by Jackie Ivie
Another door led him back into a hall, exactly like the previous one. For all he knew, he’d come full-circle, but there was one difference. One side of the hall was noticeably colder than the other. Chill raised goose bumps on his back and shoulders as he slid along it. Now he knew for damn sure he wasn’t in a bayou. These temperatures belonged to a higher elevation. A lot higher.
He reached an outside door, recognizable by the arched entry and deeply-set recess. Even if it resembled a cathedral, this castle wasn’t denigrating the name. It had thick stone walls. Fifteen feet at the least, if the portal was accurate. Garrick lifted the bolt, easing it with a slight groan of resistance that was audible enough to worry. He didn’t know how well she heard, and he was too close to success. He could feel it ramping up his heart-rate and charging his system. He slid around the opening and faced another will-sapping surprise.
The castle fronted a wall of rock, laced with a myriad of copper tubing, and all of it vaguely lit by really ancient-looking light fixtures. There was barely enough room for him to squeeze between the castle walls and the rock that surrounded it. Literally. Garrick was three-fourths of the way around the structure before he admitted it. The castle wasn’t on any mountain. It was encased within one, taking up what might have been a cave at first, but was now a dense shell of solid stone. Buttresses that should have been flying out from the gallery wall, rooting the structure to the ground, were carved right from the rock sides, and once he climbed one, he got another surprise. That wasn’t any sky he’d glimpsed. It was fake; incandescently lit with what looked like fluorescent tubing, honeycombing the rooftop. There wasn’t one vestige of a stalactite, which meant this hadn’t started as a cave, and that meant he couldn’t even find an entrance to use. And he was sweaty and getting annoyed, and tired of failing.
There was a walkway constructed along the roof edge and he dropped onto it, following it down a set of stairs that ended at another access door. There wasn’t a way out of here that he could locate. No wonder she cut him loose. Garrick spent a couple of minutes conquering the anger and adrenaline for use later. Obviously, strength and energy wasn’t going to get him released. He’d have to resort to cunning and manipulation. That meant he might as well use that shower. And find another outfit to wear, clueing her in on some of his explorations. And that meant he’d have to be near her again.
Double damn her.
CHAPTER FIVE
“How do you like your steak?”
“What?”
“I was guessing medium rare, but I didn’t want to overcook it.”
She didn’t look at him, and he’d girded himself for the confrontation. He’d shaved, finger-combed his hair back, used the antiperspirant and splashed on cologne. She’d included a sharp razor. Even without a mirror, he was accurate with that, and it made a comforting presence in his pocket. He’d picked out tan wool slacks, a white shirt worn unbuttoned at the throat, and a brown tweed sport coat with leather patches at the elbows and shoulders. It was probably proper English hunting attire, but the slacks were such a fine weave they felt like a second skin, while he’d rarely had a coat that fitted so well. He’d disdained adding a tie. Some things just weren’t needed for confronting a vampire in her lair after what amounted to a two hour absence.
And she didn’t even look up.
She was crouched on a stool by the fireplace, cooking over an open fire that hadn’t been lit earlier. Her hair was pulled back and a large, unadorned apron covered the front of the gown he’d noted earlier. She cooked with rudimentary equipment over an open fire. Barring the fact she could cook, why didn’t she just use the kitchen? Normal castles had kitchens but then again, nothing about this place was normal. It didn’t resemble any castle he’d been educated on. It resembled a half-concocted notion of one, or an over-sized doll house, or a funhouse from an amusement park. The entire place defied description – like a discombobulated dreamscape that some kid dreamed up.
Why did he care? It didn’t really matter what the place was. It was a prison and he was finding his way out of it. Because there had to be one. Somewhere. Garrick looked about, evaluating the marble columns and niches for anything resembling doors. The room had three of them. The gallery looked to have at least three more, but that didn’t concern him. They probably just led outside to that cobweb of wires and rock. He looked higher, taking in the skylight, now dark as if night had fallen, and then checked the little clerestory windows. She even had lights glittering up there, as if stars had come out.
The room was cavernous, and she used it for what? Her bedroom? Garrick moved his glance to the heart-shaped, frill-topped bed, looking innocent and extremely feminine, and completely unlike the bondage scene it had been. Why would she even have a bed? Vampires didn’t need a mattress and box springs for their rest. They simply went into a prone position atop a bit of dirt from their graves and assumed the dead state. Or whatever stasis they called it.
Garrick licked his lips and walked over to her. The smells emanating from her fireplace were mouth watering and he was hungry. “Medium rare is fine.”
“Good. It’s almost ready to turn. You only turn a steak once, you know. Any more times and the meat will toughen.”
“How do you know that?”
“I…don’t think I should answer that.”
“Why not?”
“When I answer your questions you get angry. And then I might have to control you. And…I think you need to eat first.”
He swore.
“You see?”
She tipped her glance to him before standing and taking the two steps to the hearth and her cooking. He watched her pick up a hot mitt and long handled fork. She knew her way around everything. Nothing looked hesitant as she turned his steak, fussed with a filleted salmon beside it, then lifted a cast iron skillet lid, revealing eggs, already scrambled, and on the other side…real cottage potatoes! Garrick moved even closer as she lifted and turned his potatoes. Her efforts weren’t needed. They looked ready; perfectly browned and smelling every bit of it. Everything smelled amazing. He inhaled deeply of the fabulous aroma permeating the air.
