by Jackie Ivie
Rachel took a step toward a dresser and arrived there on the next step. That had to been a good ten feet in distance. She blinked twice as she regarded the wax-coated candelabra sitting atop a five-drawer bureau. She moved that quickly?
Wait a minute. She’d just lifted a bed. What was it made of? Polystyrene? Was it a fake like everything down at the renaissance faire? It sure looked authentic. The feeling of unease that she should have listened to earlier was back, sending a solid chill up her spine. It was stronger than ever and twice as cold.
She put her holster on the dresser and started opening drawers. The top one contained socks and panties. Really sexy panties. In her size. Weird. She grabbed a pair of each. The second drawer held an array of bras, cups nestled together, packed in rows that resembled a color wheel. It looked like a lingerie display. Rachel sucked in on her bottom lip before lifting the nearest one. It was pink. It had beige lace all about it. She didn’t see anything except the size. 36DD.
Hers.
Okay.
This was going beyond weird. It was getting downright bizarre. And slightly scary. Rachel donned the bra. Stepped into the panties. Shoved her feet into the socks, one after the other. The next drawer down had a selection of ankle-length pants. They were the kind that zipped up the back. They’d been sewn without a waistband, but had darts to shape them. And look. They were all in her size, too. She snagged out a dark pink pair.
The bottom drawer held mock-neck turtleneck sweaters. Good thing. She needed the warmth to counteract the shakes. She grabbed the first one and shoved it over her head, tugging her hair out with a move that made it sizzle with static electricity. Great. The top she’d picked was in another shade of pink. She probably looked ridiculous. She was beyond caring. Everything fit perfectly. No. Better than that. It fit like everything had been sewed to her exact dimensions.
The first armoire door she opened held shoes. Little ballet flats in patent leather black. They fit perfectly. And...what do you know, Rachel? There was also a little, quilted pink jacket with pink-shaded fur. And a matching hat.
She shoved the jacket on. Then the hat. Secreted the stun-gun in a lining pocket just beneath her bosom. She really needed some air. Some light. Some reassurance. Some grounding for reality.
Cripes!
Munson had every light lit in the outer room. Every single one. Rachel shaded her eyes when she stepped out. She’d been right. The smell of food was nauseating. Munson looked over and then started laughing. She almost choked on her bite. It wasn’t funny.
“Wow, Berne! That is beyond cute. You look like something out of a 60’s ski-bunny movie. All you need is a pair of skis and a guy in tight black pants and a fair-isle sweater. Or a tuxedo. I wonder if we could get your new man to oblige?”
“Get up. We’re leaving,” Rachel said.
“Now?”
“Yeah. Right now.”
“Well. I have a car coming for me. Should be here in...,” Munson checked her phone. Shook it. Then put it back in her skirt pocket. “Damn thing’s dead. Should have brought my charger cord, but who could have foreseen this?” She lifted an arm to encompass the room about her before going back to her plate.
“You have a car coming? Here or the faire? And when? When is the car coming?”
Munson tilted her head and regarded Rachel for some time. Rachel actually shifted, leaning her weight on her other hip and back. Damn! The woman was a good at interrogating.
“Yes, I have a car coming. They’re sending it to the castle door. It will be here in about ten minutes. Fifteen, maybe.”
“Too long.”
“Surely we can compromise, Berne? Sit down. Drink some coffee. Have some bacon. It’s perfectly fried.”
Munson lifted a slice. Rachel swallowed on a vaguely ill feeling.
“Ten minutes. You said ten. Right?”
That might be enough. She’d be away from here long before the sun set.
“About. I didn’t have much battery power on my phone, and the reception stinks out here, but I got a message from New York. They woke me up. I’m booked on a red-eye tonight. I have to report back at the office Monday morning. I’m not on my vacation...like some people. I don’t get another six days here.”
“I’m going with you.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
“Okay. Sir Wystan is a stick in the sack, despite every appearance to the contrary. That probably explains why he’s a bachelor.”
