by Trisha Telep
I turned to Luke. “So, what have you got to eat around here? I’m starving.”
Over a large meal of steak (rare) and potatoes (garlic mashed) hand delivered by Luke to my room, he explained the vampire myths that weren’t true. Garlic wasn’t anathema, as evidenced by the delicious potatoes. Sunlight didn’t burn us to a crisp. We weren’t immune to death or invincible to injury. We didn’t age, true enough, and our cells had remarkable resilience, but we could bleed and we could die given the right damage. As for our souls, who could tell? Who could tell what happened to any man’s soul? Why should we be any different?
“Fair enough,” I wiped my mouth after the last bite of steak and leaned back in my chair. “So, we’re just like ordinary people except –”
“Not the lack of aging. And the fact that we do crave blood.” Luke used a crusty bit of bread to wipe the excess juices from his plate, then popped it in his mouth and smiled, savouring it, as if to prove a point. “A desire we try to keep in check with a limited diet.”
“Rare meat?” I raised a brow.
He shook his head. “Breakfast. Oatmeal. With blood.”
“Ew.” I recoiled
“You’ll get used to it. Trust me.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Just a hint of age?
“I do. So tell me.” I leaned forward, my chin on my hand, suddenly interested in all things Luke. Appetite sated, I began to crave something else. “how old are you, Doctor Jameson?”
“Old enough to know the signs.”
“Signs? What signs?”
“Your body’s sending you signals. For all our advancement, we’re still so primitive under the skin.”
I didn’t mind the idea of getting primitive with Luke.
“Aha, see? The gleam in your eyes. You’re feeling the effects.”
He got up, crossed over to the side table, picked up the opened bottle of wine, and returned to pour more into my glass, then his. “You’re too young to control it. It’s about to overwhelm you.”
“I’m hardly overwhelmed.” But even as I said it, I felt my lips curl in wily ingénue fashion. “I’m just trying to get to know you better, Luke.”
“I can see that.” His gaze followed to where my hand toyed with the neckline of my sweater. “I’m sure we could know each other quite well by the time the sun sets.”
He stood confident in front of me, his hands resting in the pockets of his khaki trousers as he allowed my gaze to run over his lean, muscular form. He’d removed his white jacket before dinner. Blond curls grazed the collar of a button-down blue oxford shirt that hugged broad shoulders. A powerful chest narrowed to a slender waist, probably washboard abs, and the fit of his pants left no doubt about the muscular thighs beneath. And in between? My glass in one hand, I rose and approached, the index finger of my other hand extending to make friends with the skin between his collar and hairline. His pulse worked a fierce tattoo under my finger pad. He backed away.
“This is why we keep the newbies isolated.” He stepped around me to pick up his glass, downed half the contents and set it back on the table. “You’re all so eager to test your skills.”
“My skills? So I do have superhuman powers?”
He laughed, a low rich chortle that hummed in echo through my bloodstream. “Superhuman urges, perhaps.”
“And we’re discouraged from indulging?” I pouted, a recalcitrant child.
He faced me. “For now.” His words indicated a delay but his heavy-lidded gaze, dropping down the length of me, indicated anything but rejection. “Until you know yourself a little better.”
I hazarded contact, stepping right up so that the tips of my breasts brushed his chest as I looked up into his arresting amber eyes. “Perhaps I could find myself through knowing you better first.”
“You want to know me?” I could feel him breathe. I was just a lad. Not even thirteen when he took me.”
“He?” My gaze caught his. “A man turned you?”
“Mm,” he nodded. His hands ran up my arms. “It happened in the sun king’s court.”
“Louis XVI?” My momentary distraction from the heat of his touch made me wonder if I’d got it right.
“My father, a devoted courtier to England’s Charles II, died some six months before the marriage was arranged between Charles’ sister Henrietta and the King’s brother Philippe, Duc d’Orleans. It was decided that Henrietta needed some more experienced women among the entourage and my mother, a widow, was enlisted. I was an only child. She brought me along.”
