The Hunter's Affection (Bloodwite Book 3)

by Cecelia Mecca

  Chapter 19

  “I thought you said your stepdad works for the Army Depot?”

  She and Torr had just pulled up the circular drive. Her mother, of course, had hired attendants to park the cars. She was in for quite a surprise. Charlotte never, ever took boyfriends home to meet the parents. But she knew Torr would not judge her for anything her mother said, or did.

  “He does. But comes from a bit of money too.”

  Two weeks ago, she’d dreaded coming to the fundraiser. And while she couldn’t say an evening of rubbing elbows with the state’s top politicians was exactly her idea of an exciting Saturday night, the fact that Torr had wanted to come along made it much more palatable.

  More than palatable, actually.

  Yesterday was the first time she hadn’t seen him in a week. The crisis with Annabel Walsh and the journal, on top of the imminent opening of The Vault and some matters there, had demanded his attention. But it had let her pause for a moment after a whirlwind few weeks to think.

  About Torr. Her job. Life.

  The department chair position she thought she wanted but now, surprisingly, cared little about. Purpose. Was hers perhaps bigger than serving as an English chair at Stone Haven High School?

  Her startling conclusion wasn’t something Charlotte was prepared to share with Torr just yet. She’d never felt so alive than when she was with him. He’d likely go running for the hills if she told him that, and yet it was true. When she showed him the dress she’d originally picked out for tonight—or rather, the dress her mother had chosen for her—he’d laughed.

  “That, my dear, is the dress the perfect princess would wear. What would Charlotte wear?”

  He’d taken to referencing her alter ego as “the princess,” and he wasn’t far off the mark. She’d been coddled in her former life. Then, in an effort to cleanse herself of her parents’ mistakes and sins, she’d played it safe. A safe job. Safe clothes. Safe goals.

  Something she’d only realized after meeting him.

  Granted, Torr tended toward the opposite extreme, but there was something to be said for his devil-may-care attitude. Something so appealing that Charlotte simply couldn’t resist a few turns of boldness she might not have otherwise allowed herself.

  “That,” Torr said as he pulled to a stop, “is the smile of a woman up to no good.”

  Grabbing her clutch, she feigned innocence. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  The passenger door opened. Not one attendant, but an army of them. Good gracious, her mother had gone over the top with this one.

  Torr came around to her side, and she took his arm readily enough. She’d had time in the car to adjust to the frankly stunning sight of him in his tux, but she nevertheless took advantage of the opportunity to eye him from head to toe.

  Leaning down and whispering in her ear as they approached the marble staircase, Torr said, “I’ve changed my mind about staying the night.”

  He’d agreed to stay the night only because they would have an entire wing to themselves. “Why?”

  He boldly looked up and down her sequin shift dress, not even attempting to disguise his perusal.

  “I want to make you scream without worrying about whether or not you’ll be heard.”

  With that he continued, as casual as can be, up the stairs. But Charlotte stopped, needing a moment to herself before she could follow. She pictured him on top of her, fulfilling that promise.

  He really was a cad and knew it. Joining him, they entered the house together and were greeted at the door by her parents, the house already half filled.

  “There you are. Finally.”

  “Mother.”

  Other people might greet their parents with a hug, or perhaps a kiss on the cheek. But they weren’t the sort to appreciate shows of affection, so instead, she presented Torr.

  “I’d like to introduce you to—”

  “What exactly is it you’re wearing?” her mother hissed.

  She’d expected that reaction, of course. Time to put on her big girl panties.

  “Perhaps it is a bit—”

  “Stunning,” Torr said, holding out his hand to her stepfather. “Torr Derrickson, sir.”

  Her father shook Torr’s hand firmly, although he kept looking from Charlotte to her mother as he did so, as if expecting a full-out argument to blow up at any moment.

  Torr greeted her mother next, bowing and then kissing her hand with a flourish that reminded her that he was from another time. Her mother allowed it, but her attention was still fixated on Charlotte—and the dress that so offended her.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Graves.”

  “A pleasure,” she muttered stiffly. Then, “Charlotte—”

  “You don’t want to keep your guests waiting,” Charlotte blurted. “We’ll speak later, Mother.”

  “Indeed.”

  They walked away, moving down the vaulted entranceway toward the makeshift coat closet, which had been set up along the wall.

  “How very . . . efficient.”

  Torr didn’t wear a jacket, but he took hers from her shoulders and handed it to the attendant.

  “My mother practically has a PhD in party planning.”

  The front room had been completely redecorated for the event—high-top tables, a makeshift bar, and subtle but elegant decorations had replaced the usual furniture. The guests were buttoned up, suited up, and as elegantly dressed as one would expect at an event such as this.

  Torr whistled. “The Army Depot must pay well,” he said, appreciating the high tray ceiling complete with a painted mural that was supposed to mimic the Sistine Chapel, which Charlotte had always found more than a bit pretentious.

  “They don’t,” she said dryly, ordering a Pinot Grigio and Torr’s whiskey from the bartender.