Rachel actually felt the blush. “I hope you don’t expect an answer,” she replied.
“Ah. He’s puny then. Poor man.”
“Eleanor.”
“Maybe he’s too quick to the finish?”
“Will you stop with the questions, and get moving?”
“I’m just trying to get the facts here. You’re single. Beautiful. Available. You hooked up. No surprise there. Your new man has a voice that turns cream into butter, complete with a British accent. He’s a kazillionaire. Classy. Highly secretive, but hell. I don’t blame him. He’d be a paparazzo’s dream. No tabloid would be complete without at least one picture. The guy is hot, Rachel. He’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. He was born handsome, but he obviously works out, too. And now – according to you – we know he’s well-hung, and great in the sack.”
“I never said that.”
“No need, honey. I read faces and body language. You going to answer the real question? The one about why you’d leave...without even saying goodbye?”“
“What time is it?”
“Who cares? It’s Saturday. We busted the bad guy. The world is clear of one more pervert. You should be celebrating. You’re on vacation, remember?”
“When is it going to get dark?”
“Dark? It’s winter, Berne. According to that weather report I got before my phone died, they’re expecting a snowstorm. I’m sure the mead hall is doing bang-up business down at the faire.”
“I mean sundown. When is sundown?”
Rachel’s voice was rising. She ran her hands along her hips. She needed pockets on her pants. A male probably came up with these things. There wasn’t much room for anything. They were great for showing off curves. Stupid design. Women should revolt.
“I don’t know. An hour...maybe.”
“An hour?” It was almost screeched.
“Shit, Berne. Keep your panties on. I have a hangover headache.”
“But, you’re breakfasting!”
“So, sue me. I slept in. Hell. If they hadn’t called me, I’d probably still be sleeping. And after I found the loo – which is the second door on the right out in the hall, by the way – I came back in here. Lounged around for a bit. Checked for messages. Do you know they had part of a castle explode last night? Somewhere in Cornwall. Rock-something-or-other. Didn’t get the details, but apparently a group of guys started a fire in an oil drum for warmth and ka-boom! A hunk of ruined castle gets more picturesque. Bodies burned beyond recognition.
“They’re not saying terrorist, but something doesn’t sound right. You know me, though. I would’ve read the entire newsflash, but my phone kept going in and out. That being the case, I did some exploring. Found where you’d gone to. And I have to say, you sure were sleeping soundly. Didn’t hear a thing. So, I came back here. Pulled on the braided cord thingee by the fireplace. Some guy named Roderick showed up. I requested a full English breakfast. And there you have it. You really should try some. It’s amazing.”
“Uh...no thanks.”
Munson had a bite of egg-topped toast halfway to her mouth. She stopped to look closely at Rachel. Too closely. “Something you want to tell me?”
She put the bite into her mouth and started chewing. Rachel’s stomach gurgled in revolt. She barely kept from grimacing. She opened her mouth and then shut it. What was she supposed to say?
I had fantastic sex. Incredible. Mind-blowing. Then things got out of hand. I got bit by a vampire. Or...the shrink was right, and I’m
over-stressed.
Maybe she was overreacting here. It had been years since her last one-night stand. If she remembered right, she’d always felt a little weird the next day. She might have eaten something that disagreed with her last night, hence the nausea. She could have been on an adrenaline kick that made movement and strength so odd. She could have imagined things...
Like fangs.
Maybe it was job stress, combined with jet-lag, and then excitement over the bust. It could be a sum total of the entire experience. She’d never been out of the states before. She’d never imagined she’d be in an actual castle. She’d never been surrounded by so much history. The entire place exuded a certain atmosphere and she’d only seen a fraction of it. It was medieval. Ancient. They’d driven through countryside that had something mystic and slightly other-worldly about it, too. Maybe she should give Wystan a chance. Find him and ask him point-blank about his claims of vampirism. The moment she saw him. That was the best time to catch anyone in a lie, before explanations could get invented.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she finally said.