“To the court of Louis XIV?” My heart raced. How exciting! I always lived to find good primary sources, and I had one standing right in front of me. “You were there?”
He stepped back, his hand reaching up to rumple the back of his hair. “Mother lost herself in intrigues and affairs, all the while forgetting she’d brought me along, or so it seemed. She found me a position in Philippe’s service: glorified footman. It wasn’t long before I graduated to favourite plaything.”
“Oh Luke.” I ached for him. A boy left to fend for himself among the fondling of jaded courtiers?
“Philippe’s favourite, the Chevalier de Lorraine, was kind to me at first. He plied me with wine, whispered that it wouldn’t hurt, that it would make me stronger. I wanted to be stronger to be able to fend off some of the more forward members of Philippe’s entourage. Philippe eventually joined us, but he apparently didn’t know.”
“That the chevalier was a –”
“A vampire, yes. Or that he had made me one. Philippe had been drinking heavily. Lorraine convinced him I was dead, that he had somehow killed me accidentally, and he talked Philippe into letting him do away with my remains before a scandal could erupt.”
“But you were just a boy.” And now he was clearly a man. I grew confused. How had he aged?
“I was. They claimed I’d fallen down some stairs. They told my mother I was dead. The Chevalier de Lorraine told me I was dead, that I was no more than a phantom and I would have to find my own way in the world.”
“He turned you out with nothing?”
“With a few baubles, actually. Things I could sell on the street, and I did. I made enough to earn a passage back to England and I went to my father’s estate. The servants, having heard of my death, were convinced I was a ghost. Rumours of my haunting the place persist until this day.” He laughed now, his mood growing lighter. “I took more things to sell so I could live, and I disappeared. I didn’t know what to do. I ended up on a merchant ship to Barbary, where I fell victim to slave traders.”
I gasped. “Slave traders?”
“My blond hair and pale skin made me a desirable item for any sheik’s private collection. Fortunately, a Persian doctor rescued me and brought me to live with his family.”
“Amazing.”
“Lucky. He knew a few things about my condition.” He stopped talking and stared out of the window, at the sky growing darker over the rolling waves.
His back to me, I risked getting close to him again, this time to comfort, not to seduce. I pressed myself to his back and gave a light squeeze, my hands cupping his shoulders.
He spun around to face me. “He cured me. The Persian. Or so I thought. He made potions that he encouraged me to drink. I still don’t know what was in all of them, but I’ve tried to duplicate most of them from memory.” He laced fingers with mine. “I aged. I grew up. Cured. Or so I thought. And then –”
“Then?”
“He died. He died and his secrets died with him. I realized that without his medicines, my symptoms were coming back and I moved on.”
“Where? Back to England?”
“I banged around the Barbary coast for years as a pirate.”
“Of the eye-patch-wearing, peg-leg, shiver-me-timbers variety?” I crossed my arms over my chest. I imagined him in tawny leather breeches, a billowy shirt opened to his navel. Maybe not such a stretch.
“A pirate. Of the bloodthirsty, treasure-pillaging variety.” He nodded,
apparently not about to offer more proof than his word. “A damn good pirate too. They called me Goldbeard. I was feared around the globe. All right, at least around that particular coastline. I set my sights on raiding all French ships that came into range. There was a price on my head for many years. I eventually got tired of the lifestyle and decided to try my hand as an explorer.”
“Of course. And what did you explore? Mayan ruins? Perhaps you discovered the fountain of youth?”
He shrugged. “Who needed it? I explored the colonies. America. I settled with some displaced Huguenots along the coast of Maine.”
I cocked a brow. “I suppose you also fought in the Revolutionary War?”
He shook his head. “I’m not a fan of war. I was off on new adventures by then. Adventures in botany, actually. Still looking for the right combination of herbs and roots to make the cure. It wasn’t until the sixties that I finally attended med. school.”
“The 1960s?” He nodded. I needed to make sure. “Wow. So when in all that time did you come across Connor Black?”
His sharp intake of breath indicated his displeasure with the change of subject. No, I hadn’t forgotten Connor, though I could no longer hear him in my mind.
