Bite Of The Past (The Black Fan Book 1)

by Laura Greenwood

  I set the spoon down, making sure it rests safely on the reception desk and out of harm's way, then unroll the note, drinking in the words in front of me, even though I'm trying to be mad at the man who wrote them.

  My dearest Kitty,

  I know I'm not supposed to call you that. But this is a version of a letter I've written every year since we parted. It felt wrong to call you Catherine. I know you're finding it hard to believe, but I've been looking for you ever since we parted ways. Many of my friends told me I should give up, and when I refused, they stopped even trying. But I knew that one day, I'd find you.

  I was going to give you this spoon the day you were taken from me. I'd spent hours on it, and even though I knew it wasn't good work, I still knew you'd treasure it. That you'd see the beauty in it. Like you did in me. And every year since, I've sat down to write you a letter like this one, and whittle you a spoon. I got better at it over the years. This year's is the best ever, but you'll have to wait another week to see that one.

  I'm sorry for the hurt I caused you, Catherine. I can never make it go away, and that breaks my heart. But I'd give everything I have and more to be able to make it up to you.

  Forever yours,

  Benedict

  A tear splashes onto the page, smudging some of the ink.

  "Lady Catherine, is everything all right?" Sonia asks. "I'm sorry if I overstepped..."

  "You didn't," I assure her, wiping my tears away. "It's an old memory. Nothing to worry about."

  My gaze drops to the box of spoons.

  "Please excuse me. I have a letter to write." Despite everything I've promised myself over the past few hundred years, I'm going to give the man who broke my heart a second chance.

  Chapter Five

  Why am I doing this to myself? I know Benedict sent a thoughtful gift, but that doesn't mean I have to go through with dinner, does it?

  No. I can't do this. I've already told him I'll meet him, cancelling isn't fair. And I'm not even sure it's what I want to do. My feelings on the matter don't make any sense. A part of me wants to run away. Fast. But another part of me has been waiting for this moment for nearly five hundred years. How can I pass up an opportunity to find out what happened, and why he took so long to find me.

  Perhaps that's a bit heavy for our first date.

  Wait, does this count as a date? And our first at that. I've not done anything like this since...well, since I first courted Benedict in secret and ended up kicked out of my family just as dawn was about to break.

  Before I can question myself any more, the door jingles.

  I turn, my skirts swishing out around me. A smile spreads over my face as I take in the man in front of me. Being parted from him caused me more pain than I ever want to properly admit, but there's still a joy in my heart at seeing him. I suspect it's the part which has never gotten over him.

  "Catherine," he says by way of greeting.

  "Hi." My voice is hoarser than I want it to be, but I suspect he hasn't noticed from the shortness of the word. At least, I hope he hasn't. That would be embarrassing.

  "You look beautiful." He looks me up and down, taking in everything from my face to my dress. It's one of my best ones that isn't a ballgown. That would be inappropriate.

  A blush rises to my cheeks. Which is ridiculous. I'm the madam to one of the most successful brothels in the City Of Blood, nothing should be able to make me blush. Nothing.

  "Dinner is ready, if you are," I say, standing lamely in the middle of the reception room.

  Why is simply being around him turning me into a naive girl who hasn't even been kissed before? All he's done is walk into the room, and here I am staring at him as if I'm at my first ball and he's just asked me to dance.

  "That would be nice." He shifts nervously, which is oddly reassuring me.

  If he feels the same way I do, then perhaps this isn't going to be weirdly awkward after all.

  "This way."

  I lead him through the velvet curtain and through the room we entertain in. I push open a heavy wooden door and step inside the cosy dining room. It isn't big, but it also doesn't need to be. There are only ever two or three people in here at once.

  Flames flicker from the candles in the centrepiece, but they're not lighting the room. I had someone come in and put strategic secret lights in years ago. It gives the same ambience as a candlelit dinner, without the risk of flames flickering out.

