by Kit Tunstall
* * * * *
She was just finishing zipping her jeans when a knock came at her door around eleven-thirty. “Come in,” she called. She refused to acknowledge the dart of disappointment when her visitor turned out to be Brannon instead of Nicholas. “Yes?”
“Nicholas wants to leave as soon as you both feed.” He grimaced. “I’m not sure if you’ve realized it, but the suitcases are for the clothes. Hope you’ve packed, because your dinner waits downstairs.” He couldn’t seem to hide his disgust.
She nodded. “I assumed as much.” She gestured to the suitcase by the door, but he didn’t glance in that direction. “I’m ready.”
He nodded and left the room. Emily lifted the case and followed him down the staircase. When they got downstairs, she realized why Brannon was disgusted when she saw what Nicholas had on the menu.
The girl was young—probably not even seventeen—but had a jaded look in her eyes. A scar marred her brow, but it didn’t detract from her wild beauty. She gazed up at Emily and Brannon from her perch on the wingchair and deliberately parted her legs, revealing her lack of underwear under the short skirt. She glanced at Nicholas. “If they’re playing to boot, it’ll cost ya’ extra.”
Nicholas inclined his head in Brannon’s direction. “His tastes are different than ours.”
She shrugged. “Too bad. He’s cute.”
Brannon cleared his throat. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Emily stood awkwardly once Brannon had left. Hunger pounded through her veins, and she had the urge to grab the girl and rip open her throat. She took a deep breath and released it in a rough exhalation, finding it did little to ease her raging thirst.
“Emily?” Nicholas held out his hand, showing a hint of warmth.
She stepped closer, grasping the hand he offered for support as she looked down at the girl. She experienced a stir of guilt, but forced it away. As long as she didn’t kill the girl, there would be no permanent harm inflicted. She assumed Nicholas had paid the prostitute well, which was more compensation than others she had fed from had received.
The girl smiled up at her. “What do you like, love?” Her accent was as thick as molasses.
Emily surprised herself when she reached out to caress the girl’s frizzy dark curls. She knelt on her knees and pulled the girl closer. The prostitute licked her lips, and she briefly thought about kissing her. At the last minute, she changed her mind and moved her face against the girl’s neck, inhaling deeply and finding no telltale odor to indicate the girl was unhealthy.
She was vaguely aware of the girl reaching past her to cup Nicholas’s cock in her hands, and her eyes widened as she imagined for a moment the things the three of them could do with each other. She blotted out the notion, disconcerted by the direction of her thoughts, and focused on the girl’s carotid artery, which she licked cautiously, tracing it with her tongue. The girl sighed with pleasure, and Emily’s panties dampened.
Nicholas stepped up behind her, and his hands joined hers in the prostitute’s hair. He pressed the girl closer to her, and she delicately pierced the skin of her victim. The girl whimpered, but didn’t seem to be in pain. Rather, it was a sound of arousal, and Emily realized her erotic thoughts had automatically carried to the girl, making the feeding pleasurable rather than painful.
She was aware of Nicholas crouching beside her and lifting the girl’s wrist to his mouth. The girl shivered, and she bit down harder, relishing in the blood flooding her mouth, lapping it greedily, as the sounds of Nicholas’s sucking increased her own hunger—for blood and sex. She tightened her hand in the girl’s hair, digging her nails into the prostitute’s head.
She heard the girl cry out with pain, but Emily ignored her distress. She pressed closer, eager for more blood, ignoring Nicholas pulling on her arm for as long as she could. When he pried her away, she turned and hissed at him. His eyes held a hint of red, but he appeared to be in control.
“No more.” He spoke firmly.
She tried to pull away, anxious to consume more of the girl’s lifeblood, but he held her effortlessly. Emily released the girl’s hair and raked her nails down Nicholas’s face. She gave him a toothy grin when he expelled a harsh breath. The sight of blood dripping from his wound heightened her bloodlust, and she lunged forward. He hadn’t expected her to do that, she knew, and he fell to the floor. She leaned forward and licked the blood from his face before grinding her lips on his, kissing him open-mouthed.
For a second, he returned the kiss, but then pushed her away. “We need to be going.” He spoke without emotion as he got to his feet and turned to the girl in the chair. He touched her neck and nodded. “She’ll be fine with a little rest.” Nicholas reached into his pocket to extract his wallet.
Emily watched as he peeled off another bill and tucked it in the girl’s bra, where a corner of the folded bills he had already paid her peeked out. She tried to keep the hurt from her eyes as she took deep breaths to regain her control. She was ashamed of her behavior, but couldn’t deny her body still burned with desire for blood and sex. For a moment, her eyes rested on the girl’s pussy, slick with arousal, and she speculated how the prostitute would taste. Her pussy spasmed at the thought, even as her stomach churned with disgust.
It was with some effort that she got to her feet and turned away from Nicholas to go to the nearest bathroom and wash her face. Emily looked at her reflection in the mirror as she turned on the faucet. The sight of the blood smeared across her pale skin should have disgusted her, but it didn’t. Instead, she ran her tongue around her mouth, lapping away as much of the precious fluid as she could. She brought her hands to her face and rubbed at the bloodstains before taking them to her mouth to lick each clean, until she met her own eyes in the mirror. They burned bright-red, and it was enough to sicken her. She wrenched her gaze away and hurriedly washed her hands and face before returning to the living room.
