“Where?”
His face hardened and his clawed fingers curled.
“Calm down,” she said as gently as fear would allow. “I want to help you, but you have to help me.”
“Should be in the ice box.” His voice was dry and raspy.
Ice box? There was certainly no blood in the kitchen and he’d emptied the pantry fridge where they kept the extra drinks. The only other refrigerator that she knew of was in the gym. It was one of those small portable jobs meant for dorm rooms. The boys kept it stocked with bottled water for their workouts. It had been spotless in the midst of all that sweat and grime and she’d left it alone.
“There’s one more place where we can look. It’s through there.” She pointed to the steel door. “I won’t try to run away.”
She inched her way over to the door never taking her eyes from his. When she reached the door, she glanced down at the handle. When she looked back, he was no longer at the sink. He was at the gym door, holding it open for her, the perfect gentleman. She was too stunned to do anything but nod her thanks.
Grace took a final deep breath before opening the miniature refrigerator. If what he wanted wasn’t there, she didn’t know what to do next. At first glance, the shelves looked packed with bottled water. Then she noticed the small cardboard box in the back corner of the bottom shelf. She swept the bottles onto the floor and pulled out the box.
A clawed hand reached out and snatched the box from her hand. Before she could catch her breath, the creature disappeared into the kitchen. As the door closed behind him, she thought she heard a rasping “Thank you.”
Grace started to shake and couldn’t stop. She was still kneeling in front of the fridge and collapsed back onto her heels. She knew that she should run, get through the outer door and wait for Col and Dov to return, but the tremors wracking her overused muscles were more than she could overcome. She didn’t know she was crying until she saw her tears spatter on the floor.
A hand stroked her hair and she stiffened.
“It’s the adrenalin from your fear. Breathe deeply until it passes. Then we’ll get you back to the kitchen and make you a cup of tea to settle your nerves.” The voice was low and kind.
Grace looked up.
“Oh my god.”
Chapter 9
Over the years and on many occasions Grace had indulged in daydreams about what she would want or do in her life if things were different and she recognized them for what they were, just dreams. There would be no house in the suburbs with three pretty bedrooms or the children to fill them. There would be no happy hubby to meet when their workday was done. So what was the harm in daydreaming? She had little else to do.
She tried dating once. Alice set her up and within five minutes she knew that the guy saw her as poor and desperate, which she was, and therefore an easy lay, which she wasn’t. The lust rolling off the weasely dweeb had been strong enough to choke her. So much for dating. At least in her dreams, she was wanted for more than an easy conquest.
On her more pitiful days she would turn her workplace into a real dungeon and her apartment into a castle tower with the proverbial knight in shining armor charging in to rescue her from the evil clutches of the mad wizard that was in her head.
Never, in all her wildest imaginings, had she dreamed of having dinner with a vampire. Yet here she was, having dinner with Uncle Otto, a real live vampire.
“Oh come now, Grace. Surely you suspected something was different about Dov and Col. You saw them fight.” Uncle Otto cut another small bite of his rare steak. As he slowly chewed, he closed his eyes. Swallowing, he smiled, white fangs glistening. “Heavenly.” He opened his eyes and looked across at Grace. “Be honest. You knew.”
“I knew they weren’t exactly human and yes, I saw Dov’s fangs, but they aren’t nearly as big as yours and they don’t show when we’re here at the house and they were eating pizza, not drinking blood. So no, I didn’t think vampire. You on the other hand, I figured out pretty quick except for a moment there when I thought werewolf, but that was only because you hadn’t shaved in a while.”