“I suppose you have a rasher of bacon frying somewhere, too?”
“And rice pilaf.”
Rice pilaf? He stopped the question. He had said something along that line. The woman was thorough and had an excellent memory. She settled back onto her stool without looking at him.
“I’m ready to try a truce. You interested?”
She shrugged.
“Is that a yes?”
“I learned to cook by following the armies. Lots of women follow armies. To serve their…needs.”
“You were a camp follower? No way.”
“If you don’t believe my answers, why ask?”
“How did you remain a virgin, then?”
Her eyes were wide and very green, reflecting the firelight as she looked up and over at him. “You remember that?”
“I’m known for my attention to details, lady. No matter how small and obscure. So answer the question.”
“There are many ways to satisfy a man without…that.”
He swallowed the immediate influx of emotion. Heaven help him, but he was ready to hit something. It was instantaneous and it was massive. And moronic. Self-defeating. He wasn’t angry. She was a dead creature and he was trying to find her weakness. So whatever the reaction was, he shoved it away and refused to evaluate it.
“Name some.” He might be conquering the odd emotion, but his voice didn’t sound like it. He sounded gruff and angered.
“A…well-cooked meal, followed by a good vintage wine worked, especially if a man is exhausted from a day of marching. Or a battle. And if more was needed I provided it, too.”
“More?”
“I took some fluid from him…sometimes from more than one of them. I understand it’s a highly erotic sensation - creating a thrill not unlike making love. Or so…I’ve been told.”
She couldn’t be blushing. Garrick ref
used to believe it. He absolutely, totally, and completely refused to accept that a vampire had emotions, let alone was capable of exhibiting them.
“Which army?” Shit. His voice was even lower and rougher than before.
“Any of them. All of them. One army is very like another, really.”
“How far back are we talking? Alexander the Great? Richard the Lion-Heart?”
“Napoleon. Of course.”
“Of course?”
“That man destroyed my world.”
“I’m going to guess we’re playing show and tell. I’m game. I’ll go first. I’m going to hazard a guess that you were a French aristocrat. And you died…circa 1793. Am I close?”
She smiled. “1790.”
“How could he have demolished your world, then? You weren’t around when he came to power.”
“The dead can still react to what the living do. We’re just powerless to stop it…especially if it happens during the day. Executions always took place during the day. Usually morning – so the populace can see and cheer.”
She didn’t put any inflection in the words which made them worse, for some reason.
“The guillotine?”’
She nodded.
“Your family?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you blame Napoleon? Robespierre is your villain.”
She smiled more to herself than at him. “Would you like to eat now? I believe it’s ready.”
She turned toward him, reaching mid-chest level, her entire form caressed by the fire’s glow, while she wielded her long-handled fork like a sword. Or a phallus symbol of some pagan ritual. And if he didn’t change the view and quickly, he was afraid his wool slacks wouldn’t hide the reaction. He stepped back and looked around.
“Any chance you have a dinette handy?”
She gestured to one of the alcoves where shapes could barely be made out. Once she took her pans over there and pulled on a cord lighting the area, it was obvious. It wasn’t exactly a dining area, but the semi-circular window seat and table would do. Damn. He’d thought his observation powers better. Garrick slid into place on the seat.
“You joining me?” He asked, as she set the feast down in front of him.
She shuddered. It was especially noticeable since she’d taken off her apron, revealing way too much creamy flesh above the neckline. Garrick looked away.
“Oh. Don’t answer. I don’t want to know that you’re planning to dine later. I’m going to try and blank that out while I enjoy this. I get a knife and fork?”
From over his head she lifted down what was probably a priceless porcelain plate, followed by a knife and fork set that looked like it had been dipped in real gold. Then she made everything real by swiping at his plate with her apron. For the dust, no doubt. It was obvious she hadn’t used them. Probably for centuries.
She had the steak on the platter before putting it in front of him. Then she sat onto the opposite seat, settling in a whisper of satin. Garrick did his best imitation of ignoring her, transferring just about everything in the frying pan onto his plate where it caressed the steak. He shoved a bite of potato into his mouth. He barely caught the moan of gratification as tastes exploded against his tongue. Damn! But the woman could cook.
“Napoleon ruined my country. His wars decimated France and everything she stood for. I watched it happen.”
Garrick swallowed and carved on the steak. “So? Look at what the Nazis did.”
“They did not destroy my family chateau. Napoleon did, using his soldiers as weapons. He took everything from me.”
“Weren’t you already dead?”
He glanced toward her. Her lips thinned, but it was the only sign that he’d annoyed her. Maybe.
“You don’t understand! He made it so I could never go back!”