  "It's beautiful. But..." he trails off, no doubt nervous about asking his question.

  It doesn't matter. I know what it is.

  "We're one of the most renowned brothels in the city," I say gently. "It's not always about the bedroom. Some people like to book a dinner with charming company and someone who laughs at all their jokes."

  "And they like that? Even though they're paid to?" Benedict strides to one of the chairs as he asks and pulls it out for me.

  I arch an eyebrow. That's unexpected. But a nice gesture. I take a seat, and let him help me pull my chair in.

  "Sometimes, the ease of it is what makes the difference," I explain, taking a piece of bread and buttering it while he takes the seat opposite me. "And it's not like you can tell me you've never visited an establishment like this yourself."

  His cheeks burn red. Interesting. Despite knowing what I do, he's still embarrassed at being caught out by it. I wonder why that is?

  "This is a step up from picnics on the roof," I joke to break the tension.

  He breathes out the tension he's holding back, and laughs. "It is. But this is more what I wanted to do while we were courting."

  "I liked the picnics," I assure him, smiling fondly at the memories. "There was something surprisingly thrilling about them."

  "That's because they were forbidden, Kitt...Catherine." His correction warms my heart a little. Though there's a small part of me which misses being called Kitty, one that didn't say much until Benedict reappeared.

  "Perhaps. But that wasn't all it was." I don't say the words, but I can feel them hanging between us. First love. It's what made our clandestine picnics so special. He's the first person who saw me as a woman who could be loved.

  To be fair, he's also the last person to see me that way. But I'm not about to share that piece of information with him.

  I press the button on the underside of the table to call in the first course. There's one on each side, so it wouldn't have mattered if Benedict had sat in this seat. We trialled a lot of different systems when this room was first designed, and hidden buttons is the one that stuck. It means the girl running the meal is able to control what's served when, and if the people in the room need more private time, they aren't interrupted by someone coming in with a platter of roast meat.

  One of the serving girls pushes through the door with a tray of soup. She sets a bowl in front of each of us, before disappearing out of the door, all without saying a word. I've given the staff precise instructions about tonight, and I doubt any of them will be disobeying them. They know better than to gossip about my private life. I think. Up until now, I can't say I've really had one.

  Benedict lifts the spoon to his mouth and tastes the soup. His eyes light up after he has.

  "Still your favourite, then?" I ask, trying to hide how pleased I am about that. It's a risk to rely on my five hundred year old knowledge of the man, but it seems to have paid off.

  "It is," he admits. "And this is a good recipe."

  "If you like to cook, I can have our chef give you the recipe." I take a bite of my own leek and potato soup, enjoying the sweet and creamy taste. It's simple fare compared to what the chef normally makes, but it's good as a result.

  "You have a chef?" His eyes widen. "Somehow I thought you'd be the one who cooked here."

  I bark out a short laugh. "You don't want to taste my cooking," I promise. "I blame never learning when I was a child."

  "I think there'll be a lot of five hundred year old vampires who lack that skill."

  "Mmhmm. Cooking wasn't exac
tly the top of the learning agenda when it came to educating nobles." Every now and again, when I'm reheating food for myself, I do enjoy the thought of what it would do to Father if he knew I was doing that. He'd probably be more shocked by the cooking than the fact I run a brothel. "What about you?" I ask.

  "Me what?"

  "Cook," I prompt. I pick up my wine glass and take a sip.

  "If I have to," he says. "I can make a passable stew, and won't starve. But I'm not capable of making anything like this."

  "I guess they didn't teach noble boys either, then," I tease.

  "Not even minor ones like me," he agrees. "Though noble might be a stretch these days. Father lost our lands in a card game a few decades after you left court."

  Hmm. Left. That's an interesting way of saying got banished for sleeping with him. Though I suppose he may be saving that potentially awkward conversation for later.

  "Have neither of you had a chance to get them back?" My spoon clanks against my bowl, alerting me that I've emptied it without meaning to. I almost feel guilty that the conversation has distracted me from the chef's delicious creations, but I know that isn't fair. Not with the way I used to feel about Benedict.

