by Sophia North
Dante turned his head to stare deeply into her eyes. "You wouldn't let me in," he replied gently. "But perhaps it was for the best. Why settle for a dream when reality would be so much better."
Simone drew in a shaky breath. His words sent shivers of excitement through her. She knew it was wrong to want him, but she did. She ached for him.
"Not tonight," he whispered seductively in her ear. "When I make you mine I want you...completely. Sleep, my beautiful Simone. Sleep."
She yawned, nestled her head against his shoulder, and did exactly that.
Chapter Twelve
RIVULETS OF HOT water streamed down Simone's body, washing away all traces of the previous night's escapades. With her head tilted up, she ran her soapy fingers along her completely healed throat, watching the remnants of dried blood disappear down the drain.
Unsure of the time when she'd woken in a large four poster bed, she'd turned to see if there was a clock in the room and instead found a freshly cut peony on the pillow beside her. It's intoxicating smell assailed her senses, it's delicate ruffled deep pink petals still carried the morning dew.
Simone stepped from the walk-in shower, reached for a large, plush towel and dried off. In front of the sink, she paused to check her throat in the large mirror.
Not a mark to be found. Incredible. Whatever Dante had done to heal her had worked miracles. She'd be sure to add that to the long list of questions she had for him.
Back in the bedroom, Simone stopped abruptly. The room had been tidied, the bed made and her flower placed in an elegant crystal vase on top of the chest-of-drawers. Laid out on the bed was a white summer dress, with beautifully embroidered flowers decorating the flared scalloped hem.
Simone lifted the dress and held it against her towel-clad body. A perfect fit. She slid it on and was about to reach behind to zip it up when a pair of hands began to do it for her.
With a sharp intake of breath, Simone felt fingers softly trace her spine before they zipped her up. Desire coursed through her. Who knew putting on clothes could be so erotic?
"Good morning, Simone," Dante whispered seductively in her ear. "Are you hungry?"
Ravenous, she thought, but not for food.
Sensing her growing desire, Dante resisted. "Ah, yes. Tempting as that may be - you need to eat and we need to talk. Properly," he replied sternly, unsure if the edge in his tone was meant to keep his or Simone's passion in check. "When you are ready, please join me in the kitchen. I'll make you some breakfast."
Startled by his offer, she blurted out: "I thought vampyres only drank blood. Why would you know how to cook?"
Dante chuckled warmly. "Believe it or not, Simone - you are not the only human I have had the pleasure to entertain. I am three hundred years old, remember."
"I'm not sure if I can ever get used to it," she confessed. "I have so many questions."
"I know - and I will answer them. But first, finish here and come down to eat."
Dante did not wait for her to reply, vanishing just as quickly as he'd appeared. Only a gentle stir of her nearly dry hair against her cheek provided proof he'd even been there.
Simone returned to her ensuite bathroom to finish getting ready. On the counter, a basket filled with all her preferred feminine necessities awaited her perusal. Impressed by Dante's thoughtfulness, she began to apply lip gloss when the truth struck her. The lip gloss was made by her favourite boutique in the exact shade of colour she always bought. What sort of male mind stocked his home with an array of women's cosmetics to such a degree?
Simone's hand shook slightly as she returned the gloss's applicator and screwed it shut. No sane male mind would, was her silent reply.
Tossing it back into the basket, she stalked from the ensuite bathroom and made her way out of the bedroom, intent on grilling her host over his scary attention to cosmetic details. it wasn't until she reached the top of a grand staircase that her anger was replaced by a sudden feeling of awe over her opulent surroundings.
Her vague memories from last night did not really capture the splendour. She knew the house was grand, her bedroom alone was the size of her flat's bedroom wing, and that was by no means small.
Yet, she hadn't expected anything quite so majestic.
Marble stairs led to a large central hall, also made of marble. With towering columns supporting the incredible height of this central edifice, the home's interior was like a huge courtyard of marble. But it was the marble's colour which truly created the most dramatic effect - it was of the purest white and bathed the area in so much brightness a person could be forgiven for thinking it was sunlight.
Such purity owned by a creature of the night - the irony did not escape her.
Simone eventually found her way to the kitchen tucked at the far end of the house. The smell of fresh coffee and bacon was heavenly.
Dante stood behind a large black granite island, cooking. "Coffee is on the table," he said, tilting his head in its direction but keeping his gaze fastened on the task at hand. "How do you like your eggs?"
Simone remained silent as she padded over to the table and poured a cup of coffee. "You neglected to provide me with shoes - which is surprising given your excellent selection in lip gloss," she commented, studying him intently for his reaction.
Dante grimaced. "I can explain - it is not as you believe. I had my manservant go to your flat to investigate and he ..."
The sound of loud cawing interrupted Dante's explanation. Startled, Simone turned to find a gilded cage in a niche with a large intimidating black bird flapping its wings and generally making a ruckus.
"You have a pet raven?" she gasped.
Dante either ignored her question, or could not hear it over the bird's din, as he continued on as if nothing had happened. "Oh, very well. I had my private secretary investigate your flat and he thought you would like to have some familiar, personal things around to comfort you."
