by Alicia Ryan
That thought motivated James to get up and try the bars. Whatever they were made of was more substantial even than it looked because the bars didn’t budge. The clanking rattle of the elevator door startled him.
“Rise and shine, Jimbo,” Luc called out as he crossed the concrete floor. He paused in front of James’ cage and stood looking down at his newest captive.
“It’s James, and how do you know my name?” James asked.
Luc exhaled loudly and grabbed one of the bars. “I got a visit earlier today from Toria. She explained about your little secret mission.” Luc smiled suddenly. “I, of course, assured her you were doin’ just fine.”
James’ eyes narrowed. “Does that mean you’re going to let me out?”
“No,” Luc replied, “I can use you for my purposes and still keep my word to Toria. You won’t be harmed in any way.”
“What purposes? And what happened to the three vampires who were here earlier?” James demanded.
Luc leaned against the bars, looking offended. “I let them go,” he said. “What else? I’m trying to run a business here; I’m not some murdering psychopath.” He glanced up at the dark ceiling a full story above the top of the cage. “But it’s kind of hard when you can’t be out before dusk. Maybe I should get a receptionist.”
James laughed out loud. He couldn’t help it.
Luc glared at him. “What’s so funny from in there?”
James wasn’t entirely sure himself, but he tried to explain. “I was just imagining that help wanted ad,” he said. “Vampire seeks agreeable human to answer phones, provide snacks.”
Luc flashed a mega-watt grin. “That would work,” he said amiably.
James shook his head, wondering how Luc could seem so harmless, yet clearly be so deadly. “Maybe you should just get a website instead,” he suggested.
“A what?”
James blinked, feeling Luc’s confusion mirrored on his own features. “You know, the internet, web pages, email...”
When no recognition sparked on Luc’s face, James gave a sigh. “I think you’d better let me out.”
As soon as he said it, James recalled the horrible sight of the homeless man being fed to the other vampires, but he put it out of his mind. His first priority had to be getting out of his cage. “Look,” he said, “I can help you get set up so you don’t need to deal with your customers in person so much. Who are your customers, by the way?”
Luc hesitated and finally gave in. “Vampire blood will heal pretty much anything,” he said, “including wrinkles. I mix it into a little face lotion, and the ladies can’t get enough of the stuff.” He stuck his hand through the bars, “I’ve been thinking of expanding, and I can definitely use the help, but I want your word that you’ll actually do it if I let you out.”
James looked at the outstretched hand, considered his options for another fraction of a second, and shook it. “Deal,” he affirmed. His role seemed harmless enough.
Luc hit a button on the side of the row of cages and the door to James’ slid open. He stepped gingerly out.
“So, where do we start?” James asked. “I don’t suppose you have a computer?”
Again Luc just stared at him.
“Okay, I’ll have to get you a computer, maybe two. Then I can start getting you set up.” James checked his watch. There was still time to swing by to check on Ariana before the sun came up. He could spec and buy the computers tomorrow.
“Who’s Ariana?” Luc asked.
James raised a surprised gaze back to Luc. “I guess all vampires can do that?”
“More or less,” Luc answered, moving a step closer. “Who is she?” he repeated.
“No one, really,” James muttered, unsure why he was suddenly nervous. “Just a girl I knew before. She lives near here.”
Again, Luc’s fist caught him by surprise. He staggered back from the force of the blow, tripping over the bottom of the cage door. Before he could rise, Luc shoved him farther in and slammed the door.
“What are you doing?” James demanded.
Luc gave him a pitying look. “Teaching you a lesson your precious Ash should have taught you already.”
With that, he turned and left.
***
Four days later, Luc returned to check on his prisoner.
“Hello, James,” he said, when he’d made his way down to the cage level. James’ bloodshot eyes stared back at him, not really seeing him or the young girl at his side. “Did you think I’d forgotten about you?” Luc asked.
