by Nina Bruhns
He nibbled and then sucked. She’d probably have a hicky after this. She hadn’t had a hicky since high school.
Oh, yeah. She’d rather go with Ry. She’d like to do something kinky with him. Something decadent. Something terribly naughty.
His kisses moved up from her neck to her cheek. When his lips were within reach, she pressed her open mouth to his. More guitar strings thrummed, this time in an area quite a bit lower than her neck.
Giselle cupped the back of his head as their mouths explored each other. He tasted of coffee and the chocolate brownie she’d seen him snag as they were leaving his house earlier.
Sliding her hand down his back, and then from his back to caress along the front of his jeans, she felt that the bulge there had become a little—no a lot—bulgier.
You musn’t get distracted! Rational Angel Giselle screamed. You’ve got a job to do!
Giselle knew what kind of job she wanted to do right now... Wanton Vixen Giselle exclaimed enthusiastically, Oh, yeah!
Rational Angel Giselle shouted, For goodness sake you’re in a parked car, it’s not even completely dark. Anyone can see you!
Oh, yeah, Wanton Vixen Giselle sighed, and retreated with reluctance.
Giselle removed her hands from dangerous territory and pushed at Ry’s shoulders. “We can’t.” Her breath quickened and her voice went hoarse. “As much as I’d like to continue, we can’t.”
Ry sounded like he’d been running, if not the marathon, at least a sprint. It took a moment for the glaze in his gorgeous green eyes to clear. He looked around. “You’re right. I wish you weren’t. Let’s go back to my place. We can be there in five minutes. Maybe less. I drive fast.”
Giselle laughed. “You’re fast all right. At least in some things. And you’re slow at some important things. But, I’ve got to meet Lester,” she said, pointing to the mini castle.
“Are you sure?” Ry asked with a silken tone. “If you want someone to suck you, I can accommodate. I just don’t go for blood.”
Maybe distraction wasn’t such a bad thing.
No. She had to focus. She had to find out what Lester was up to. He might be trying to kill her.
“I’ll keep that in mind for later… After I see the vampire.”
She gave his lips a quick peck and opened the car door. Before he could protest, she got out of the car and trotted along the sidewalk toward her date with Lester.
A Girl, a Guy and a Ghost: Chapter Fourteen
“Trick or treat,” Giselle called as the door to Lester’s castle opened. But it wasn’t Lester who greeted her. Instead, a colossus of a man filled the doorframe, making the entry look like it belonged on a dollhouse.
The colossus wore all white. He dwarfed Giselle, at more than six and a half feet tall and almost as wide with muscle, not fat. His head had a shiny bald sheen. Not one hair marred its surface, almost as if the muscles of his head had forced the hair out by the follicles. His eyes, small and pinched, had an indeterminate color. Were they blue? Hard to tell with such small slits lost in a broad face.
He didn’t seem amused by Giselle’s comment. The giant scowled. “The master is expecting you.” The giant spoke in a deep baritone, as if the voice had a hard time fighting its way out of his massive body.
He stepped back. Should she go inside? Giselle could feel the fear clutching at her feet.
What was that Shakespeare quotation regarding fear? Something about fear being good. No, that was greed, and that wasn’t Shakespeare. Or did the bard say something about fear being bad? Why couldn’t she remember? Her parents had been right. Her degree was worthless.
Aha! She could remember now. “The only thing to fear is fear itself.” Dammit. That wasn’t Shakespeare. And besides, it seemed like she did have something to fear besides fear, namely this big brute. Oh, forget it. What did Shakespeare know anyway? She wouldn’t let one brawny guy keep her from her mission.
Giselle stepped over the threshold and the giant closed the door behind her with a snap. Just then another figure emerged from the shadows of the hallway before her. He could almost have been the twin of the giant who’d opened the door, except that he wore all black.
Omigod. There were two of them. Two brawny, huge, gianty, fearsome guys. Probably the two who had trunked her. So now she had two guys to fear more than fear itself. And forget about Shakespeare. She would go with intuition and get out of here. However, giant one now stood behind her, blocking the door.
