CLAN NOVEL
VENTRUE
By Gherbod Fleming
Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press
Clan Novel Ventrue is a product of White Wolf Publishing.
White Wolf is a subsidiary of Paradox Interactive.
Copyright © 1999 by White Wolf Publishing.
First Printing July 1999
Crossroad Press Edition published in Agreement with Paradox Interactive
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To Mrs. Gherbod Fleming—with undying affection
Table of Contents
part one: hospitality
part two: domain
part three: progeny
part one:
hospitality
Friday, 25 June 1999, 11:30 PM
Pier 13, Port of Baltimore
Baltimore, Maryland
The limousine cruised slowly through the port facilities. What light there was failed to penetrate the tinted glass, but reflected sharply from the spotless chrome and other well-polished surfaces of the vehicle. The automobile eased to a halt before the gangplank of a small freighter—small compared to the mammoth beasts that every day graced the docks, loading and unloading tons upon tons of cargo. The night-time skeleton crew of warehouse workers paid little attention to the limousine. It was not so rare that a wealthy investor or ship owner made a personal inspection of his holdings, though the hour was somewhat peculiar.
One of the car’s rear doors opened. “Wait here,” said Alexander Garlotte before climbing from the air-conditioned interior out into the salty night air. His deathly white face shone like a beacon in contrast to his thick, raven-black beard and the hair that draped over his shoulders. He stood tall, like an English lord of centuries past surveying his manor; the limousine next to him took the place of a powerful and well-groomed charger. Most wealthy gentlemen would have harbored misgivings about frequenting this part of Baltimore so long after dark, but Prince Garlotte was unconcerned. This was his city.
He climbed the gangplank onto the ship, El Vigoroso, a Peruvian freighter that had entered the harbor without proper papers. Straightening out such documentation problems, with the bureaucratic hoop-jumping that it required, could take at the very least weeks, and Garlotte’s people in the customs office and the port authority were in no hurry to expedite the matter. In the meantime, Garlotte had found a suitable use for ship and crew—a sad collection of unpaid and malnourished sailors, who were simply glad not to be turned away to starve on the high seas.
All was quiet on board. Garlotte made his way inside and along a few tight corridors to the cabin that had served as the captain’s quarters. The prince rapped lightly on the door.
“Come in.”
Her voice was like the music of the tides, though Garlotte could hear an unaccustomed edge in her tone even now. He opened the door and gracefully stepped inside. She stood behind a large wardrobe that she’d turned away from the wall to form a dressing screen of sorts. The cabin itself was cramped and unremarkable, badly in need of fresh paint, cleaning, and probably fumigation.
“You were too kind, Alexander,” she said from behind the wardrobe.
“Nonsense. I would do anything in my power…”
His words died away as Victoria stepped into view. She wore the elegant, black evening gown he’d had delivered, and the matching velvet gloves that rose to just below her elbows. Not overly formal, no sequins or feathers. As Garlotte had accurately recalled, she needed only finely crafted simplicity to complement a radiant beauty that would outshine any accoutrements.
“My God, you are ravishing,” he found himself saying. Victoria smiled demurely with a subtle batting of eyelashes. Garlotte basked in the obvious danger of her appeal. Her considerable beauty was both more and less than it seemed: more than mere physical perfection; less than completely candid. Her mystique was the crux of her powers. This Garlotte well knew. Yet the stirrings of sentiment that her mere presence aroused in him were intoxicating. Passions moved that he had not felt in…well, in many years. He moved closer, like the moth circling an open flame.
“How can I ever repay you for this exquisite gown, Alexander?” she asked.
He slipped around behind her, but then paused. There it was again, the slight tension in her voice that he did not remember from their previous encounters.
“Feasting on the sight of you in it,” he said, “is more than payment enough, my love.”
My love, he repeated in his mind. How I indulge myself.
Only because he was attuned to the mysterious strain in Victoria’s voice did he notice the muscles of her bare shoulders tense slightly at the word payment.
She has debts outstanding that must be repaid, Garlotte speculated. Perhaps I can be of assistance; perhaps there is a way to bind her to me. But the prince paused for only a brief moment.
“I have taken the liberty…” he began, as he produced two golden earrings, intricately engraved. He reached around Victoria and placed them in her hand. “Would you do me the honor?”
She turned a ruddy cheek toward him and smiled as she put them on.
“And of course…” he continued, taking the matching necklace and locket from his jacket pocket.
“Alexander, you flatterer.”
