Except, for one person, I wasn’t invisible. I felt his or her eyes on me, a subconscious, subliminal, instinctive thing. We all know when we’re being watched, even if we don’t acknowledge it. It was a sixth sense felt by the person being observed, a left-over from a time before humans were humans, a time when catching the attention of a predator could mean death.
My lizard-brain, the pre-human, pure-instinct part, was currently going into overdrive. Someone was watching me; I felt it. I knew it.
Using the camera as a shield, I scanned the room, aware that the slow, inevitable swing of the lens would give my unknown observer plenty of time to turn away and pretend indifference.
There was nothing unusual, just the occasional quick glance, usually followed by a wide grin from the men or a pout from the women, as they thought I was taking their photo, but that was all.
Braving the onslaught, I lowered the lens, flinching at the abrupt surge of colours. If I didn’t focus on any one person, it wasn’t too bad. Or so I told myself.
Knowing I’d only be able to do this for a short time, I looked around quickly, my eyes darting from face to face but, without the camera pointing at them, no one paid me the slightest bit of attention.
Unable to stand any more, I turned away, needing fresh air and the relative relief of the hotel grounds. I wouldn’t be missed, the meal was still in full swing, and I guessed not even my brother would be crass enough to attempt to give a speech while people were trying to force peach melba down their throats. He’d wait until the coffee at least.
A couple of die-hard smokers were taking a break, making small talk and kicking at the gravel on the drive, so I headed in the opposite direction, around the side of the hotel, and into the relative darkness.
The noise became less and the glow from the hotel lights were dimmer. I leaned against the wall, head back, eyes closed, my hands around the familiar, comforting shape of the camera dangling over my heart. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, feeling my anxiety recede and my muscles unknot, for the time being at least. The respite was a necessary one if I wanted to complete this assignment.
Calm descended, and I let it soak into my fraught mind, washing the tension away for the moment, until I risked opening my eyes. As long as I faced away from the hotel’s many windows, there wasn’t an aura in sight, only trees and bushes.
I didn’t notice him at first, the man who watched me from the shadows, but I sensed the prickle of him, nevertheless, and I sought him out. It was strange not being able to see him in the dark, and I realised how much I relied on my ability to see auras at night to keep me safe. Not that I went out at night all that often...
I froze, not knowing whether to flee or wait for him to make the first move.
But I knew who it was before he stepped into the circle of light cast by one of the hotel’s many streetlamps, and the thought thrilled me.
How could I resist a man without an aura?
Chapter 14
Olivia
‘Good evening, Miss Parr.’
His voice shocked me; cultured, smooth, confident, a lighter timbre than I expected. Actually, I had no idea what I’d been expecting, but a frisson travelled down my spine and a shiver of something which I failed to identify lifted goosebumps on my arms.
‘You know my name?’
He inclined his head, as if to say, “of course”.
‘How?’
‘Your byline – I believe that’s what it’s called – was on the story in the newspaper. After that, it was easy.’
I folded my arms. ‘Why?’
He knew what I meant. ‘You intrigue me.’
‘In what way?’
He smiled. I watched his face carefully, the planes of it softened and blurred by the play of darkness and light as he moved slowly towards me. Once again, I wondered if I should run.
He seemed unthreatening...
Before he reached me, he halted. Enough illumination spilt from the windows behind me to fall on his face and enable me to see him clearly enough.
He was as I remembered: of average height and slim, he had black, curly hair, a sensuous mouth, and a weakish chin. He was immaculately dressed in a tux, with a cravat at his neck. I found I preferred his quirky, bygone-days look to the silly bow-ties tradition dictated and, with the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt undone, he looked... What was the word I was searching for...? Rakish? That was it. Kind of slightly old-fashioned, yet oozing confidence, he gave off an air of cultured disinterest. He was at the mature, worldly-wise end of the bad-boy spectrum, although there appeared to be nothing remotely boyish about this man.
Another word I would never think of using until tonight, slipped into my head: cad. Followed by a few more – rogue and scoundrel. I’d forgotten such terms existed, but clearly my teenage forays into Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters hadn’t been in vain.
He hadn’t answered my question but was studying me intently.
‘In what way?’ I repeated, returning his scrutiny ten-fold. It was a luxury not to see an aura. The novelty made me giddy and slightly reckless. Is this what “normal” people felt like? I wasn’t entirely certain what normal was, but if this was it, I wanted more of it.
I blinked and jerked back.
For a second, I could have sworn he was closer, but he hadn’t moved. He stood on the same spot, his head cocked to one side a little, considering me with a slightly puzzled expression.
‘I actually don’t know,’ he replied slowly, and the revelation appeared to perplex him.
He intrigued me, too, although I knew the reason for my curiosity. I kept glancing away and looking back at him as if expecting his aura to suddenly appear. It was strange not seeing the customary halo of light, as if an essential part of him was missing.
Scattered thoughts flew through my mind. Had he not been born with one? Had he lost it? If so, how? Did he know he didn’t have one? Did the lack of an aura have any adverse effect on him?
