Know Me When the Sun Goes Down

by Olsen, Lisa

  Her answering smile made it worth the surrender. “Thank you Bishop, it means a lot to me that you’re trying. I know you’ve been caught up in your job for a long time now.”

  “How is it that you know anything of what I’ve done since Carys’ death?”

  “I’ve kept tabs on you over the years. Nothing too specific, but you are my brother, in a manner of speaking.”

  Interesting. “And have you kept tabs on Aubrey as well?”

  Her nose wrinkled with what he fancied was distaste. “Not so much. I admit, I’ve never warmed to him.”

  “Good.” Bishop’s lips pressed together as if he could somehow recall the word that slipped out. Why should he care if she admired Aubrey or not?

  Anja’s smile flickered brighter, but she made no comment as to his reply. “Will you be in Vetis long?” she asked instead.

  “A few months longer, then I’ll return to Rome.”

  “That Volkov’s a strict taskmaster, huh?”

  “He’s strict, but fair. You are acquainted with Volkov?”

  “No, he’s a bit too intense for me.”

  She was not wrong there, and he wondered how she’d come to form that opinion. “I’m sorry, I still find it hard to believe that we have never crossed paths before. I haven’t so much as caught a glimpse of you before.” He would’ve remembered it, of that he had no doubt.

  “I haven’t wanted to be glimpsed before. I’m not much for vampire society.”

  “And yet you chose to come here, the very heart of society. What brought you to London?”

  “You did.”

  “I did?” His brows rose in astonishment.

  “Yes. I thought it was time we got to know each other.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re connected. We share the same blood.”

  Was that why he felt this uncommon pull to her? Why he’d scarcely stopped thinking about her since they’d met? But did he want to get to know her, as she said? There was little room in his life for such a distraction, his duty to the Order didn’t allow it.

  Bishop drew himself up, his words as rigid as his spine. “As you seem to be privy to the intimate details of my past, there is not much for you to know. I am as you see me.”

  “I happen to think you’re more than that.”

  Those clear blue eyes, the way she looked at him, as if she felt... “I must return to my duties,” he said with a brief nod, turning on his heel to stride away.

  “There are no women in the Order around here, are there?” she asked, falling into step beside him, the humans trailing along behind.

  “There are no females in the Order anywhere.”

  “Pity.”

  “Few ladies share that opinion.”

  “Why not? It’s not like guys have a monopoly on skill. And you can’t say that all lady vamps are shy retiring ladies.”

  She had him there. “No, they are not,” he agreed, lips curving in faint amusement. Bishop could think of a few women of his acquaintance who had the strength and skill to best him. Carys had been one, Amunet another. And now Anja. “Still, hunting is a man’s province. It has always been thus.”

  “Perhaps we’ll surprise you one day.”

  “You already have,” he murmured, looking away when her smile brightened again. Her hands were bare of gloves, and his gaze lit upon the ring on her significant finger. Was he relieved or chagrined to find her spoken for?

  “And where is your companion?”

  Her head turned to look over her shoulder to where Bridget dawdled behind them with the errand boy, looking into shop windows with undisguised longing.

  “I meant your master.”

  “Hey, buddy, I don’t call anyone master,” she growled, coming to a standstill, and he gestured to her hand.

  “I meant no offense. I spoke of the one gave you the ring. Are you not claimed?” His breath held in anticipation of her answer, heart clenching at the way her face softened when she looked down at the ring on her finger.

  “I was,” she said, fingers stroking the delicate band of gold. “He died.” Her face filled with such unbearable sadness, Bishop felt the urge to pull her into his arms and offer what consolation he may, but instead he left her to her private pain.

  “And yet you wear his ring still?” he prompted when she did not speak again.

  “Forever and always, that’s how long he’ll be in my heart.”

  The sweet sentiment curdled within him, jealous that she’d already irrevocably given her heart to another, though it was difficult to sustain jealousy of one who was already dead and gone. Her heartache pained him, and Bishop offered the only comfort he knew how. “You have only to name the villain, and I will avenge his death in your honor.”

