A Vampire's Dominion

by Vanessa Fewings

  Belshazzar’s was deserted.

  Ingrid approached the elevator and punched the down button.

  I considered slipping away without being seen and heading out to rejoin Marcus and Alex, who were waiting for me back in the gallery. They’d promised they weren’t giving up and had tried to convince me I shouldn’t either.

  Ingrid was standing in the doorway. “There’s no record of any funeral,” she called over to me.

  “Orpheus was very private,” I said.

  “And he liked swimming by the looks of things?” She headed in.

  I leaned back using my hands to support me, leisurely kicking my legs and enjoying the sensation of the water.

  “This is the last thing I’d have suspected to find down here.” She knelt and dipped her hand in. “What’s this, your last swim before it’s drained?”

  “Something like that.”

  She rose. “Where is he?”

  “You do realize you’re trespassing again?” I asked.

  With a wave of her hand she dismissed my remark, strolling down the right side of the pool. “Did you close this place because of me?” Her cheeks were flushed from the cold. “Let me take a wild guess, if I was to bring in a team of forensic scientists they’d merely find traces of cleaning agents?”

  “The underworld has existed long before you were born and it will exist long after you’re dead.”

  She stepped closer. “You’re destroying evidence.”

  “Ingrid—”

  “Two girls were murdered and those responsible have gone unpunished.”

  “If I knew I could explore this subject more with you in confidence, you might just get the answers you want.”

  “Having trouble manipulating me?”

  “The door’s closing, Ingrid. Any last words?” I lifted my feet out of the water and stood up.

  She came closer, close enough to touch. “Those responsible for these deaths will be brought to justice.”

  I clenched my jaw trying to hold back. “What do you know of punishment?”

  She hesitated.

  “Jadeon died trying to save your life,” I snapped. “Isn’t that the ultimate punishment?”

  “I don’t believe you.” She frowned her confusion. “You told me he’s in Italy.”

  “Look around you. Is this not proof enough that Orpheus is dead too? Belshazzar’s was Orpheus.”

  “More lies.”

  “Don’t look at me like that.” I didn’t care how it sounded.

  “See, you do this. You give me a glimpse into what you are but then you pull back.”

  “Goodbye, Ingrid.”

  She raised her forearm. “I took another look at the photos from Gillian’s autopsy. The girl we found dead at Stonehenge. Gillian had this exact same brand on her arm.” Her voice broke and she studied the brand as though for the first time. “You ask me to forget and then give me this.”

  Staring at her lips, I tried to stop myself from tasting them, tasting her.

  “Do you know the difference between a brand and a tattoo?” Ingrid’s expression became fierce. “A brand goes deeper and it’s permanent.”

  “You think it represents shame?”

  “If not, then what?”

  “You’re the detective, you work it out.”

  Pain surged though my chest and snatched my breath away as the electric shock jolted me backwards, and I plummeted with my arms out and splashed into the water.

  I sank to the bottom.

  Stunned but relieved to get all feeling back, I saw Ingrid’s distorted silhouette moving above. She’d kicked off her boots and was undressing.

  Muffled by the water, I questioned why I’d not thought about coming down here before as I settled onto the bottom of the pool, actually enjoying the stolen serenity, savoring the sensation of being wrapped in warm quiet blueness.

  There was a loud splash.

  Ingrid’s hands scrambled to lift me. I grabbed her, pulling her into a smoldering kiss. We made our way to the surface like that, spiraling until we reached air, and I let her go.

  Ingrid splashed wildly, spitting out water. “You almost drowned me!”

  Treading water, I went to help her. “You just tasered me.”

  She slapped me across my face, hard.

  I grabbed her wrist, twisted her round and hugged her. “I’m trying to help you.”

  “Let me go.”

  I released her and turned, swimming toward the opposite side. She thumped my back and I fended her off.

  Her nails scratched my face. “You branded me his whore!”

  I tried to push away from her.

  “That’s what this circle actually means, doesn’t it?” She wriggled and her right hand got free from my grip and her fingernails slashed my cheekbone.

  I wiped blood off my face and grabbed her right arm and swam, dragging her along toward the poolside. “This is not exactly the goodbye I had in mind.”

  She spun round and went to slap me again. I thrust her against the edge, pressing up against her and using my weight to hold her still. “That’s enough.”

  Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the slippery ledge. I caught her hand before it struck me again.

  Leaning into her, kissing her passionately, opening her mouth with mine. She bit my lip and I tasted my own blood. Ingrid tasted it too and she sucked in her breath, startled by the sensations surging through her veins, electrifying her senses. She grabbed the ledge with outstretched arms. “What is that?” Her head fell back and she let out a protracted moan.

  I hugged her into me. “Just say the words and I’ll let you go.”

  Ingrid rocked against me, slowly, surely, responding to the sensations bestowed by the blood, holding my gaze as though hoping to understand her arousal.

  I kissed her forehead. “Because of that brand, no vampire will touch you. It keeps you safe when I’m not there.”

  Ingrid’s lips were quivering.

  I rested my forehead against hers, studying her every response, each delicate nuance to my ministrations, taunting her with gentle caresses. “We’re going to do this my way, understand?”

  She moaned her answer.

  Kissing her throat, working downward and lower still, her sighs begging me to snatch her breath from her.

  As I did now . . .

  Responding to the way she pulled me into her, bestowing a multitude of pleasures to every part of her.

  Together we swirled around and around, waves encircling us as we neared the center, sharing our tenderness with delicate strokes, the gentlest affection. Ingrid’s soft sighs echoed and the delicate blush arose on her neck.