It struck me then just how little I actually knew about the ability which had blighted my life. I might be able to see the pretty lights, but I didn’t know what they were really for, what their purpose was. Why did we have them at all, and what was the point of my being able to see them?
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
He was definitely closer now, it wasn’t my imagination, and I thought the question strange – something you would ask a lover, not a total stranger. His tone was intimate, caressing. I found it oddly compelling and was about to answer him, to blurt out my secret affliction, when a burst of raucous laughter beyond the window behind distracted me, and the moment was gone.
‘Who are you?’ I asked instead, the fine hairs on the back of my neck rising. They seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
I was too fascinated by him to heed their warning.
A flicker of annoyance flashed across his languid face, so quickly that I wondered if I’d imagined it.
‘Rochdale,’ he said, his soft, feminine lips curling into a smile. His teeth gleamed white in the dark.
The name meant nothing, I was certain of it, yet once again a frisson on the back of my neck travelled down my spine, and I shivered. Inexplicably excited, my mood became high and slightly reckless.
‘Who are you?’ I repeated.
Another frown crossed his face, but this one was more quizzical, and it remained there for longer. ‘You have my name,’ he said.
‘I don’t have you,’ I said, hearing the words fall from my lips without any intervention from my brain. What was I doing?
‘Do you want me?’ he asked.
His question was loaded with sexual tension, and suddenly I did want him, very much indeed. I hadn’t meant it like that, but the way he twisted my words and imbued them with desire, turned my insides to sudden and surprising liquid heat.
Involuntarily, I gasped and he gave me a slow, sensual smile, as though he knew exactly the effect he was having on me.
Trying to ignore my
very unexpected but not totally unwelcome lust, I pretended to be affronted. ‘Hardly! I don’t even know you.’
‘You know more than you think you do,’ was his enigmatic reply.
My knees were suddenly weak. Oh God, I wanted him. A rough, hard, panting want. I didn’t care if there was a roomful of people beyond the window behind me, or that I had a job to do, or that this man could be a serial killer for all I knew. I wanted him.
My wanting was made all the more potent by the rareness of it. I’d only ever felt this way once, maybe twice before, both the occasions so long ago it was as though the lust had belonged to someone else, or I’d viewed it second-hand via a cinema screen. And it had never been so intense, so wanton or reckless.
This sudden desire of mine was a mere chemical reaction, I told myself. Our pheromones had gelled, or something. There couldn’t be any other reason; the only thing I knew about him was his name, and even that could be a lie. What I felt right now was an animalistic response, an alpha male exciting a female in heat. It was hormones, nothing more.
The explanation didn’t stop me wanting him.
This time he really had moved closer. His hand was outstretched, reaching for me (an invitation or a promise?) and without thinking, I took it. He drew me towards him. I expected to be taken into his arms, but instead he began walking back to the dappled darkness of the bushes and trees of the hotel’s sprawling gardens. A couple could so easily hide in their depths, in the dark, cloaked by the night. No one would know. No one would see.
I was fluid, all liquid heat and no sense, my heart pitter-pattering with excitement, my insides knotting and twisting. My mouth was dry; another part of me was slickly damp.
It was liberating, thrilling, and intoxicating. The blood zinged in my veins, a sudden surge as my heart beat ever more wildly. He hesitated and I hoped my eagerness and excitement wasn’t putting him off.
Far from being discouraged, he walked faster, then stopped suddenly and turned on his heel. I bumped into his chest, the contact sending a bolt of electricity through me and I cried out softly with excitement. He pushed me until my back was against the trunk of a tree. I was glad of the support it offered, because I wasn’t sure my trembling legs would hold me up for much longer. His arms pinned me to the bark and his head lowered towards mine. I closed my eyes and lifted my chin, waiting for the kiss, longing for it, desperate for his touch.
Instead of finding my mouth, his lips skimmed the skin of my neck and I shuddered uncontrollably, wracked with desire.
‘Tell me what you saw that night,’ he urged.
His tongue licked my throat.
‘Tell you what?’ I breathed, unable to think, to reason. I was nothing but a tumbling mass of emotion held together by skin and bone. The blood rushed and surged in my head, the noise of it loud in my ears, and my breathing became harsh and shallow, until I was almost panting.
Just kiss me, I wanted to demand. Take me now. Fill me. I had to have his hands on me, his mouth on mine, his cock inside me. It had been such a long time... I sighed, a drawn out exhalation of need, longing, and desperation.
‘Tell me,’ he repeated, his tone commanding, urgent. He licked again. His hand went to my breast, cupping the mound through my clothes, his thumb stroking across the hardened nipple.
I shuddered with bliss.
When he withdrew his kneading fingers, I almost cried with despair.
He held his body slightly away from mine, his hands on either side of me, pinning me in place, a cage of sinew and bone. I resisted the urge to thrust my hips out and grind myself against him. I was enjoying his teasing too much, even though it was driving me insane and senseless with desire.
He waited calmly for my reply. I understood he wouldn’t give me what I so desperately wanted until I’d given him what he wanted. Whatever that was...
My thoughts had turned to mush. I had trouble stringing two of them together and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what he’d asked me.