Ah… She was annoyed. Her voice reflected it, the way she snapped her words indicated it, and the quick breaths she was taking that sent her bodice dipping even lower sealed the deal. The trousers might be fashioned of superfine wool, but the crotch was restrictive, and he’d be better off concentrating on anything else. He took the bite of steak and savored it. It wasn’t hard. The woman was an extraordinary cook, even over an open flame without any adjustments on the heat. He was eating the best meal of his life. Cooked for him by a vampire. Nobody would believe him. He swallowed and carved another bite.
“Nobody ever gets to go back, Sister.”
Her reaction was a complete stiffening of her entire frame. He wondered what he’d said, and then just stumbled on.
“And even if you do, it’s not the same.”
No answer. He scooped some eggs atop his steak before shoving it in, doing his best to ignore the view right across the little slab of wood from him. The odd itch was back, too. He remembered it from their first meeting, but now it was worse. It was more vivid this time, creating a sensation like his skin was trying to relocate and really pissed off at being locked on. He swallowed and speared another bite of potatoes.
“I’m going to guess that since your home was destroyed and you had years to stew over it, you decided to recreate it. And that explains this place.”
“Tres bien.”
He shoved the bite into his mouth before the liquid warmth in her voice narrowed his throat passage, swallowed, and then wondered why he hadn’t asked for something to drink. Like a stiff vodka and tonic. On ice.
“I’ve been to the Loire Valley. Seen chateaus. They don’t resemble this one. Yours must’ve really been something.”
Attention on the steak, Garrick. Carve. Soak up a bit of juice. Put it in your mouth. This is not a woman. It’s a dead thing. All decayed inside. Nothing about her is dewy and moist, and supremely sexy. Nothing.
“I was six.”
She was also just the slightest bit angry if her tone was any indicator. He had the explanation to the mismatched proportions of this place. She was recreating a child’s view. And she was lying. He narrowed his eyes and took a bite of salmon. He’d been mistaken earlier. The potatoes didn’t melt in his mouth. This did, flaking against his tongue without any need of chewing. He swallowed and looked across at her.
“You don’t look six.”
She lowered her chin slightly and favored him with a non-blinking gaze, giving him her full attention and making his ears hum. He’d been warned countless times about this type of allure. Now he knew why. Heat flared along his lower back, reached around him, and made him instantly rock hard without one bit of permission. But that’s what napkins were good for.
He shoved in another bite of anything and grunted as if busily chewing. Keep your mind on the food. Her words. Use what she says. The explanations. Toy with her. The thrust and counter-thrust of conversation.
Thrust…
He choked. And when he had the coughing conquered, a frosted mug of amber liquid was beside his plate. As if by magic. If he wasn’t doing his best to combat the coughing and stay the tears, he’d have watched her fetch it, and maybe have a bit of inkling on how to escape this hell. But that would have to wait. He needed a drink, and it wasn’t like him to let a good beer go to waste. He had it half downed with the first round of gulping. The next had it emptied. Damn. That was the best brew he’d ever had, too.
“I was forced from my home at six. I wasn’t turned until fifteen years later. To the day.”
“Who forces a six-year old?”
“My husband.”
Husband. Right. He was beginning to wonder if she ever spoke the truth. And somehow, her lying tongue helped alleviate her sexual allure. It wasn’t much, but it was something. If he could just keep her talking...
“This is delicious. Perfectly cooked. I’m going to guess it wasn’t frozen.”
“Of course not. The best meals start with the freshest ingredients.”
“So…we’re close to a market?”
He busied himself with slicing another bite from his steak, as if he’d said nothing of import, and hoped it worked. This was a very sha
rp knife. Probably the match to his razor. She shouldn’t have given them to him. There wasn’t hosiery around that was safe now.
“Why don’t you just ask if we’re near a town?”
“Are we?” The bite went in his mouth and he tipped his head to one side to regard her as he chewed.
“No.”
“Pity.” He shoved in another mouthful of eggs.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m still a virgin?”
He stiffened, and then kept chewing, although the eggs were nearly liquefied already. Swallowed. And then worked on the potatoes again. He should have asked for bread, too. It would have soaked up the steak juice. “Nope.”
“My husband was a travesty of a man. A…man who prefers other men. Despite how they forced him into my bedchamber, he couldn’t…perform.”
Her voice quavered slightly. Garrick squeezed the fork in his hand until he felt it start to warp. They’d used real gold all right, and too much of it. He very carefully shrugged and then worked at his meal again.
“Surely there were other men around. The kind who like women. You’ve had centuries to find them.”
“That’s why I had you bound. I couldn’t chance losing you. The odds of finding you were already astronomical.”
He stopped the bite halfway to his mouth, and dropped it back to his plate where it sat, soaking up steak juices.
“I don’t want to know. Ok? We can stop now.”
“You’re ending our truce?”
“I’m saying I don’t want to hear this mating part again. You’re a dead thing walking, and I’m sworn to destroy them as I find them. Hard obstacles to overcome, know what I mean?”
He didn’t think the room had gotten hotter, but it sure felt it. He almost moved to loosen his collar.
“Yes. I know what you mean.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper and contained something he didn’t want to explore. She’d turned her profile to him as well, allowing him a very good view of her almost ethereal beauty, the slightest tremble to her lower lip, and then a tear glistened as it slid down her cheek.
