Dark Wine at Midnight (A Hill Vampire Novel Book 1)

by Jenna Barwin

  “I will. But I’m convinced the shootings aren’t related to Cerissa.”

  Henry ended the call, his fingers twirling his crucifix. How could Leopold endanger the Hill by sending this creature to them?

  He took Cerissa’s watch and phone out of his pocket. He turned the watch over. It looked like any normal timepiece. Why was it so important to her? An emergency signal? Or a communication device? Then why have the cell phone? The watch was wafer thin, much too small to hide anything in, and there was no indication of an opening. He touched the glass cover over the watch. Nothing happened.

  The phone looked normal as well. He opened it and scrolled through her contacts. The only numbers listed were for Leopold, Karen, Zeke, and a couple of real estate agents. No emails—the only texts were the ones she’d exchanged with Leopold. He made a note of her phone number.

  The true nature of these devices could be hidden behind a layer of ordinary usage. He turned to his computer and scrolled through his email—nothing new from Rolf. Then he saw an email from the chief—Tig wanted to interview him about tonight’s shooting. He wrote back asking to postpone the interview until tomorrow night, using Cerissa’s care as his excuse. In truth, he had too much to figure out. Was Cerissa lying? Was Leopold lying? Or had Leopold become a doddering old fool?

  He needed more information about the New York situation. He picked up his phone and hit speed dial.

  “Good evening, Enrique,” the Countess Anne-Louise d’Hardancourt Brillon de Jouy said upon answering.

  To his annoyance, she insisted on calling him by the name he had when she turned him—a petty reminder of her power over him.

  “To what do I owe this call?” she asked. “It’s much too soon for you to come to New York.”

  “True. We have a bit of a problem on the Hill.”

  “And you want my opinion on it? Has the sun begun circling the earth?”

  After what Cerissa told him, it certainly felt like it. Why else would he call the woman who’d condemned him to this existence? “Anne-Louise, you do me an injustice. I have always valued your opinion,” he lied.

  “I believe the last time I offered my insight, you referred to me as soft-headed.”

  “If I gave offense, I apologize.”

  She proceeded to run down her list of grievances against him—at least, the more recent ones. He did his best to appease his maker—he needed to get an insider’s view—but after a few minutes of her tirade, he was ready to slam down the phone.

  “Anne-Louise, please,” he finally interrupted her, “I don’t have all night. This is a pressing matter.”

  “Fine. What is so bloody damn important you actually thought to call me?”

  “There have been two shootings on the Hill. The first was an attempt on Yacov’s life—the shooters fired silver bullets, but were killed before they could hurt him. The second was tonight. The shooter was aiming at me, but hit a mortal instead, again firing silver bullets.”

  “Ah oui?” she responded nonchalantly.

  At least he had her attention, even if she seemed unconcerned he could have met his final death tonight. “Is there anyone in the New York Collective who might carry a grudge against either Yacov or me, or the Hill in general?”

  “I would have to ponder it.”

  That wasn’t helpful. “Are you aware of any political maneuvering on Leopold’s part?”

  “Nothing that would affect you,” she said condescendingly. “And we all know how the world revolves around you.”

  “What about the New York board?” he asked levelly, keeping his anger bottled up once more.

  “The board of directors were all reelected last month, unopposed. Leopold is still CEO of the Collective. Again, I don’t see how this has anything to do with your little problem.”

  “Might they try for a hostile takeover of Sierra Escondida?”

  “If the board were making a play for the Hill, I would have heard.”

  “Wouldn’t they keep it hidden from you because of our connection?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. Besides, I have sources the board isn’t aware of. I want nothing to happen to your little experiment in democracy—I have no desire to have you on my doorstep, looking for a home.”

  As if that would ever happen. “If you hear of anything, please call me.”

  “You may rely upon it. I never thought your experiment in mimicking the government of mortals would ever work. I’m surprised it has lasted this long, but I would not want any external force to break it apart.”