  Anja offered a sad little smile. “That’s a lovely offer, thank you, but I’m working on it.”

  “You should not soil your delicate hands on such a task.”

  “You’ve seen up close and personal what these hands are capable of. I’m not a delicate flower.”

  “Perhaps not delicate, but a radiant one,” the compliment slipped out, and her face lit with stunned pleasure.

  “So you do remember how to be sweet,” she breathed, her hand landing on his arm like a brand, heat flaring between them.

  What was he doing? Paying her attentions like a lovesick schoolboy? He had duties to attend to, and yet all he wanted was to send that flush of pleasure into her cheeks once more. “I must return to my duties,” he said softly, but she held him fast with the lightest of touches on his arm.

  “Right, you were hunting,” she nodded, disappointment clouding her features. “I should do the same while I’m here.”

  “You speak of feeding? Do you not have a human for this?”

  “She’s my friend, not food. Unless it’s strictly necessary. Maybe we can go hunting together? You’re hungry, I can tell.”

  “You can?”

  “Yes. Your cheeks are flushed.” Raising her hand, the backs of her fingers stroked his cheek, and he went very still, hardly daring to guess what she’d do next. But Anja snatched her hand away with a hurried apology. “I’m sorry. That was impertinent of me.”

  “It’s fine,” he said, swallowing away the unfamiliar longing that sprang at her touch. “I really should return to my duties.”

  “Let’s hunt together,” she countered. “It’s been forever since I’ve had someone to hunt with.”

  Pity welled within him. Bishop knew what it was to lose a great love. Even if Carys had been difficult in life, her death had still nearly destroyed him. “Very well then, we shall hunt together,” he replied, throwing caution to the wind. What would it hurt, after all?

  Her answering smile was well worth the delay in his schedule. “Shiny! These are your stomping grounds, where should we go?”

  “What kind of hunt do you seek?” Well used to Carys’ games, he expected her to select someone of beauty and stamina. But that did not tell him if she sought to hunt among the ton or rougher trade.

  “Someone strong enough to satisfy us both, obviously. Other than that, it doesn’t much matter to me. What about that guy?” She pointed to a portly tobacconist locking up his shop for the night.

  Her choice caught him by surprise. “You find him appealing?”

  “I wouldn’t want to take him home with me, but I’m sure he tastes fine. Or wait... maybe we should go somewhere rougher and pick up a baddie?”

  “A... baddie?” He stared at her blankly.

  “You know, a proper villain. In case we take too much with both of us feeding. Then I don’t have to feel so bad if he...” She made a rattling, choking sound and stuck her tongue out.

  “You’re concerned about killing a human?”

  “Of course I am. Not that I usually have problems in that area, but feeding together can be... distracting sometimes,” she said, sending a heated glance in his direction, and Bishop found the confines of his cravat unbearably tight for a moment. Perhaps this was not
such a good idea after all.

  “I can assure you, one more dead body will not be amiss in a city of this size,” he said, and her expression clouded with chagrin.

  “Right, I forgot you don’t care about that. I’d still like to be careful though. Oh, speaking of being careful...” Anja turned and waved her companion forward. “Hey, we’re going hunting. How about you head back to the house with the stuff we bought and I’ll see you later?”

  “Gotcha. Laters,” Bridget winked and dropped back, flagging down a hack.

  “Well, let’s get started, I don’t want to keep you from your duties. Wherever you lead, I’ll follow.” With that Anja insinuated her arm around his, looking up at him with a sunny smile.

  For the first time in over a hundred years, Bishop wasn’t quite sure who was leading whom.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You may begin,” Bishop offered, deferring to me as I’m sure he was used to from his hunting days with Carys. I’m not sure what he expected me to do, but I strode right up to the guy I’d picked out, stopping him with a friendly smile.

  “Hello, what’s your name?”

  “Marbury, ma’am.”

