An Invitation

by Jasmine Hill

  Madison leaned forward conspiratorially. “No. We haven’t seen them all day. We’ve knocked on their door multiple times and there’s been no answer.”

  Bree looked around the room as if the guys would suddenly appear. “Perhaps they left?”

  Chantelle shook her head. “We thought of that, but everyone here was picked up and driven here. We don’t even know where we are and there’s no reception, so it’s not as if they could have called an Uber or something.”

  “They could be avoiding us, of course,” Madison huffed.

  “I don’t think so, Maddy.” Chantelle patted her new friend’s hand. “I mean, where would they go? It’s not as if they’d risk missing this gala just to avoid us.”

  Bree frowned. It did sound a little concerning. What if the guys had wandered off somewhere in their drunken state last night and were lying in a ditch somewhere? Or they could have spoken to someone, like Eleanor, and requested to leave. It was odd, though, as the guys had seemed to be having a great time when she’d met them the previous evening.

  “I’ll speak to Vincent,” Bree assured them. “He seems to know the hosts, so he should know what to do and who to talk to.”

  “We also haven’t seen Sophia and Tina,” Chantelle added. “We were supposed to meet up with them too but we haven’t seen them since the welcome drinks. It’s as if they’ve disappeared into thin air.”

  “You don’t think that the four of them have hooked up, do you?” Madison asked Chantelle. “They did seem to be getting on pretty well last night.”

  Chantelle shrugged. “Maybe.” She waved over the waiter and requested a bottle of champagne for the table. “It’ll remain a mystery until we know otherwise. My only objective at the moment is to drink as much of this fabulous French stuff as I can manage and have a good time. There must be some other men here who are as hunky as Bree’s.” She caught the eye of the guys across the table and winked.

  Another waiter appeared and deposited two platters of antipasti on the table. Semi-sun-dried tomatoes, assorted olives, marinated mushrooms and artichokes glistened deliciously under the candlelight. A dish of escalope of veal arrived next, alongside a basket of breadsticks.

  Bree selected a variety of the offerings, enjoying the casual-share aspect of the meal. The food tasted delicious, sending her back in time to holidays in the Mediterranean.

  “Hi, I’m Matthew.”

  The guy who had smiled at her earlier had taken the seat vacated by Vincent.

  “I’m Bree.” She extended her hand for him to shake.

  “Was that your boyfriend? I thought everyone here was single.”

  “We met last night.”

  “You guys sure look to be pretty serious after one night.” He arched an eyebrow. “Either he’s a dynamite in the sack, or you are.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, I guess you’ll never find out.”

  He laughed. “Never say never.”

  The lights dimmed suddenly, and a spotlight lit the stage. The music swelled and a group of scantily clad women danced into view. Bree recognized the theme immediately. A burlesque show. She clapped her hands. She loved burlesque. In her mind, it was the perfect show for a Valentine’s Gala—provocative and sometimes comedic.

  Matthew bent his head closer to hers. “You like this type of show?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t? I thought the gorgeous women would keep your attention.”

  He chuckled and dropped his arm to the back of her chair. “I have a gorgeous woman right here.”

  Before Bree could respond, a hard voice interjected from above. “Beat it!”

  Bree jumped and looked up. Vincent stood, glowering down at Matthew.

  “Sorry, man. I was just introducing myself.”

  “You’re in my seat,” Vincent stated coldly.

  Bree gave him a scathing look. The jealousy thing was becoming ridiculous.

  Matthew jumped up, his hands in the air. “No problem, buddy.” He looked at Bree. “Nice meeting you.”

  “You too,” Bree responded, determined not to be dictated to by Vincent and his possessiveness.

  Vincent took his seat and grasped her hand. He leaned close to speak in her ear. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  She thought about objecting, as she wanted to see the show, but something about his demeanor told her she should go along with him.

  “Sure.” She stood and followed him out of the ballroom. He clasped her hand tightly and dragged her behind him, ensuring she had to jog to keep up with him.

