“Typical werewolf courtship,” she sneered. “You guys really need to work on the romance thing.”

“Or try to explain it to you tomorrow. Later today, I mean. Or wait until we knew each other better—but you knew!”

“Yup.”

“And you didn’t say anything!”

“It didn’t seem polite since you didn’t bring it up.” She blushed harder, like that was possible. “Besides, we…had other things on our minds.”

He burst into laughter—great, roaring laughs that made her ears ring. “Giselle sweet, you’re for me, and I’m definitely for you. I knew it the moment I smelled you. Ripe peaches in the middle of all those street smells and slush. The only Santa who was ovulating.” He pounced on the bed and pulled her into his arms, kissing her everywhere he could.

“Jeez, cut it out!” She was laughing and trying to fend him off. “Can’t we do this later? We ordinary humans get tired after making love all night.”

“There’s nothing ordinary about you, sweetie.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me that on that whole street, where there were probably a couple hundred people, the only one ovulating was me?”

“No, I can’t tell you that.” He kissed her on the mouth. “What I can tell you is that the only woman for me was ovulating.”

“Oh. Sleep now?” she added helpful, groping for the bedside lamp.

He shut off the light for her. “Scotland?”

“Yes.”

“Forever?”

“Nope. Sorry, my parents are from here. I have friends here, too. A life I made before I ever laid eyes on you, pretty boy. And, hello? Courtship, anybody? It’d be nice to date a little before we got married.”

He mock-sighed. “Humans, oh, Lord help me. A house in Boston, then, but at least half the year at my family home. After,” he sighed again, “an appropriately lengthy courtship.”

“Done.”

“Naked courtship?” he asked hopefully.

She laughed. “We’ll work out the details. Doesn’t really matter, though. Wither thou goest, I will go. And all that.”

“And all that,” he said, and kissed her smiling mouth.

Monster Love

Prologue

From the private papers of Richard Will, Ten Beacon Hill, Boston, Massachusetts

Becoming a vampire was the best thing that ever happened to me. The very, very best. Which is why I don’t understand all the literature, how the vampires are usually these moody fellows who rue the day they ever got bitten, who pray for some illiterate European to plant a stake through their ribs. Rue the day? If the mob hadn’t torched my killer the next night, I’d have kissed his feet. I’d even have kissed his behind!