“Of course, Master Lavelle,” she said tightly. “Is there anything else?”
“No, no that is all. Thank you.”
She nodded her head then went back to work. He closed the door and made his way slowly to the library. She didn’t even look at him. Part of him worried she would not show up later and he prayed to God she would. There was just something about her, a strength and determination in her eyes that he had not seen in years. It drew her to him. Even after his actions last night, she had not seemed frightened of him.
In fact, the set look on her face had almost appeared angry.
One of the servants passed Bastian and he reached out for her hand. “What is your name again my dear?”
“Charlotte, Master Lavelle,” she said, keeping her eyes lowered, but he could tell she liked his touch. Her heartbeat quickened and her chest heaved. His eyes were drawn to her bosom and for just a moment he considered perhaps it was time to take another lover. But when he looked at the woman’s face, he frowned.
“Please have my dinner prepared and brought to the library,” he said then let her go.
Her face fell, but she curtsied and hurried off to the kitchens. She was going to be trouble eventually. He’d known women on the plantation like that since he first started out here. They thought if they would win their way into his bed they would be taken care of. Become his pet. But Bastian rarely took a lover and had not been interested in any woman until Catherine. He did not do well with over ambitious people. There had been too many of those in his past.
The hours ticked by as the sun set and Bastian drank the decanter of blood brought for him. There was always a bit of food with it. Sometimes he ate it, but tonight he wasn’t hungry and the blood almost tasted sour. He had nearly given up on hoping Catherine would appear when the doors opened and she entered.
“I’m sorry for being so late,” she said quietly as she closed the doors behind her. “There was a discrepancy in the books again. I have sorted it out but I believe you need to have a word with your man that does your shipping.”
Bastian set his glass down and nodded. “I will do that.”
She didn’t move from the door, but did at least raise her head to stare at him.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Yes please,” she said and took the seat in the center of the room he indicated. “About last night,” she said after she’d sat. “I wanted to apologize.”
Bastian nearly shattered the goblet in his hand. “Apologize? Why in God’s name would you need to apologize to me?”
She straightened at the harsh tone of his voice and her eyes narrowed. “I fear that I may have angered you last night somehow. Whatever I did, I am sorry for it.”
He smirked. “You do not sound sorry.”
“I am trying to be polite.”
“Catherine, are you angry with me?” He tried not to sound like he was laughing but he couldn’t help himself. She sat there trying to apologize when she was clearly furious at him. And all he could do was laugh even as her face turned red.
“Of course not. What reason would I have to be angry with you?”
He shrugged as he set the glass of wine down in front of her then retreated to a chair across from her. “I frightened you last night. I was the monster you claim I am not.”
Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t say anything. Didn’t even pick up her wine glass. He wondered for a moment if she was just going to play mute with him until she opened her mouth. “I’d heard stories about creatures like you,” she said, so quiet he wouldn’t have been able to hear her if he wasn’t one of the undead. “Men with bad blood. The elders used to frighten us as children with stories of Drockola.”
“And? Did they frighten you?” he asked intrigued.
But as Catherine raised her head, he saw he had misjudged this woman once again. “No, they did not. They made me curious about them, about their lives. The burden they must live with.”
Bastian sat back in his chair, scratching at his chin as he tried to follow her meaning. “Burden?”
“Yes. If you are what you claim,” she said and he heard the desperate bit of hope that maybe last night had just been a terrible dream, “then you must do things to survive that no normal person would. It’s a burden. It weighs on you day after day.”
“Is that so?”
She picked up her wine, sipped it, then sat back too and shrugged. “You tell me.”
“You still haven’t told me why you are mad at me,” he said, avoiding her words completely.
“You purposely tried to frighten me last night,” she said.
Bastian smiled again, unable to stop himself. “Tried? Are you implying that I failed in that task?”
She nodded once. “I don’t care what you think you are. I know what I feel when I’m in a room with you, and fear is not it.”
Now she had him baffled. Who was this woman that could tell one such as him she felt no fear? Even after last night, after she’d felt his fangs against her neck, she still refused to see the whole truth. Bastian needed her to understand, but he could tell no matter how many times he told her the truth, she wouldn’t believe him.
“Are you willing to continue recording my story,” he finally asked after they stared at each other for a few long moments.
“Of course.” She drank a bit more of her wine then stood and headed back to the desk. He watched her delicate hands flip the leather bound book open until she found the place she’d left. Her brow furrowed as her fingers reached out and felt the page. “The ink’s been smudged.”
Bastian stood and went to glance at the pages. “Yes, so it has.”
When he lifted his gaze, he found her watching him and saw her hand start to reach out before she quickly pulled it back. “Where would you like to start today?” she asked quietly as she sat down, dipped the quill in ink, and turned to the next empty page.
He cleared his throat and tugged at the collar around his neck, suddenly much too tight. “Let us begin before that dreadful night on the beach. That year I turned twenty-five and began to run my own part of my father’s wealthy importing business.” He took a seat in front of the desk and watched the quill move across the page, the scratching filling the room. “He was the first to bring in saffron from Spain to Paris. When I became an official part of his enterprise, finding the spice became my sole duty.”
