortly.” Pamela removed her utility belt and set it carefully on her bed so the various knives and ninja stars wouldn’t snag her pink satin coverlet.
With a sigh, she unzipped the front zipper on her costume. Perhaps she shouldn’t be overset by the night’s events. After all, she did assist the men in defeating the traffickers and delivering the captives back home. The blast from the hand grenade had frightened her but not enough to make her run away. Apparently, the prospect of a kiss was more terrifying than an explosion.
She removed her cape, then peeled off her latex costume. No doubt he had imagined undressing her. How dare he ogle her like that?
His eyes had glowed red. How could a man’s passion flare so hot so quickly?
“Posh.” She slipped on a silk wrapper and tied the sash around her waist. The man was a barbarian. He probably ogled a dozen women nightly and leered at them all with glowing red eyes. Prepare to be plundered, indeed. Who did he think he was? A Viking warrior who ravished innocent women?
What if she had stayed? Where would he have touched her? And kissed her? No doubt a barbarian did wicked things a gentleman would never do. Goose bumps prickled her skin.
She rubbed her arms as she marched toward the door. “I will not give him another thought.”
She was halfway down the stairs when she recalled his reaction to the camper full of pretty mortal girls. His eyes hadn’t turned red for them. Like her, he had wanted to take them home, and he’d handled them gently to assuage their fears. He’d been surprisingly kind . . . for a barbarian.
“Thank the Lord you are alive and well!” Princess Joanna announced when Pamela entered the parlor.
“Santa Maria be praised,” Maria Consuela added, and kissed her rosary.
“I’m quite all right,” Pamela assured the ladies.
Joanna’s title of princess was honorary since she was an old vampire, having been changed in Venice while en route to the Holy Land during one of the Crusades. Maria Consuela de Montemayor had been captured during the Spanish Inquisition when the authorities had feared that her fiancé was Jewish. Fortunately for her, he was also a vampire, and he’d teleported into the prison to rescue her. Both had been widowed centuries ago and had then transferred to a harem, where they could live in comfort and safety.
After appearing on a reality show for the Digital Vampire Network, Lady Pamela and her old harem friends had become modern enough to eschew the concept of needing a master. Still, in many ways, they held fast to their historic roots.
Princess Joanna settled in an easy chair by the fireplace. “Prithee, tell us all that has transpired.”
“Oh, yes.” Cora Lee walked in with a tray and set it down on the table. “We want to know everything.” She poured four cups of steaming hot Chocolood, a mixture of synthetic blood and chocolate. “I do declare we were worried sick.”
Maria Consuela shuddered. “It reminded me of being tortured.”
“Please do not suffer on my account.” Pamela sat, then accepted a cup from Cora Lee. “Thank you, dear.”
The Southern belle perched on the settee next to Maria Consuela. “Were you able to find Lara’s husband?”
“Yes. Everything went precisely as I had planned.” Not precisely, Pamela thought with a silent groan. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have foreseen herself in that man’s arms.
“And who was there?” Princess Joanna sipped from her cup. “Giacomo di Venezia, of course. And Zoltan Czakvar?”
Pamela nodded. “They were quite shocked to see me when I arrived.”
“I bet!” Cora Lee snickered. “Who else was there?”
“Two others. We hardly know them.” Pamela took a sip from her cup. “One was that new chap, J.L. Wang.”
“From Cathay?” Princess Joanna asked.
“I believe it’s called China now, dear.” Pamela set her cup down. “But he’s actually American.”
Princess Joanna waved a dismissive hand. “Those Americans are such a . . . boiling cauldron.”
“I think it’s melting pot,” Cora Lee said. “Who was the other fellow?”
Pamela shrugged nonchalantly even though heat was invading her cheeks. “That . . . man from Russia.”
“Russia?” Princess Joanna’s eyes widened.
Cora Lee gasped. “You mean the huge giant with the icy blue eyes and the blond braid down his back? Land sakes, his hair is longer than mine!”
“Wicked,” Maria Consuela whispered as she clicked through her rosary. “I know of whom you speak. He has eyes as cold as sin.”
More like red-hot and glowing, Pamela thought with an inward wince. But the sinful part was probably accurate.
“Heaven forbid!” Princess Joanna pressed a hand to her chest. “You cannot mean that barbarian!”
Pamela started to lift her cup, but changed her mind for fear her hand would noticeably tremble. “He seemed to be a valuable member of their team. No doubt he’s a fierce warrior.”
Princess Joanna snorted. “Fierce, indeed. The man is one of those horrid Vikings.”
“Evil,” Maria Consuela whispered.
Joanna shuddered. “For centuries, they were a scourge on our countryside, always pillaging and plundering.”
And she’d come close to being plundered. If Pamela had waited but a second longer, his lips would have touched hers. And being a barbarian, he wouldn’t have stopped. He would have ravished her mouth entirely. Thoroughly.
Her skin pebbled with gooseflesh, and in a shocking burst of clarity, she realized it wasn’t fear that was making her heart pound and her body tremble.
It was excitement.
Good heavens! Was she losing her senses? Such feelings could not be tolerated. The man was not her type at all.
“His name is Mikhail, right?” Cora Lee asked. She sipped from her cup. “I do declare he’s always frightened me a bit. He seems so . . . cold and forbidding.”
“Evil,” Maria Consuela muttered.
“He is absolutely wrong in every possible way,” Pamela said in a rushed voice. “Incredibly huge and muscular, with a chest like a rock. Not at all like my late husband. Maximilian was a gentleman. Sophisticated and refined. He would have never said . . .” She paused when she realized that the three women were watching her curiously.