Nicholas and the girl were gone. Brannon stood by the unlit fireplace, gazing into the bare grate. “Where—” she started to ask.
“He’s returning her to her manager,” Brannon said with a hint of mocking. “She’ll recover by tomorrow, although I doubt the man will be thrilled to give her the night off.” He turned in her direction. “I’m glad you managed not to kill her.”
She flinched, wondering if he meant her specifically. Did he know Nicholas had to wrench her away from the girl to get her to stop? She tilted her chin and strove for a cool tone, but her voice trembled. “I take it you don’t approve.” Instead of sounding like she didn’t care, she sounded like she was begging for his understanding.
His brow quirked visibly behind the lens of his sunglasses. “I’m fortunate I don’t have to stay alive at the expense of others. But, no, I don’t approve of murder. You’ll find few who do, if they aren’t vampires.”
She sighed, not bothering to offer any justifications. What could she say, other than it was necessary for her to live? He must know that. Her pathetic argument would be unlikely to change his mind. In fact, he was liable to retort that she could choose death and save countless lives. There was no way to counter that, because it was the truth. She just wasn’t noble or brave enough to make that choice.
* * * * *
As soon as the Mercedes topped the rise of a large hill and Vallsade Manor sprawled before them, Emily recognized it. She knew the layout of the structure, knew where to find the kitchens, and remembered how much she used to love spending time in the library in the tower, curled up in the window seat, immersed in her collection of books.
It was as though she had been inside the rectangular structure built from white stones just yesterday, she thought with awe. As they passed through the gatehouse built into the curtain, not having to exit the car to lift the raised portcullis, she couldn’t wait to explore the castle. She wanted to see if it was as she remembered it. How much had it changed in a little less than two centuries?
In the courtyard, Nicholas parked the car. Emily didn’t wait for th
em to get out as she opened the door and slid from the backseat. She rushed to the tall doors barring entrance and touched them. Surely, Nicholas had replaced the weathered wood since Erin’s lifetime, but it felt just as she remembered it. As he neared, bearing a heavy key to fit in the old lock, she couldn’t hide her excitement. “I remember this place.”
His eyes widened. “You remember the keep?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes. I remember everything about the castle—how we used to take horses from the stable in the middle of the night and ride recklessly.” She grinned at him, remembering the wild sensations those adventures stirred in her. “I remember how those rides often ended.”
He looked uncomfortable as he slipped the brass key in the lock and turned it with a protesting click. “I guess the caretaker’s been using the small door in the kitchens, behind the castle. This lock needs oiling.”
She touched his hand, getting him to look up again. “Do you remember renewing our vows in the chapel after we settled here at Vallsade Manor? I wanted to make sure God would recognize our union. I didn’t know how he would feel about us being married outdoors without witnesses.”
“I remember,” he said gruffly. “Erin was always worrying about what God thought.” He met her eyes. “But you aren’t Erin, and the chapel isn’t here any longer. I had it torn down decades ago.”
She flinched at his words, not realizing until he spoke how easily she had slipped into “I” when referring to the memories circulating through her brain. “But—”
“Come on. I want to check the furnace before we get settled for the night.” He turned away and pushed against the doors. They resisted with a squeal, and the muscles in his arms corded when he shoved them open with an extra spurt of strength.
Emily hung her head, hiding her tears, jumping when she felt a hand on her arm. She looked up to find compassion in Brannon’s expression.
“A lot of memories haunt this place,” he said softly, as Nicholas entered the keep without them. “I don’t think he means to hurt you.”
“It’s more than that.” She cast a glance at Nicholas’s departing back as the doors started to close. “I think he hates me.”
He shook his head. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s having trouble coping with his emotions—”
“Are you two coming?” he bellowed from inside the castle.
Emily sighed. “Why is he pushing me away? I thought he loved me.”
Brannon pushed open a door and indicated she should precede him. As she slipped past him, he whispered, “How can you doubt he loves you? He’s looked for you for eight hundred years.”
She shook her head. “He’s found me again, but doesn’t seem to want me now, does he?” She took Brannon’s silence for assent as she walked into the castle, gasping with dismay at how much it had changed. The walls had been stripped of the tapestries, including the one she had made of a medieval woman in a tower that used to hang above the huge fireplace. There was a decrepit-looking table tucked in the corner, surrounded by rickety chairs. There were no cobwebs or accumulated dirt, but it lacked any sign of life.
Nicholas stood to the side, near the winding stone staircase. He waved at it. “Since you remember where everything is, you can get yourself settled. You don’t need me holding your hand.”
She nodded, trying to keep her tone cool. “I can take care of myself.” She ignored his snort of disbelief as she walked past him up the stairs, keeping her spine stiff until she was certain he couldn’t see her anymore. Then she ran up the remaining stairs and turned to the right, going on autopilot to another set of steeply angled stairs. Two steps up, she remembered there was a section missing from the fourth step, and it could be dangerous if stepped on wrong. She skirted the damaged section and continued climbing, emerging into another hallway stripped bare of decorations. Not even a table or picture lined the passage.