“I am too smitten by your beauty to offer anything so disingenuous as flattery.” He lowered the necklace over her head. The locket was relatively flattened and rather large, about the size of an open palm. Like the gown, it was elegant in its simplicity of form, yet it shared the intricate markings of the earrings. For many women, the locket would be too much; not so with Victoria. Garlotte lowered it against the hollow of her breasts as he fastened the clasp behind her neck. Victoria’s skin radiated warmth. The prince breathed in her luxurious fragrance. He had neither touched nor laid eyes upon the necklace in many years. It had belonged to his wife, to the beloved companion of his mortal years, and had been shut away with her effects for quite some time. But he had felt the urge—the desire, the need—to bring it tonight. As Victoria turned to face him, Garlotte breathed the sigh of a cleric who had long contemplated sacrilege and was relieved finally to have given in.
She placed a tender hand on his cheek. “Alexander
, it is beautiful.”
Garlotte felt tears coming to his eyes. He leaned and kissed her lightly on one cheek and then the other. His cold lips burned with her fire.
It was no coincidence that the ship was completely silent aside from the conversation in the captain’s quarters. When Garlotte had responded to Victoria’s call last night, he’d found her wrapped in robes that concealed her face and body completely. She’d not allowed him to look at her, and she’d barely spoken to him. Hardly characteristic behavior. He’d heard the pain in her voice, the fear, and when she’d refused to be taken to any of his several havens and implied that she needed blood, he’d arranged this out-of-the-way sanctuary for her. Now the crew of fourteen was nowhere in evidence, and Victoria’s skin was flushed with vigor. Fourteen men. Could this angelic creature have given herself so to debauchery? Surely she could never have utilized such a volume of blood, though the prince found the idea vaguely erotic.
“Just a moment, Alexander, and I’ll be ready to go.” Victoria stepped again behind the wardrobe, where she tended to some hidden possession. The slight tension in her voice was the only indication of her previous difficulties.
The prince was aware she’d arrived from Atlanta, but he didn’t know how she’d escaped the bloodshed there, or how she’d come to his city. And now, as he heard the locket click shut, and Victoria rejoined him, he refused to broach the subject. He preferred simply to bathe in the nimbus of her glory.
Victoria slipped easily into the limousine and took her seat between Isaac, who was waiting in the car, and Garlotte, who followed her. The prince observed with satisfaction that Isaac stiffened somewhat in Victoria’s presence, even before she almost imperceptibly, and certainly with complete inadvertence, brushed against the younger Kindred’s leg. Isaac was obviously aware of their guest’s charms, and was on his guard.
The childe may be rash, Garlotte thought, but he’s not ignorant. A subtle irony, however, lay in the fact that, where Victoria was concerned, preparation really meant next to nothing.
“Victoria,” said the prince, “may I present Isaac Goldwin, sheriff of Baltimore. Isaac, Ms. Victoria Ash.” Most recently of Atlanta, he did not add. He would save his barbs for later, when the novelty and heady excitement of Victoria’s presence had worn thin.
As Isaac kissed the offered hand, he pointedly ignored the swell of Victoria’s bosom as she leaned toward him. The highlights of shadow in the dim interior served only to accentuate the curves of her form.
He thinks he’s doing so well, Garlotte thought, amused. Of course, Victoria would be intentionally clumsy in her half-hearted attempts at seduction. A victim confident in his belief that he’d fended her off would be that much easier prey in the future.
“Sheriff Goldwin,” said Victoria. “I’m so very impressed.” A deep—and quite unnecessary, Garlotte noted—breath again brought her bosom to Isaac’s direct and deliberate inattention.
Dear God, Garlotte thought, she’ll brain him with the locket if she’s not careful.
“I serve my prince as I’m able,” said Isaac.
“Such modesty,” said Victoria, patting his knee.
Garlotte resisted the urge to roll his eyes. She was laying it on a bit thick, but her antics would make for a valuable Socratic dialogue with Isaac later. The prince couldn’t help but wonder if his sheriff-childe would underestimate the fetching Toreador after this initial introduction, as was no doubt her design. Watching the encounter with a certain amount of detachment, Garlotte appreciated Victoria’s stratagem, and also recognized the slightest twinge of jealousy in his own breast as she offered her attentions to another.
My God, she’s devious, Garlotte thought, but she makes me feel alive again. Though the prince was pleased that Isaac was vigilant against the sway of Victoria’s charms, Garlotte was not prepared to deny himself the pleasures, nor the dangers, of her company. I could turn away from her any time I wanted, he told himself, knowing the lie for what it was, but not caring.
“What a relief to know that I can step out-of-doors in complete safety,” said Victoria to the young sheriff.
Listening to her banter with Isaac, another undertone of the conversation reached Garlotte’s ears. The hard edge that had lined Victoria’s voice on the ship, the fear, the vulnerability, was completely absent now. Plying her trade, as it were, she was as self-assured as ever she had been. Perhaps the sport of a young Kindred led her to forget her troubles, or perhaps the vulnerability was a side of her she shared with Garlotte, but not with others. At the thought, he felt hope blossom within himself, but he did not allow it to take hold. Instead, he plucked it from the fallow ground and turned it over in his hand, seeing it for what it truly was—self-delusion. Now he flattered himself…but what could be the great harm, he wondered, if he was aware of the fact?
