Crewel Intentions

Flirting with Fangs

♥

Joy Demorra

Copyright © 2019 Humerus Intentions Publishing LLC

All rights reserved.

Cover by RoseLark Publishing www.roselarkpublishing.com

Formatting by RoseLark Publishing www.roselarkpublishing.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

STORY INFORMATION

In a world of dwindling hope, love has never mattered more...

While enjoying a brief romantic sojourn to the dazzling city of Ingleton, newly invested Wolf Laird, Captain Nathan J. Northland; his new wife and immortal magic-user, Ursula; and their live-in vampire lover, Vlad, are dismayed when duty rears its ugly head in the form of an unavoidable social event. The trio are obligated to present themselves at court. And while Vlad and Ursula have prepared for just such an eventuality, Nathan has not. What formal attire he has is completely unsuitable for the occasion—not that Nathan can understand that.

It's a fashion emergency!

Vlad and Ursula have their work cut out for them. Thankfully they have a few tricks up their respective sleeves to quite literally get the shirt off of Nathan's back.

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Fans of Hunger Pangs will love this missing moments novella featuring our intrepid trio. This steamy story contains an established M/M/F relationship and swords do cross with this one. The novella can stand on its own and features a happy for now ending.

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For content warnings, please check out my website.

CREWEL INTENTIONS

November 27th 1889

It was a truth universally acknowledged throughout the Nevrondian Empire that, when it came to matters of style, vampires were considered to be the height of refined elegance and fashionable attire. This was owed largely in part to a dramatic predisposition toward wearing black evening attire, and an inherently svelte outline that could only be realistically achieved through several hundred years of liquid dieting. There was, Vlad felt, a great deal more to be appreciated about the robust and rugged nature of the Northern werewolf.

If not, however, their wardrobe choices.

"What, and I cannot stress this enough, the hell are you wearing?" he asked, running a critical eye over the broad expanse of Nathan’s back and shoulders.

Nathan, who was fussing with his necktie in the reflection of the mirror, flicked bright blue eyes toward him. Clothes? he said, his voice pitched low to avoid waking the other occupant of the bed. You do remember what those are, don’t you?

Vlad shook his head in amusement. He hadn’t seen his reflection yet, but he could take a wild guess at how disheveled he looked. Vaguely, he said, glancing down to where Ursula’s head lay pillowed in his lap, her coppery-blonde curls twined loosely between his fingers.

Without her fairy glamours in place, the Sìdhe looked deceptively small and vulnerable as she slept. But even at rest, she maintained an iron grip around his waist, her fingers digging firmly into Vlad’s hips as though afraid he might vanish while she slept.

She wasn’t normally this clingy, but after six weeks apart, Ursula had all but jumped Vlad’s bones the moment he’d stepped off the ferry. Nathan, ever the soul of restraint, had managed to wait until they made it to their hotel room before pouncing on him. But it had been a close thing.

Vlad was only just now beginning to regain the feeling in his legs.

Normally they met in the city at least once a month but matters at home had kept Vlad unavoidably detained. He’d felt their absence keenly, like a part of him was missing. The better parts. It had been a relief to finally return to them, even if they did have to carry on the charade of merely being friends in public. It was a role they played well, though a more observant onlooker may well have noted the way they leaned toward each other over the dinner table, or the lingering little glances and touches stolen under the soft glow of candlelight. But if anyone did notice they were far too polite to say anything. And besides, this was Ingleton, where the rich, eccentric, and the undead could all do whatever the hell they liked. Provided of course, they did it with