The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies - Chapter Ten

Oh, Rock! Buffi nearly swooned when she felt Rock’s cold, hard lips bruise hers. When he kissed her like this it set off a firestorm of lust and longing deep inside her. Not an actual firestorm, of course, just something that felt like one without all the messy burning, charring smokiness that would have accompanied the real thing.

Rock had been her first love, her only love. He was her mate-for-life, the vampire cowboy of her dreams. She could deny him nothing…oh, but she had to. She was a mother now. For her children’s sake, if nothing else, she could no longer allow Rock to ravish her beneath the grapes, in clear view of any random passersby. Not that the winery saw many passersby these days and given how badly they needed the business…perhaps something like this would draw traffic?

But, no, what was she thinking? She couldn’t do that to her boys...could she?

“Rock, stop!” she cried at last. “We can’t! Not here! Not now!” Or at least, that’s what she meant to say. It was surprising how extraordinarily difficult it was to form words with those cold hard vampire lips pressed so ardently to hers, or with Rock’s tough but agile tongue muscle forcing its way between her teeth, teasing its way into her mouth, begging her to bite it.  Her words came out sounding more like, “Mrble mphrm-mrmble-frum-mrowr!”

“Mrowr-mrem-phmph-frum-fru,” Rock replied without removing his lips from hers. Buffi frowned. What was he trying to tell her? Did he want her to bite him? Was he calling her baby? Perhaps he was merely making random sexytiem sounds in an attempt to further enflame her already flaming passion?

Oh, Rock! He knew her so well. He knew how hot those rumbly-grumbly, gravel-voiced noises made her; hotter than two rats wrestling in a wool sock…only not as scratchy. Or as smelly. Probably less squeaky, too.  But she had to be strong. For the sake of her children. For the sake of her winery. For the sake of her poor, battered heart. For the sake of this story, which would be over far too quickly if she gave in to him now.

 Buffi wrenched her mouth from his. “Rock, no. Think of the twins!”

“Who told you?” Rock gasped, gaping openmouthed at her, like a carp. “Forget the twins! They mean nothing to me! I sent them back to Dallas over a month ago. I swear there’s been no one but you. Other than Chastity, that is. But she means nothing to me as well.”

“Oh, Rock!” Chastity? Was that the sexy siren’s name? The woman he wanted to marry? His…fiancée? Buffi couldn’t deny how much it hurt her to think about all Rock’s many conquests, all the women he’d bled or bedded in the years they’d been apart. “I don’t care about all your…your…your cheerleaders! Those aren’t the twins I meant. I’m talking about your— I mean my— I mean our—” Almost too late, Buffi shut her mouth, teeth snapping closed on the words that wanted to come tumbling out like potatoes from an overturned truck. 

“I was talking about the boys,” she managed at last. “Vlad and Ivan. This isn’t Spring Break in Cabo, you know.” For just an instant, she was nearly overwhelmed with sadness. She’d never been to Spring Break—not in Cabo or anywhere else—and now that she was a mother it was too late for her to go. She’d missed her chance at being young and irresponsible.  She’d missed her chance at a lot of things. Damn you, Rock Fangsworthy.

Buffi pushed herself out of Rocks arms. Drawing herself erect, she glared at him. “This is a family winery, Rock, and I’m not the girl you once knew. You can’t just sex me up any time you feel like it now.” Rock’s jaw clenched. His vein started to throb. Buffi felt her resolve start to slip. Oh, well. On second thought, maybe…

Luckily, they were interrupted just then by a loud, braying noise that split the night. “What’s that sound?” Rock demanded, turning away from her to stare out into the adjoining field. “Who’s sneaking around out there? So help me, Buffi, if you’ve taken up with some mangy mongrel, if you’ve brought him here…”

Buffi laughed bitterly. “Me? You’re a fine one to talk!” Werewolves mated for life—something Rock seemed to have conveniently forgotten—unlike vampires, who'd happily propose marriage to anything with a pulse.