James wiped the saliva from his mouth, and Luc thought for a moment he might respond, but he just grunted. Luc knew he was starving. He pressed the button to open the cage door.
With the door open, James finally saw the young runaway Luc had brought. He backed up, but his nostrils flared, and Luc knew they were what would lead him to her.
“I’ve got a little something for you,” Luc said. He gave the girl a gentle shove in James’ direction. It was hard to say which of the two of them was more addled, she from whatever drugs she was on or James from starvation.
James tried to turn away from her and face the wall, but the stupid girl thought she was there to service him. She wasn’t totally wrong, Luc thought.
“Hey,” she said meekly, moving closer and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Luc couldn’t put a name to its current color, but he suspected it would be blond if it were clean. She was just a tiny thing—a tiny, broken thing he’d crooked his finger at inside another abandoned building. She’d come so willingly, he’d barely even had to speak to her.
When James didn’t respond, the girl reached out and touched his arm, the ragged sleeve of her sweatshirt falling back to reveal a dainty, bruised, and blue-veined wrist.
Luc knew the instant James’ fangs unsheathed, the instant the last bit of reason fled his burning brain. James grabbed her wrist, spun around and pounced on the girl like a wild animal. Liquid slurping sounds followed, but the girl had spoken her last. Luc heard her neck snap as they went down.
When James could drain no more, he raised his head from the limp form cradled in his arms.
Luc saw that he now recognized him, but the fever had far from passed.
“More,” James pleaded, spraying drops of blood as he talked.
Luc tossed him a few bags of synthetic blood and went upstairs, leaving the cage door open.
Eventually, Luc heard the rumble of the elevator as it rose from below. The doors opened, and James stood there looking at him, his clothes covered with blood, his face wrought with regret.
“Why did you do that?” James asked, stepping gingerly into the room as if unsure he deserved to be there.
“I didn’t do anything,” Luc answered, being deliberately callous. “You killed that girl.” He picked up a pencil off his desk and twirled it between his fingers. “I just wanted you to know what you were capable of—and incapable of—before you went to pay a visit to your human girlfriend.” Luc pointed the pencil at James. “Tell me, James, what does your girlfriend look like? Is she older than the girl you just killed? Taller? Shorter?”
James started to answer and then stopped. “I don’t know,” he said.
Luc could see realization dawning. “Because you don’t have any idea what that girl downstairs looked like, do you? You never saw her as a person—only as food.”
James sank onto the couch, head in his hands.
“It will be a long time, James, before you can trust yourself to be near humans in that way again. By then, you won’t be doing people any favors by showing up when they’ve thought you were dead. Trust me.” Luc came to stand in front of James. “You are dead to her, James, and she needs to be dead to you. Unless you’re prepared to turn her into one of us.”
Luc got the horrified look he’d hoped for. James swallowed hard. “No, never that.”
CHAPTER 17
Ariana scanned the mob of people at the gate area as she exited the jet bridge at Heathrow. Travelers alw
ays look one of two ways, she thought, excited or exhausted. Today she was one of the excited ones. In fact, she’d been excited all week.
From the moment she’d left Ash’s townhouse, the bustle of change had taken hold of her life, leaving her mercifully little time to reflect on James’ disappearance or her attraction to Ash until she was buckled into her seat on the runway at JFK. By then, it was too late to chicken out.
Ariana made her way through the gray terminal to the baggage claim area and grabbed her suitcase. After wrestling it onto its wheels, she looked around for the promised car service. Some part of her hoped Ash had come himself, but a sign with her name printed on it told her otherwise. A uniformed driver took her bag, and she followed him to a long black car that sat waiting outside the terminal. They headed northwest out of the city, and its concrete scenery soon gave way to more bucolic surroundings. Golden fields rolled past, interrupted by an occasional stone wall or square hedge.