She clutched the small handbag containing her phone and the panic button. Should she signal Ry? No. She straightened. Neither giant had made a threatening move. She needed to get a hold of herself and not panic too soon. She might get information from Lester. She had to be brave.
“Come this way to the master,” giant number two said in his own baritone. He opened a door from the hall into an interior room.
Giselle escaped around giant two through an archway and into the bowels of the house. She found herself in a windowless room, she would have imagined as a courtesan’s boudoir, direct from another century. Only this boudoir had been set up as a dining room.
Velvet and silk covered every conceivable soft surface, and the hard ones were slathered with gilding. The room had been lit entirely by candles. A large candelabra placed at the center of the small table illuminated the china, silverware and crystal settings for two.
Lester stood amidst the gaudy finery, still and silent. He had dressed to match the décor of the room in a ruffled blood-red shirt over black velveteen pants. In this setting, Lester had a beautifully handsome, ethereal quality. His paleness worried her however. She hoped she wasn’t on the menu to add color to his anemically sallow complexion. But then he wasn’t a real vampire, was he?
“Giselle.” Lester seemed to float toward her. Instead of kissing each cheek as he had done last night, he took her hands into his own. He brought the right one to his lips to kiss its palm. His mouth went to the wrist of her left hand and sucked a bit. Ewww.
If it had been Ry, she might have found it seductive. With Lester, it was just plain weird. Giselle had a hard time not pulling her hands away to wipe the faint traces of saliva onto her dress.
“It is so good to see you, my love,” Lester said, still holding her hands in his. He stared into her eyes with his own soulfully large ones, their pupils dilated into saucer shapes. In silence, he stared as if he tried to psychically communicate something to her. But since she had no telepathic talents, she didn’t get the message. No surprise there.
Finally, he broke the silence. “I could not wait for you to arrive.”
She tugged hard to remove her hands from his surprisingly firm grasp. Who would have thought someone anorexic would be so strong. “Lester. You’re speaking again. What happened to the protest?”
“You were the only one who noticed. So there didn’t seem to be much point to it,” he commented with chagrin. Lester spoke softly, with just a hint of British accent that seemed to come and go, sometimes there and sometimes not. Kind of like that pop singer who’d moved to England.
His gaze fixed on her neck.
“What are you staring at?” she asked, both hands flew up to cover her throat.
“The urge to suck is strong.”
“What suck?” she said. “I didn’t suck anything.”
“Not you, my love. I have a strong urge to suck your blood.”
“Oh, is that all!” Relief rushed through her and her hands fell from her neck.
“Won’t you have a seat, my dear?” Lester swept a hand in a flourish to the plush loveseat nearby. As he sat down, Giselle noticed he seemed to make no impression in the fabric. Giselle followed but sat perched on the edge, as far from Lester as possible.
“Can I get you a glass of wine?” Lester indicated the bottle that stood, along with two glasses, on the table beside the loveseat.
Giselle hesitated. “All right.” The bottle had already been opened. She wondered if anything been added to the wine.
Lester poured the dark red liquid into one glass and handed it to Giselle before pouring a glass for himself.
“I thought you wouldn’t drink…wine,” Giselle joked.
Lester stared at her with a blank look. No glimmer of understanding lit his dark eyes.
“You know. The vampire thing?”
He still appeared at a loss but then responded, “Ah, yes. But I do drink wine.”
“No, you know. Dracula. ‘I don’t drink…wine.’ Remember?” Giselle prompted.
“You don’t drink wine?” Lester eyed the glass he had given her. “I’m sorry. I thought you said you wanted a glass of wine.”
“No, no. That’s a quote from Dracula.”
Lester continued to look confused but still then spoke, seeming to believe she expected it. “Ah, yes.”
Giselle twirled the glass by its stem. No way would she drink it. They sat in an awkward silence. Then she remembered her mission to get information.
“The guy who opened the door and his twin. Do they work for you?”