‘Tell you what?’ I whispered again, trying to turn my head, seeking his lips.
A small sigh escaped him and he drew back slightly. Please don’t stop, I pleaded silently. ‘Don’t leave me like this,’ I moaned into his ear. ‘Finish what you started, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Anything!’
‘Tell me first.’ His voice was low and insistent. It resonated deep inside me, compelling, commanding, and I’d no choice but to obey him.
‘What do you want to know?’ My words ended on another moan as he sighed again.
‘What you saw in the theatre.’
‘Blood,’ I said. ‘A great deal of blood.’
He shuddered and nuzzled my neck again, his teeth lightly grazing my skin.
Leave my neck alone, I wanted to say. My mouth is up here, kiss me there instead, but I realised he wasn’t going to do that until I told him what he wanted to know.
Don’t.
The voice came from deep within. It was mine.
I ignored it.
‘Aside from the blood,’ he said, ‘What did you see when you looked at me?’
‘Nothing,’ I breathed. There, I’d told him – what was he waiting for?
‘That’s not true, is it?’ He sounded disappointed, as if I’d let him down. There was an undercurrent too – uncertainty? Surprise?
‘It is,’ I groaned.
‘You really saw nothing? I could have sworn, when you looked at me...?’
He drew away and I began to panic. He couldn’t go yet, not when he hadn’t fucked me. I needed it! I had to have him, I had to!
I snaked my arms around his waist, and tried to pull him closer.
‘Nothing,’ he repeated. ‘Are you certain?’
‘Yes.’ The word was more of a sigh. ‘You don’t have an—’
A brilliant flash of light and an enormous bang came from overhead. We both jumped.
He jerked back, releasing me abruptly. ‘What the fuck?’ he roared, staring up at the sky.
I slid to the ground, boneless and confused. Sparks of light flared briefly and disappeared. I’d wanted to see stars, but this wasn’t the kind I’d been hoping for.
Fireworks.
The canopy overhead prevented most of their light from illuminating our hiding place, but the mood was lost.
You were lucky.
‘Shut up,’ I said to the voice in my head. ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean you...’ I trailed off, confused and dismayed.
Rochdale had vanished.
Chapter 15
Lord Byron – Present day
“Nothing” she had said. I didn’t believe her. She’d seen “nothing” and “blood”. She was telling the truth when it came to the blood part. What had she been referring to, when she said I didn’t have a... what?
I closed my eyes for the briefest of moments, remembering the taste of that night in Oxford. Blood and terror were in the very air. The theatre was coated in it, and I had barely contained the urge to lick and lap, sip and suck, and drain everyone dry in an orgy of thirst.
I’d contained my desire, however, although with considerable difficulty, for it was a great and burning need. I recall I’d quenched my thirst on some young thing on his way home from a club. He had tasted of alcohol and fear, with an undertone of whatever chemical he had ingested.
I had allowed him to live.
I usually did these days.
My little bird would taste sweet, I knew. It was a pity we had been so rudely interrupted. But there would be other times. She would not evade me for long and my mouth watered with anticipation; she was a treat to be savoured, unwrapped with slow delight and taken with time and care, not hurried or gulped purely to fill a hole.
I wanted to take pleasure in her, in every way I could.
She had smelled divine, her skin smooth and unblemished, her blood clean and wholesome. I would enjoy supping from her.
I would enjoy making her mine.
But more than that, I would enjoy forcing her to
reveal her secret.
I had a feeling my life, such as it was, might depend on it.
An unsettling and curious thought, indeed.
Chapter 16
Olivia
Fuck, fuck, fuck! What on earth had I almost done? And with a complete stranger, too? How could I? What had possessed me to go into the trees with a man I’d only just met, and practically beg him to fuck my brains out?
Actually, I hadn’t begged, but if we hadn’t been disturbed, I may very well have done.
Thank God for those fireworks.
I scrambled slowly to my feet and peered through the trees and bushes, wondering where he could have gone. He’d moved so fast and so swiftly, I hadn’t seen him go. One minute he’d been there, the next, he’d vanished. It was as if I’d imagined the whole thing.
He’d probably returned to his wife, I guessed. A man like him was bound to have one; why else would he need to creep around in the bushes? I bet she was here at the hotel, somewhere inside. A hot shaft of jealousy stabbed me in the gut at the thought of this unknown woman sharing his bed.
Stop being so ridiculous. Far from being jealous, I should be thanking my lucky stars (or the fireworks) that I hadn’t become even more involved with a man who could so easily cheat on his wife with a complete stranger, and against a tree, too. How seedy could a person get? Rochdale (if that was his real name) was so practiced at it, so at ease with the situation, he must surely have performed this little trick loads of times. Maybe that was how he got his kicks – seducing women under his wife’s nose. And I’d nearly been taken in by him. What did that make me – stupid or as bad as him?
I settled for stupid. I wasn’t a bad person; things had just got a little out of hand, that was all, and who could blame me, considering my last sexual encounter (which hadn’t been all that great) was a couple of years ago. Shame on me for letting lust get the better of me, but I wasn’t going to beat myself up over it. Nothing had actually happened.
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