“You suck,” Gillian said to empty air.
“You should know.”
His voice rumbled through her mind, making her blush and feel all gooey. She had to laugh. He had a decent sense of humor for an old fossil. Maybe he was growing on her. Nah. Well . . . maybe. Argh!
Walls . . . where were those goddamn walls when she needed them? Actually . . . did she need them anymore? More important, did she want them? A sudden epiphany whacked her over the head with the knowledge that there wasn’t too much she wanted to keep from Aleksei. That bothered her and comforted her at the same time. She realized that just by being what she needed him to be—her friend, her lover, her comrade at arms—exactly when she needed him to be each of those things, he was fitting himself into her life rather than expecting her to fit into his.
Wow. He really was putting her first, in everything.
He would put any contemporary man to shame with that outlook, Gill thought to herself. Her four- hundred-year-old Vampire Lord had evidently been keeping up with current events and paying attention to one particular Human’s laundry list of expectations.
Aleksei smiled to himself after he left Gillian flustered and bemused in the hallway. Tonight he intended to make good on his promise to take her out for a toe-curling quixotic evening. Hopefully by the time they ended their evening with life-affirming sex—accomplished romantically, of course—she would be more open to his suggestion.
Suggestion? No, it was not merely a suggestion. It was a question. A question he had wanted to ask her for a while, but there was always something else keeping their attention elsewhere. He knew his heart and mind were clear on the issue. Gillian and he belonged together. He wanted her on any terms, but above all, he wanted her to know that he was in her life to stay, and he was willing to bestow a small token as a symbol of that commitment.
Fingering the ring in his pocket, Aleksei hoped she liked jewelry. The only pieces he had seen her wear were her diamond studs and her little claddagh ring. This was a little bit more ornamental but not so gaudy that Gillian would shriek in horror. At least he hoped not.
Gillian finished up her notes on Chester in the smaller study that she had been using as an office. It wasn’t as big as the library but it was still enormous. The castle wasn’t massive by castle standards but it was pretty damn big. She realized that she hadn’t seen all the rooms yet despite having lived there for over two years. She loved history and ancient places, so it was easy for her to feel comfortable in the surroundings. Maybe after her meeting with Csangal she’d ask Aleksei for a tour, or she’d ask the Brownies if Aleksei was tied up being Lord of something. The little Beings knew the castle as well as Aleksei did. They’d practically taken it over since their temporary stay had become more permanent.
Flipping open her phone, she called Kimber to see if anyone wanted to grab dinner before she met with her next client. It was the jolly crew of Kimber, Gill, Helmut, Daed, Trocar and Pavel that headed to another little neighboring village and a restaurant that came highly recommended by Cezar and his brother Ivan. The Werewolf Alpha and his constable brother normally had very different tastes in most spectrums of their lives, but one thing they both agreed on was where the best local cuisine was located.
It was an uneventful, satisfying meal with friends in a relaxed setting. Just what she’d needed, Gillian realized. Life had lately become one adventure after another and it was nice to simply hang out with familiar, comfortable friends, no braid on her shoulder, no one having a melt-down, no one trying to kill them for the moment. She raised her iced tea in salute to her little group.
“I just wanted to say that I really appreciate everyone getting involved with the situation here. It means a lot to me to have you guys with me, and despite bitching about it, I really am glad we’re all here together and able to do some good. Helmut . . . the idea for the Institute was brilliant. I am amazed at the amount of patients and the amount of support.”
Helmut actually blushed, his ruddy complexion turning even redder. “I am very glad it worked out as well, and that we have such an amazing staff to work with these Beings.”
“Speaking of which,” Daed interjected, “unless Cassiopeia wants to stay on and Helmut wants to take on his own caseload, we really need to hire more staff. I’ve got a full load myself between seeing private patients and doing medical director duty.”
Kimber piped up. “Pavel says he wants to look into getting a degree. He said that Gillian convinced him through his therapy that being a Paramortal shrink is what he wants to do with himself. When he’s not on Wolf guard duty, of course.”
Everyone was excited by Kimber’s statement, causing the Werewolf in question to blush uncharacteristically. Pavel was well liked by everybody in the pack and at the castle. He was intelligent, reliable and a stalwart friend. Gillian suggested that Helmut and Daed figure out a way to provide the young Alpha with a grant to pay his way through school.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say, Gillian.” Pavel was truly endearing and humble.
“Just say that if we pay your way through university, you’ll stay on here as staff.” She grinned at him and patted his shoulder.
“Of course!” Pavel enthusiastically agreed.
“Which brings me to another point,” Gillian said, swirling her finger over the rim of her glass. “Apparently a lot of the texts we read in grad school were a teensy bit wrong on a few points. I was thinking we need to revamp a textbook or two, Helmut.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Schatzi!” Helmut was excited about the prospect. Gillian was absolutely right. They’d found out more about Paramortals in her two years of involvement in Romania than some field researchers had learned in a decade.
“I think we need to rewrite some of the current curriculum along with more than a few of the texts. I will do some poking around in the stuffy world of academia, which I know you hate, and see what I can find for us to do.” Helmut’s eyes sparkled with delight at the prospect.