“You mean Ren and Field? Yes, they have been my human servants for many years.”
“Their names are Ren and Field? Are those their first names or their last names?”
“Those are their only names.” Lester shook his head as if confused again.
Silence. Then Giselle giggled. “Oh, I get it. It’s a joke, right? Ren and Field. Renfield. Ha-ha. Very funny.”
Lester shook his head, his brow furrowed. “There is no joke. I find nothing funny about my human servants and their names. Why do you think there is a joke?”
Giselle spoke without thinking. “You know, Renfield, the servant to the vampire in the Bram Stoker novel?”
Lester vaulted to his feet. “Are you telling me another author has written a book using details of my life? Are you saying this author has used the names of my human servants? That some author, in addition to that New Orleans woman, has plagiarized my life?” By the time he finished, he was puffing in distress. Giselle became concerned that he would be frothing at the mouth any second now. “I cannot believe it has happened again. I will have to contact my lawyer.”
“Oh, my.” She slapped her forehead. “What could I have been thinking? I’ve made such a mistake. The name in that other novel wasn’t Renfield. It was… Let’s see. It was… It will come to me. Oh, yes, it was Denfeld. That’s it. Denfeld. I’m so sorry I distressed you,” she soothed.
Lester still looked ruffled but retook his seat. He sipped at his wine. Did he swallow? He placed the glass on the table and then turned to Giselle. He removed the wineglass from her hands and set it carefully on the table beside his own. He took her hands in his. Lester’s felt clammy and Giselle squirmed uncomfortably.
He stared into her eyes again with some unspoken message. Giselle still didn’t receive it.
Just when she thought he would never speak, he said, “My dear Giselle, you are all I think about. I am in love with you.” The words seemed to blurt from him in a rush. “I cannot go on another day without you beside me, as my queen. I want you to be with me for eternity.”
When she would have interrupted, he continued. “I will grant, what I am certain, is your greatest wish. I will make you a vampire. We will be undead together, forever.”
Somehow Giselle didn’t find the prospect attractive.
She tried to speak and he quelled her again. “No, do not thank me. You do not need to be grateful. Although, it is an enormous favor that I do you. It is also my pleasure, to make you a vampire.”
This guy was clearly delusional and now he wanted to inflict his delusion on her. Not a good development since he had her hands trapped in his and she couldn’t reach her panic button. She had to put a stop to this nonsense forthwith.
“This is ridiculous. You don’t love me.”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I really, really do. With all my heart.” He said it with a morose vehemence.
“Look into my eyes.” He spoke in a hypnotic monotone. “Deep into my eyes. I love you, and you love me. You are devoted to me. You would do anything I ask.”
Was he trying to pull some kind of vampire mind control? Giselle pulled her hands from his grasp. “Come off it, Lester. This is just silly. If you’re trying to hypnotize me, it’s not working.”
Lester seemed startled as if he didn’t expect Giselle to disagree with him. He took Giselle by the shoulders. She was surprised by his strength. In fact, his grip pinched at her neck.
“Your mind is melding with my mind. You hear my words and you obey,” he droned.
Obey? Just who did he think he was talking to? And what was this about mind meld? That was a Vulcan thing, not a vampire thing. He’d made her angry now.
“You are madly in love with me and wish to do my bidding for eternity.”
She hoped his bidding wasn’t what she thought it was.
Lester leaned toward her. His mouth opened wider. Was he planning to kiss her? Eww. Wider. Wider. His head tilted. He intended to bite her neck. Wider. The candlelight glinted on something. Omigod he had fangs. He was a real vampire. Giselle wasn’t wearing a cross. Oh, why hadn’t she at least eaten garlic with lunch?
Giselle lunged upward, jerking away from his grasp. She grabbed her purse and smashed it and its contents upside Lester’s head. It made a thunking sound as it impacted his jaw. Then something went flying, tumbling out of his mouth. Giselle looked down at it on the carpet at her feet. Fang dentures.