  “So, fill me in,” he said as they moved to the side of the room with their drinks.

  “Hmmm, let’s see.” She nodded toward the couple entering the room. “The candidate himself—”

  “Running for reelection, right?”

  She nodded.

  “I wonder.” He took a sip of his drink. “What he would say if I told him I spoke to Charles the very same day he signed the charter that granted William Penn this land?”

  He never ceased to amaze her. “Seriously?”

  His boyish smile melted her heart.

  “I was at court having a bit of fun with Captain William Markham’s daughter—”

  Nearly choking on her wine, she asked, “Did you say—”

  “Yes, sorry. I should have been a bit more delicate.”

  Charlotte had conversed with past boyfriends about their previous partners, but none of them had lived more than seven hundred years. The thought of so many exes, particularly given Torr’s reputation for short-lived romances, boggled her mind.

  “No need,” she said honestly. “Secrets between us won’t serve much purpose.”

  He smiled. “In that case, if I remember correctly—”

  “But I don’t need details, thank you.”

  Torr winked. “Of course. Forget the captain’s daughter—”

  “Gladly.”

  “I remember Penn quite well—”

  “Wait, who is William Markham? The name rings a bell.”

  “Tsk, Charlotte. Don’t know your Pennsylvania history?”

  “I’m a Carolinian—”

  “Fair enough.”

  They stopped talking as the senator and his wife moved past them, greeting Charlotte with a nod.

  “When Charles—”

  “I take it you called the king of England Charles?”

  “Precisely.” Torr shifted so he was facing her. “When he gave Penn the charter, which wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart, mind you, but recompense for a debt he owed, Penn turned the governance over to his cousin, Captain William Markham. Contrary to all accounts, Penn himself didn’t see the new world for at least five years after it was
signed.”

  “Fascinating.”

  And although she no longer had an accent, mostly, the word came out with a slight drawl. Torr’s tongue surfaced, and then—

  Dammit. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “You know very well when you lick your—”

  “Miss Charlotte, what a lovely dress!”

  The compliment, delivered in a barbed voice, was doled out by the lieutenant governor’s wife. Luckily, her husband, notorious for his roving eyes, was nowhere to be seen.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bitner. I’d like to introduce you to my guest, Torr Derrickson.”

  “Derrickson, hmmm. Is that—”

  “Scottish, ma’am.”

  “Fascinating,” she said, looking Torr slowly up and down as she said so. Not that Charlotte could blame her for that; the woman had eyes. “I’ve got a bit of Scottish in me as well. How many generations back did your ancestors come to America?”

  “Three,” he said, the lie told so quickly that Charlotte knew he must have given it before. “And you, ma’am?”

  “The same. My great-great-grandfather lived here in Stone Haven, in fact. Where you live now, isn’t that correct?” she addressed Charlotte, who nodded.

  “I didn’t realize you had family in the area.”

  “Oh, we don’t anymore. They cleared out after some business with that Walsh family—”

  Business? An argument?

  “You know the Walshes?”

  Charlotte and Torr exchanged a glance.

  “Of course. They were royalty in this state once.”

  “Royalty?” Torr asked as Charlotte took a casual sip of her wine. “How so?”

  “Generations of elected officials for quite some time.”

  The lieutenant governor joined them, and although he placed a hand on his wife’s back, his eyes were already combing over Charlotte’s dress. “What nasty business are we speaking about now?”

  “The Walsh family of Stone Haven,” Torr said. “And since you’re already intimately acquainted with my girlfriend’s dress—I mean, with my girlfriend, I’ll introduce myself—”

  For a second, Charlotte thought she must have misheard him, but judging from the lieutenant governor’s red cheeks, she’d heard Torr loud and clear. And so had they.

  “Torr Derrickson, or the 18th Marquess of Beves, if you prefer.”

  Now the poor man was sputtering. “Sir . . . that is—”

  “My lord,” Torr corrected, his tone akin to a king’s. Or what she imagined a king would sound like if she ever were to encounter one.

  “My lord, I . . . I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Charlotte stifled a giggle.

  “We were discussing the Walshes of Stone Haven,” Torr transitioned smoothly. “Do you know of them?”

  Clearing his throat, the older man nodded. “I do. Odd family.”

  “Odd? How so?”

  Charlotte had met Pennsylvania’s lieutenant governor on multiple occasions, and never once had he struck her as the nervous type. But perhaps that was simply Torr’s effect on people.

  “They had some strange ideas about aliens or some such nonsense. Brilliant businessmen though—”

  “There you are. Darling, I do hope you’re keeping Mr. and Mrs. Bitner entertained?”

  Her mother.

  “I dare say just the opposite is true,” Torr drawled. “They’ve been keeping us most entertained.”

  Charlotte sighed. It was going to be a long night, caught between Torr’s teasing and her mother’s seething glances.

  “But if you’ll excuse us, Charlotte promised to give me the grand tour.” He took her arm and inclined his head, pausing to shoot a final glare in Mr. Bitner’s direction.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered as they walked through the house.

