by C. A. Storm
As she turned off CO-25, she passed between a massive set of stone columns set on either side of the drive. The columns were both topped by marble-winged lions, the wings outspread as the lions roared. The road forked, with a signpost indicating Village to the right and Château to the left. Pulling left, the road twisted through the dense trees, oaks and pines that obscured the view, until finally she pulled into a clearing. Before her was a snow-covered field, stretching easily two to three acres, with the road leading through the field and up the curve of a hilly rise, where the Château stood proudly on a rocky outcropping overlooking the valley below.
The Château was a classic castle and keep, the pale gray stones dusted with the lingering snow and frost. The solid stone walls surrounding the main keep had crenulated towers at each juncture, with an actual drawbridge and open gate allowing access to the inner bailey. Following the road as it rounded around the hill to enter the keep from the back entrance, Sam let out a slow, low whistle before saying, “What do you think, Xalish? All kinds of awesome, yeah?” She pointed up toward one of the towers. “It’s even got gargoyles!”
The inner bailey had a small parking lot off to one side, separated from the main part of the bailey by a half-wall. Parking in an empty spot, Sam was glad she had changed clothes before heading out here. If it was cool down in Denver, it was downright bitter up here, particularly now that the sun was hidden behind the western peaks. Tugging her black beanie down lower to cover the tips of her ears, she jogged along the cleared path toward the steps leading up to the main entry. Three wide, low stone steps led up to a massive set of wooden double-doors, the wood dark with age and bound in blackened metal, with…of course…large lion-headed knockers.
These guys really like to beat a theme into the ground, don’t they? Sam wryly thought as she opened one of the smaller doors set into the larger wooden ones.
Instantly, it was like stepping into another world. They had continued the classic castle theme, but had given it a more modern, Rockies twist. Large slate slabs formed the floor, but a crimson and gold runner led directly from the entrance to a large front desk. Off to either side of the entrance were seating areas, with oversized, comfortable looking furniture in wood and aged leather, complete with bearskin—faux, Sam sincerely hoped—rugs set before roaring fireplaces. The walls were covered with shields and Medieval weaponry, and there were even suits of highly polished, and extremely fanciful, sets of armor situated about the Great Hall.
To either side of the reception desk were sweeping staircases that curled up toward a gallery on the second floor, while behind the desk an open archway led to what appeared to be a library, with massive windows overlooking the eastern valley below.
As she entered, a young man rose from behind the desk with a warm, welcoming smile on his handsome face. His long, blue-black hair was pulled back in a long braid that hung down his back, his dark eyes crinkled in a warm greeting. Sam struggled not to giggle as she saw he was dressed in a flowing, ruby red poet’s shirt that complimented his smooth, darkly-bronzed skin tone, the open neck revealing a rather impressive pectoral swell. As he stood, she noticed his breeches were just this side of being indecently snug—and she tried, she really, really tried not to sneak a peek—and low, soft leather boots. Catching Sam’s quick downward glance, and with her quick blush almost certainly giving her away, the young man grinned and swept a deep, courtly bow.
“Welcome to Château de Lyon, m’lady,” his voice was low and warm. “How can we help you?”
“Samantha!” Clara cried out in greeting as she trotted down the stairs. “It’s okay, Danny, she’s a guest of mine. I already set her up in the Maiden’s Tower.”
Sam muffled a cough at that, drawing a grin from Clara, who just shook her head as she asked the blushing redhead, “Did you bring your luggage and stuff?” At Sam’s affirmative, Clara turned back to Danny, “Could you get Misty to grab her stuff and take it to her room? Then have her park her car down in the garage.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Danny said with a cocky salute and a wink at Sam as he picked up the phone on the desk.
Clara came over and once more claimed Sam’s arm, hooking it with her own as she waved about grandly, “Welcome to the Château! Originally built in 1752 by my family, it served as a trading post and fort for fur traders and eventually the gold miners that came to the region.”
“1752?” Sam asked as she was led around the desk and through the archway. She wanted to go take a closer look at the library and take in the view, but Clara steered her down a hallway toward the left.
