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  “Edmund!”

  “No.” He pulls a red velvet box from his pocket. “Equality. It’s all the rage.”

  I chuckle, and so does he.

  “I can’t believe we both fucking did this.”

  I feel like I’ve done this before. I think back to a gaudy hotel room in New Orleans, the night when I asked him to spend eternity with me. I suppose we got married then, but now, it can be legal—no matter that our birth certificates are forged. Now, I can call him “husband.”

  I pop open my black box as he opens the red. “Edmund William Baines.”

  “My Andrew.”

  I smile.

  “Marry me,” we say at the same time.

  “Yeah.”

  “Yes.”

  We don’t even look at the rings before we hug. I breathe him in; he’ll always smell sweet to me. I close my eyes and try not to consider all the times I almost lost him, but the images rush at me: cannibals, infection, despair, and guilt… We came so close to never getting here.

  He pulls back, grinning. His eyes are the color of the Caribbean Sea. “So what’d you get me?”

  “It’s tungsten.” And black and matches his hair. “It’s supposed to be good for men who work with their hands. It shouldn’t scratch or bend. Even your reckless experiments won’t destroy it.”

  He slides it on his ring finger, a perfect fit. “Did you measure my ring size while I was sleeping?” He is indeed a heavy sleeper nowadays. The nightmares haven’t haunted him in years.

  “Might have.” I shrug.

  He stares at the ring on his finger. “Wish my mum could see.”

  All those years ago, Evelyn didn’t last much longer, even with proper care in London. The Devil’s-eye had done its work, although she did come back to her senses. She did beg Edmund’s forgiveness—he equally begged hers—and they shared a few precious weeks as beloved son and mother. He even introduced me as his lover, and although Evelyn did turn a rather scandalized shade of pink, she took my hand and thanked me for making her son happy. Before she died, she made me promise to take care of him—a promise I’ve always kept.

  Edmund holds the red box up for me. The ring is gold with a strange black stone in the center. “It’s, well.” He bites his bottom lip. “It’s gold, but this is lava rock. Igneous rock. It’s from a volcano on an uninhabited tropical island. I know ours didn’t have a volcano, but I erupted a lot there, so—”

  I maul his mouth with mine. He falls backward under the onslaught, and I land right on top of him. He grunts beneath my weight, but a second later, his hands are in my hair. His mouth opens wide under mine, allowing my tongue entrance, and he moans.

  “Wait,” he pushes me back, panting. Yes, he still breathes; won’t give it up. “Put it on. I want to see it on you.” He nibbles on my neck as I claw for the red box on the floor. I lean back, straddling his hips, and put the ring on my finger. Also a perfect fit.

  “Did you measure my ring size while I was sleeping?”

  Even on his back, he’s smug. “Might’ve.”

  I stand and grab his hand, dragging him up. “Come on. I’m not fucking you on the floor.”

  Edmund’s formal wear is always a lot of work to remove, especially since he isn’t a fan of me tearing his bespoke suits. I’ve become a button expert over the years, though, so I have him naked in the space of thirty seconds. I was in pajamas when he got home, so I’m down to my skin in five.

  Wearing nothing but wedding bands, we tumble into the center of our king-sized bed. I press his legs apart and kneel, kissing his toned chest and stomach. Vampires supposedly don’t change, but Edmund swears by yoga. He practices once a day, and by God, I insist he’s more muscular now than when we first met. His nipples are just as sensitive too. His back arches when I bite one.

  “Need you now,” he says. The bedside drawer opens by itself, and a flying bottle of lube hits me in the arm. Edmund doesn’t use his abilities very often. I think he still fears Brien, even though the man is long dead. Edmund does clean the house using his mind, though. He perfected that trick after seeing Mary Poppins back in 1964.

  I rub lube between my fingers—silicone-based, what a modern miracle—and run my fingers down the cleft of his ass. He rests back on the bed, waiting. The decades have taught him a modicum of patience. Which I effortlessly destroy by tickling behind his knees.

  He twitches. “Don’t.”

  I snicker and lick his belly button.

  My fingers seek lower once again and find his entrance. I press one finger inside, then two. Edmund never needs much preparation. He still loves his pleasure with pain. We’ve even started dipping into the newly popularized BDSM culture.

  “Please,” he begs, breathless.