“We’ve crossed paths through the centuries.” He met my curious gaze, the amber of his eyes as intense as a gold-tinged flame. “We’re brothers of a fashion.”
“Brothers?” My hand flew to my neck. I knew he didn’t mean actual brothers. “The Chevalier de Lorraine? But Connor doesn’t support your cause?” An innocent question on the surface, but I had a feeling it went deeper between Luke and Connor. Way deeper.
“We’ll never be in agreement on the ethical responsibilities of our condition. I’ve given up on Connor Black.”
“And he would rather not see you, either, I’m guessing. So why were you there that night? Why track him down?”
“He’s spreading the infection. It goes against everything we believe in here.”
A pain stabbed deep in my chest. “Where’s Connor now?”
He reached out to stroke the hair back from my face, a tender gesture that felt all too protective. “You need rest. Your system still hasn’t adjusted.”
“I don’t want to sleep Luke. I want to know the truth.”
“You will , In time. But trust me on the sleep thing. I know what you need.”
And suddenly, as if his voice registered a hypnotic suggestion, I could hardly keep my eyes open.
“Sleep,” I echoed. “Yes, I need sleep.” And before I could blink, I felt myself sliding to the floor. The last thing I knew was the feel of Luke’s arms around me as he carried me to my bed.
I woke breathless, buried under the sea, paralysed by the weight of water pummelling, pummelling, even as the waves brought me closer to shore. I could see the light beyond white crests but couldn’t reach it, too far, so far away. I told myself not to breathe, that breathing would be death, but I couldn’t fight the urge. I sucked in, like breathing through a velvet curtain then swallowing said curtain whole. Too thick, it caught in my throat. Connor grabbed the end and pulled.
“Breathe, Miranda. You have to breathe.!”
I sat up choking and grasping at my throat. It was all a dream. But Connor’s voice still lingered.
“I can’t breathe,” I whispered into the night air, taking great gulps between words.
Now find me. Connor’s voice stayed with me. Walk towards the shore.
Barefoot, still in my cotton nightdress, I walked to the sitting room and slipped out through the patio doors. The night was warm and still, no trace of a breeze. The moon hung low over the water. I headed towards it, wood patio slats giving way to soft sand. Waves caressed the shore with a sound as light as a lover’s touch. When I got closer to the water, I turned back to look at the house.
It was larger than I imagined, too big for one or two people. An enormous stone mansion that could have come straight out of a film version of Pride and Prejudice, Mr Darcy’s Pemberley. He’d said the lab, research facility and dorms were in another building, so why all the space? There was more to Luke, and this little island retreat, than he’d let on. Suddenly I wondered how he would react to know that I was awake and walking around. Had alarms gone off? Would he come looking for me? Or was I truly as free to come and go as he’d said I was? I had my doubts.
I forgot the waves and the beauty of the night and returned to the house. My little suite of rooms didn’t show through the trees, but there were lights on in what looked to be the main part of the house, an enormous central room lined with windows looking out to the sea. The room took a clearer shape as I approached. It was a library, rows of books lining shelves around the room, tables and chairs in the centre. I saw Luke on a ladder, his back to me.
As I neared a row of stone steps, something beckoned off to the side, and a voice in my head said: Stay low. Low? I crouched, an instant reaction, and ducked around the wall. A light in another window caught my gaze. I headed for it and found that it was open. I shimmied across the window sill carefully, the coolness of the stone against my thinly clad bottom reminding me I probably should have dressed before heading out for an adventure. My feet touched down on smooth tile in a room with steel tables, glass tubes, vials, burners and sinks. It looked to be some sort of lab, probably where Luke did some of his more private research. I walked out of a side door and into a dark corridor. Find me. Connor’s voice became louder, as if perhaps I’d got close. I opened a door, some sort of bedroom with an antique canopied bed at the centre. Heavy velvet linens draped a matching wine-coloured duvet. No sign of Connor, but there were pictures everywhere.