“Yep! My family was with the LaSalle expedition that traveled down the Mississippi from Canada to Louisiana in the 1600s, then traveled west since they weren’t too fond of the swamps,” Clara grinned and winked, “New Orleans was also a lot less fun back in those days, or so I’ve been told.” Shrugging, she continued as she led Sam deeper into the Château, toward the source of some truly incredible smells.
Yum, dinner time! Sam thought, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, though Clara intruded upon her reverie and saved her from the embarrassment of drooling all over herself.
“Anywho, westward ho the Leon’s went, and joined with the locals in keeping the Spanish from taking over. And yes,” Clara said drolly as she pushed open the swinging doors into a massive, absolutely immaculate modern kitchen that was buzzing with activity. “I am aware of the irony of Leons fighting the French, considering Ponce was a distant relative.“My great…great, great, so many times great he’s wonderful, grandfather found this place and fell in love with it,” Clara continued blithely, tugging on Sam’s arm as she drug her deeper into the kitchen, adroitly dodging the kitchen staff. From the bobbing of Clara’s head as she glanced around, she was apparently looking for someone. “Ah ha! Bertie!” And once again with the tugging! If Sam still had an arm after today, she promised to say a prayer of thanks. Hell, she’d pray the entire rosary if she had to.
At Clara’s bellow, an absolute mountain of a man poked his head up, a scowl on his craggy face. The man was an absolute beast, easily more than six-and-a-half feet tall, with huge shoulders and a barrel chest. A bristling black beard framed narrow lips, cropped close to his wide jawline, although the top of his pale head was as smooth as marble. Coal black eyes glared from beneath bushy eyebrows and above a wide, long, and crooked nose, adding to his already craggy look. With eyes too big for his face, that massive nose, and scowl, he was definitely not a handsome man; however, his features transformed as he flashed Clara a wide, bright smile that made his face heart-stoppingly striking.
“Clara girl,” Bertie boomed. His rough voice echoed through the kitchen and if not for Clara’s grip on her arm, Sam would have jumped out of her skin. “Are you here to steal some cookies again?”
Clara leaned over to whisper in Sam’s ear, “Bertie is the best baker, evah! Make friends with him, trust me!” A wink and a grin, then Clara shouted back at Bertie, “Not this time! Just wanted to show Sam around a little before dinner!”
The giant turned his attention down toward Sam, who was staring up at him with wide eyes. His smile turned gentle as he gave her a small nod. “Hello, Sam, and be welcome.”
Unable to resist the urge, Sam tilted her head slightly, gazing up at him over the rim of her glasses. Instantly, she saw his second self, a nearly translucent aura of stormy-gray stony flesh, wicked horns, and eyes that sparked with blue-white lightning dancing in their coal depths. The shadow of bat-like wings were tucked around those broad shoulders, and despite the wicked fangs visible between thin, smiling lips, she got the feeling of safety from him. A gentle giant. She returned his smile with a wide, happy one of her own.
“If you’re the Master of Cakes and Cookies, then you’re already my new best friend,” Sam said, earning a thunderous burst of laughter from the man.
“Deal!” Bertie boomed through his laughter, and once more Sam felt that strange prickling sensation she had felt earlier though instead of in her chest, this
time the tingling seemed to wrap up her right forearm. Absently rubbing her arm, she didn’t notice the strange look she received from Clara, nor the glare the woman sent Bertie’s way.
Waving his arms in a shooing gesture, Bertie yelled, “Now go and leave me be! I have desserts to make.”
Laughing, Sam subtly pulled her arm free of Clara’s grip, choosing instead to follow on her own as the tall blonde turned and wove her way toward another set of doors, these apparently leading to the main dining room.
Although it was early in the evening, the dining room was already half full, apparently with guests either staying at the Château or those who had made the drive specifically for the fare served in the small restaurant. The decorations in the dining room were in line with those of the Château Sam had seen thus far, with slate floors, deep red carpets, heavy wooden furniture, and the “modern Medieval” theme. It was surprisingly welcoming, with a large, circular fire pit in the center of the room, a fire merrily crackling and filling the air with the faintest hint of sweet smoke.