The hypnotic effect of the passing landscape renewed Ariana’s reflective state, and again she struggled to understand all she was feeling. She wanted to chalk her excitement up to her love of a new challenge and unexpected travel, but she knew she wasn’t being honest. In spite of all her misgivings, a large part of her excitement centered on Ash Samson.
Which was odd, given that she barely knew the man, but perhaps that was the lure. He was a mystery.
He was also a client, she reminded herself. With everything she’d lost—her child, her marriage, her husband—she couldn’t lose her career, too, at least not over something as stupid as a romantic misstep with a client. She wouldn’t let that happen.
The car slowed and turned into a pebbled drive, and all Ariana’s practical thoughts evaporated as around a winding curve appeared the most astounding house she could have imagined. It was made of bricks the color of pale clay and had more windows, towers, and chimneys than Ariana had ever seen at one time. Framed against the crisp blue sky, the manor seemed not so much a house as a massive stone feature of the otherwise open landscape.
Flanking each side of the main part of the house were two separate wings, each turned perpendicular to the manor’s front facade. Ariana couldn’t tell how far back they went or if she was even seeing all of the impressive structure.
As the car slowed to a stop in front of the entrance, Ariana tried unsuccessfully to tame the expression of wonder she knew had settled on her face. When the driver came around and opened her door, she couldn’t resist getting a better look.
As she was craning her neck in an effort to judge the size of the place, a gray-haired woman in a dress and apron opened the front door. She smiled broadly as Ariana dragged her gaze from the house to its occupants.
“Come inside dear, we’ve got several rooms all made up for you.” An English maid, Ariana thought as she ascended the few stone steps to the door. She looks and sounds just like what you’d expect. Sort of like a younger Miss Marple, though, in truth, the woman’s age was hard to guess. She was almost completely gray, but her eyes shone with the brightness normally reserved for the young.
“It’s nice to see you again, dear. I’m Nancy.” The woman took Ariana’s coat. “And this,” she said, indicating the man who closed the door behind them, “is Ben.”
Ariana murmured a surprised “Hello again” to Nancy, a little ashamed not to have recognized her at first. She turned to Ben and introduced herself, shaking hands with both of them, though they each seemed ill at ease with the gesture.
“How was your flight, miss?” Nancy asked. “Not too tiring, I hope. Airports these days...” She gave an exasperated sigh. “Makes one almost rather walk to one’s destination. Or take a nice slow boat.”
Ariana warmed to Nancy immediately. The woman was clearly in her element here at the manor. “No,” she answered, “it was rather restful, actually. The week before, with all the preparations for this trip, was the tiring part.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Nancy said. “Well, we have a very nice room for you. I know you’ll settle in comfortably in no time. Why don’t I show you up, and Ben will follow shortly with your bags.”
Ariana hesitated as a thought struck her. She wasn’t here on vacation, after all. “Perhaps I should check in with Mr. Samson first and let him know I’m here?”
Nancy started up the stairs. “Oh, don’t worry, Miss Chambers, we’ll tell him you’ve arrived, but he’ll not expect to see you before dinner, which will be served at 8:00. I’ll come fetch you myself, since this house can be a bit difficult to find your way around in at first.”
Ariana followed the maid up to the landing and then right down a long corridor toward the south wing of the house. She didn’t dare fall behind, but found herself wanting to stop and peer into the endless rooms that revealed themselves as she passed by. Finally, Nancy stopped in front of a door and opened it with a small flourish.
Ariana stepped inside and was immediately glad she had agreed to stay here. No flat in the city could possibly be as sumptuous as this.
The room had mostly white furnishings, but the walls were a deep blue, making a beautiful frame for the garden she could see out the two large windows. She walked over to get a better look and noticed her feet actually sinking into the plush, beige carpet. A peek into the bathroom revealed similar opulence, with peach-toned marble and gold fixtures.
Nancy opened the door on the other side of the room, and Ariana followed her over. “This connects to your private study in the south wing,” Nancy explained.
