by Billi Jean
This concerned her. So did the oddest sense that he wanted to believe her, wanted answers, but feared them. He thinks me a killer and seeks reassurances that I am not.
I should hate him. I should go now, before this…dinner. I did not give my word.
But she had. Sighing, she worried her lip. Why? What is this feeling? This anxiety? She studied the hall leading to where he had stomped off. The smells indicated he was doing what the boy had asked of him. Making dinner.
He baffled her.
“Does Bryson cook for you often?”
“Yes. He used to give me candy, but Elsa asked him to stop. She is worried over my teeth. She thinks I will get too many cavities. Now Bryson makes me meals. I have never had one that smells so good. I think he is cooking for you.”
She dismissed that because the idea caused a strange tightening in her chest.
“What is a cavity?” She peered at the boy’s mouth, not seeing any defects in the size or shape of his fangs. They were perhaps a bit larger, but taking into account that he was at least part-Lykae, he appeared normal.
“Cavities. Holes, in my teeth,” he explained, pulling his lip down and indicating a tooth.
She leaned forward and saw nothing that would indicate a problem. His teeth were…childlike and adorable.
“I told her it was a baby tooth. You won’t get cavities,” Bryson muttered from the doorway. “Dinner is almost ready. Come set the table, Faolan.”
Faolan jumped up and tugged on her hand. “You can help. I always get the forks and knives reversed.”
She followed him, unsure what he meant by that until they walked into a smaller room, filled with the scents of garlic, basil, and fresh rosemary.
“This is Bryson’s kitchen, but we eat in here, not the dining room.”
“The dining room is too cold.” Bryson stood with his back to her, but she could tell he was uncomfortable, still angry, no doubt. His warrior’s body was tense. His broad swordsman shoulders tight under his black shirt. Even his jaw flexed. Grinding his teeth? She took in the width of his shoulders, the packed muscles of his back, and could admit he was a stunning male. His light hair fascinated her. A multitude of colors shimmered in it. And along his jaw she could see the lightest shadow of more. If they had met before, if she had seen him and known him for hers she would have been stunned. He could have stood by her side, protected her from any and all.
But he had not. And she had not. Those chances were gone. Fate had never had him walk close enough for her to recognize him. But he had her. And had not come to her.
Cold. Fierce. Dragon Guard. These were not qualities a man found appealing. Vampire warriors wanted lithesome, large-breasted maidens with simpering smiles and pouty lips. They wanted to keep their women in a silken bower and await their every need. They did not desire some fierce warrior who would get blood on her hands. Obviously he had found—
“Here, you do the silverware, I will do the glasses.” Faolan sounded cheerful.
Her hands were immediately filled with silver spoons, forks, and knives so she had to clutch them to her chest. She focused on Faolan and swallowed her anger.
“Do you know how to set a table?” Bryson asked.
She didn’t glance at him. Would a warrior maiden know how to do domestic tasks? He thought her incapable of being…feminine?
“Of course.” She walked to the rectangular table covered in a green and white checkered tablecloth. He watched her. She wondered if he even found her desirable. Her hands grew unsteady. She could wield a sword and never lose her confidence, but having Bryson watch her set a table made her insides clench. He didn’t speak but when she was finished setting the last spoon down, he brought over a basket that smelled of fresh bread. The warm scent mingled with his, intoxicating her. He took the lid off a smaller plate, revealing a cut of yellow butter. Did he glance at her chest? She couldn’t be certain, but she thought he hesitated by her. Taking a deep breath only made his tension rise.
“You can clean up down there. First door on your left.”
Did she smell…offensive to him? Heat burned her cheeks.
“I will show you,” Faolan offered, tugging her hand again. “This will be your first meal? With…people?”
Focused back on the boy, she managed to say, “This will be my first meal with people. Yes.”
That seemed to please him. Amazing her, she liked that he seemed to like her.
“Some people now believe Vampires don’t eat. And that garlic will kill you. They also think Vampires hate crosses,” Faolan said, laughter in his tone.