Buffi's keen wolf eyesight easily pierced the dark night darkness with ease. A small donkey galloped through the brush barely out-distancing the two puppies who chased after it, snapping at its heels. “That’s the rent-a-burro your fiancée left behind. Damn her and the ass she rode in on. She must have hitched a ride out of here with someone else. There was a mini-cooper parked just inside the front gate last night. I could tell the make and model when I sniffed the tire tracks it left in the mud.”

“The vampire hunter.” Rock's cold, hard blue eyes snapped like cold, hard blue fire.  “That no good, cross-bearing, taser-wielding cur. Do you still swear you had nothing to do with hiring him?”

“Whatever,” Buffi replied disinterestedly, already tearing off her clothes in preparation for shifting to wolf form. She had to get to her boys and stop them before they caught something that would make them sick.

Rock’s eyes grew big, round, startled looking.  “What are you doing?” he asked eagerly. “Not that I mind, but I thought you said we couldn’t?"

“Oh, Rock,” Buffi sighed helplessly. “How can you even think of sex at a time like this? I have to take care of my babies. I can’t let them eat that donkey—who knows where it’s been?”

“Buffi, wait!” Rock clutched her arm in one rock-like fist. “Boys will be boys. Let them have their fun. They’ll grow up to be nothing more than lazy, good-for-nothing lap dogs if you coddle them too much now. Is that really what you want for them?”

Was he right, Buffi wondered, stricken with guilt. Was he speaking now with the instinctive wisdom of a father who didn’t even know he was a father but still knew better than anyone what his half-vampire sons needed?  Wasn’t that exactly what she’d been hoping for when she’d come back to Bloodsuck?

“Let them be, Buffi,” Rock urged. “Let them run free. Like the wind.”

“Let’s go inside,” Buffi agreed, giving in at last to all the achy-breaky love in her heart. “I have a bed as big as Arkansas—just like that song you used to sing to me. And…toys.”

“Toys?” Rock asked hopefully. “What kind of toys?”

 Buffi smiled. “You know what I’m talking about.” She sure wasn’t talking about the rubber squeaky chewy things she bought for the twins.

“Handcuffs?”

“Possibly.”

“Oh, Buffi,” Rock sighed happily.  “Buffi, baby. You slay me.”

***

Billy Bob crept cautiously into the winery’s tasting room, past the passed out enologist lying peacefully on the floor. Concealed in his pocket were several paper packets of his special blend—a mixture of twenty-seven herbs and minerals (patent pending) he’d spent years perfecting—guaranteed to stop even the biggest, toothiest vampires in their undead tracks. He had no idea if it would work on winery owners as well, but from what he’d seen of Buffi Van Pelt, he was pretty sure she wasn’t the kind of girl you could just walk right up to and stake.

Chastity not withstanding, BB liked to think of himself as a gentleman when it came to women. He was too mannerly to outright kill the girl.  Besides, he was pretty sure the Bobson vampire hunting code took a dim view on the killing of non-vampires. Thinking about what Big Daddy would say if he knew what his son was up to was enough to make Billy Bob break out in a cold sweat—which, given the hot Texas night, actually felt pretty good.

There were several wine bottles standing ready on the tasting table. Billy Bob uncorked them and then set to work, quickly contaminating the lot and suffering only one small, incredibly painful, surprisingly bloody, but unlikely to be life-threatening paper cut in the process.

His mission accomplished, he’d just re-corked the last bottle and was getting ready to leave when he was stopped in his tracks by a terrifying growling sound that came from the direction of the door.

Damn it. Billy Bob frowned uncertainly at the two puppies who blocked his escape. This could spoil everything.

Just then, he spied a large burlap sack that someone had conveniently left behind (for no apparent reason) on one of the tasting room chairs and, on the table in front of it, the remains of what appeared to be the inebriated enologist's dinner: a NY strip steak. Perfect! This was just what he needed—and not even slightly contrived!

Billy Bob grabbed the bag and the meat with impatient hands and advanced on the puppies, crooning softly, “Here, puppy, puppy. Good dogs!”

To be continued...Chapter Eleven

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