  But she’d be happy if it imploded on its own. “Buenas noches,” he said, and clicked off. He slammed the phone down on the desk. ¡Puta! Talking with her was impossible. Why did he even try?

  He picked up an index card and began outlining the options:

  C is lying—No risk to community

  • Lying for own reasons

  C is lying—Risk to community

  • Conspiracy with NY

  • Conspiracy with “X”

  • Threat from “her” people

  C is telling the truth

  • Missed opportunity to learn about her people

  Anne-Louise’s information could probably be trusted. She may be unpleasant at times, but his maker didn’t want him dead—at least, not as long as he had what she wanted.

  So the Collective’s board wasn’t behind the attacks. Still, he couldn’t rule out Leopold acting on his own. But it made no sense—why would Cerissa put herself in the way of a bullet if she meant to harm his community?

  He tapped his pen on the third point: “C is telling the truth.” Was it fear or excitement he felt? It was often hard to tell the two feelings apart. The shadow of her shapely body underneath her tank top had awakened feelings better left ignored, and the fragrance of her blood had sent him fleeing the room—both bad signs.

  He rubbed his eyelids with the fingers of one hand and looked at the card again, afraid to let his feelings cloud his judgment. Yacov had been right. After almost two hundred years of undead living, the ennui sometimes weighed heavily on him. The thought of being the first to know about the Alatus Lux, to learn their hidden knowledge—well, his desire to believe her threatened to shove his fear aside.

  He threw the pen down on his desk. He hadn’t become a successful businessman by avoiding risk. His gut told him Cerissa wasn’t lying, but his head wasn’t buying it. He slid the card into his back pocket and went to check on her, determined this time to ignore how his body reacted to her.

  He found her lying on the bedroom floor.

  “What are you doing down there?”

  “I needed food,” she said, pointing to the empty wrapper on the floor.

  He scooped up the wrapper, shoved it in his pocket, and then lifted her, an arm wrapped around her back, the other hooked under her bare knees, holding her against his chest to lift her. Her soft skin, her warm body, her alluring feminine musk—the combination threatened to overwhelm him again.

  He quickly laid her on the bed and backed away until his legs touched the chair behind him. He sat down and crossed one leg over his knee to hide his reaction from touching her. Why does she have this effect on me? I have better control than that.

  She reached for the sheet to cover her legs. He couldn’t help himself. His eyes followed the movement, the animal part of his brain resenting that her shapely legs were now covered, his arousal becoming a dull ache.

  “What did Leopold tell you?” she asked.

  “He confirmed your story, and then some,” he snapped, his irritation over his body’s reaction clouding his response. “To hear him tell it, you should be known as ‘Saint Cerissa, feeder of needy vampires.’”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I did what I thought was right.”

  “For a fourteen-year-old child to walk into a room with a hungry vampire, you are either very courageous or very stupid.”

  “Neither, but at least you seem to believe it happened.”

  Did he? She wasn’t
human, but Leopold could still be lying. It cost him nothing to agree with her for now. “I believe you.”

  “And I wasn’t a child,” she said softly. “I was over forty at the time. I just didn’t have my full body mass yet, so mimicking a teenager was easier.”

  “You are over two hundred and thirty years old?” She was older than he was. He looked at her closely. Was she paler? Even if she wasn’t human, he had no reason to believe she was invincible. “Should I leave and let you sleep?”

  “That isn’t necessary. I just don’t want to spar right now. I don’t have the energy.”

  A loud banging at the front door—he excused himself and went downstairs. Switching on the security camera, he looked at Gaea’s image on the video monitor mounted by his door. He saw her arms crossed and her foot tapping. He opened the front door and stepped aside, otherwise she would have run right over him.

  “Where are you keeping her?” Gaea demanded.

  “Upstairs, first door on the right. The doctor removed the bullet and she’s resting.”

  “Why didn’t you call me? I’m responsible for her.” Gaea charged up the stairs, threw open the door, and marched to Cerissa’s bedside.

