The Vampire's Protector by Michele Hauf Page A

hand across her back and bent to kiss her. Quickly. A moment of touch. A test, even. Could she allow him this intimacy? And was it acceptable for him, for his own morals, to continue to seek kisses from a vampire?
    Yes, most definitely.
    She smiled at him, then shook her head as if at a naughty child and walked off.
    He’d taken liberty with that kiss. He hadn’t been able to resist. Kissing her was divine. Of course, it had been so long since he had shared a kiss with a woman. And he’d never thought that after rising from the dead the first itch he’d feel compelled to satisfy was to have sex. But it was certainly humming about in his thoughts. And lower. He did have a fine new body, after all. No sense in letting it stand around, observing. He wanted to feel the touch of a woman’s hands glide over his skin, and the heat of her mouth at his. And to hear the sounds of her desire. Now that was gorgeous music.
    He would have Summer. He must.
    He nodded in agreement with his lascivious thoughts as he followed Summer’s trek across the dance floor and to the stage door. Odd woman, she. And not simply because of her masculine clothing and carelessly untidy hair. She was independent and strong. She wasn’t about to shrink back and be submissive to anyone. That vampiress could be a force that he would indulge. But he would remain cautious. Unmoored is how he felt as he navigated this world. He didn’t want to risk sinking by losing Summer’s trust, and her guidance. A careful seduction must be employed.
    When the absinthe arrived, delivered by a pretty blonde with fangs, he smiled widely, but had to dispel a shudder when she ran her tongue along one of the fangs. He was all for testing the modern-day woman in his arms, but the only vampire he trusted at the moment was Summer.
    â€œI thank you,” he said. “Salut!” And he turned to watch the show, hoping she would leave him be.
    He loved women of all sorts. But until today, he’d never included vampires in that mix. His world was growing bigger. Faster. Louder. And all he could do was hold on and take it all in. It felt rather lovely. Empowering, even. Potential beckoned.
    He tilted back a few sips of absinthe. “Aggh, this is terrible.”
    Apparently, the quality of absinthe had not survived the ages. But certainly, music had blossomed into something new and devious. And it made his heart thump with joy. Leaning onto the railing, he watched the band yowl and torture their instruments as the crowd danced and bounced and beat their fists in the air. The musicians garnered a sort of manic following.
    He remembered such adulation. How it had fueled his creativity and lifted him on days when he’d felt less than adequate. The clatter of applause, of cheers and cries of “bravo” had never failed to fill his soul with a jubilant desire for more, more and more.
    Nicolo gripped the chrome railing. “I need to play again,” he said. “It is all I know.”
    The cello player stepped off stage momentarily, then returned with a violin. Summer must have provided the fix the instrument had needed.
    The violinist bumped fists with Johnny and Kambriel, and then the whole crew set off the next song. The singer’s booming yet sultry voice invited everyone to jump into the flames and sacrifice their souls. Violin and guitar danced in strange harmony, mixing with the thumping drumbeat. The composition was in standard four-four time. A basic beat. The bass guitar played the rhythm while the brother, Johnny, mastered some fine scales with notes that screamed from the instrument.
    Nicolo took it all in. When five more songs were finished, the crowd roared for the last song. He noticed Summer peek out from behind the backstage door. She gestured to him, which he assumed meant to come below.
    Leaving the tasteless absinthe sitting on a steel-topped table, he nodded to the behemoth at the stairway and made his way