A painting of a lovely woman in a 1970’s-style gown, pink chiffon, graced the wall opposite the bed. There were photos of the same woman under the painting in various poses and outfits, different days, celebrating different black-and-white moments in her life: having a picnic, walking on the beach, holding a baby and standing under an arch of flowers at what had to be a wedding. She looked a decade older than Luke, who stood beaming at her side, so handsome in black tie.
She looked familiar somehow, but it took me several stilted heartbeats to figure out why. She could have been me. We looked a lot alike. Had this been her room? What about the baby? Find me. My attention flew to the door opposite the bed. Connor.
I opened the door. No sign of Connor, but I knew the baby had been a girl, and this had been her room, next to her mother’s. It must have been a lovely child’s room, all pink and lace, but it hadn’t translated well to a young woman’s private domain. A do-not-disturb sign hung from the knob, heavy-metal posters on the back of the door of Van Halen, The Who, AC/DC. Maybe some of them were vampires. Who knew? The fact that Connor didn’t believe in Luke’s mission meant that there were probably plenty of vampires out there, feeding among the masses, spreading their disease.
“Our blessing,” he said, muffles but distinctly out loud.
I looked around. “Where are you?”
“Open the closet. I’m locked in. It opens from the outside.”
I opened it quickly. Connor squinted into the night. “Thank God, you finally found me. It’s like a coffin in here. I can hardly move. Lend a hand.”
I helped him climb out of the empty, rectangular darkness. Much like a coffin, I agreed. Only he’d been left standing up. “Poor thing. Can you walk?”
He stretched, squatted down on his haunches and stood back up again. He wore the Stones T-shirt and the same jeans I’d been ready to slide off him on that fateful night in my apartment. The night we’d both been taken. Taken, I realized at last. No one had asked my permission.
“I can walk.” He took my hand. “Come on. We have to move fast. I know where we can find a boat.”
“A boat? You think we should just leave?”
He turned to me, such a look in his eyes. “I haven’t exactly been kept in luxury accommodation. I have a house in the Keys. We could make it by daylight if the weather cooperates.”
“Da
ylight,” I echoed following after him to the next room. I tugged him back. “Why don’t we go out a window? We’re on the ground floor.”
He gestured to the windows. Barred. Apparently, Connor wasn’t the only one to be held against his will. “Oh. God. Why?”
“Later. Come on.” He led me back to the lab where I’d come in. He helped me through the window first, then followed me out. “Down the beach. There’s a boathouse.”
He moved faster than I could have imagined, as if he had wings on his feet. What should have been more surprising was that I’d kept pace with him without losing my breath. But I pulled back as we neared the boathouse, a small storage area with a dock at the end of the sand.
“No. He’s there.”
“Luke?” Connor looked at me with concern. “How do you know?”
“I can feel him.”
“Like you can feel me?” He seemed to be hurt, as if he hadn’t even considered the possibility. I hadn’t realized it myself until now.
“The same way.”
He dropped my hand as if scorched. Luke appeared in the doorway.
“I thought you were going to stay?” He ignored Connor in favour of questioning me.
“I thought I was free to make up my own mind.” I could imagine how he must have looked as Goldbeard, terror of the sea. The firm line of his jaw and the fire in his eyes made me afraid I’d be forced to walk the plank, and then glad of it. Better to face the sharks than to have a go with an angry Goldbeard.
“You are free. I’m asking, not demanding. Please stay.”
“What about Connor?”
Connor laughed. “He’s not about to challenge me now that I’m not locked up. I’m taking a boat and I’m going. Are you staying or coming with me?”
I looked at Luke. Was it true? He wouldn’t challenge Connor? Fight him? Force him to stay? The men looked at each other as if they would gleefully go at it to the death. Perhaps they had, and more than once. Perhaps that’s why neither one of them made a move now. “I’m not sure.”
“Christ,” Connor swore and looked at the heavens. “Miranda, look at me. You know we belong together.” Something in his gaze made me certain he was right. But something about Luke made me wonder if I should stay. I felt suddenly torn, oddly connected to both men,