  “Vincent, remember I’m wearing heels!”

  He grunted but didn’t slow down.

  “Did something happen? Are you all right?” She could only assume something had occurred after he’d received the note, to make him act so differently. His demeanor was totally altered, cold and distant. For the first time, she felt unsure in his presence. As he dragged her faster down the wide hallway, she became increasingly concerned about his intentions. Gone was the conviction of trust she’d placed in him. She now felt uneasy and apprehensive.

  “I want to go back to the table. I’m not interested in what you have to show me.” She tried to tug her hand out of his, but his hold was firm, as if she’d been shackled by steel claws.

  He turned, his eyes cold and black. His jaw hard. “Are you scared of me, sweet Bree?”

  She bit her lip. “A little, at the moment. You’re acting strangely.”

  He sneered. “Good. You’re right to be scared.” He swept her up into his arms and continued stalking down the hallway. “You’re too slow.”

  Bree clung to his shoulders. Her heart was beating a rapid tattoo, the hammering so hard she was worried it would thump out of her chest.

  “I can feel your anxiety,” he murmured. “It’s intoxicating.”

  What the fuck? Bree tried to scramble out of his arms, but like when he’d held her hand, his hold was comparable to a vise. She was strong, her muscles honed and fortified by hours of workouts and boxing, but she was no match for his strength. He was like a steel automaton.

  Her mind raced. She’d make a run for it when he finally put her down. This man was not the Vincent she’d come to know. He didn’t even give her that familiar feeling. He looked like the man from her dreams, but he no longer felt like it. He was a complete stranger.

  He stopped outside the old elevator and pushed the double doors open. He paced inside and pressed a button that would take them to one of the lowest levels. The elevator shuddered into motion and commenced a slow descent.

  “Where are we going?”

  He looked down at her, his obsidian eyes boring into hers. She wondered vaguely how the color could change so dramatically.

  “Somewhere private.”

  The elevator clunked to a stop and he dragged the doors open. He walked them out and into what appeared to be a dungeon. It was cold and dank, a musty smell hanging heavy in the air. What the hell could he be showing me down here? She imagined that the cell-like room had literally been used to lock up prisoners. Heavy rings were attached to the stone at varying intervals around the walls and floor and it was as silent as a tomb.

  She had to readjust her plan of escape. She glanced surreptitiously around the room, trying to identify an alternative exit. But before she could get a better idea of her predicament, Vincent dropped her to her feet. She swayed slightly at the change in equilibrium and he used her momentary unsteadiness to force her hands above her head. With record speed, he’d shackled her to the wall.

  She cried out in surprise. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  He smirked. “Making sure you can’t escape me.” He scrutinized her, looking her up and down hungrily. At any other time, she’d feel sexy and confident under his excited gaze, but now she just felt disturbed and creeped out. A chill gripped her, cold shivers rippling down her spine. She stared into Vincent’s eyes, not sure how he could be the same man. It was as if he were Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

>   He stepped towards her and ran a finger from the base of her neck, down her chest to stop between her breasts.

  She knew her nipples were erect, the chill of the room and her anxiety keeping them constantly taut.

  He eyed her breasts and licked his lips. Lips so red she wondered if he’d put lipstick on.

  “I want to chew on those nipples,” he murmured. “I wonder what they taste like?”

  Bree gaped at him. The way he’d said it and the hungry look in his eyes made her think that he literally wanted to munch on her.

  He dropped his head and her pulse pounded in her ears. Her heart was beating a thousand miles a minute and she held her breath, waiting for his teeth to bite into her tender flesh.

  A loud crash resonated throughout the cell and Vincent jerked back, whipping his head around in surprise.

  Bree gasped, unable to believe her eyes. Was she seeing double?

  Standing in the middle of the dungeon was Vincent, or someone who looked exactly like him.