  He sets his spoon down, also finished, and shakes his head. "Father walked out into the sun a few years later."

  I wince even at the thought of it. Sunlight is a painful way to go. I've seen far too many vampires head to death that way since the City Of Blood came to be.

  "I'm sorry..."

  "Don't be. He'd been unhappy for years. Potentially my whole life. He's in a better place now, even if it's hard to think it sometimes."

  I press the button under the table after he's finished speaking, and the maid comes back in to clear our dishes, then bring out the next course.

  As I intend him to, Benedict regains his composure while she's doing it.

  "Duck?" he asks.

  I nod.

  "I thought you didn't like it," he muses, as if it hasn't been centuries since we last ate together.

  "It turns out I just didn't like it the way the Court cooks used to prepare it. I tried it a few years ago at one of the dinner parties the Mayor has, and found I had a taste for it after all."

  He grimaces at the mention of the Mayor. "How did you end up here?" he blurts.

  "The brothel, or the City?" I know which one he means. For now. I'm sure questions about how I ended up being a madam are coming later. Though perhaps not today.

  "The City."

  "I was here when the walls went up." I cut through the duck on my plate, and took a bite. The fruity sauce and perfectly cooked meat are divine, even if the conversation isn't.

  "And you stayed?"

  There's no stopping the laughter which bubbles up from me. "You can't leave."

  "Of course you can. They let me in just over a month ago," he counters.

  My fork clatters against my plate as I let go of it, and I'm sure my shock must show on my face. "Did you look into this place before you came?"

  "I didn't think I needed to. Everyone's heard of the City Of Blood. It's the only vampire run city in the world, and is a haven for our kind." He carries on eating his food between talking, but I can't go back to my own. Not with the current topic of conversation.

  "Oh, Benedict." I sigh. How am I going to explain it to him without making him feel like a fool? "That's propaganda, nothing more."

  "I'm not following," he admits.

  "They'll let vampires in. I don't know about humans, but I'm guessing they'll let them in too. But they don't let anyone leave. We're all stuck within the walls until we do something that'll get us killed." And when the walls went up, I wasn't a madam. I was still a whore who was little more than a slave. It's best I don't mention that to him yet. I'm not sure how much of it he'll be able to take.

  "That can't be right..."

  "It is," I cut him off. "The Mayor runs this city like her own personal playpen. The humans are taxed for their blood. Anyone who disagrees with her is killed. There's weekly executions, cage fights, staking. It's worse than when the hunters established their guild."

  It's impossible to ignore the shiver which runs down his spine. I don't blame him. The truth about the City Of Blood isn't something anyone wants to hear.

  "Surely the nobles can pay to get out?"

  "I doubt it. They're either busy enjoying Mayor Reese's reign, or they're already dead." I should feel more at that statement, but the Court I once lived in turned its back on me, and I can never forgive them for it, no matter how long I live.

  "And you go to the parties with her?"

  I shrug. "Of course. I have to make a living. And the last thing I want to do is send my girls into places like that without any protection. If I'm there, then I can keep an eye on things, as well as finding new clients."

  He purses his lips. Time to change the subject. He's clearly not ready to come to terms with my profession. It hurts a little to think that, but I know it's not really his fault. It took me time to come to terms with it as well. Though I did have the advantage of knowing it's how I fed myself to speed along the process.

  I search through my mind for a good topic of conversation. One that won't make him uncomfortable, but which may start to rebuild what we lost. I could ask about the spoons, but it feels like it's too soon for that. Romance isn't the thing we need to be focusing on right now.

  "Why do you still wear the court style dresses?" he blurts.

  Huh. Not a topic I considered. But I'll take it. I smooth down my skirts under the table.

  "They're not exactly the same," I assure him. "I don't put myself through the more uncomfortable bits."

  "But the style is the same?"