"You have a gay personal assistant, who investigates women you want to shag, so you have their preferred cosmetics on hand when they are held hostage awaiting their fate?"
Her ream of words took some following and the raven seemed to take exception to something she'd said because it started squawking again.
"He prefers private secretary," Dante corrected her. "And he tends to get a bee in his bonnet over the pettiest of matters. In answer to your rant: no, I do not."
The raven quieted.
"Egg preference?" he asked again.
"Poached."
Theirs were the strangest conversations.
Simone sat at the table sipping her coffee watching Dante. A tight black short-sleeved shirt hugged his very muscular torso, with a perfectly pressed pair of black trousers completing the look. The vamp certainly knew how to make an elegant impression and could easily pass for a high-powered executive from the City.
"I still await an explanation," she reminded him after he placed an artfully arranged plate in front of her. "Wait, where's the bacon?"
Dante flashed back and forth from the island to present her with a plate of sizzling bacon. "I was unsure if your delicate constitution would allow for such an indulgence - seeing as you are a 'poached' person."
"When one has had their blood sucked by a vampyre, bacon should not only be encouraged but deemed essential to regaining one's equilibrium," she replied, greedily tucking in.
Dante laughed in return and poured himself a cup of coffee.
"You drink coffee?" she asked in surprise.
"Amongst other things."
Simone swallowed her bacon with a distinctive gulp.
"This is going to be a very long conversation if I’m to list out all the things I can or can't do, wouldn't you agree?"
"Partially," she replied coolly, unappreciative of his condescending tone. "However, it is not like we share the same benign day-to-day human traits, do we?"
Dante sipped his coffee, his grey eyes flashing in amusement over the cup's rim. "Touché."
"You are impo
ssible," she muttered, echoing her opinion from the previous night.
Simone dug into her eggs savagely, determined to eat something and then leave. She'd reached her limit with this vampyre world.
Dante sighed, placing his cup down. There was much to explain and little time to do so. Alfred's surveillance footage and Vlad's numerous voicemails demanding Dante return his calls painted a bleak picture. He really wasn’t sure where to start.
Simone ate her breakfast at record speed. The sooner she was on her way the better. "Thank you for the excellent bed and breakfast service, if you could kindly provide me with my shoes, I'll be on my way."
"I cannot let you leave."
"No, it is you who cannot go into the sunlight. I am human and perfectly capable of basking in its loving warmth - hence my leaving."
"Come. I will show you why."
Dante rose and held out his hand.
Simone slapped it away. "Forgive me, if I refuse."
Exasperated, Dante snapped his fingers and a large flat-screen TV came on behind him. On it was a still image.
Simone recognised it immediately. "Why the hell is my flat on your TV?" The frozen image began to play. "You have cameras in my flat!" she exclaimed.
In response, the footage began to jump about, quickly dispelling her accusation. "Oh wait, you sent your obviously DTing private secretary to break into my flat and film it."
"Watch", Dante commanded. The camera angle hopped along at floor level, until the image of a body on the floor of the library came into view.
"Oh my god, there is a dead body in my flat! Who ..." Simone didn't need to finish the question. Daryl, the Head of Security at her building, lay with his throat ripped out on the screen. "Does he have ...?"
"Wolf fangs ... yes." Dante switched the screen off.
"Daryl is a werewolf? Werewolves are real too?"
"Yes to both questions," Dante solemnly replied. "I suspect he sensed trouble in your flat and due to his nature went to investigate. Wolves are notoriously territorial and will not tolerate vampyres on their patch, so to speak."
"A vampyre killed him? Why? And for that matter, why would a vampyre be in my flat?"
She fired questions at him like a barrage of bullets. "I am not sure yet,” he answered. “I have my associate looking into the matter and expect him shortly."
This gave Simone pause. "Another vampyre will be here soon?" As if one wasn't bad enough to deal with - two would no doubt be hell. Male vamps seemed to lean heavily on the high-handed arrogant side of the spectrum and she could do without having to deal with two male captors.
"Don't be alarmed - Vlad is my brother. I want you to meet him. He is the only one I trust and you need never fear him. He will be your protector when I cannot."
"I told you, I won’t stay here."
"Stop being so obtuse. You know as well as I, you have no other option. Your life is in danger and you require protection."
"From whom exactly? Looks to me vampyres are my problem so I am not sure how seeking refuge with one puts me in a particularly good position. Since our meeting, I've been threatened, bitten and now have the pleasure of being held hostage by the one linking it all together. Forgive me for not seeing my only option out of this mess is to get the hell away from you."
Hmm, this was not going to be as easy as he thought.
"Give me one hour to convince you otherwise," Dante bargained, expecting Vlad to return with further news at any moment. Also, he hoped his friend's more easy temperament might help convince Simone they weren't all unbending, opinionated bastards.
Simone hesitated. Something within her told her to hear him out.
Dante could see she was close to agreeing until her next question put everything back in jeopardy.
"What time is it by the way? I have yet to see a clock in this mausoleum and my mobile is conveniently missing."
"Just past nine in the evening."