After her initial shock had passed, Otto had explained that now his ‘thirst’ had been satisfied, he was no longer a threat. Calming her with kind words and tea, he explained that the twins had locked him in his rooms on the third floor and were ferrying food and blood to him since her arrival. They wanted to protect her from further shock and themselves from Canaan. Dov should have made a delivery last night, this morning at the latest, but he failed to show and the thirst had sent Otto into a frenzy of bloodlust. Now that he was showered and shaved, and with the exception of his very obvious fangs, he looked like a normal well maintained man in his mid to late sixties. He was dressed in a light green, short sleeve golf shirt, complete with little rider and mallet on the breast and a pair of well worn, comfortable looking jeans. On his feet was a pair of scuffed leather moccasins, sans socks. He wasn’t anybody’s uncle, but the twins used it as a term of affection and Grace thought it suited him and he seemed pleased when she asked if she could use the name as well. He was so easy to talk to; gentle, quiet, relaxed.
“Well, they aren’t really vampires, at least not yet and I hope for their sakes it never comes to that. Although I admit that earlier today I could have turned them myself.”
“I’ve heard that phrase before. Turning someone I mean.”
“Ah, a common phrase among the Paenitentia.”
“Paenitentia?”
“They didn’t tell you? No, they wouldn’t. They’d be afraid Canaan wouldn’t like it. Well, there’s nothing he can do to me other than kill me and he should have done that already. So I’ll tell you the story. Open that bottle of wine on the counter and we’ll begin at the beginning.” Uncle Otto sat back, relaxed in his chair and took a sip of wine before he began.
“When humans first came upon the earth, God sent a sect of his children, angels as it were, to instruct those humans in righteousness and according to Paenitentian belief these children, these sons of God were seduced by the Daughters of Man. In their beguilement they taught these Daughters of Man the arts of magic and witchcraft to please them and to entice the women to take them as husbands and in the fullness of time the women bore forth the Nephilim, giants who were known as heroes and renowned for their strength and prowess and huge appetites for all things of pleasure.
“Time passed and the Nephilim lost their way. They abused their gifts, used their size and strength to make war for their own advancement and eventually began to feed on the blood and lives of humans. Over the centuries they forgot the strictures of their fathers. God was not pleased and he set a curse upon their kind. He sent his angel Gabriel to make war on them and the Great Flood to annihilate those that remained. Still, a few survived and those few saw the error of their ways. They couldn’t change what they were, but they could change the way they lived. Thus the Paenitentia were born. The Penitents. The Race. They refused to take the blood of humans and in atonement for past sins they pledged to protect mankind from the ravaging of those demons that escape through the portals from the otherworld that was created when God closed the Gates of Heaven. They have lived among and yet apart from their human cousins for centuries, forbidden the light of day. We are their descendants.”
Grace, who had been leaning forward, elbows on the table, head in hands, sat back. “Wow.” It was all she could think of to say.
Uncle Otto nodded as if understanding her need to digest his words and calmly sipped his wine. They sat in companionable silence while the clock over the sink ticked away the minutes.
At last, Grace whispered, “You drink blood.”
He nodded again. His gentle brown eyes smiled. “I knew you were a smart one. It’s part of the curse.” He leaned forward onto the table, crossed his arms and sighed. “There are three ways a Paenitentia can die barring accident; old age, beheading, or cut out the heart. As I’m sure you know there are other wounds, caused by violence, that can be fatal to humans. Those mortal wou
nds won’t kill the Paenitentia, but what they can do is worse. We call it turning; the living dead. Our hearts beat, but we are dead to the Race. We need human blood to survive. Tradition dictates that once turned, a Paenitentia should be beheaded forthwith. Canaan should have done the honors, but refused, so here I am. He says I’ll die soon enough and he’ll see I’m cared for until then.”
“So you’re not immortal?” She was an avid reader and every vampire book she ever read claimed immortality.
“Good heavens, no. We’d overrun the place. And we can’t create others with our bite. We are long lived, however. Our children age much like humans, a little slower perhaps. Then, when they reach full maturity, around twenty-five, the aging process slows dramatically; about ten to twelve of ours to one year of yours. So barring a turn, a Paenitentia, which we refer to as a member, by the way, will live around six hundred years. Once turned, however, our system reverts to what it was in our childhoods and we age year by year as humans do. I was five hundred and ten when I was turned four years ago. I’ve probably got ten to fifteen years left. Guardians tend to live longer, if they make it to old age.”