  He growled low in his throat and his eyes flashed red. “Stay the fuck away from her, Dante.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Vincent growled again, unable to keep his fury and what it did to him hidden from Bree. He looked her over. She didn’t seem to be hurt, but she was staring at the pair of them wide-eyed, confusion clear on her face. He hadn’t told her about Dante. He’d been hoping to keep Bree away from him, but the bastard had committed his usual tricks. Vincent should have known it would happen. He’d been too complacent, too caught up and distracted by her.

  He narrowed his eyes at his twin brother. “I said, get the fuck away from her!”

  Dante laughed. “You know, brother, she had no idea that I wasn’t you.” He cocked his head to the side. “She doesn’t know what you are, does she? What we are?”

  Vincent stepped towards Dante, rage tensing every muscle in his body. “What do you want, Dante? Why are you here?”

  “Why do you think? It’s the best night of the year.” He grinned wickedly. “Miss all the free, no-strings-attached meals?”

  Vincent’s mind raced. He had to get Bree out of there. He could deal with Dante later, as soon as Bree was safely out of the way. She had no idea the position she was in and he couldn’t tell her until they were alone and preferably behind a locked door.

  He suddenly noticed the shackles that were tethering her to the wall. In his haste to check that she was okay, he hadn’t spotted them earlier. Fuck! The bastard had tied her up. What the fuck had Dante done to her while he’d been kept preoccupied elsewhere?

  His pent-up fury unleashed, his muscles expanded, then he lunged at his brother. He closed the distance between them, flying through the air to land on top of him. He locked his hands around his brother’s neck and squeezed hard. His fangs extended and he bit into Dante’s throat, tearing at his flesh like a rabid animal. Dante shrieked as his blood arched across the room, spraying the cellar with streams of scarlet.

  Bree gaped in shock as Vincent dived on his brother’s back. She screamed as blood sprayed the room, pumping in an arc from Dante’s neck.

  What the fuck? Everything was happening so quickly that she couldn’t keep track of what was going on. Did Vincent just kill his brother?

  In a flash of movement, Vincent was at her side. He snapped the shackles that held her wrists like they were twigs and pulled her into his arms. “We have to get out of here. Now!”

  Bree didn’t argue. Her initial shock had worn off and she was trying to make some sense of the crazy situation. No wonder Vincent had been acting so strangely. It hadn’t been him but his twin brother. And what had he meant when he’d asked if she knew what they were? Was it something to do with the cult that she’d questioned Vincent about? She peered over Vincent’s shoulder at Dante’s lifeless form, slumped and bloody on the stone floor.

  “I think you killed him,” she whispered. “Vincent, you killed your brother!”

  “He’s not dead,” Vincent muttered. “Just incapacitated for the moment.”

  Bree gawked at the torn and bloodied neck of Dante and couldn’t believe that he wasn’t dead. Blood still seeped from the wound to form a growing puddle around his head.

  “Hold on,” Vincent murmured. She flung her arms around his neck and held tight as he took off, moving so fast her head whirled. How does he move like this? It was inhuman. They took the stairs at such speed that paintings and statues flew by in a blur. They passed her floor—at least she thought it was her floor—and kept going, higher and higher until they stopped outside a heavy, ornate door. He opened it, swinging it inward on squeaky hinges. Three long strides and he was at the bed, then tossing her on top of the mattress.

  He returned to the door, locked it and slipped the bulky key into his pocket. Bree frowned—none of this was right. In fact, everything was wrong. She realized too late that she’d allowed a murderer to whisk her away and lock her in a room with him. Her heart hadn’t beat at a normal rate since Dante had dragged her to the dungeon, and now it spiked even higher.

  Vincent cocked his head to the side. “I can you hear how anxious you are. You don’t know what it does to me.”

  What? Dante had said something similar—what the fuck did it mean? How the hell could Vincent hear her heartbeat from across the room?

  “You haven’t guessed what I am?”

  Bree got to her knees. “Apart from a murderer?”

  “I told you. He’s not dead.”