“Where did you find it?” she asked, eyes lighting with curiosity when she looked up to dip her quill again.
A slow smile crawled across his face. “Beautiful places full of life and adventure. Spain to start and then across the glistening waters of the Mediterranean to the desert lands beyond the Ottoman Empire. So many sights that I wish to see again and the people! Such amazing cultures that cover our world.”
“Why don’t you ever go back?”
“Me and a desert will not mix well I’m afraid,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”
He fell silent for a long moment then stood to pace around the library, running his fingers over the spines of the books he’d collected over the past one hundred years. Many of them came from the lands he used to visit with his father. Ancient texts that spoke of a life beyond this one. Of Gods and titans, of spirits and even a few that held stories about creatures like him. His lips twitched, but he did not let the smile come.
“That was also the year I married Antoinette,” he said as he turned back around, hands clasped behind his back. “She became Antoinette Cartier.”
“Cartier?”
Bastian laughed. “Oh, I almost forgot. I was not honest with you before. My name back then was not Bastian Lavelle. No, I was Jacques Cartier, but that man died on the beach. It was not possible for me to continue the use of such a name. If anyone I knew, or my father knew ever came upon me…I was supposed to be dead,” he whispered. “It would break his heart.”
Silence fell over the room. He heard the quiet thudding of Catherine’s heart and her breathing, but she was not upset, not w
orried by him or his brooding. He wondered what had made this girl so steady in her life at such a young age. He knew she’d seen tragedy, but so had many others that passed through his plantation and none of them acted as calm as she did.
“Your wedding must have been quite the event,” she said.
Bastian smiled just at the memory of it. “Yes, it was. She was nineteen when we wed. The most beautiful woman in all of France. Antoinette was part of the elite class and when I first approached her wanting to court her, I had expected her to laugh and turn me away. But she did not. Instead, she’d taken my hand that day and asked me to kiss her. It was very improper, but then Antoinette was not like the others.”
“She sounds lovely,” Catherine said as she wrote.
Bastian’s smile fell just a bit. “She was.”
“Was?”
He felt his chest tighten as he turned away from Catherine, tears filling his eyes. “It has been over seventy years since then. I do not think she would still be living.” Bastian wiped his eyes and tried to keep the sadness at bay, but it was hard, even after all these years. He loved Antoinette, always would.
He could recall every single detail of their wedding vividly. Who had attended and what they’d eaten. How much she and Antoinette had danced that night, so much their feet ached the whole time they were on their honeymoon in Spain. The night had been one filled with romance and finding how much they truly loved each other, finding such passion in each other’s arms.
And in one horrible moment, it had all been stripped away.
“Bastian?”
He jumped. Her hand rested on his and he frowned down at it. So lost in his grief he hadn’t even heard her stand. “I am sorry. Sometimes remembering brings up too much pain.”
She squeezed his arm and he turned to see her smiling sadly at him. “I understand. After all, I was taken from my family, too.”
“And yet you do not feel anger towards me?”
“You are not the one that stole me away,” she said gently.
“No, but I did purchase you.”
He watched her swallow hard and expected her to lash out, but instead her hand slipped away and he wished he reached out and caught it, but couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Yes, you did, and look where I am? In a far better place than if someone else had.”
She had a point. He knew what the other plantations were like. Knew what those men did to young women. He hated them all for it and always purchased as many as he could afford. Though it wasn’t the main reason he needed so many slaves, he tried to do his best. He had been after all a moral man when he still possessed a beating heart.
“I think we are finished for this evening,” he whispered.
Catherine looked up at him, tilting her head. “Are you certain? The night is still young.”
Bastian stared deep into her eyes as he turned to face her fully. He reached out a gentle hand and waited for her to pull away, but she stayed where she was, chest heaving as her breathing quickened. His fingers brushed her hair from her shoulder, revealing her neck and sighed.
“I am sorry, for last night.”
“Don’t be,” she said, but it came out breathy.
“I should make it up to you, if I am being a true gentleman.” He stepped closer and leaned down, but this time, he did not show his fangs. Instead, he pressed his lips against her neck in a sweet kiss. Her body moved towards his and his other hand wrapped around her waist. His lips moved and kissed her again before he pulled back, forcing his hands back to his sides. “You may leave for the night.”
Catherine’s cheeks were flushed and she nodded, trying to find words. None came and she did not move towards the door. Instead she closed the distance between them and reached up a hand to cup his cheek. Bastian’s mouth opened at the warm touch and leaned into it without thinking. His cold hand covered hers and he stared down at her, desperate to know what she was thinking. Her lips looked so full and soft. He wanted nothing more than to kiss them.
But then she pulled away, went to the door, and left leaving Bastian with the feeling of her touch on his face and longing for more. Much more from this young woman from across the ocean.