“Col and Dov are Guardians and that Canaan guy is the boss,” Grace interrupted.
Uncle Otto looked surprised. “They told you about the Guardians, but not the Race?”
“Heck no,” she said indignantly. “They don’t tell me squat. I eavesdrop. And putting that together with your history and what I’ve seen, I assume they ‘guard’ the portals.”
Uncle Otto was a handsome vampire when he laughed. “Smart and clever. I like that in a woman. You’re right, of course, that’s their job. Dov and Col are still initiates, trainees. Canaan is the head of this House of Guardians, their Liege Lord and should be addressed as ‘My lord’.”
“Fancy title. Do I have to curtsy when I meet him?” Grace smirked.
Uncle Otto sobered and straightened in his chair. He somehow looked younger and more powerful. “No, you don’t have to curtsy, though in the past it was required. In our world, Liege Lord is a title that should garner the highest honor. And you will show the proper respect.”
“Yes, sir,” said Grace and she lowered her eyes acknowledging the rebuke. She was saved from further embarrassment when the twins hurtled into the kitchen shouting her name.
“Jesus, Gracie! Are you all right? The blood…” Dov stopped short as he registered the remnants of steak and baked potato dinner.
“I’m fine, no thanks to you.” She wrinkled her nose. “God, Dov, you smell like a cheap whore. Where have you been?” then laughed and began to clear the table. “No. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Just go wash up. I’ll cook your steaks.”
It was as she was rinsing the plates to stack in the dishwasher that she looked over at Col. Her hand went to her chest. “Please don’t tell me that blood is yours.”
Chapter 10
It was no use. She wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on the book Col had brought her even though it was one she had requested. She put it aside and turned out the bedside light. It was too early to sleep, but after the excitement and revelations of the last few days, she just wanted to crash and relax. She’d already changed into what had become her favorite sleep wear, the silk boxers and tee that she’d worn her first day and she wasn’t about to get dressed again to go down to the Back Room with the boys and Otto. There would be too much noise and beer.
She settled back onto the pillow and took a deep breath. Even though the sheets and the cases had been washed and dried and washed again, they still smelled like pine and leather and she sank back into the softness, closed her eyes and let her mind drift.
The movie showed up at once. This was the first time it had come before sleep. The colors swirled and the pieces came together more swiftly than they ever had before. The lilies, as always, were first. Then the hazy, black mass that she thought would be a face clarified into a skull, not frightening, but rather sad with its blood tears falling to the words on the ribbon below. ‘Paenitet me’. Ah, the Paenitentia. The band of golden metal came next, circling a man’s well muscled arm. It was engraved with the same words as the ribbon and then the eyes came into focus, warm golden brown, looking out at her with something akin to love as they flashed to a fiery red. Then the bubble popped and the picture was gone. “I’ll ask Otto about it, tomorrow,” she thought and she drifted off to sleep.
*****
Canaan drove the Porsche into the garage, hit the button to close the door and breathed a sigh of relief. He had taken a chance, driving this close to dawn, but the rain and the car’s darkly tinted windows had given him the few extra minutes he’d needed to get to the cover of the underground garage. The Ducati and Suburban were right where he’d parked them and he smiled as he entered the dimly lit tunnel that would lead him to the house. He unlocked the door of the basement entrance and noted that it had not been tampered with and smiled again. Perhaps the twins were growing up.
The door’ backed by shelves, opened silently on its well oiled hinges and he passed silently through the pantry. He paused. Wonder of wonders, the kitchen was clean. He heard laughter coming from the Back Room, thought about stopping to say hello, then decided against it. He was tired and it would be easier to face them after a good day’s sleep.