  “Hi, Gaea,” Cerissa said weakly. “Why all the shouting?”

  Gaea sniffed the air and looked at him, suspicion in her eyes. He shrugged—he wasn’t responsible for the smell of blood in the room. Or was Gaea implying he would take advantage of Cerissa in her helpless state? Gaea should hold a better opinion of him than that.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Gaea asked, taking Cerissa’s hand carefully and caressing it.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I was so worried when I heard the news. Leopold will be upset if anything happens to you.”

  He harrumphed. “Cerissa’s wellbeing should be your main concern,” he said. After his phone call with Leopold, he couldn’t care less what New York’s CEO thought.

  “Vampire,” Gaea said, “your presence isn’t needed now.”

  First Leopold’s hostility, then Anne-Louise’s condescension, and now Gaea addressing him rudely—his pent-up anger finally gave way. “I will not be dismissed in my own house. If you aren’t happy, you can leave.”

  “Why, young man—”

  “Please, Gaea,” Cerissa said. “I want him to stay.”

  “Really, dear,” Gaea said, sitting down next to the bed, “I just want to talk to you”—the old vampire swiveled her head to glare in his direction—“alone.”

  A series of loud knocks sounded at the front door.

  “Rolf and Karen have returned,” he guessed, his eyes focused on Cerissa. She looked tired and vulnerable. He felt guilty for speaking to her the way he had earlier. She had selflessly saved his life and taken a bullet for her trouble, just as she had saved Leopold—without thought to her own safety. Such bravery couldn’t be ignored, regardless of how he felt about her deception. He touched her leg, trying to reassure her. “I’ll come back up shortly,” he said gently.

  Walking downstairs, he tried to shake off a feeling he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Is Leopold right? Is she using her aura to influence me? He froze on the stairs. The night at the casino—my anger drained away in her presence, and then tonight, when she grabbed my wrist, my guilt was soon replaced with peace—is that what Leopold meant?

  The loud knocking resumed. Now was not the time to figure it out. He hurried down the staircase and then flipped on the security monitor again. Rolf and Karen stood there. He opened the door, and Karen took the bags of food to the kitchen, while Rolf took Karen’s overnight bag upstairs. Rolf was still sulking, but it would pass.

  Henry followed Karen into the kitchen. “Is she awake?” Karen asked, putting groceries into the refrigerator.

  “She is, and she’s still asking for food. What did you bring?”

  “A couple of salmon filets and a tray of chicken breasts. Why don’t we make chicken, since she mentioned it first?”

  He set up the grill on the stovetop. Heavy spices might upset her stomach, but he couldn’t serve her a naked piece of meat, so he settled for a light brush of olive oil, a sprinkle of dried rosemary, sage and thyme, a little salt and pepper. The chicken sizzled as he laid it on the hot grill. Karen punched the timer on the microwave and placed a potato inside. When it beeped, she microwaved some broccoli. Working together, they had the food ready in no time.

  “Do you want to take it up to her?” Karen asked.

  “You should. Gaea is there, and she is none too happy with me right now.”

  He followed Karen upstairs, hanging back at the doorway. Cerissa looked tired, but perked up when she saw what Karen was carrying. “That smells so good.”

  “Are you sure you should eat so much?” Gaea asked. “You just had surgery.”

  “Absolutely sure,” Cerissa replied. “Karen, would you mind cutting it into bite-size pieces? I can manage a fork with my left hand.”

  Karen took the utensils and carved up the chicken. “Here you go,” she said, handing the fork to Cerissa.

  Cerissa took the first bite, and, while chewing it, said “’ongerful,” which Henry understood as “wonderful.”

  He leaned against the doorway, watching Cerissa and mulling over what he had learned tonight. Should he keep her secret? He’d given his word, albeit conditionally. He turned around at the sound of Rolf behind him, who nodded toward the stairs. They silently walked together down to the drawing room.

