Biting Winds

by Shawna Ireland

  "I want to get my grandmothers jewelry from the tent. She left it to me when she died. And my purse is in the trunk. I need my license."

  "Your license can be replaced. Family heirlooms cannot."

  "Where will you take me? He will look for me at my parents house."

  “I’ll take you wherever you want to go, but my home is open to you. There is plenty of space for you to have your own quarters until you know what your next step is.”

  “I’ll come back in less than an hour."

  “And if you don’t? Do I assume you have changed your mind?” Sangio wanted to be sure there were no questions left unanswered in this plan.

  “I won’t. I am leaving. But if I don’t come back in a hour, please come get me. Don’t assume I changed my mind. It’s just, Dave may have caught on.”

  “Jessica, I can take you there now and retrieve all your items for you. Dave does not pose a threat to me, I assure you,” Sangio offered, though it sounded more like a plea.

  “No, when Dave realizes I left him I want him to know it’s because he was an asshole. I don’t want him to think it’s for another man. I’m not leaving because of you.”

  “Don’t try to explain. You are honorable in your decisions. Don’t second guess yourself. I will be there in exactly an hour if you do not come to me first.”

  As they started walking back to their camp sites, Sangio reached into his pocket and pulled out a miniature can of mace on a keychain and handed it to Jessie. “Please take this.”

  She did.

  Chapter 16

  Jessie walked into the campsite with a new sense of purpose. She had a plan. She would be free in less than an hour. She planned on never seeing Dave again, unless he forced a divorce hearing. However, he already blew her savings, so there was nothing left he could take from her.

  Jessie nearly collided with Dave as she practically ran into the tent as he was coming out for his morning coffee.

  “Whoa, where’s the fire?” Dave laughed, jumping back. “I guess you’re feeling better? Think you’re up for a hike to the beach today?”

  Jessie was never sure what mood Dave would be in at any given point, and she felt a small pang of guilt for what she was about to do.

  “Maybe later," Jessie said, knowing she would be gone. "But if you want to go now I can make breakfast while you're gone?"

  Jessie crossed her fingers, praying he would bite. It would be much easier for her to leave if he were already gone. She started getting nervous and wished she had taken Sangio up on his offer to come with her. Who cares what Dave told people? If he was seriously dumb enough to believe she was leaving him for another man, rather than taking responsibility for hurting her, then he deserved the story.

  “Nah, I’ll wait for you for a bit,” Dave declined, walking out of the tent.

  She started feeling around her suitcase for the velvet jewelry pouch her grandmother gave her, and felt a slight panic rise when she couldn’t find it. She was confident she left it in that suitcase, but stranger things have happened, so she started going through all of her suitcases. When she couldn’t find them she started tearing clothes out of the suitcases until they were all empty.

  “No, no, no, no, no!” She started crying. “They have to be here.”

  She looked over and saw Dave’s bags and her gut told her she would find the jewelry in them. Quite possibly the car keys, too. She opened the first bag and started pulling out his clothes, strewing them across the bed. Nothing! She moved on to the second one but was abruptly stopped by Dave grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her backwards.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded as he tossed her by her hair towards the bed, but missing. “What the fuck are you doing in my bags?”

  “Where is my jewelry?” Jessie lifted herself onto the mattress.

  “How the hell do I know? I don’t need your damn jewelry! What do I look like, fucking cross dresser?” he spat, but could not look Jessie in the face as he said it. “What do you need with jewelry at a fucking campsite, anyway Jess?” Dave paced the tent, stepping on the strewn clothes.

  “They’re mine!” Jessie retorted.

  Dave pounced on Jessie, pinning her on the bed. “I didn’t ask you whose they were, did I? Are you retarded? I asked what you fucking needed them for at a goddamned campsite, and I don’t plan on asking again,” Dave yelled through clenched teeth, spraying spit in her face with every word.

  “I just wanted to look at it.” Jessie choked back the fear, not wanting to lose control.