Without a sound, he padded through the house toward his room. The hall and foyer smelled like lemon wax and something else, floral and sweet. The thought had barely registered when it was forgotten because of the cat, sitting on the stairs staring at him as if he were the intruder. They didn’t own a cat. A clean house and a cat. Something was decidedly off, but he would ask his questions tomorrow. Today, he just wanted his bed. The cat silently followed him to his room.
He didn’t bother with the light as he shut the door behind him and closed his eyes against the headache that was forming, kicked off his shoes and stripped off his clothes, letting them lay where they fell and collapsed back onto the bed. His head hit something soft, not a pillow, a person!
He was on his feet before the screaming started. He stepped on the cat and its screeching added to the din. A woman was screaming even as she fell off the other side of the bed and scrabbled away, huddling up, her back to the wall, and clutching the sheets to her chest.
“I’ll turn them and then I’ll kill them,” he muttered as he strode to the door. Throwing it open, he bellowed, “Dov! Col! What the hell have you put in my bed?”
Awakened from a sound sleep by a blow to her belly, Grace found herself sharing her bed with a naked man! She screamed as she flew from the bed, tangled in the covers and fell to the floor still screaming. He was out in the hall shouting for Dov and Col before she had collected herself enough to realize who the intruder must be. She could already hear the others pounding up the stairs with their own shouts of alarm.
“Oh, crap,” shouted Col. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, goddammit. And that’s my bed” Canaan pointed. “What’s she doing in it?”
“Looks like she was sleeping until you scared the hell out of her,” said Dov, peering around Canaan and into the room. “You okay in there, Gracie?”
“You’re walking really close to the edge, boy,” Canaan growled.
“Hey, it’s not like we have a guest room.”
And Grace said, “Once again, no thanks to you, I’m fine.”
Mustering what little dignity she had left, she pushed the sheet aside and stood, her back propped against the wall to help support her shaking legs. Canaan turned to face her, the light from the hall illuminating his body. My God, he was beautiful, taller and broader than the twins. Her eyes traveled down his perfectly proportioned and very naked body. The second thing she noticed was the tattoo over his heart; white lilies surrounding the black outline of a skull, blood tears falling to the ribbon below. Her eyes slid to the gold band encircling his right bicep.
“Oh shit, you’re him,” she whispered and slid back down to the floor.
Unc
le Otto was there trying to calm everyone down. “Look, there’s no use trying to hash this out now. Let’s all get some sleep and we can settle this tonight. Canaan, why don’t you get some clothes on?”
“I can’t,” he snapped, “She’s wearing them.” He stalked into the closet and came out holding a pair of jeans. He pushed past them into the hall. “I’ll sleep in the study.”
Uncle Otto winked at Grace as he closed the door and she heard Dov snicker, “That went pretty well, doncha think?”
Chapter 11
Canaan awoke to a growling stomach and the smell of fresh brewed coffee and frying bacon. He stood, groaned and rolled his shoulders and neck, working out the kinks that were the result of sleeping on a sofa that was a foot too short to accommodate his six foot seven frame. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scrubbed his scalp with both hands, then made his way to the kitchen.
The sight that greeted him did more to wake him than coffee ever would. The woman from the night before was bent over in front of the stove putting something in the oven. Her sweet little rump, held high in the air, wiggled and danced to the beat of the music coming from the ear buds held tight in her ears. He felt his cock harden as he enjoyed the show.
Grace set the last of the muffins on the rack, closed the door and set the timer. She sensed rather than heard the presence behind her and knew immediately who it was. She turned, removed the ear pieces and turned the player off.
“Good waking,” she said, using the greeting the twins used when they rose. She tried to still her heart and breathing. Canaan stood before her in snug fitting jeans. The button was undone and a telltale bulge strained against the zipper. Bare footed and bare chested, the lily and skull tattoo covered his left pectoral. His short hair was spiked and tousled from sleep. A day’s growth of beard shadowed his face, accenting the high cheekbones and long aquiline nose. More striking than handsome, it was a face she could believe was descended from warriors of old.
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