  I pull my hands away. “Stomach.”

  He rolls over without question. I admire the long, electric eel scar that adorns his back before tugging his hips until he’s on his knees in front of me. I press wet kisses down his spine and continue playing with his ass with my slick digits. He moans my name. I lick once over his hole, lube taste be damned, and Edmund keens.

  “Fuck, fuck, do that again.”

  I acquiesce, and his entire body shivers.

  “God, I’m going to come already.”

  I dig my fingers into his hips. “I won’t stop if you do. I’ll keep going until you come again. Hell, might even go for three.”

  He buries his face in a pillow, words muffled. “Shit, I believe you.”

  “You should by now.”

  I press into him, and he yells my name. I give a few playful thrusts before tugging on his hair. He gets the hint and lifts up onto his hands, which gives me the grip I need to wrap my arms around his chest and pull him up onto my lap. The deeper angle makes his head fling back, and I only just miss a skull to the face.

  He leans his head against my shoulder as I fuck up into him. His mouth sucks on the side of my neck.

  I try to slow us both down, but we’re too keyed up, high on wedding bands and “husband.” Maybe we’ll make love slowly later, but not right now. Now, I want him undone in my arms. I thrust, and he lets me. He’s a ragdoll in my grip—except for his cock. It stands straight up, hard as stone but covered in silk as I wrap my hand around it and stroke.

  Edmund comes with a low groan. I run my hand up his chest and clasp his shoulder, tugging him down harder as I push up. Then, I join him. I bite into his shoulder with my human teeth as I finish, which makes him shiver some more.

  I roll us onto our sides, curled together like enormous spoons. I kiss and lick at the back of his neck as he hums in contentment. “Let’s fuck all day,” he mutters.

  “Don’t want to go to the courthouse?”

  “The lines will be atrocious. And Michelle and Felipe would be irate if we married without them.”

  I lick the soft skin behind his ear and am reminded of oceans and sea storms. Of course, we own a sailboat. We keep it docked nearby at North Cove Marina, and Edmund captains barefoot.

  “Tell me you love me,” he says.

  “Love you.”

  We probably hold the record: longest monogamous relationship in vampire history. We broke our rule but once, when we finally slept with Flynn. He was a bit older by then, midthirties. We hadn’t seen him in over a decade. After Brien, the young man was smart enough to get away from vampires. Imagine our surprise to find him in Paris.

  He was still desperately in love with Edmund, but he was also ill. I smelled sickness on him, something serious. He wouldn’t live much longer. Edmund must have sensed it too, because he kissed Flynn in the back of a Moulin Rouge dancehall, dragged him back to our apartment in the Latin Quarter, and gave him everything he’d ever wanted. Flynn remained in our apartment, in fact. Edmund cared for the man until the day he died. He comforted Flynn through the pain and told dozens of stories. I think our favorite redhead died happy in Edmund’s arms.

  My sailor has learned to be so good, he often makes me a better man by proximity. Edmund’s d
ark creature has been silent since the bonfire at Heavenhill, but mine still lingers on occasion. Edmund is the only one who sees it, and even then, the creature is content with tying Edmund to the bed and fucking him blind.

  His hand squeezes mine. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Things past.”

  “Well, stop it. I’m here now.”

  I wrap my arm around his waist. “You were there then.”

  The side of his mouth twitches up in a smile. “I don’t remember what it’s like to be without you.”

  I squeeze him tighter.

  Over a hundred years ago, all I wanted to do was escape an island. When a sea-soaked sailor washed up, all I wanted was him. Deserve it or not, my wishes were granted. Now, all I want is to be Edmund’s husband, to wake to his face every morning until the world crashes and burns around us. I have escaped much in my life, but I will never escape him. My heart is his prisoner. Of that, I am glad.

  About the Author

  Sara Dobie Bauer is a bestselling author, model, and mental health / LGBTQ advocate with a creative writing degree from Ohio University. Twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize, she lives with her hottie husband and two precious pups in Northeast Ohio, although she’d really like to live in a Tim Burton film. She is author of the paranormal rom-com Bite Somebody series, among other sexy things.

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  Other books by this author

  Escaping Exile

  Escaping Solitude

  Also Available from NineStar Press

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  Table of Contents

  A NineStar Press Publication

  Escaping Mortality

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also Available from NineStar Press