“Who are these people?”
He shrugged. “Movie writers, stuff like that. Authors, people, human people, maybe some witches, too. They have stories about Count Dracula.”
“Who is Count Dracula?”
“He’s supposed to be the first Vampire. He killed a bunch of Turks and stuck them on stakes. Jamie let me watch a movie about it, but Elsa wasn’t happy. She doesn’t want me to think all Vampires are bad.”
“Very nearly all Vampires are bad,” she reminded him. She could recall the name of every noble in the Augustine’s line. None were thus named. “But this count is not familiar to me, nor is he the first Vampire.”
Faolan blinked. “Oh, I didn’t think he was, but not all Vampires are bad. Elsa is good. You are good. Bryson is good. Aidan is…good. Sometimes strict, but he is fair. I think Jaxon is good, so is—”
“These are your friends?” she interrupted his flood of names.
“Yes.”
“Ah, I see. We always want those we care for to be good. But often just because we want someone to be good, it isn’t enough for them to be good.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Bryson called. He sounded harsh again, as if he were getting ready to throw more threats out. “Faolan, wash up.”
Faolan covered his mouth to hide a smile. They were in the hallway so Bryson couldn’t see him, but for some reason the child still covered his mouth. It was…endearing, as if he were sharing something with her. Something naughty but amusing.
She found herself smiling in return. It was humorous to hear gruffness from a man who was making them a meal and instructing a boy to wash. The room held two sinks in a large, marble-topped cabinet. Faolan switched on the light. She blinked.
“Whoa! This is bigger than my bedroom,” Foalan exclaimed.
She scanned the small room. It was quite spacious. A full-sized, sunken tub and a large, glassed-in area with several knobs and odd ledges. There was another door to the other side of the room. Towels lay on a shelf, so soft and fluffy she traced her fingers over them. This century had luxuries she had never dreamed existed.
“Here.” Faolan turned on the faucet of one sink and squirted sweet, clean-scented soap into her hands. She quietly lathered. The boy did as well, with an odd song.
“Elsa says I must sing the ABCs while I wash. She said I didn’t wash long enough to remove the dirt.”
Ducking her head, she cleaned her face and neck, too, not because she had affronted Bryson with her scent, but because she hadn’t that night. “Elsa sounds wise.” She dried her hands and face.
“I am hungry! Aren’t you? Bryson makes a lot of food. He eats a great deal, but he will save some for us. Hurry.” The boy dashed off.
Suddenly alone, she considered breaking her oath for the first time in her life. It had been a nod. A slight nod. Not an oath. She felt ill, as if she were facing an enemy worse than Satan himself, instead of Bryson MacAfee at a dinner table.
Faolan’s innocent words repeated in her head. ‘Give him time. You will like him, I think. I do. I love him. I think you will, as well.’
The boy was naïve, too young to understand what he was saying. Issues of love were far more complex.
He knew me. Knew and recognized me but never approached me for his claim. She gripped the marble counter top until the stone cracked under her fingers. Memories of her capture surfaced. Enemies all around me. Can’t break free. Betrayed.
; ‘Cold, scrawny bitch! You think you’re a warrior? You couldn’t even save your brother, oh mighty Dragon Guard.’
Laughter from all around.
‘You wish you could please a warrior, but you can’t even do that. Who would want you?’ More laughter rose at the woman’s snide questions.
‘No one. And no one will ever come for you. You will rot in this wall for an eternity wishing you’d never left your bower.’ Christian’s voice had haunted her for centuries, not because of what she’d sensed he’d wanted, but because I never had a bower.
A laugh broke free. Pain filled her chest. The river isn’t happy, but it is fierce and free. Or will be soon. It was a nod. Not an oath.
Chapter Eleven
Christian shifted to his House, still bothered by Bryson. The Vampire had always been difficult to read. He’d actually thought for a moment he was hiding Isobel. In Seattle when he’d caught Isobel’s trail, Bryson’s had crossed it.