  “Hi, Mr. Marbury. I’m Anja, and this is Bishop. Do you belong to anyone else?” I sent along a hint of compulsion to make sure he didn’t object when I pulled him into the alley, and he readily answered.

  “No.”

  “Do you have a wife and children?”

  “No.”

  “I think this will work, how about you?” I asked, turning to Bishop, who looked confused by my questions. Didn’t they follow those common courtesies in that time?

  “What’s this all about then?” Marbury asked, and I shushed him.

  “Be still, we’ll get to you in a minute. Ready?”

  “That’s it?” Bishop asked. “Simply compel him and eat?”

  “Why not, it’s just lunch, not a game of cat and mouse.” Was that what he’d been expecting? The Bishop I knew was very pragmatic when it came to feeding, it was a biological need and nothing more. He always tried to ignore the more intimate parts.

  “You are so different.”

  He meant from Carys. “I get that a lot,” I replied with a wry twist of the lips. “Alright, Mr. Marbury, this won’t hurt a bit.” I sent along another burst of compulsion, not sure if this Bishop would be concerned about his pain. “Go ahead.”

  “You wish me to begin?” Bishop hesitated.

  “You’re hungrier than I am.”

  He gave me another look as if I had lobsters coming out of my ears for suggesting he go first, but then stepped up, gripping Marbury by the shoulders. “Have no fear, I will do no lasting harm,” he said to the man, before his fangs descended and he went for the guy’s jugular.

  The scent of blood permeated the air and my fangs slid out in response. But instead of joining him at Marbury’s side, I only had eyes for Bishop. He was magnificent, every inch the predator as he bent to the man’s throat and drank. How many times had we fed together like this? Too many to count. Bishop gave a deep groan of satisfaction, and unable to resist, my hand slid across his back, wanting to be a part of it.

  His muscles rippled under my touch, and I buried my hand under his coat, desperate to get closer to him, suddenly hating all those Regency layers. I slipped into the shelter of his embrace, insinuating myself between him and Marbury as best I could.

  Here was Bishop, my Bishop, right there for the taking. I wanted to taste him in the worst way, or even better, to pull his mouth aside and direct him to my own throat. But I couldn’t have him, he wasn’t really mine, not yet.

  In frustration, I turned to Marbury, desperate to slake my thirst if I couldn’t satisfy another need. I bit into his skin, letting out a shuddering breath as his blood flooded my senses. Riding the coattails of my emotions, Marbury let out a ragged moan, and Bishop echoed it beside me. The vibrations of Bishop’s pleasure reached me from the other side of Marbury’s neck, and it sent a corresponding jolt down to my toes.

  And then I felt Bishop’s hand at my back, fingers curling around my hip, drawing me near. My body turned, instantly responsive to his touch, leaving the prospect of Marbury’s blood for a far greater temptation. Abruptly, Bishop wrenched his mouth free, breathing hard as he pulled me away from the other man. His chest swelled against mine as he held me close, so close, I forgot to breathe. His eyes dipped to my mouth, and I moistened my lips, desperate to clear away the traces of the blood, I wanted to taste him alone.

  “Bishop...” My mouth turned up to his, breath mingling as he pulled me closer still. And then his eyes pressed shut as if he was in terrible pain. When they opened again, there was a detachment I hadn’t seen since before we began our walk. His hands fell away from my arms as he took a step backwards and gave an apologetic bow.

  “Forgive me madam, for disturbing you from your feast. I’ll leave you to it.”

  “No wait...” I pleaded, reaching for him, but he was already retreating. “I don’t want him, I want... you.” Too late, Bishop was gone.

  * * *

  Bridget was on me the second I came in the door to my suite. “What happened? It seemed like it was getting good.”

  “Yep, too good. I think I spooked him. He’s worse than a mare in a thunderstorm.”

  “That’s still progress, right? I think you’re getting to him.”

  “I sure hope so,” I murmured, too tired to do more than kick off my shoes and climb into bed. But she hadn’t seen that look in his eyes when he stepped away from me in the alley – that nothingness that made me think I’d never reach him.