  “Well that’s not going to happen!” Dave yelled. “I put them away for safe keeping. Now clean the fucking mess. I don't like my shit on the floor. And stay the fuck out of my bags!” He shoved himself off of Jessie, using her shoulders to counteract his weight, and he kicked their clothes into the air on his way out of the tent.

  Jessie didn’t even bother to wipe the blood off the puncture wounds on her shoulders where Dave dug his nails into her skin as he pushed himself off her. She didn’t even look at the bruises and swelling on her thighs from his knees pushing into her, or notice the sprained wrist from his restraints on her.

  Jessie realized that she underestimated Dave’s anger and made a terrible mistake coming back here at all. She exited the tent with fire in her eyes, intending to leave, jewelry or not.

  “Hey! Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Dave called out with a swift inclination of his voice, and Jessie could hear his thumping footsteps getting closer, so she took off in a run. Once again, Dave had her by a handful of hair, pulling her back into the campsite.

  “No!” Jessie screamed in a primal rage fueled by anger, grief, and fear.

  Dave threw Jessie hard onto the ground where she hit the back of her head on the curb that separated their car from the camping area.

  Everything started getting fuzzy for Jessie, and darkness started to overcome her. As she tried blinking hard to stay in the light, as if that would work, Jessie felt Dave straddle her, and saw him holding a huge rock, too heavy to lift with one hand, over his head. Despite her circumstances, Jessie felt calm. Resigned. She wondered where Dave would hide her dead body. That was her last thought as darkness enveloped her, sparing her from the pain from the blow to come.

  Chapter 17

  Sangio had long since disposed of his camping gear by the community garbage can, having no further need for it. Before he even made it back up the hill, he heard people snatching it up like scavengers.

  Sangio now spent his time waiting for Jessie, by pacing the campsite, making a twenty-foot long rut in the sand. Sangio replayed his conversation with Jessie over and over in his head, wishing he had fought harder to go get her jewelry himself. He could have convinced her that he could have gotten the jewelry without Dave ever knowing, but fat chance explaining that one.

  Thirty-seven minutes left. Time was moving so slow when Sangio heard Jessie’s scream, immediately knowing that he had made the wrong decision letting her go back. Sangio ran to her, but not even vampires speed was quick enough to stop Dave from bringing the heavy rock down hard on Jessie’s head, delivering a devastating, if not fatal blow to an already lifeless body.

  Whether it was shock, fear, or the distant sharp, piercing cry gaining on him, something sent Dave fleeing into the woods. For an instant, Sangio was tempted to go after Dave, tearing every limb from his puny body, but when he looked down at Jessie he could see that she was still breathing. Her breaths were sharp and shallow. Sangio knew these breaths, as he had witnessed these breaths, but he had also been the cause of them once upon a time. And once upon a time, when he was a mortal, he took his own last, shallow breaths.

  “What have I done to you? Jessie, no! Why didn’t I fight harder to make you go?” Sangio cried out, holding Jessie against him.

  Quickly, he put his wrist to his mouth, bit into his vein and forced his blood into Jessie’s mouth. His blood, which could either be life or death, would be the life she was on the edge of losing.


  Sangio gently lifted Jessie’s damaged body, and carried her with the swift grace that only his kind could manage, grabbing her blanket off the make shift clothes line. It was the same blanket she tried to hide her bruises with the day he came to return the locket.

  Back in his cove, Sangio placed Jessie in the front passenger seat of his Lexus, reclining the seat as far back as possible. He wrapped her in the blanket, and pulled towels from the trunk of his car, using them to wrap her head. He put two more towels on either side of her head to keep her from rolling, strapped her in with the seatbelt, and hastily began the drive home.

  Chapter 18

  It had been over a century since Sangio had been to his family mansion. He knew his hefty inheritance, as well as the continuous deposits he made into the maintenance fund over the century provided all the necessities to keep the home and vineyard fully operational, in the event that he decided to return home. Although after his father and brother had been murdered in that home, Sangio wasn’t sure that he ever would.

  Sangio phoned ahead to his house manager.