But the anger in Bryson’s eyes hadn’t been faked. Bryson had been close to Aaron. The king had made him his personal pet. Aaron’s death had taken away Bryson’s rank, along with his authority. Only when Aidan had returned had Bryson been given his position back. If he’d had his way, Bryson would have followed Jorge to Hell.
He pushed open the door to his House and walked through the foyer ignoring Benson, his manservant.
“My lord, you have a message, from—”
“Leave it. I will see to it later. I am not to be disturbed.”
“But, my lord—”
Christian snarled and the other Vampire bowed and shut up. Satisfied, Christian took the stairs two at a time, hearing the dull murmur of Vampires carrying on their night below. He pulled his phone free as he shoved his bedroom door open and entered his inner sanctuary. The moon lit the elegant room with its silver glow and revealed the man he had wanted to call sitting on his couch.
“Warren.”
“What took you so long?” Warren set down his glass of wine. “I was about to wonder if Bryson hadn’t killed you.”
“I should have killed him.”
Warren lifted his brow. “Then he has her?”
“No. But he will have to be disposed of sooner or later. He and Jaxon both. If we can locate Rhys and his bitch, they will have to be dealt with as well.”
“My, my, your list is long, isn’t it?” Warren laughed when Christian growled a curse at him. “Settle yourself. All will come in time. Did you show him the missive?”
Christian set the scroll down. “Of course. He barely studied it.”
“But if asked, he would say he saw it, yes?” The sharpness of the question got Christian’s attention.
“Why?”
“It is important, Christian,” Warren stressed as if Christian were a child. “If asked, will he say he has been shown the missive?”
“Yes. He studied it. Now, why is this so critical? And why are you here, waiting for me, when you are supposed to be finding that bitch?”
Warren reclined his head on the couch cushions, completely at ease in his presence. From the satisfied expression on his face, and the residue of pink lipstick on his jaw, Christian had no doubt he’d been enjoying the luxuries a Vampire House offered.
“You’re uptight. The bitch, as you call her, is trained by the best. She’ll be difficult to locate, but not impossible.”
Christian barely held in the growl at Warren feeding him the same lines as Bryson.
“And your training was the same. I expected more from you. Don’t let me down in this, Warren,” he said scornfully. “We’re both in this too far, and too deep.”
“Such dire warnings.” Warren snorted. “I take it your hopes were high this would be easy? And now, when it proves difficult, will you go back to sulking?” Warren lifted his hand and gestured to the room. “Not that the splendor and life you have here isn’t filled with enjoyable diversions.”
By the Vampire’s tousled brown hair and the flush on his otherwise pale completion, those enjoyable diversions were enough to sidetrack him.
“Let me make this clear to you.” Christian poured himself a glass of brandy to steady his nerves. “I will be king. I will rule with Agatha by my side, and you will get all you ever wanted, as well. Revenge on the House of Augustine. But only if you kill Isobel!”
“My dear Christian, it will be so. Already we lay the trap. Soon, when she begins to realize how desperate her situation is, she will go there. Then we will have all we both ever wanted.”
Christian downed his brandy in a long swallow, letting the burn soothe him as much as what was being said. “Where? Where will you accomplish this?”
“Why, where her brother was staked down and killed, of course.”
Halfway to pouring another glass, Christian paused and turned his head to see if the man was being funny. “You think she will go there? Why there, of all places? It holds no special meaning, no significance at all. It was merely where we caught him.”
Warren motioned with his empty goblet and Christian walked over to pour him a drink. The clink of the decanter on the crystal was loud in the silence. “You are wrong. It is not merely where Jorge was found. It is where his soul was bound so that he would never rise again, and with it, that of his precious Tessa. That place holds meaning, Christian. Believe me, to her, these places are sacred.”
Christian swallowed another sip of brandy and savored it on his tongue. “Then we are nearly there. She will be caught and killed. When she is, Aidan will come to see if it was done. It is then we will strike.”