She couldn’t help herself. Giggles became laughter, and soon became belly laughs. Then she reached a point where she laughed so hard that she had to wipe the tears of mirth flowing down her cheeks. It took at least a minute before she could even begin to control herself.
Lester’s head hung in shame. Giselle covered her mouth to stop the giggles that still threatened. He made such a pathetic sight that she found she could disregard his attempt to suck her blood. After all, it had been a pretty lame attempt. She sat down beside the depressed vampire on the loveseat.
“I had to have them made.” Lester pointed to the fallen prosthesis with a limp hand. “I had my own fangs filed down in the nineteenth century.” He looked even more abashed as he said, “I was trying to pass as human at the time.”
Giselle had to stifle more giggles behind her hand. “I see.”
What could she say to a neutered vampire to cheer him up? She put a comforting arm around Lester’s slumped shoulders. “I might know someone who could make you some gold ones.” She smiled with encouragement.
Before he could respond, Marissa La Bianca erupted into the room. “I knew it,” she shouted, her face stricken. “I knew you were with her.” Marissa’s paleness, coupled with her filmy black dress, made her appear like a mourner at a funeral.
Lester and Giselle jumped up. Why did Giselle feel so guilty? She had not encouraged Lester’s behavior.
Giant number two was behind Marissa in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Master. I couldn’t stop her.” He couldn’t stop her? He had at least three hundred pounds on her. How hard had he tried to stop her?
Lester waved Ren—or was it Field?—out of the room and asked him to close the door.
“Why are you doing this, Lester?” Marissa sobbed almost hysterically.
“Yeah. Why are you doing this, Lester? What are you doing, Lester?” Giselle asked.
“Marissa, I―” Lester looked at Giselle then back to Marissa again. “I don’t know what to say. I, uh, love, uh,” he swallowed hard, “her.” He pointed at Giselle. That made Marissa cry even harder.
“He so does not love me,” Giselle said. “I don’t know what this is about. But it’s not love.”
“You’re destroying me with all of this, Lester.” Marissa crossed to the dining table and took a knife from it. “I may as well kill myself,” she said in a theatrical voice, one arm sweeping in a big motion to hold the knife to her own throat.
Wait. Was it possible for a vampire to kill herself with a knife? Particularly with a butter knife? Hmmm.
Apparently Lester thought it was possible because he rushed to Marissa and grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the butter knife. They wrestled. If two wraithlike stick figures tussling over a blunt object could be called wrestling.
Lester twisted the knife away from Marissa. “Marissa, my lo— Marissa, you must get a hold of yourself. You know what I must do. I am going to make her my queen.” He swallowed hard on the last word.
For goodness’ sake. Did he have to make it sound as if the idea made him want to puke? Not that Giselle wanted to be his queen. But he could at least sound pleased at the prospect. Besides that, could a vampire puke? If they didn’t eat food, could they throw up? More hmmmm.
“Lester,” Marissa pleaded, tugging on the chest ruffles of his shirt. “Don’t do this. She can’t give you what you need.”
The poor pathetic girl, Giselle thought.
“She’s nothing.” Marissa said.
Hey, wait a minute.
“And she’s so round.”
“Now see here. There’s no need to get nasty,” Giselle sputtered. “I don’t want Lester. You can have him. I am not, I repeat, not, going to be his queen or his anything else.”
Marissa broke away from Lester and stalked to within a foot of Giselle. “I’m going to get you, you, you…human.”
“Aren’t you human too? I mean you’re an undead human but still human, right?”
“Your silliness will not save you. I will get you,” Marissa said, pointing at Giselle in a gesture reminiscent of an Eastern European curse.
“Me? What did I do? If there’s any "getting," it should be him, who you’re getting. He’s the one who’s been coming on to me. As far as I’m concerned, he’s absolutely, one hundred percent, yours.”
“You think you’re so clever by luring him to you when he’s vulnerable because of the tragedy.” Marissa’s blazed with anger and a crazy light.
Why did Giselle seem to inspire that look in people’s eyes?