  “Rescuing you.”

  “More importantly, how did you know this was the way to the patio?”

  Sliding past coiffed guests, they reached an alcove between the east wing and the pool house.

  “I could hear the water,” he said, nodding to the waterfall.

  And here she thought he’d been solely focused on her. Incredible.

  Torr took her wine glass and placed it on a concrete retaining wall. She shivered, her bare arms exposed to the chill of the elements.

  “Come here.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, and Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned back, savoring his touch. “I’m sorry about my parents—”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said above her, his head nestled nearly atop hers.

  Charlotte pulled back to see his face. “Marquess?”

  “A long story. But it seemed an appropriate time to pull out that particular ancient title. Men like the governor—”

  “Are horrid,” she finished.

  “Are horrid,” he agreed. “But easily dealt with. Or, if you prefer, I could drain him—”

  “Torr!”

  He laughed. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”

  “Speaking of draining. And blood. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Charlotte hadn’t planned to blurt out her request so soon. But she was as sure about this as she was about any decision she’d ever made. Granted, he’d never even fed from her before. So it would be quite an ask. And the implications . . .

  “Good,” he answered. “Because there’s something I want to ask you too. Of course you can take time to think about this.” He paused, his tone so serious she wondered if she ought to be concerned. “But I need you to know something, Charlotte. I’ve been alive a long, long time—”

  “I know you have.”

  “Which is what makes me so sure. The thought of leaving you for weeks, months . . . or even longer.” He shook his head. “I can’t. I won’t.”

  He licked his lips.

  Torr was actually nervous!

  “Come with me,” he said softly, leaning into her.

  Her heart thudded in her chest. Was he really asking—

  “When it’s time for me to leave, come with me. We can travel the world together. You said you’ve always wanted to visit the Globe Theatre. We can admire every painting in Italy together. Anything you want to see—”

  “Yes.”

  He stopped talking, and for the rest of her life she would never forget his shocked expression.

  “Yes?”

  “You heard me. I’ll come with you.”

  His broad smile was all the reassurance she needed. “God, Charlotte. You’re in my blood. My soul. And will be forever, as long as you live.”

  He kissed her so tenderly that she almost delayed her own request. But she couldn’t do it. This was her one condition.

  His lips glistened from their kiss, his large frame filling that tux so perfectly. She knew he would take care of her, protect her, in any situation they found themselves in. Torr could play the wild playboy, but he was, in truth, a gentle, caring man. He could do anything. He could certainly protect her from any harm.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  She could not rely on him alone.

  “I was going to ask you . . .”

  She took a deep breath and forged ahead. “Much the same thing. I can’t imagine being without you, Torr. But I need to be able to protect myself.”

  He blinked, not understanding.

  “I want to come with you. Be with you.”

  He waited.

  “Forever.”

  She held her breath, knowing he’d never turned another soul after that first, devastating time. But there it was. She was as sure of this as anything. And she’d not go with him otherwise.

  “Are you asking—?”

  “I want you to turn me. I want to be with you, Torr, but as a vampire. Not as a human.”

  She waited, the silence between them becoming heavier with each passing moment.

  He looked . . . devastated.

  “No.”

  Chapter 20

 
; “You look like shit.”

  Torr and Laria climbed the concrete stairwell behind the courthouse. With no further leads on the Walsh family to be found in the local library, he’d spent the week at the bar. Five days closer to opening.

  Four days of discussions with Charlotte, and the two of them were no closer to an agreement.

  “Thanks,” he said as they reached the top.

  “When did you last feed?”

  The older the vampire, the longer they could go without blood. But it had been a while, admittedly, and he probably did need to feed soon.

  “Too long.”

  “Maybe Charlotte—”

  He stopped, about to say something, when he realized she didn’t know about the impasse they’d reached. Torr had assumed Charlotte told Toni and Alessandra everything, and since they were close with his sister, he’d assumed she would know too. But maybe she hadn’t told anyone?

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Torr, out with it.”

  They walked up the street toward the mansion that was their temporary home. Darkness had just begun to fall, the night coming alive with streetlights that blinked on as they passed. It was only Thursday, so there was less foot traffic than there’d be on the weekend.

  “I’ve never seen you like this before. I mean, it’s not entirely bad, to be honest. I think Charlotte is good for you—”

  “She wants me to turn her.”

  Laria froze. She knew precisely what that would mean to him.

  He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. The two of them, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, stared at each other.

  “I mean, technically, you could do it.”

  “You know I won’t.”

  Laria looked up as the last streetlight flicked on above them.

  “Yes, I know you won’t. But does she?”

  Turning back toward town, he glanced in the direction of Charlotte’s street. Though he couldn’t see her apartment building, he knew she was probably getting ready now. A colleague of hers had just gotten engaged, and she and a few friends were going out to celebrate.

  He hadn’t seen her all day.

  And he didn’t like it. If they couldn’t reach an agreement, it would be like this always. He’d have to learn to live without her, knowing she was out there.