  I nod. "For a couple of reasons. One of which is pockets."

  "Pockets?" His bewilderment is written all over his face.

  "They're notoriously difficult to find in modern clothing," I half-joke. That is true, but not the main reason I wear clothes like this. The truth is that after centuries of dressing like people told me to as I passed from madam to madam, when I got the chance to clothe myself again, this is one of the ways I chose to reclaim who I am. Now, it's part of what people expect when they come to the Black Fan. A lot of my girls dress similarly. But I can't tell Benedict any of that for fear of coming too close to the uncomfortable conversation again.

  "I never considered that," he admits.

  "Of course you didn't. How many pockets do you have in your jacket alone?" I ask offhandedly.

  He pats himself down, counting in his head. I have to admit, the modern cut of his suit, and the dark fabric teamed with an open white shirt looks good on him. He's always been handsome, but this is even more his style.

  "Six," he admits sheepishly.

  I chuckle. "And how many of them are you using?"

  "Two."

  "Now you see my point." I sit back in my chair, a triumphant smile spreading across my face.

  "I have to admit, I do."

  "Good." I turn back to my meal. I should finish it before it gets cold. Though in truth, it'll still be good then.

  We fall into a fairly easy conversation, neither of us straying back to the kind of topics that may get awkward. And I have to admit, I'm having fun. Over the years, I've forgotten how easy he is to talk to. And how much his voice makes my heart sing.

  Though I can't forget how long it's taken him to find me. Nor how it felt when I was cast out onto the street because of him.

  * * *

  I can forgive, but I can't forget. And I'm not sure how to move past that.

  Chapter Six

  I rest my hand on the crook of Benedict's arm, and find myself transported back hundreds of years. It's a strange experience, especially because we've both changed in that time. While I may wear the style of dresses I grew up in around the brothel and at parties, when I'm out in the city, I wear modern clothing. I use phones, talk like any of the other people I meet, and enjoy a lot of the conveniences modern living affords me.

/>   In reality, there isn't much I miss about a couple of centuries ago. Vampires may not be able to get sick, but that doesn't mean better hygiene isn't a good thing.

  "You're lost in thought," Benedict says.

  I smile at him, wanting to reassure him that he isn't the reason I'm acting this way. He isn't completely off the hook for everything that happened, but I'm glad I can spend time with him now.

  "Just pondering how the world has changed since we met."

  "That's a lot of time to think over."

  "Mmm." I'm surprised he's gone ahead and said it. "Is it any different outside the walls?" I ask.

  "What do you mean?"

  We turn onto the street which runs parallel to the river. This has been our destination the entire time, but it's a fair walk from the Black Fan. Not that it's a problem, especially under the clear moonlit sky.

  "Technology, mostly." I shrug.

  "I haven't seen anything that makes me think you're behind."

  I nod. It makes sense. There are some restrictions on TV shows, movies, and the internet, but they're easy to get around. Almost everyone does it. The only thing we can't get at all is news from outside the wall. For all I know, the world could be ending and I'd have no way of knowing.

  "Is it weird to live cut off from the rest of the world?" he asks.

  I snort. "Isn't that the way it's always been? Vampires may be out in the open now, but we still have to hide from the sun. It makes things a little complicated." It still surprises me that we came out in the world back in the eighteen hundreds. Not that it had impacted me much. At the time, I'd only just bought my freedom from the madam I belonged to, and was trying to set up my own brothel where I could treat the girls better and not force them to do it.

  It took a hundred years for me to figure things out and found the Black Fan.

  "But at least we could still travel," he points out. "Here, you're stuck."

  I shrug. "It's only been thirty years, I haven't had the urge to travel yet," I admit. "Though I suppose that doesn't mean I won't in the future."

  We lapse into silence. The City Of Blood is still too new for me to be completely sure about how it will affect my desire to travel. I've always assumed there are people I can bribe if I ever want to leave then come back. Maybe that's not actually the case?