  “I know what I saw.” She pointed a shaky finger in his direction. “You ripped his throat out! How could anyone survive that?” The full impact of what she’d witnessed suddenly hit home. “We have to call someone, an ambulance, the police…” Her voice trailed off as Vincent advanced on her.

  “We call no one.”

  She looked up at him, shivering, anxiety and shock rattling her teeth and limbs.

  He grasped her upper arms and rubbed them vigorously. “You have to calm yourself.”

  “Calm myself? Are you insane?” She looked past him to the door. “Why did you lock us in?”

  “To keep you safe and to keep you from running when I tell you what I need to say.”

  She scooted back, putting distance between them. “I think you’re the one I need to worry about. I need to be kept safe from you!”

  He shook his head and looked at his watch. “Dante will have recovered by now. I guarantee it.”

  “What? How…” She snapped her mouth closed as images scrolled through her mind. Things she hadn’t been able to make sense of. The change in eye color, the glimpse of sharp pointed teeth that she’d attributed to too much champagne, the incredible speed and Vincent’s insistence that Dante wasn’t dead. But what she was thinking was madness, the basis of myths and nightmares.

  “I see you’ve figured it out.” He stepped closer to the bed and Bree scrambled farther away.

  She shook her head. “What I’m thinking can’t be true. It’s impossible.”

  “Nothing’s impossible. The world is made up of things that are not explainable by modern science or by humans’ inability to see past what they find acceptable and believable.”

  She looked around the room and noticed for the first time the absence of windows. There was no warming fire. Only some old lamps provided a subtle glow.

  “Say it,” he coaxed. “Tell me what you think I am.”

  She met his stormy gaze. “A vampire,” she blurted, almost too embarrassed to voice her outrageous notion aloud.

  But he didn’t laugh. There was no smile of indulgent patience with her absurdity.

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” she implored.

  He shook his head. “I can’t do that. But I can tell you that I won’t hurt you.”

  Bree gaped at him, disbelief warring with what she’d already witnessed. “Show me,” she demanded. “I want to see you in your vampire state.” She wasn’t sure where the request came from. Did she really want irrefutable proof?

  “Come here,” he murmured. �
��I want to hold you.”

  She contemplated his request. If he really wanted to hurt her, he’d had ample opportunities to do it before now. She’d been alone with him in her room. They’d made love. At no time had he made her feel unsafe.

  She inched towards him on her knees. When she was within his reach, he gripped her waist and pulled her close, encircling her in his arms.

  “Now you can’t get away.” He nuzzled her neck and the action took on an entirely different meaning for her. Once again, her heart started a galloping pace in her rib cage. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She willed herself to calm down. She didn’t want to excite him, particularly as she’d requested that he reveal himself to her fully.

  “Look at me.”

  She bit her lip and warily raised her head. She watched wide-eyed as he transformed. Long, sharp fangs descended from his gums and his eyes turned a blazing red.

  She recoiled and tried to get away, but he held her tightly. He dropped his head to her neck, his fangs grazing her skin. She held her breath, certain that it was the last one she’d take.

  “Your heart is beating rapidly,” he murmured. “I can see your pulse throbbing. I can smell your blood.”

  She tensed, her mind replaying how he’d ripped his brother’s neck open.

  “I’d never do that to you,” he mumbled against her throat. “I want you to see how in control I am. How I can have your beautiful, throbbing pulse at the mercy of my teeth and do nothing but lick your silky skin.” He licked her neck and nuzzled her ear. Gripping her ass, he forced her closer, his rigid erection pounding hotly against her belly. “Don’t you understand, sweet Bree, that I’d sooner kill myself than hurt you?”

  She pulled back and looked up into his infernal eyes. “Isn’t that what you do? Drink the blood of humans?”

  He shrugged. “Yes. But it doesn’t have to follow that I drain them of blood. That I kill people. Some of us do.” His expression hardened, becoming even more sinister. “Like my brother, for instance, and others here.”