Ariana stuck her head in and saw that the study was small, but complete with all the modern technology she could ask for—but no files. “I believe Ash said Justin would be bringing over some files?” she inquired.
“Oh, one of the salons on the first floor has been designated as the main work area,” Nancy said. Her prim demeanor shifted as she giggled. “The other maids have taken to calling it the ‘War Room.’”
Ariana smiled. It sounded perfect already.
Nancy, quickly recomposed, made her way out with a polite bow and an admonition for Ariana to let her know if she needed anything before 8:00.
The door closed, and Ariana gave in to the temptation to throw herself onto the giant bed. She lay there for a few moments marveling at the rapid pace of change in her life, and checked her watch often. It was a quarter past 6:00. Just enough time for a long hot shower and then to answer a few emails before dinner.
She quickly stripped and made her way into the bathroom. There was plenty of hot, stinging water, and Ariana stood under it for almost half an hour. Long hot showers were one of her guilty pleasures. Since she had no other clothes, she slipped into the plush white robe that hung on the door.
She left the sanctuary of the bathroom reluctantly, but was happy to discover that her bags had been deposited in the bedroom while she showered. She started to unpack and wondered what was appropriate to wear to dinner at a billionaire’s English manor house, finally settling on off-white slacks and a lavender cashmere sweater.
She dressed quickly, grabbed her hair dryer, and went back into the bathroom. She loved her long hair, but she hated having to dry it. Maybe she would go short, she thought, but James had always liked it long.
Tears sprang unexpectedly to her eyes as she realized she no longer had to worry about what James liked. She put the hair dryer down and held on to the vanity with both hands.
Oh God, she thought, as tears started to fall. What was the matter with her? He had been about to divorce her anyway.
But he was still her husband. When she couldn’t reach James, she’d put off sending back the papers, so their divorce had never been finalized.
In a terrible way, at least her title was more fitting. She certainly felt more like a widow than a divorcee, and it was her own fault. She’d refused to acknowledge the fact of her divorce, holding on to memories of her marriage until the very end, as if the divorce were a bad dream. Now the dream had become a nightmare, and because she’d refused to let any of the acreage o
f her heart go fallow, all of it had burned to cinders.
Ariana wiped her eyes on a towel and re-started the hair dryer. In time, she would change her hair. In time, she would move on. But not yet.
CHAPTER 18
Samson woke slowly, noticing that no light yet strayed in from behind the curtains of Delilah’s single window. He seldom woke before first light unless something was wrong. His pulse quickened as he turned and realized that Delilah wasn’t beside him.
He sat up and felt his heart sink as he missed the weight of his long, sacred locks. Filled with dread, he looked back and saw them shorn and still lying on the pillow.
His mouth dropped open, but no sound came. He wanted to scream and rage, but sat dumbfounded. Delilah. The inescapable conclusion tumbled about in his brain, but he could make no sense of it.
He looked around the room, confirming that she was truly gone. She was, but she hadn’t left him alone. At the bedroom door stood a Philistine soldier. The man pulled the door open, and a dozen of his heavily armed companions burst into the room. One of them ordered Samson to his knees.
He obeyed, but not from fear. He had never known fear. He had known hurt and betrayal, or so he’d thought, but Delilah’s betrayal made him feel physically wounded, unable to fight or even stand.
One of the men threw a robe over him, and they led him into the street and trussed him over the back of a horse like the household goods of some desert nomad. He knew where they were taking him and what would be his fate. The Philistines would kill him.
Delilah had condemned him to death.
He couldn’t see anything but the ground and the dusty underside of his unfortunate mount from where he hung, and he wondered if Delilah watched her handiwork from some upper window. The thought of her there, hiding, laughing at him, finally roused him from his stupor.
Samson pulled himself down from the horse and used his tied wrists like a giant hammer. Even without his divine strength, he was a frightening physical specimen. His fists connected with bone and three guards went down in rapid succession before one of them succeeded in hitting him with a short spear.