"As in Friday evening! My car, my appointments ... people will be frantically looking for me. And with a dead body in my flat ... " Simone could not bring herself to finish the thought. The shit-storm her disappearance must be creating daunted her. What would she tell people? Certainly not the bloody truth.
"Your absence has been taken care of for the time being. But unless you try to trust me, or at the very least hear me out, I can make no guarantees it will remain unremarked upon."
Realising her options were indeed rather limited, she conceded some ground. "You have one hour. I suggest you make the most of it because you are on very thin ice with me. Comprendo?" He wasn't the only one who could use foreign languages to make a point.
"Aye, aye Captain."
The cheek.
Chapter Thirteen
"SHALL WE START with you asking me questions? I promise to truthfully answer each and every one, if it will make you agree to stay under my protection." Dante announced magnanimously, as he held the library door open for her.
"It will take more than an exclusive vampyre exposé to accomplish such a feat, but I will admit to being curious," she remarked sweeping past him and into the room.
Pausing when she sensed he'd not followed her in, Simone turned back to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, surprised to find him lingering so far away.
"Hmm, I get the feeling you are not prepared to listen to my answers with an open-mind. Perhaps it is unwise for us to continue as we have been," he replied enigmatically.
Not listen...close-minded? What the hell was he on about? Listening and being open-minded was all she ever did. And why was he standing at the door when he should be at her side begging for forgiveness?
Simone was having none of it. "Are you taking the piss again?"
"No, I am deadly serious, Dr. Radcliffe."
Oh, so this was his line of offence was it? Threatening her into submission was never going to work. She'd faced far more intimidating adversaries than him. He may be capable of truly terrifying things as a vampyre, but then, the human race were no slouches in the monster department. And she'd met a few in her time.
Dante Polidori didn't even come close to scaring her with his bluster. He wanted her. She wanted him. And therein laid her power.
"Deadly serious, are you?" she asked, placing a finger to her lip and cocking her hip. "I see. Hmm, what a shame."
Dante's eyes narrowed. What game was she playing at now? He never knew from one moment to the next which Simone he was going to have to deal with - Dr. P&P or hellcat, who the fuck knew? It seemed to depend on her mood.
On their way from the kitchen, he'd believed being deferential to her demands would be the best course to convince her to stay. But her continued snipes and hot & cold weather fronts had him questioning whether it was wise to continue to humour her.
He wanted to please her...lord, how he wanted to, in every way possible...but if Vlad's arrival brought even a fraction of the shit he expected, her need to be pliable would disappear out the window. So why even bother letting her believe she had a choice in the matter?
Because you want more from her than a hostile prisoner, his inner voice whispered.
And he did. Which is why he proposed an hour to convince her to be reasonable. It wasn't just for her benefit. It was for them both.
If they became enemies because of his need to keep her safe, so be it. But it didn't have to be that way...the choice was hers to make. He was prepared to close the door and lock her in if she continued to be shrewish and unbending.
She had three minutes to suss this out and change her attitude or face the consequences.
"A shame, love? Hmm, 'fraid not...at least not from where I stand."
Sensing she was dancing very close to a line with him, she decided not to push her luck. However, in her mind, the battle for supremacy was far from being over between them.
Turning on her heel, she glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Do you promise to answer my questions truthfully, no
matter what I ask, if I cease being...difficult?"
Damn, who was he kidding? He had a barefooted goddess standing in his library and an hour to kill until Vlad undoubtedly arrived. One could accomplish much in that time...a few times over.
"No holds barred - I swear."
His sincerity was real. Simone sensed it along with his arousal. Ahh, girl power never failed when applied with care. And she'd sussed out his triggers with pinpoint accuracy - a specialty of hers.
Simone knew without doubt that Dante would not respect a shrill, nor a milksop who cried at the drop of a hat. Lucky for him, she appreciated a strong male who was not afraid to put her in place when she went too far...with just the right amount of dominance. Delicious.
"Then do come in, Mr. Polidori. The doctor is ready for you."
Ding-dong. She won.
All thought of putting distance between them faded from Dante's mind.
Taking a moment to indulge in a more detailed perusal of her environment, as well as decide on what questions she wanted to ask him, Simone began to wander the room.
Last night...or whenever it was - time really had seemed to disappear - she had not had much chance to observe his home. She was curious to see what it revealed about him.
In what appeared to be a combination of a large sitting room, library-cum-office, several comfortable wing-back chairs were placed around the deep leather couch she’d woken upon...yesterday?
The walls and floor of this particularly large room were sumptuously decorated. A couple of thick Persian rugs sat on top of a beautiful, crimson carpet. Two gold-framed oil paintings of dark starry skies and moonlit landscapes hung above a marble fireplace. They particularly caught her eye and Simone could not hide her admiration.
"Your home really is lovely," she commented, turning her head to gain a better perspective.
Dominating the other end of the room were rows of bookcases stacked with leather-bound books. Behind her, in front of a wide richly curtained window, stood a full size snooker table, illuminated by a row of low hanging spotlights.
"For a mausoleum?" Dante said teasingly, mocking her earlier description of his home. He then moved to stand behind her.