  If he was going to tell Rolf about Cerissa, he could delay no longer. If he waited, how would he justify withholding what he’d learned tonight? It was now or never.

  Chapter 23

  Gaea and Karen kept Cerissa company while she ate. Blessed sustenance. Fuel. She quickly converted the food to raw energy, energy needed to restore the blood she’d lost and heal the damaged tissue. When she finished eating, they helped her to the bathroom and left her alone for a few minutes. The room still wobbled, but she could stand without collapsing. She took care of necessities and then washed her hands.

  Hanging on to the sink, she peeled back the bandages and examined the red, puckered wound in the mirror. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I be so stupid and get myself shot?

  The stitches were already beginning to itch as the muscle underneath regenerated. Ah, the price of completing my mission. She frowned at herself in the mirror. Henry had left with Rolf. Would her mission be over by the time they returned?

  No, she couldn’t let doubt eat away at faith. What little she knew about Henry, he seemed like a man who would keep his word.

  She rebandaged her arm and took a good look at her hair. “Mussed” was too nice a word—her hair was dreadful. She picked out the debris that had become embedded when she landed on the dirt, tossing the leaves and twigs into the wastebasket. Finding a brush in the drawer, she pulled the bristles through her thick hair, the tangles stopping it about halfway through, and gave up.

  I might as well keep up the pretense of being wounded for now—I certainly look the part. She opened the door of the bathroom and leaned against the frame, as if unsteady on her feet.

  Karen ran to her aid. “Can I get you anything else? I’m going to turn in now, so I’ll be up earlier in the day. Henry will be awake until the sun rises, if you need anything.”

  “I’ll try to sleep too.” She climbed into bed with Karen’s help. “The pain isn’t bad right now.”

  After Karen left, Gaea asked, “Why didn’t the good doctor give you some of his blood? It would certainly help you heal faster.”

  Cerissa averted her eyes. “I, well, I didn’t want that kind of connection with him.”

  “Saving yourself for your intended. How sweet,” Gaea said. “But foolish. A little vampire blood would fix you right up. A wound like that can get infected.”

  “I know you mean well, Gaea. But the doctor gave me an antibiotic and the wound isn’t bad. I should be fine with time.”

  Gaea muttered a few more words of comfort, said goodnight, and step
ped out into the hall, where she cautioned Henry to behave himself. By the tone of his reply, Gaea’s comment didn’t go over too well. Soon after, Rolf must have joined Henry in the hall. He said, “Goodnight,” and a short time later the front door closed. So Rolf wouldn’t be sleeping here during the day.

  Probably likes his own crypt, or whatever.

  Henry’s footsteps sounded on the stairs, and he returned to her room with a book in his hand. “I thought I would sit with you until I must retire for the day.”

  She glanced over at the bedside clock. Was it only two in the morning? So much had happened since she was shot.

  “I’m going to try to sleep,” she said, unsure what to say next.

  She wanted badly to know what he’d told Rolf, but asking him would show a lack of trust. She had to keep her mouth shut no matter how much she worried. Besides, if he had said something, Rolf would be in here grilling her himself.

  Henry sat down on the bedside chair. From the cover of the book he opened, she guessed it was a science fiction novel.

  “Ah, I have a question,” she said. He looked up from his book. “When I wake, is it all right for me to leave this room? I mean, I’ll probably be up before Karen, but I don’t even know where the kitchen is.”

  “That’s a simple matter. If there is a room I don’t want you in, I’ll close the door. Otherwise, feel free to look around. I do not sleep in the house during the day, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I just want to respect your privacy. This is an unusual situation. Gaea warned me—vampires are protective of their homes.”

  “We are.”

  “I— Are you feeling strange about the situation?”

  “Some. I’m still considering it. We have always conjectured there might be other supernatural beings like ourselves, but it’s hard to believe that your people would be here all this time and no one suspected a thing.”

  She remained silent. Sometimes it really was the best policy.

  “Or is there another explanation?” he asked, rising from his chair and striding from the room before she could say anything.