  “Danvonne Residence. This is Mrs. Brock. How may I help you?” the elderly woman questioned, breathless and with a hint of excitement in her voice. No other house manager ever had the opportunity to answer this phone. Phone calls always came through on the business line by way of vendors. All family contact regarding the mansion or vineyard duties have always been through telegram, mail, or email. This was precisely why, even at her grand old age of sixty-seven, she sprinted to the phone as soon as she heard the shrill ring in the room that was once used as the families office. She was not disappointed.

  “Mrs. Brock, this is Mr. Sangio Danvonne. I would like you to prepare the mansion for my arrival late this evening. Please arrange the master bedroom, as well as the adjoining guest quarters. I would like the kitchen fully stocked before you dismiss the entire staff, with pay of course, pending further instructions.”

  “Please, consider it my pleasure, Mr. Danvonne,” Mrs. Brock exclaimed, pleased to know there has been an actual purpose to her servitude for the past fifty years, and for those who served before her, besides a paycheck.

  “Mrs. Brock, I also require two of your finest nurses to be set up with sleeping quarters as well, and prepare them for an assignment that will require their presence for two weeks at the minimum. And Mrs. Brock? Of course, you understand that my affairs are to be treated with the utmost discretion.”

  “As they have been since I was assigned to your service half a century ago, Mr. Danvonne, and with my mother before me, and her mother before her,” Mrs. Brock assured him.

  Chapter 19

  Sangio pulled into the mile-long dirt drive leading to his family’s estate. The vineyards welcomed him on both sides, covered with green grape leaves and adolescent grapes, just two months shy of harvest for the fine selection of wines that kept his family estate running smoothly in his absence, and also stimulated the economy of the small town surrounding the estate.

  Just ahead, Sangio could see the broken roofline of the mansion that has been in his family since the mid-1700s. The Danvonne estate and vineyard, was his by birthright, and required creative documentation to keep it from falling out of his hands. Rightfully, it should have been passed down from his grandfather to his father, then to his older brother. However, their early deaths prevented the natural procession of inheritance.

  The memory of their deaths brought Sangio’s brows together, tightening his facial muscles, and darkened his already black eyes to a deeper onyx. With rigidity and apprehension, Sangio cleared the vineyard and headed towards the house.

  The home was just as beautiful as the day he left, and held the same old world charm that his mother loved almost as much as she loved his father. It was modeled after a French Chateau Mansion, though Sangio did not fancy using such a pompous description.

  Regardless of whether he called it a house or a home, it was a prestigious estate. It boasted peaked towers, slanted roofs, and sturdy turrets, and the insipid yellow exterior radiated with gold when the sun reached downward from the sky, spilling on the Victorian pillars that held the balconies he often smoked cigars on with his father many years ago.

  The dormerarched, and its rounded windows shimmered as if flecked with diamonds. The white cascading staircase, split in the center, met its related counterpart at the foot of the spherical driveway. The road no longer kicked up a trail of dust as Sangio remembered, but instead laid firm, packed with gravel.

  As the foliage came into view, Sangio rolled his window down, smelling the perfumed air surrounding the estate. Hints of seasoned fruits, sweet saccharine, and fresh linen permeated his nostrils, bringing him back to his days as a toddler, laying in his mother’s lap in the rose garden. The hedges were squared, and the pink and crimson flowers were untamed and liberated. The trees were soaring and lean, while the underbrush was squat and packed.

  A quiet moan from Jessie snapped Sangio from his reverie, and sent him purposefully into a series of actions. He got out of the car, walked to the passenger side and opened the door. Gently lifting Jessie into his arms, he climbed the marble staircase where he met the two nurses, Stacey and Beth. The women could not have been less alike if they tried.

  Stacey, tall and thin with a blond pony tail, perfectly manicured makeup and hair, looked as if she was an aspiring Dallas cheerleader. Beth, on the other hand, was much shorter, plump, with short curly hair, also wearing makeup, but much darker than Stacey’s. Goth would be a suitable depiction, although Beth may have gone a little overboard with the piercings and jet black hair. Beth wore vintage eyeglasses, which were probably more of a statement, than an optical need.