”Have a seat, Rachel. I’ll pour you a cup of java. They make fantastic coffee here. What am I saying? Everything is top of the line. Top.”
Coffee?
She’d gag.
“I’ll wait for you at the front door.”
Rachel took a step toward the door. She arrived there in a blink of time that blurred the view. She turned the knob. And Wystan was standing there.
CHAPTER TEN
Oh...baby!
He wasn’t in tight black ski pants and a fair-isle patterned sweater or a tuxedo. He was wearing perfectly tailored dark slacks, a cream-shaded pullover knitted with really fine threads, and a sport coat. The pants didn’t do a thing to hide muscled thighs, the sweater was falling from toned pecs, and the coat just defined his shoulder width. His hair was the perfect length. He had it pulled back into a queue at the moment, and that just put full illumination on what Munson had tried to describe. The guy wasn’t just hot. He was absolutely gorgeous. And nothing about him looked remotely dangerous. Or sinister.
Or non-human.
Her body was doing all kinds of antics due to his presence. Her breath caught. Her throat tightened. Her clothing felt restrictive and confining. A quiver of something wondrously enticing started at the base of her spine and shot outward, reaching her scalp and her toes at roughly the same instant. She actually gravitated toward him without one bit of resistance.
He’d grinned the moment he saw her, showing off extremely white teeth. There wasn’t anything sharp or odd about them. And then he sobered.
“You’re leaving?”
“Uh...”
“My lady, please. I’ve so much to show you.”
He put a hand out, palm upwards. Rachel glanced down at it and back to him. Her heart felt like it swooped downward before resuming its correct position. Amazing. She’d never responded to anything this way. She’d forgotten the effect of his eyes, too. Dark. Deep. Mysterious. And endlessly fascinating. She couldn’t break contact, even if she wanted to.
And she didn’t.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace! So wonderful to see you again.”
Wystan looked over her shoulder, releasing the odd power of his gaze. He was frowning as he took in Munson’s position. Rachel didn’t have to check Munson’s location. She was right behind her, pinching the back of Rachel’s upper arm through her coat sleeve.
Wystan tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Please. Only a duke is referred to as such. I am a baron.”
“A baron. Okay. What do you call a baron?”
“As I’m also a knight, you may call me Sir Wystan. Or, simply, Wystan.”
“All right. Well. Thank you for your hospitality, Sir Wystan. Truly. We had a spectacular time. But we were just about to leave. Weren’t we, Rachel? Rachel?”
“You would leave me?”
He turned his attention back to her to ask it. He still had his hand out, silently giving the entire decision to her. Her ears filled with a long note of swelling sound. And then he smiled again. Oh. The guy had a smile that would’ve sold any number of items if he’d marketed with it. Her entire body reacted, moistening like a parched bit of earth receiving its first raindrop of a storm, while tingling with the imminent danger of lightning that might be accompanying it.
She’d never felt such a thing. It was hopelessly addictive. She pulled her arm slightly, freeing it from Munson’s touch. She’d been delusional. He was no more a vampire than she was. He couldn’t be. They didn’t exist. But the cop in her made her persist enough to make certain.
“Is the sun...down?” she asked him.
His smile deepened. His eyes grew more intense somehow. The tingling sensation turned into sparks that shot through her, creating a series of little tremors.
“Not yet.”
“Can I see it?”
“It’s very cloudy out.”
“But I could still see that it’s daylight?”
“From the east tower. I’ve a grand view of the estate from there.”
“Oh! Sweet! You’re thinking of a tour?”
Munson interrupted from somewhere in the vicinity. Rachel barely heard it. She placed her hand within Wystan’s. He lifted it to his lips, without releasing her rapt gaze. He touched a kiss to her knuckles, and her heart flipped. Or something close. She imagined she was floating, encapsulated in light. Wonder. Joy. Behind her, Munson sighed. The sound contained a bit of awe with it.
Someone cleared their throat in the hall beyond Wystan.