“Great. Okay, I’m almost late, so I need to run,” Gill announced, standing up and gathering her things. They all piled out of the restaurant and drove her back to the edge of Sacele. She’d walk into town, just to ensure Csangal’s privacy.
On the drive back to the castle after dropping off Gill, Daed proposed another idea. “You know, Helmut, maybe having some scholarships sponsored by the Rachlav Institute would be a good idea, as would some paid internships. It would get us staff in a hurry and we could train them the right way from the beginning.”
“Excellent idea. I will find Aleksei and see how agreeable he is to even more people living in his home,” Helmut said.
Everyone laughed but they were excited about the prospects as long as Aleksei and Tanis didn’t mind their family home being both a retreat of sorts and a classroom. They found the Lord of the Manor in the great room, reading Gillian’s latest Harry Potter book.
“Expanding your horizons?” Daedelus asked with a grin.
“I admit, I am a bit confused. I think I should start from the beginning of the series so I understand everything up to this point. Gillian is correct; Ms. Rowling is a wonderful writer and I look forward to reading the entire series.”
Realizing they wanted to talk to him about something, Aleksei smiled and laid the book aside. He shifted on the couch and motioned for them all to sit down. “What can I do for all of you?”
CHAPTER 4
“LET me make sure I’m understanding all of this, Csangal,” Gillian said carefully, and reiterated what he had told her to the best of her ability. Her eyes never left his face, he noticed, and she was too deep in concentration to respond to his seductive power as she reasoned through what he was telling her.
They were in the midst of a very intense session in a private dining alcove at the Inn. He had just gotten around to sharing with her the crux of his anxiety and depression. Evidently he had put a lot of thought into it and discovered what was really bothering him. Gillian was very pleased with his p
rogress and his new insight. He wanted to find his creator. Find and confront, if truth be told. Csangal was a six-hundred-year-old Master Vampire with no roots.
Some of his issues were directly related to him rising as a full Master with no one to guide him and no one to teach him about the terrible power he now wielded. That oversight had cost him dearly: he’d killed the woman he’d loved due to Bloodlust—the condition all Masters, Lords or standard, everyday Vampires must endure the first few times they rise as a Reborn creature of the night.
Not to mention the enemies he’d made for himself and his family by hunting too close to home in his own village—another sin in the world of Vampire etiquette: never bleed your shelter. Romania had always been a friendly haven to Vampires, since long before the recognition of Paramortals as real and sentient Beings.
Courtesy dictated that a Vampire feed away from its community of origin. Csangal had been ignorant of this fact, hunting and feeding in the area where he’d lived all his life. This did not sit well with the community at large and he was warned to stop. Knowing, by that time, some of the extent of his new abilities, he had ignored the warning and continued as before.
As a result of his disregarding this basic tenet and ignoring the warnings, and because Vampires in general are just hard as hell to find and to actually kill, the townsfolk sent a rather clear but violent message to him via his family. His father was kidnapped and buried alive after refusing to disclose his son’s resting place, subject to the superstitious justice of a bygone age, six hundred years prior.
Soon after his father’s death, when Csangal retaliated and killed several of the nobles he thought responsible, his mother was taken from her home and burned at the stake. His eldest brother’s eyes were burned out and he was buried alive. His younger brother was held captive and used as a pawn by both Hungary and the Ottoman Turks as leverage over Romania’s ruler. Romania and Hungary were in the midst of an ongoing war with the Turks. There was a proverbial witch hunt to try to draw Csangal and other nobles out, using the captives as bait. The intent was to banish the ruling class or kill them outright, thereby making peace with the invaders.
Csangal had chosen banishment, but not before turning on the townspeople. In response to the killing of his parents and brother and the imprisonment of his younger brother, Csangal formulated a plan of retribution that Gillian was surprised hadn’t been recorded somewhere. She’d have to do some research on it, but doubted she’d really find anything. During the time frame he described, the Turks had been a rampaging presence in Eastern Europe and a lot of atrocities were committed on both sides.
Managing to gain the attention and admiration of a neighboring province’s prince, Csangal had been given a small army to command and had defended both areas well. His troops were loyal to the core, so when he asked them for a favor, they were only too eager to comply. They tore through monasteries and estates, murdering nobles and monks, taking the gold and valuables to sell and give back to the villages that had been victimized by the Turks.
Still, there had to be something about this in the history books, Gillian thought. A Romanian Robin Hood and his murderous madcap band could not have gone unnoticed. She felt a faint twisting as her internal alarm system went off, then found she couldn’t remember quite why she was concerned.
As his therapist, she had to assume that he was telling her the truth. Patients sometimes lied, sometimes told slanted versions of situations, but generally would revert and confess to the truth—mainly because they realized they weren’t accomplishing anything by lying to their therapist or to themselves.
She’d let it go. Csangal had been brutally honest about himself and his mistakes so far. There was no reason for her not to believe that he would fess up when the time was right. She needn’t be concerned.