Clara grinned at Sam’s expression. “Come on, it’s a ‘Renaissance’ restaurant in the Rockies, of course it’s going to be a steakhouse. I hope you’re not a vegan,” she suddenly blinked, looking rather aghast at the thought, “I know those people are common out there in Portland.”
With a laugh and a pat of her generous, but firm, ass, Sam replied, “Nah, I tried it, but the lure of bacon was just too strong.” Her tone turned teasing as she cast a glance up at Clara, “What about you, Miss Soy Latte Mocha?”
Wrinkling her nose, Clara put a finger to her lips and with a roll of her eyes responded in a conspiratorial voice, “Lactose is not my friend, but don’t tell my beloved cheesecake that. It’s not a pretty relationship, but he’s always there when I need him most!”
The two women collapsed against each other in a maelstrom of giggling that had more than one customer smiling in amusement, even if they had no idea what the two crazy women were laughing about.
Chapter 8
It was one of the greatest challenges of his life, but Rik managed to get through the next few hours of work without rushing to the Château to grab up his cara and steal her away until the bond was complete. He’d catch himself randomly rubbing the left side of his chest, then have to force himself to stop. He also was quite proud of the fact that although he’d randomly find his cock as hard as a spike, he didn’t once go into the bathroom to rub one out at work—not that he had ever, ever done that before. Ever. Really. No, seriously. Stop laughing.
Finally, around 3:30 in the afternoon, he’d had enough. Packing up his laptop, he tossed it in his bag and headed out. He ignored Lizzy’s poorly concealed smirk when he gruffly said, “I’ll be working from home for the week.”
The fifteen-minute walk to his penthouse made him wish he had driven, as every time he had to stop and wait for a crossing signal, he found himself growling. Damn, I’m acting like a fucking werewolf. At this rate, I’m going to bite her to mark my territory and start howling at the bloody moon! He was thankful he was wearing sunglasses, because he was quite sure his eyes were glowing at this rate, even through the innate glamour that prevented Mortals from noticing such uncanny events.
He couldn’t manage much more than a grunt at the doorman to his building, and the ride up to his penthouse seemed to drag forever. Luckily, he had the elevator to himself, because he was sure if he had to say more than two words to anyone, he’d start roaring like a possessed man.
His penthouse was more than 7000-square-feet of utter decadence, taking up the western half of the top two floors of the high-rise, and was one of the most expensive condos in the entire city. He had a view of the Rockies, the South Platte River, and his views were unobstructed—one of the main reasons he had purchased the place. The hot tub off the balcony of the master suite was just an added bonus. His family owned the matching penthouse that overlooked the east, for the rare occasions his grandparents came down from the mountains, or the even more rare occasions when his parents came to visit.
Shouldering open the door to the penthouse, Rik called out to his roommate, “Clay, you here, man?”
Not hearing a response, Rik heaved a sigh of relief. He loved his best friend like the brother he never had, but the man could sniff out trouble like no one else. He was never at the center of it, but Clay always seemed to be at the periphery, egging it on. Clay would no doubt eventually find out that Rik had found his cara, and would be more than happy to help Rik execute his plans to claim his soulmate, but Rik wanted to actually have a plan first. Otherwise, chaos would ensue.
Rushing into his bedroom, Rik hurriedly tossed together a suitcase as he made a quick call to the Château’s front desk.
“Good afternoon, thank you for calling Château de Lyon, this is Daniel, how may we serve you today?”
“Yeah, Danny, it’s Rik. Could you do me a favor? I’m going to be heading up there for the week to help start setting things up for the Village opening, so could you hook me up with a room in one of the towers?” Okay, so he was stretching the truth a little, but he would help. Really. Even without Andrea or Clara asking for it. Normally, he would just stay in one of the cabins on the grounds, since after he had permanently relocated to Denver, his old room at his grandparents had been converted into a playroom for his grandmother’s many, many cats. Don’t ask.
“Definitely, man!” Danny’s cheerful voice replied, the sound of the keyboard in the background as he checked the computer. “Looks like we have a suite available in the Dragon’s Tower right now, you want that one for the week?”