The instant it happened, the bubble of bliss about her popped. Rachel dropped, as if she’d actually been hovering above the tiled floor. The landing jolted slightly. But that was ridiculous. Nothing could alter reality that much. And surely Munson would’ve noticed.
“Begging pardon, Sir, but a car has arrived.”
“A car?”
Wystan lowered her hand and turned his head slightly to ask it. He didn’t release her gaze or her hand. He laced his fingers through hers, holding her hand against his side. And she helped.
“Oh. Hello again, Roderick.”
Eleanor came around Rachel. She hadn’t noticed how they’d blocked the entrance to the room. She hadn’t noticed anything. Other than Wystan. And what he made her feel.
“Well. That’s that. No tour for me. Looks like I’m heading back to London. Got a flight to catch. So. Rachel? You...uh...coming with me? Or not?”
Wystan tensed. His fingers tightened against hers. And his eyes grew blacker. Those were physical signs that he cared about her answer, while something indefinable heightened the air about them. Something virile. Dangerous. And endlessly exciting. He wasn’t even breathing.
“I don’t know,” Rachel replied. “Anything I say...would sound like I’m angling for an invitation.”
Wystan lifted their conjoined hands to his lips again. “Oh, no. No. Please. Stay with me. Please?”
Her heart did crazy palpitations within her breast. The bra might be the right size, but it felt like a rubber band around her ribs at the moment and twice as constrictive. She’d never seen such a look. Oh, why was she even hesitating?
“Well. That looks like an invitation to me, Berne. What do you say? Long flight home...or a bit of vacation touring this place? Time’s wasting and I’m probably burning petrol out there. I do love these Brit terms. Loo. Petrol. Chips.”
Rachel barely heard Munson’s chatting over the incessant tones filling her ear. It was like a blending of notes, all in the tenor range. Rachel stepped the tiniest space closer to Wystan.
“You’ll show me the sunset first? Right now?”
Wystan’s lip twitched as if he hid a smile. He pulled her closer by tucking their conjoined hands against his chest. “Most assuredly,” he replied.
“All right.”
Rachel didn’t even feel her lips agreeing, but it was her voice. The waves of tension she’d felt coming off of Wys
tan altered almost instantly. They evaporated as he closed his eyes, put his head back, and something akin to a sigh came from him.
Was it truly possible that she mattered so much to him?
“Well then. That’s that. Looks like I’m traveling solo. Roderick? Lead the way, buddy.”
Munson’s voice came cheerfully, breaking the spell. Then, the woman was gone and the entire world filled with Wystan. She watched as he lowered his head, snagged her gaze again, and sent her heart stuttering. All of it improbable. Impossible. And incredible.
She couldn’t possibly feel anything for this man. No. She didn’t. They barely knew each other.
“Hold tight.”
“What?”
“We’ve little time before the sun sets. And the tower is some distance, my love.”
“Please don’t call me that,” she replied.
“What?”
“Um...love.”
He chuckled and started moving. Rachel hung on. Images flashed before her eyes. A maze of halls. A myriad of doors. Rooms. Weapons displays. Suits of armor. Fireplaces. Tapestry-covered walls. More halls, some painted with a white finish that glowed, others covered with wooden paneling that sucked up the light. Nowhere could she spot a window, although he had some sort of electrical lighting system. And all sorts of museum-quality furnishings. She couldn’t tell, for certain. They were moving too fast. As if they didn’t even need steps.
Then even the lighting altered.
They entered a supremely old section of the castle, or her eyes were deceiving her. It could be a set for some sword and sorcery movie with its solid stone walls and high arched ceilings. She couldn’t make out height. They moved too quickly, and it was too dark. Any illumination came from torchlight. They passed each torch cresset at a speed that caused the flames to sputter. Wystan snagged one as they flew past. She knew why once they entered a well of space too wide to see the dimension. They were at the base of a spiral stone staircase. It was an immense structure that wrapped about a center pillar of more stone.