  A week went by and I barely caught a glimpse of Bishop. I’d managed to spook him alright. If I got any emotion out of him at all, it seemed like a war between anger and fear. How was I supposed to save him if I couldn’t spend more than five minutes with him even in the room?

  Every night I woke, I felt more and more defeated, melancholy seeping deeper into my bones. It was maddening to be so near Bishop and yet farther than I’d ever felt before, even with him a half a world away in Rome. It was difficult to maintain a facade of cheer when he immediately excused himself on Order business whenever I came into the room. Maybe there was no reaching him? Maybe this was my penance for my crimes? I’d done terrible things... killed, tortured, rearranged people’s minds just because I could – did I deserve to find happiness with Bishop?

  And the dreams, they haunted my days. It wasn’t always the same dream with the fire and death, it was worse. Every night I spent without reaching Bishop, I dreamed of finding my happy ever after with him only to have it ripped away at sunset. Waking every night to find the space next to me cold and empty was worse than dying a thousand deaths. I could close my eyes and see him lying beside me, feel the weight of his head on the pillow, hear the rough timbre of his laughter. It got so that I never wanted to open them again.

  The next night, after deliberately seeking Bishop out and having him flat out snub me for the umpteenth time, I reached my limit. I couldn’t keep doing this, I was too tired of rejection. I was too tired of everything.

  I was just too tired.

  Instead of seeking my bed when dawn approached, I slipped into the garden maze behind the mansion, fingers brushing against the pliant leaves as the sky grew brighter. The birds were out already, the warming spring air full of promise. It’d been ages since I’d seen the sunrise.

  At the heart of the maze were stone benches, where I’d first heard Maggie’s tale of woe; the place seemed to attract misery. The sky grew lighter, the shadows retreating, and I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the sky in anticipation, welcoming it.

  I was just so tired.

  All at once music swelled up inside of me, and a song came pouring out, Still Here by Digital Daggers. I sang of how every day I dreamt Bishop was still with me, and how every night he disappeared. The sun grew warmer on my face, the sting pricking as the light behind my eyelids turned red.

  I’d be with him soon. />
  The song came to an end, the words trailing fainter and fainter as I waited for oblivion. The snap of a twig behind me had me turning to look over my shoulder to see Bishop standing at the edge of the maze, clinging to the shadows, watching me with a mixture of sadness and wonder. We stared at each other across the clearing, the sun burning my eyes until they streamed with tears, but my cheeks were already wet with another kind of tears.

  Bishop crossed the distance between us, striding into the sun to sweep me up into his arms. Without a word, he carried me through the maze, bringing me back to the shelter of the house and depositing me into hallway. There was pity and something unreadable in his eyes as he reached down to brush the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs.

  “Bishop...” I whispered, tuning my cheek toward the palm of his hand.

  And then he walked away, leaving me alone in the hall.

  I don’t know how long I stood there until the flap of slippers echoed through the hall. “What are you doing out here?” Bridget demanded, her voice loud in the stillness of a house where most of the occupants were bedded down for the day.

  “Nothing.” That’s what I felt – nothing. I felt empty, the misery having poured out of me with the song. Even after Bishop’s coming for me, I still felt nothing but numbness.

  “Anja, you need to eat.”

  “What?”

  “I said you need to eat. You’re all flushed.”

  It was from the sun’s burning rays, but I didn’t tell her that. “I shouldn’t need to, I ate a couple of days ago.”

  “Yeah, but you’re burning up,” she insisted, her hand unusually cool against my cheek. “Come on, let’s go get you some blood.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I didn’t ask you if you were hungry, I said we’d get you some blood,” Bridget retorted with enough bite to her voice that I went docilely by her side. “Hey kid,” she called out to a scurrying page. “Send a feeder up to the Swan room on the double.”

  He stared at her blankly.

  “I said send up a feeder for Ms. Gudrun and be quick about it,” she snapped, and the kid bowed and took off at a dead run. “Jesus, it’s hard to get good help.”