***
Catherine made it a few steps before she pressed her back against the nearest wall and closed her eyes, chest heaving as she tried to steady her thundering heart. What was she doing? Holding his face like that had done something to her. Made her chest tighten and had her wanting nothing more than to rush back into the library and hear his voice.
Kiss him as she so longed to do only moments ago.
She had never felt like this before, ever. Not even with Charles and their few stolen moments together. There was no one she could talk to about these feelings, but being alone for the whole day was just too much. Catherine headed back to her rooms then waited ‘til the sun had risen before heading off to see her friends. It had been a while since she’d seen them and wanted to know they were doing well.
The door flew open a second after she knocked and all three girls nearly tackled her before they pulled her inside.
“You must tell us everything,” Mary said excitedly as she held Catherine’s hands.
“What are you doing in the house,” Rose asked. “Do you really stay there?”
Catherine smiled, happy to see them looking healthy and happy despite still being slaves trapped on this plantation. “I do. I have a tiny room, no bigger than this really.”
The other two chatted happily about what they’d been doing and whom they’d spoken to, the stories they’d heard. Mary let Catherine know how Liam was holding up out in the fields. Apparently he had impressed all the men out there, including Dion with his hard work. Catherine sighed in relief to know Liam hadn’t caused any more trouble. At least not yet.
After a few moments, Charlotte turned to Catherine, a dark look in her eyes and asked, “So you have yet to tell us what you actually do in the house.”
“I have been working on the books for the plantation,” she said, not wanting to delve into Master Lavelle’s story or that he was not exactly normal. “That’s it. Pretty boring actually.”
“And is that all?”
“Yes, it is. Why, what did you think I was doing?”
Charlotte shrugged one shoulder, but her eyes narrowed as she looked Catherine up and down. “There are rumors is all, about how one gets their own room in the house. You realize you are the only slave that stays there.”
“All I do are the books, Charlotte.”
“And nothing else happens while you do the books? I wouldn’t want you tainting the memory of your poor fiancé, lost on that other island.”
“Charlotte!” Mary turned to glare at the older girl. “Catherine is not like that.”
“Oh no? You do not think she has discovered other talents to rise so quickly? He has taken lovers before, many lovers. I have heard the stories.”
“How dare you think I would do such a thing,” Catherine snapped as her cheeks burned. “I am not doing anything more than the books.”
“Then what do you do for the other half of the night when you two are locked up together in the library? Alone? In a room he does not allow anyone else to see,” Charlotte demanded.
Catherine bit her lip. She wasn’t about to betray Bastian’s trust. “Going over my work for the day. Nothing more. If you wish to think that little of me then fine, I shall not visit you again. Mary, Rose, I am happy to see you doing well,” she said then stormed out of the shack.
She heard Charlotte say something else, but didn’t catch it before Mary was yelling at their friend to be quiet. Catherine hated the look on one of the people she thought was her friend. Charlotte was jealous. She wanted to be in the house, but Catherine knew what else she wanted, saw it in her eyes as she’d glared at Catherine’s body.
Charlotte wanted to become Bastian’s lover and the thought of her in bed with him made Catherine feel sick. Angry. By the time she made it to her room and undressed for
sleep, her head ached and her stomach was in knots. Things were very quickly starting to spiral out of her control and she had no idea any more what tomorrow might bring.
Chapter 3
The following night, Bastian paced around the house impatient. He wanted to go see Catherine at work in the study, but he knew he would only be a distraction for her. He’d spent the rest of the night and most of the day thinking about her touch and how she’d looked at him with such kind and gentle eyes. He was a monster and it appeared she did not care.
He knew after he told the next part of his story, her views might start to shift. Perhaps that was what worried him so and had him brooding about the place, sending slaves scurrying left and right in his wake. When Catherine did find her way to the library, he was so anxious to see what she would think that he nearly skipped greeting her and almost started to tell the story. The only thing that stopped him was the frown on her face and the anger in her eyes.
“Are you angry with me?” he asked as she took her place at the desk.
“No, no I am just upset with one of the other girls. It’s nothing,” she said quickly.
Part of Bastian wanted to press her more, but she did not look in the mood to talk. “Well then, shall we continue?”
Catherine held the quill ready and started to write once more as Bastian’s words filled the library.
***
Finally I heard the shout for land up above and scurried from my hold to see. Thankfully it was night when I emerged and was not burned by the sun. Though the crew I’m certain wouldn’t have minded to see me dead. I knew they suspected I was truly responsible for the deaths of their mates, but none of them spoke a word.
“Master,” Dax called out. “Land. We have reached the far side of the world.”
I nodded slowly as I stared out across the waters. He came my way and handed me a telescope, but I did not need it to see the tropical islands before us. “Down in the hold is a large bag of gold,” I told him. “Share it amongst your men and return to Paris.”
Dax frowned. “But this is your ship?”
“Yes, and I am ordering you to return it home to my father. Or don’t. I care not at this point.” I glanced around at the men, not sure what to say to them after such a trying time at sea. “Good bye, Dax,” I finally said then jumped overboard and into the water.
SV02-06. Slave to a Vampire Page 2