  Both women had been quietly chatting as he came up the stairs, but simultaneously became silent as they soaked in the remarkably appealing man coming towards them, full of charm and refinement. The ladies were unable to look beyond his face to see the unconscious body he held so firmly, protectively.

  Sangio cleared his throat. “Ladies, I assure you I am not the subject of which your services were requested."

  Stacey and Beth followed his somber gaze to the unconscious woman whose head was wrapped in layers of towels, which appeared to be wet. Embarrassed by their brief lack of professionalism, the nurses immediately fumbled for the doors of the mansion, and quickly led Sangio to the guest quarters that they previously prepared, though they were unsure not only whom it was prepared for, but what condition their patient would be arriving in. Certainly, one would not require two nurses for a broken leg? So, as directed by Mrs. Brock, the nurses came fully prepared with everything from gauze to a fully loaded crash cart.

  The nurses worked in unison, opening doors, pulling covers back, and removing extra pillows, which pleased Sangio, as he was confident these ladies would make a splendid team. Sangio laid Jessie on the bed, taking extra precaution with her head as he placed it on the pillow.

  Sangio heard the gasps from the nurses as he removed layer upon layer of towels, soaked in blood, exposing Jessie’s gruesome injuries. Sangio too, took a step back in shock, not fully prepared to see the additional swelling of the once petite face, or the angry black and red bruises that overtook the eyes he once watched dance with the stars.

  “She needs a doctor. We can’t help her!” Beth cried out.

  “She’s dying! Oh my God, Mr. Danvonne! Call the ambulance.” Stacey was now covering her mouth, trying to keep the panic, and possibly a scream, at bay.

  Sangio held his hand up to silence them, as he forced his own composure, and better assessed Jessie’s injuries. He gently pushed her blood caked hair, with both fresh and dried blood, littered with sand and pine needles, away from her face. Her nose was obviously shattered, and there was a gaping crack that ran from the center of her eyes to the tip of her hairline high on her forehead. Embedded in her badly swollen forehead, he coud see scattered fragments of bone chipped and broken.

  It was too much for Sangio. He fought the urge to tear throu
gh the room, the town, and kill every living soul around. It took every drop of restraint he had left to demand his own composure and turn his attention to the traumatized nurses, who were completely silent, one staring at the floor, and the other still covering her mouth. They were all fighting back tears.

  “A tragic incident occurred, which has summoned your skilled services for my guest. The woman before you, Jessica, will not die. She will not. She will fully recover. As your employer, I offer you the utmost trust to be in my home and to perform the necessary tasks. I ask that you put the same trust in me. Jessica will live, and with your help she will be hydrated, clean, and comfortable for the duration of her healing.” Sangio’s voice went from one of sorrow to that of sincere conviction. Looking directly at the nurses, using every drop of charm that he could compel them with, he was able to get them to nod their heads to accept the assignment. “You will report any changes to me immediately. I trust that you can handle the scheduling amongst yourselves so she is not alone at any time. Should you have a need, either for Jessie or yourselves, you will tell me at once,” Sangio instructed.

  For reasons unbeknownst to Stacey and Beth, they knew their patient would survive.

  Sangio excused himself as the nurses began stripping, cleaning, and attending to Jessie. He headed across the open foyer, pausing for only a second, before stepping into what was once his father’s office.

  Sangio inhaled deeply as the room was permeated with the faint aroma of his father’s favored cigars, scotch, and worn leather. Sangio could practically see his father, Thaddeus, sitting in his executive high-back leather chair, puffing clouds of smoke up into the air as he bit down on the end of his Cuban cigar, contemplating retirement.

  Gazing out of the great window overlooking the vineyard, his father would nod his head, covered in thinning salt and pepper hair, pleased with the abundance of round, swollen grapes sheared off the vines by their grape pickers, content that the fruits of their labor would pay off for yet another season. Whether taken directly to be washed and pressed, or carried in baskets to the end of the road and sold to people as they passed by, the grapes of Danvonne Vineyard were steadily sought after.