The double doors at the end of the wing summoned her. Emily opened one, finding the knob turned easily under her hand. The caretaker obviously kept the castle ready for occupation at a moment’s notice. She wondered why Nicholas had stripped the castle of personal possessions. Was it to save work for the caretaker, or could he not bear to see reminders of what he had lost?
Emily was relieved to see the four-post bed frame—certainly with a different mattress—remained in the room, although it lacked sheets, pillowcases and a spread. She went to the room that used to be a dressing room and found new packages of bed linens lining the shelf. A thin coat of dust clung to them, indicating they had been waiting for use a long time.
She busied herself with preparing the bed, trying not to think about how it hurt to have Nicholas keep pushing her away. Was he angry with her for rejecting him, or was he still grieving over the loss of his father? Would he have chosen to sacrifice her to Koss instead, knowing he would find her again? After all, he had found her four times before, but had only found his father once in eight hundred years.
She plumped the pillows and shook her head, knowing that wasn’t right. He wouldn’t have chosen either of them. He had offered himself in their stead. She suspected she had wounded him with her blunt words, but more than that, she thought he was avoiding her because she had seen through his eyes. She didn’t know everything he had done, but he must be concerned that she couldn’t look past what she did know. Was he pushing her away before she could push him away?
“What the hell are you doing in this room?”
Her heart stuttered as he shouted at her from the doorway. She turned from stacking the pillows to look at him. “What?”
He stepped into the room, though with obvious reluctance. “Why did you pick this room?”
She frowned with confusion. “Why shouldn’t I? I remember it was our room…” She trailed off, blushing when she looked back at the bed. She had made it exactly as he preferred, with two pillows plumped on his side, the covers turned back and the privacy curtains parted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.” She let out a startled cry as he came up behind her, turned her toward him and grabbed her arms to shake her. “I’ll get another room—”
“No one ever uses this room. Do you understand?” There was a wild look in his eyes, and he seemed to have lost any semblance of control. “Never.”
“Why not?” she forced out through her clacking teeth, as he continued to shake her.
“Because you died here.” The words seemed torn from him, and he abruptly let go of her as tears flooded his eyes. “I found you lying on that bed, holding our babe…” He turned away from her, and his shoulders stiffened. “Sleep wherever you want.” He seemed to be struggling to sound as if he didn’t care, but his voice wobbled. “I don’t care.”
She reached out to touch his arm. “I’ll pick another room. I didn’t think about that.” Though she felt his pain, her heart rejoiced at his words. He hadn’t made the distinction between her and Erin. He wasn’t pushing her away as successfully as he thought.
He shrugged off her touch. “No, don’t. You already have it made up now.” He walked to the door without looking back.
“Nicholas?”
He stopped walking, but he didn’t turn around. “What?”
“You can’t push me away forever, you know.” She licked her lips, awaiting his response, longing for him to turn back and gather her in his arms. She didn’t even care if he apologized for his boorish behavior, so long as he showed some sign of still wanting her.
He stiffened. “It doesn’t have to be forever.”
She walked closer to him, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but stopping an inch away and dropping her arm. “Really? I thought this eternal life business lasted eternally.”
He shrugged. “It does, for the most part, but that’s not what I meant. I only have to keep you out of my way until you’re safe from Koss. Then I’m sending you home.”
She balled up her fists. “What gives you the right to make my decisions for me?”
He spun around so quickly she didn’t see him m
ove. “I don’t want you anymore. Don’t you get it, Emily? You aren’t as I thought you’d be. A lot has changed since 1831. I was blind to believe I was still in love with you.” His eyes were cold as he looked at her. “You’re nothing like Erin. You don’t have to go home, but you aren’t staying with me when this is over. It’s time I moved on.”
Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I don’t believe you. You kept searching…”
“An obsession,” he dismissed. “No worse than Koss’s obsession with me. I suppose I can even understand his need. Like me, he’s driven by a thirst to possess, but it has nothing to do with love.” His eyes raked over her from head to toe. “He can’t let go, but I’ve discovered I can.”
The tears rolled down her cheeks, but she shook her head, stubbornly clinging to the memories of their times together, and the way she felt. “You’re lying. You don’t want to get hurt again, so you’re deliberately pushing—”
Nicholas made a scoffing sound. “Believe what you want. You’re too naïve to see the truth. How could I have ever imagined you were a substitute for my dead wife?” He spun around and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
The silence he left behind him broke under the sound of Emily falling to the floor in a sobbing heap. She buried her face in her hands, wanting to deny his words. In her heart, she didn’t really believe him, but couldn’t stop crying. How could she love him so passionately one moment and hate him just as passionately the next?
Chapter Sixteen
Emily made her way downstairs later in the day from the master bedroom. There had been little reason to change rooms after her confrontation with Nicholas, and she had eventually fallen asleep in the spacious bed. To her surprise, only a mild nightmare of Koss’s grinning visage intruded into her dreams. Mostly, she had dreamed of happier times as Erin, when Vallsade Manor had been her home, and her husband had loved her.