A Cursed Embrace (WG 2) by Cecy Robson Read Free Book Online

overlooking Lake Tahoe.
    Usually.
    A cluster of vampires spread out in an arch near the man-made river filled with carp the size of alley cats. Two vampires in Catholic schoolgirl uniforms circled each other, their clothes ripped to shreds, their pigtails askew, their fangs out. A few yards away, beneath a white fir tree, two other vampires attacked each other like rabid rats while the fist-pumping crowd chanted, “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”
    In the middle of the chaos stood our werewolf buddy, Bren, taking bets and playing referee. “Hey, Mary Catherine! I told you, no axes allowed! Put the axe down. Down, Mary Catherine. Down! ” He shook his head like a frustrated camp counselor. “Fuckin’ vampires.”
    I leapt out of our SUV. “What the hell are you doing here?”
    “Hey, babes.” Bren shrugged. “Heard about the smack-down. Thought I’d make a few bucks.”
    Taran quirked an eyebrow. “And they let you—a wolf—inside Misha’s compound?”
    “Only after I told them I was with the little missus.” Bren winked my way. He whistled through his fingers, ignoring my growls not to call me that. “Agnes Concepción. Let go of his nuts! Fangs and claws, peeps. Fangs and claws.”
    Emme clutched my arm. After the dead body strewn across our doorstep, the last thing she needed was more supernatural drama. As a hospice nurse, she dealt with end-of-life issues and death, and managed it beautifully. Blood, guts, and flying body parts . . . not so much. I led her toward the house before some poor bastard vampire’s ear could smack her in the face. “Come on, Emme, let’s find Misha.”
    “Put me down for fifty on the freak with the axe,” Taran whispered to Bren before hurrying to catch us.
    We walked across the stone-paved driveway. Edith Anne and Maria approached, swinging their hips hard enough to fan their tiny plaid skirts. More naughty Catholic schoolgirls. Awesome.
    Edith Anne grimaced when she saw us. “The master is expecting you. This way.” She tossed her hair back and led with Maria at her side. She pointed to her mud-splattered platforms. “They made me march around the house in my new boots,” she complained to Maria.
    Maria shot me the official hairy eyeball. “Beetches,” she muttered in her thick Brazilian accent.
    The good Catholics always knew how to lay on the charm. Unfortunately they never felt the need to lay it on us.
    “Screw off,” Taran shot back.
    Before I became acquainted with vampires, my image of a vampire’s crib was stereotypical—an old, dank, dimly lit castle—paler than snow creatures lurking behind every turn waiting to eat me. Then I met the so-called creatures of the night. Tanning and admiring themselves seemed to be the Catholic schoolgirls’ favorite pastime. As far as Misha’s pad went, “dank” remained furthest from the truth.
    The warm glow from the wood and iron chandelier greeted us in the mammoth foyer, dimly lighting the blue-slate floors and timber cathedral-style ceilings. Soft browns, golds, and muted burgundies accented the rich wood and stone walls. Misha’s decorator accomplished making his estate, a home—a rare feat considering the immense size. It reminded me of Misha: Although great in magnitude, it had a heart.
    Taran’s high-heeled sandals clicked along the blue-slate floor, and while Emme wore ballet flats, her soft footsteps echoed louder than mine. Even with me in two-inch mules, my predator side barely made a sound.
    We crossed the expanse of the long hall, roughly the size of Rhode Island, and into the solarium. Two of Misha’s very polite and very hypnotized servants opened the floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading outside. I stepped through first and onto the terrace. The breeze had picked up along the lake, but the six outdoor fireplaces built into the stacked-stone railing warmed the area at least ten more degrees. My thin cotton blouse would have worked perfectly, had I not had werewolf nibbles to hide.
    My