Don't Bite the Bridesmaid

And he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist her.

They ate in silence, then Cindy came by to tell them it was almost time for miniature golf. Alice emptied her plate, despite his comment, which brought a smile to his face. The woman wasn’t going to change her lunch because of what she thought was a critical statement about her figure. Good for her.

“Lucinda!” A loud voice called, hitting an octave that made Noah cringe. Edna waved from across the room, and Alice’s sister waved back.

“One sec, Mom,” Cindy called back. Then to Noah, “She’s the only one who ever calls me by my full name.” He wasn’t sure if she was just making conversation, or if he was being very specifically warned not to call her Lucinda.

Alice turned to him and Cindy went to tend to her mother.

“So I guess I’ll catch up with you later?” he asked.

A quizzical expression touched her face. “But we have miniature golf.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, whoops, guess I forgot to mention golf. Cindy had a few more things planned than I thought.” She shifted her weight and looked at her fingernails, as if checking for a flaw in her manicure. “I hope you don’t mind.”

He gritted his teeth at the thought of spending even more time in Alice’s company, with her tempting scent and sparkling smile. He could resist for a week. Only a week. One week of his very long life.

“Sounds good,” he said. Besides, what was the worst that could happen while playing miniature golf?

Mini-golfing, as it turned out, was very dangerous. Alice bent over her club at the ninth hole and examined her route carefully, and Noah did his best to keep his eyes away from her lithe form.

Nearly twenty of the guests had turned out for the mini golf after-lunch game, but they’d divided into groups of four to six, and everyone moved pretty slowly through the course. The only good thing about the whole situation was the fact the course was indoors—this particular one, anyway.

“Fore!” Alice called before taking her swing. She flinched as the bright purple ball bounced off of the windmill under which she’d tried to shoot it.

He grinned when she turned around to complain about the obvious design flaws in the course.

“I’m not entirely sure you can blame the course, dear,” Edna said, and Alice shot her a dramatic glare.

“Just because you obviously paid extra for a magic ball doesn’t mean the course isn’t flawed, Mother.”

Noah chuckled and took his own shot, and then laughed outright at Alice’s cry of outrage as his ball rolled through the windmill and right up to the hole.

“Beginner’s luck,” Alice muttered, her anger obviously feigned.

He’d told Alice the truth. He’d never played miniature golf. Apparently, even after two hundred years, the world still held its new experiences. He wished he could make The Council understand this. Then he wouldn’t be stuck on this ship, trying too hard to keep his desires at bay. He wasn’t accustomed to being new at anything, so he was relieved to find all it required was a healthy dose of coordination and a little luck. Surprisingly, he wasn’t the best of their five-some. Edna Shepard had him by two swings. Apparently, when it came to mini-golf, Alice’s mother had better reflexes than a vampire.

They played through another four holes before one of Alice’s swings ricocheted her ball off a clown’s face to connect with the side of Noah’s head.

He glared at her, rubbing the back of his skull and feigning pain.

“I’m so sorry!”

He couldn’t help the grin that rose to his face at her horrified expression. “You’re going to have to swing harder than that to take me down.”

A tentative smile rose, but her blush remained. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Here, let me show you how it’s done,” he said.

She quirked an eyebrow at him and lined the ball up again. “Okay.”

“Set your legs a little farther apart, and keep your wrists straight.” He closed the distance between them to help her with her stance and ignored the little jolts of electricity that ran up his fingertips as he touched her softly on her shoulders, then her arms.

“Bend here,” he murmured, touching the small of her back, a slight brush of his skin on her dress. He was close, too close. The smell of her filled his nose and he fought not to lean in and see if her hair was as soft as it looked.

She took in a quick breath. He stepped back.

“Don’t swing like it’s a baseball. Tap it.”

She swung at the ball slowly, and it rolled forward into the hole.

“Yes!” Alice yelled. She bounced up and down a couple of times and then gave him a quick hug before pulling back with a dazzling smile on her face. “Thank you.”

His reply caught in his throat.

She seemed unaware of his discomfort. Turning to her sister, she said, “Next game is all mine.”

Alice performed better through the next few holes. She didn’t break any records, but no balls flew at his head either, so he counted that as a win. Noah went first at the last hole, and managed his first hole-in-one for the night. Alice cheered him on, and he gave her a mock bow.