Csangal felt her curiosity, her empathy and her disbelief well up and just as quickly soothed her thinking. Only a Vampire with his extraordinary abilities would be able to do so. He couldn’t afford for her to be suspicious of him. He needed her trust. He needed her. Telling her the absolute truth was not an option. He would tell her everything she needed to know and quite a bit more that she didn’t, but not now.
He watched her, easily reading her surface thoughts as she scribbled her notes down. Good, good, she was concerned about him, not because of him. There was still something very different about her. Settling back in his seat, he continued his observations.
Her scent . . . there was something about her scent . . . It was . . . intoxicating. Mentally he shook himself. She was Human. There should be nothing particularly intoxicating about her. She might be his therapist at the moment, but she was still food.
What was it about her? He was the predator; he was able to inspire desire, lust . . . acquiescence. The lovely Dr. Key should not be affecting him this way. Prey did not make the Master’s senses tingle in this manner. Her scent. What was it about her scent? The aroma of a female, the perfume of . . . purity.
Something clicked in his memory and he knew.
Good God.
Csangal fought not to display his surprise. Of all the things he had expected from Gillian, virginity was not one of them. Yet it could not possibly be true. He had seen her with his own eyes, coupling with that Gargoyle creature.
She lived with Aleksei Rachlav. Aleksei was, to his recollection, a very virile, dominant male. They were definitely enjoying carnal delights together. How the hell was she virgin? If such a thing were possible and she truly was, it was an unexpected advantage for him. A bit more premature than he had planned, but still an incomparable treasure.
He wrenched his thoughts back to the present, noticing finally that Gillian was staring at him. How long had he been silent?
“Forgive me, Gillian. I was lost in my thoughts for a moment.”
“Not a problem.” She smiled at him. “I didn’t want to intrude. You seemed to be so deep in contemplation.”
“Quid pro quo, Doctor.”
“What?”
“I have given you a great deal of information about myself. Would you care to reciprocate?”
Gillian eyed him skeptically. “Self-disclosure is only appropriate in therapeutic circumstances when it will bring direct benefit to the patient.”
“What is your point, may I ask?” Csangal had a rather eerie look in his eyes that Gill wasn’t quite comfortable with.
“My point is, as a Human who is six hundred years younger than you, there is very little reference that I can give you from my life to benefit you as a Vampire. I have to assume you are just being nosy because you’ve exposed a great deal of your personal issues to me lately. You want it to be fair, for me to be as vulnerable to you as you are to me, but it doesn’t work like that, Csangal.”
Nosy? She had called him nosy, like some gossipy fish-wife. Csangal could not believe his ears. If she had been any other Human, he would have killed her for insulting him in that manner. That is, unless her newfound state was a true one, then he would indeed have stayed his hand. Still, she did not know whom she was dealing with, evidently. He could hypnotize her easily to find out what he wanted to know, but perversely, now he wanted to raise the stakes on his own.
“Gillian, I am not trying to pry into your personal life, but I notice that you appear to have experienced a sort of”—he paused for effect—“regression.”
Their eyes locked. Gillian was hoping that he didn’t mean what she thought he did. “What exactly are you saying, Csangal?”
“My dear girl, your scent . . . it is quite different and alluring.” He gave her a megawatt smile and she shivered under the full power of his preternatural beauty.
Well, shit. Is it that obvious? Apparently, it was.
To his supreme delight, she blushed prettily, clearing her throat before she answered. “Um . . . yes . . . well . . . that is a little hard to explain.”
“I imagine it would be. There would be a great many women who would be clamoring to know your secret.”
“It’s sort of the . . . by-product of some Sidhe magic.” There. That was the truth. Sort of. She prayed he wouldn’t pick up on the almost lie.
“That is not quite the entire truth, Gillian.” Csangal’s surreally beautiful voice tingled over all her senses.
“Dammit, stop probing.”
Csangal chuckled. “Freudian slip?”
“I have to go.”
Laughing openly, he stopped her with his hand gently on her arm. “I apologize, my dear. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable with my comments.”
Disgruntled, Gillian sat back down, her cheeks flaming, wishing she could disappear or at least shoot herself. She didn’t want to say anything to any strange Vampire about what had occurred at Castle Rachlav, or rather the Rachlav Institute of Paramortal Healing. She didn’t want to spook and run off either. Bastard. He found a chink in her armor. Vampires did that ever so often. She should be used to it by now.
“No, it’s just that, well, it is a little embarrassing that you can tell so much by just my . . . scent.” She flushed a deeper red. At least that was honest. Fucker.
“I am a predator, sweetling. You are prey. I have to be able to determine certain aspects about you using various senses.”
Prey. She definitely didn’t like the way he said that. Regrettably, he was being completely honest. Honest, and something else.
Now there really was a warning flickering on her alarm radar. It was lurking under the surface of what he was showing her. Something cloaked, something dark and something he definitely did not want her to see.
This sucked. She couldn’t confront him on it right now. Tipping her hand that much, letting him know she knew, would be detrimental to her health at the moment, she was certain.
What the hell was he hiding? Prey. It had to do with prey. Aleksei used the term; so did Tanis; so did every other Vampire she knew. It was the tone he’d used when he’d said it: disdainful, disrespectful, sanctimonious.
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