Regardless, the prince had seen and heard enough of Victoria’s flirtatiousness with his childe.
“I hope you’ll allow me to provide you more comfortable accommodations,” said Garlotte to Victoria. His innocent suggestion was mined with unvoiced questions—What was wrong with you last night? Have you bled dry enough sailors?—that the prince was too tactful to ask outright. “A suite at the Lord Baltimore Inn, perhaps?”
Victoria turned to him; her brow furrowed and her lip pouted just enough to be tastefully imploring. “But I’ve imposed on you so already, Alexander.”
“Nonsense,” Garlotte continued, ever the dutiful host. “Should I send someone for your bags?” He knew full well that the only belongings she had on the ship were the clothes and toiletries he’d sent her, nothing irreplaceable. She’d arrived in his city a pauper, though certainly she could access bank accounts now that she was…recovered.
“I think not,” said Victoria. She laced her hand around his elbow. Isaac was forgotten, discarded, for the time being. “You’re too good to me, my prince.”
“Nonsense.”
The limousine made a stately procession around the harbor, from the working docks west and north, then east again along the upper edge of the Inner Harbor, with its grand public and commercial buildings.
“You’ve done so much with the place since I was here last, my dear,” Victoria said admiringly. She paused and gnawed lightly on her lower lip, obviously trying to recall: “There was some unpleasantness at the time, I believe. Was it the Civil War?”
“War of 1812,” Garlotte reminded her.
Victoria shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. You men always enjoy the wars so much more.”
Shortly after midnight, the limousine turned onto Thames Street and came to a stop before the Lord Baltimore Inn. Garlotte assisted Victoria from the car. She stood by the open door for a long moment and admired the eighteenth-century structures overlooking the restored waterfront. The trinket shops were closed, but a handful of pubs still buzzed with music and activity. Victoria ignored these more modern contrivances and focused on the refurbished architecture, the period sailing vessels tied to the pier.
“How marvelously quaint, Alexander. I can tell you’ve made yourself right at home here.”
“Indeed. Fell’s Point.” He briefly regaled her with a bit of the obligatory history of the area, then began to offer his arm, but stopped. “One moment, my dear.”
The prince leaned down into the car, where Isaac quickly perked up after having been ignored for the latter portion of the drive. “Isaac, the ship Ms. Ash was staying on…see that it’s taken far out to sea and scuttled.”
Isaac reached for his cell phone to make it so.
Garlotte nodded curtly to the chauffeur, who’d been standing unobtrusively by the open door since they’d stopped, then turned back to Victoria. “Shall we?” She took his arm, and side by side they entered the Lord Baltimore Inn.
Movement was still excruciating. It was a struggle for Victoria to keep the grimace from her face as she slid out of the limousine. In standing, the needles of pain—no, the iron spikes of pain—had at her anew. She thanked the gods for Garl
otte’s long-windedness. By her side, as she fought to maintain her composure, he lectured her about the renovated buildings, the old ballast stones that were used to cobble the streets in the historic facsimile, and…well, she wasn’t sure what else. His words seemed to run together into one long, monotonous drone. And all the while, Victoria could smell the vital fluid of the mortal driver standing not two feet away, but she was unable to do more than smile and nod politely.
Surely one more would, sate my thirst, she thought, catching sight of the chauffeur in her peripheral vision. But she’d had that same notion on board the ship…again and again and again.
At last, Garlotte extended his arm, and she allowed him to escort her into the inn. The facility was a magnificent reconstruction, full of natural-grain woodwork and hardwood floors, brass fixtures, oriental carpets, and of course the attendants—employees, she must remember to call them—were all dressed in period garb. A minor sideshow for the typical tourist or businessman, but for many Kindred, such attention to detail afforded the opportunity to escape the oh-so-confusing modern era and luxuriate in self-delusion. Victoria suspected that Garlotte must spend a great deal of time here.
Partway across the lobby, she stopped, closed her eyes, and drank in the fragrances of her surroundings: A-positive, the bellboy; B-positive, the desk clerk; B-negative, the housekeeper….
Don’t I just have the one-track mind tonight, she realized, but she couldn’t help it. Her escape from Atlanta had left her debilitated—not the escape itself, but the several nights of her preceding imprisonment. Elford, that Tzimisce fiend, a mockery of humanity, had… She shuddered at the mere thought.
“Have you caught a chill, my love?” Garlotte asked her quietly as he led her toward the elevator and rubbed her shoulder. His fingers were ice against her skin, but she fawned reassuringly at him.
Clan Novel Ventrue: Book 5 of The Clan Novel Saga Page 1