“I have to make a call,” he said when Alice positioned herself to hit the final hole.

She waved at him and he walked to the entrance of the golf area, handing his club off to the attendant along the way. Glancing around to ensure he was as alone as possible when trapped on a ship with thousands of tourists, he hit Charles’s name on his phone. It rang through to voice mail.

“Call me when you get this. I need an update.” He hit end and then tracked down another number on his contact list and dialed it.

“Yeah,” an emotionless voice said.

“What’s happening, Alex?”

“Charles requested an audience. Could be a couple of days. They aren’t happy you left the city,” Alex replied, his tone still calm.

Noah had the sudden urge to reach through the phone and shake the detached man on the other end of the line. Alex was old, older even than Noah, and he didn’t even bother to pretend to feel things anymore. He hadn’t always been that way, but centuries of life would do that to a vampire. And Alex had been old when Noah was made vampire. His lack of humanity was exactly the sort of thing the bonding was supposed to prevent in Noah, but he’d be damned if he’d let The Council decide his fate like that.

“I’m not going through with it.”

Alex snorted, and Noah tensed. That was the closest thing to emotion he’d heard from his friend in far too long.

“Unless they give you a stay, you will go through with it, my friend.”

Noah tapped his fist lightly against the wall, forcing down the urge to really hit something. That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? The Council wasn’t disobeyed, not when it really mattered. And they took bondings very seriously.

A fact Alex knew all too well.

“It’s not so bad,” Alex said.

Now it was Noah’s turn to snort with derision. “You’ve been bonded for five years and haven’t set eyes on your so-called bride since the wedding.”

“Exactly. Like I said, it’s not so bad.”

Noah ran his hand over his hair, not sure what to say, but unable to hang up just yet. Alex was loyal to a fault, and he always did what he needed to in order to help his friends, but it had been a long time since he’d displayed much humor. It was a treat, but held dangerous hope.

“I don’t want to be tied to someone I don’t at least care for. Hell, I don’t want to be tied to any woman. Not like that. Not even for a mere decade or two.”

Long silence filled the line. “It’s…a responsibility,” Alex said finally.

Alex didn’t say what they were both thinking, although the little he said was true enough. It was a responsibility. One that had kept Alex around the last five years. One that would keep him alive—whether he wanted to be or not—for another five. A heavy weight settled on Noah’s chest at the thought of his friend being gone.

Like humans, vampires varied in their appearance and personalities, but nearly all shared a sense of duty and honor to their fellow vampires. It was something ingrained culturally and had been for centuries. And though it was treated as a trait—a sign of the mental fortitude and control required to make it as a vampire—Noah had long suspected even more than mental character was at play. That magic was behind their need to preserve the lives of their fellow vampires.

And if one vampire died, his or her bondmate died as well.

This fact meant bonding was not only used to connect vampires who wished for something deeper than human marriage, but also to give life to older vampires through the psychic connection. The bond allowed younger vampires to gain strength and much-needed control, and gave older ones a chance to fall in love with life again.

“I don’t think—hell, Alex, I know I don’t need a bonding.”

“Because you aren’t yet so tired of this life that you’re suicidal—so the forced bonding would be worthless to you?” Alex asked, bitterness lacing his tone. “That’s what Charles will tell The Council. Two hundred or no, you haven’t hit that place yet where you need a bondmate to tie you to this life. In all likelihood, they’ll grant you a fifty year stay. Then you’ll have a few more decades before they’ll propose this again.”

Noah nodded to himself and then stepped even closer to the wall as a large group of young college-age students—party-goers, not wedding guests, he would bet—passed him on their way to miniature golf.

“How are you doing these days?” Noah asked, then immediately regretted the impulse.

“Just as tired as always, my friend.”

The line clicked and Alex was gone.

Noah shook his head. He’d do anything to help Alex, but decades of trying to pull him out of the shell into which he’d bound himself hadn’t worked. The bonding The Council had forced on Alex hadn’t revived him either. He certainly couldn’t do anything during a five-minute phone call. Frustration burned in his chest. Alex was a good man. A strong warrior. A loyal friend. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">