“Yes. But until then, you need to begin to sow the seeds of his downfall. The scroll will need to be given to the Immortal Council, but casually, as if you are merely conveying a favor you just considered might be of use.”
Christian took his seat opposite Warren.
“When they scrutinize it, they will discover names on it that will call certain people into question. If Aidan is busy dealing with the Houses, Isobel on the loose, and the Immortal Council demanding answers, he will be unprepared for you and your claim.”
“You see, killing Aidan is not your only option, Christian. In fact, I would advise against it. Remove him from power—that is the key to ruling the Houses. They will follow you, and the Immortal Council will, as well, if you rise to the occasion.”
“What is on that scroll?” Christian glanced at the tube.
“Why, Aidan’s signature, along with Bryson’s and five other of his top captains’, which if you recall makes six, a necessary number to make a ruling over the Houses.”
“But that would mean—”
“They are forged, of course.” Warren waved away the implications of that as if it were some pesky fly. “But only by a master. No one, not even Aidan himself, could detect it wasn’t his hand that signed the pact with the covens to destroy the Immortal Council and rule in their stead by any means necessary.”
The glass of brandy nearly slipped from Christian’s hand. “With this we can take him down now, we don’t need to wait for—”
Warren snapped his teeth together, revealing his fangs as his eyes glowed red. “Patience. She will have to die first. Then we can strike. Isobel has the ability to see past this document, Christian. For that, she will die, just as her brother did.”
Christian hid his alarm, he hoped well enough from the man sitting across from him. There was more going on, much more than regicide. For Warren, a young Vampire, to possess knowledge and power was impossible if he was, in fact, merely a young Vampire.
“But for now, we will wait. Soon she will come to us, and then we will have all we’ve been waiting for.” Warren smiled.
Chapter Twelve
If Bryson had to conjure up a more bizarre situation than sitting at a dinner table with Isobel while she was wanted by every single one of the people he called friends, he couldn’t imagine it. Added to that, he struggled with an erection that was growing more and more painful.
This is more like a horror movie than a me
al.
“This is delicious, thank you,” Isobel said suddenly, not glancing up from her forkful of pasta, but still saying it loud enough that he couldn’t pretend not to hear her. She’d been quiet, much quieter than before. Not quieter, more…distant. Was that possible? She sat a few inches from him, but it felt as if she were miles away in a different place. And not in a good place either.
He cleared his throat. There was nothing he could do. Politeness was more ingrained than the damn need to reach across the table and touch her skin. Smooth the delicate frown on her brow. He kept his hands on his side of the table. “It’s nothing. I’m glad you like it.”
Faolan slurped up a long line of spaghetti and gave him the thumbs up.
“He eats a great deal,” Bryson said, by way of apology for the boy’s lack of manners.
Isobel seemed to shake off her trance. Her dark gaze focused back on the boy and turned from cold marble to warm flesh once again. The tightness in his chest eased. For some reason he wanted her to be happy. Or at least not clearly miserable.
“He is growing. He will need large meals four or five times a day, if he is to grow properly.”
Bryson halted with the fork halfway to his mouth at that. “Don’t most children need two or three meals?”
“Yes, of course, but a Vampire child needs more.”
The fork almost fell.
Faolan choked on his mouthful.
Isobel stared from him to the boy, then back to him for answers.
Bryson set his fork down and picked up his wine and sipped it slowly. Tried to grapple with his thoughts. All he could think was that her irises sparkled like onyx. His growing obsession over every facet of her was disturbing. “It is a nice vintage. Do you drink wine?”
Expression confused, she asked, “What have I said that has alarmed you both?”
He set the wine down. “Well, what makes you believe that Faolan is a Vampire?”
She pressed her napkin to her lips then folded it into a precise rectangle on her lap. Her manners were exquisite. The way she ate, mesmerizing. How she smelled, intoxicating. He wanted to rub his hands all over her and remove the distasteful soap smell from her so it was just her—sweet, pure, warm Isobel smell.