“Yeah, that’s great, man. Thanks!” Rik said as he finished shoving some clothes into his suitcase and zipped it up. Reaching into his closet, he pulled out the large, heavy travel chest that was already packed up. “See you in a bit.”
Carrying his suitcase and chest over to the door, Rik called the desk manager for the condo, “It’s Rikard Leon. Can you have my car brought around in about 15 minutes, please?”
“Yes, sir. It’ll be ready for you out front. Do you need assistance with your luggage, sir?”
“Nah, I got it this time. Thanks, Jorge. Give Angela a kiss for me, will you?”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that, sir,” Jorge replied drily. “See you downstairs in a few,” Jorge had been the day manager for the condos since the building had opened, and Rik quite enjoyed the man’s droll sense of humor. His wife was a freaking hoot, determined to mother him every time she saw him, even if Rik was nearly three times her age.
Everything set and ready to go, Rik dashed back into his bedroom and tore out of his suit, tossing the clothes on the bed until he wore nothing more than a pair of black silk boxers. What? He liked the feel of silk! He debated for a few moments, then ruefully tugged them off, opting instead for his more athletic cut boxer briefs—he had a feeling he was going to need that little extra support. Yanking on his jeans and pulling on a Broncos hooded sweatshirt, he shoved his size thirteens into his hiking boots and grabbed his leather coat before he headed out. Operation: Prince Charming was a go!
It took Rik almost three hours to get to the Château—three long, slow hours—after he got caught behind an accident on I-70 that backed up traffic for miles. By the time he pulled his Range Rover Sport into the underground parking facility beneath the Château, it was already past sunset. He could feel his heartbeat quickening at the thought of seeing Sam, this time hopefully face-to-face and with a little less yelling. One could dream, anyways, right?
He jogged up the stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator, emerging into the Great Hall where he saw Danny sitting at the reception desk, working on the computer. Danny was a young Sidhe, technically still in his teens until he reached his maturity in his 25th year and came into his full power. Like most Sidhe born in the Americas, he had matured rather quickly, and at 19 was already showing the depths of his potential powers. He was also like that annoying younger brother Rik had never wanted, but was secretly g
lad to have.
Without looking up from his computer, Danny said, “Hey, Rik, Misty’s grabbing your stuff and will take it up to your rooms for you. Need anything else or you just hear to cruise the babes?”
Amused, Rik asked, “Babes? Is that still an actual word?”
Finally tearing his attention away from the screen, Danny rolled his eyes at Rik, “Dude, I know you’re like old and stuff, but you’re not that old. Not really.” He then grinned widely and winked, “And yeah, babes. There are a couple of total hotties that are staying right now, and Clara invited the sweetest looking redhead…”
Straightening, and resisting the urge to snarl at the younger Sidhe, Rik managed a nonchalance he truly wasn’t feeling, “Oh? That must be Ms. Kelly. Yeah, she’s one of the applicants for the Landsmaster position, so you may want to make sure you don’t scare her off.” Huh, when had he clenched his fists? And why did he suddenly have the urge to deck the ridiculously good-looking younger Sidhe? And why was he noticing how damned attractive Danny was? Fuck!
“Yeah, yeah, it’s not like there’s a no fraternization policy, old man,” Danny said with a laugh.
Deciding a change of subject was definitely in order, Rik cleared his throat. “We have another candidate for the position arriving on Friday. Could you go ahead and set him up for a room? I’m thinking that we’re going to want both of them to stay for a while, to see which is really the better fit.”
Turning back to his computer, Danny shrugged and said, “Sure, just send me his information and I’ll get it set up. It’s still slow right now until the Village opens up in a few weeks.”
“Great, thanks, Danny.” Clearing his throat, once more striving for nonchalance, Rik asked, “So where are my sisters, anyways?”
“Her Majesty, Queen Genevieve the Demanding, is in her lair, probably plotting on kidnapping virgins or terrorizing the neighbors,” Danny said with a chuckle as he jerked his thumb up over his shoulder. That earned him a snort of laughter from Rik. Genevieve could indeed be quite demanding, but considering she was in charge of security at the Estates, both for Mortals and the Uncanny alike, she had her reasons for being a bitch.