  Her tremors of her surrendering, an uncommon enchantment unlike any other; I lost myself in these rare precious moments with her, savoring her softness, her true mortal perfection.

  Ingrid’s gasps rose and fell as she planted more kisses to my cheek, wrapping her legs around my waist and clutching me into her, blue water lapping around us.

  Finally, she buried her head into my chest.

  We stayed like that, embracing for the longest time, both of us enjoying the lingering ripples of pleasure.

  The water now still.

  I assisted her out of the pool, and offered her a towel from the freshly stacked linen nearby.

  Ingrid took it from me and dried herself off. “That bottle of wine you gave me?”

  “French farmers protected it during the Second World War and named the Bordeaux Liberté which translates to—”

  “Freedom.” She took a deep breath. “Yours or mine?”

  I slipped into some fresh clothes. I’d wash off the chlorine later.

  Ingrid turned away.

  “This is just us taking a swim,” I said.

  “We did more than swim.” Ingrid’s wet hair was tussled and tumbling over her droplet covered shoulders, her serious expression reflecting worry. “Is Jadeon really . . . dead?”

  “It’s complicated.” I moved away from her, hoping the
distance might make her more comfortable.

  “What just happened between us?” she asked.

  I wanted to tell her she was beautiful, her presence a welcome change from the drama of my own private world, with darkness seeping into each moment threatening to devour me. But I couldn’t say it and as my thoughts searched for the right words, the silence lingered.

  “We must never do this again.” She bit her lip as though fighting the memory of us.

  “That’s probably a good idea.”

  “I’ve been asked to consult on a case here in London,” she said, trying to inject normalcy.

  I feigned I didn’t know. “Not a permanent move then?”

  “Not at this point.”

  I didn’t want her to know that James and I had spoken, fearful it would lead to more questions.

  I pulled on my shirt. “How are things between you and James?”

  “Fine.” She watched my reaction. “Are you inside my head?”

  I reached into her mind trying to extract what she was up too. “Absolutely not.”

  Ingrid turned away from me and continued dressing.

  Suddenly I wanted to be anywhere but here, coaxing my thoughts out into the night, allowing my imagination to entertain an endless array of possibilities, and if I dared, allow my true nature its freedom; blood was calling my name.

  “You didn’t ask me,” she said.

  “Ask you . . . ?”

  “About my new case.” She squinted my way.

  Faint blue veins arose on her neck and beckoned, inviting me to share their mystery.

  “Belshazzar’s is history,” I said. “As in you and I history.”

  Ingrid scanned the floor, feigning she was looking for an item of clothing she’d already gathered.

  “You understand why?” I asked.

  “I’m going to take a peek around.”

  I moved closer and grabbed her arm.

  “A girl’s got to try.” She pulled out of my grip and buttoned her shirt.

  “My world has nothing to offer you.” I fought the urge to thrust her against the wall and take her properly this time.

  And drink from her.

  “I don’t believe you’re capable of hurting anyone,” she said, perhaps having caught my eyes devouring her.

  “Hurry up.”

  She grabbed her bag.

  I reached for Ingrid’s arm, pulling her toward the long corridor, leading her toward the elevator.

  “Déjà vu,” she whispered.

  “As I recall that time didn’t go well either.” I searched her thoughts for any evidence she was ready to put this place behind her.

  “Something tells me I’m getting to you.”

  I nudged her into the lift and waited for the doors to close. We jolted upward.

  She gave a crooked smile. “You don’t like small spaces, do you?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  My attention fixed on the digital count of each level we passed and I willed it to go faster.

  “As far as I’m concerned this never happened,” she said.

  After what seemed like a decade, the doors slid open and I followed Ingrid into the bar.

  Ingrid’s face fell. “Blake?”

  Blake was sitting on one of the stools, leaning over the bar, resting his head on his arms.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  Blake twisted round to face us. “I have to talk with you.”

  “How did you know I’d be here?” she asked.

  He shrugged.

  “You look dreadful,” she said. “Are you alright?”

  “You have to know,” Blake said. “I can’t hide it from you anymore.”

  Ingrid looked nervous. “What are you talking about?”

  With a subtle glance, I told Blake he didn’t need to do this.

  Tension was etched into the lines on his face. “Rumor is Orpheus has disappeared.”

  “Blake, his promise will be honored.” I didn’t care how cryptic it sounded.

  Ingrid tried to process our interaction. “Promise?”

  Blake raised his left shirt sleeve, revealing a small circle branded on his inner forearm. “I’m a Gothica.”

  Ingrid slumped onto the bar stool next to his. “And what does that mean?” Her words fell out, the intensity of her scrutiny boring into Blake.

  “I’m a servant of the undead,” he admitted.

  She pressed her fingertips to her lips.

  “Orpheus told me he needed someone to watch over you,” Blake said. “That’s all he ever asked of me. And I wanted to do that anyway.”

  “How much did he pay you?”

  “Ingrid, please.”

  “How much?” she pushed.

  “It wasn’t about money,” Blake snapped.

  She shook her head, not believing him. “That’s why you supported my move to London?”

  He turned to me for support, his energy waning. I gestured he must show her more than just his circled brand. Blake now peeled back his other sleeve, lifting it further up his right arm, revealing a white square dressing in the bend of his elbow, out of which poked a thin flexible tube.

  Ingrid jumped off the stool. “What the hell is that?”

  Blake ran his fingers over it. “It’s a PICC line.”

  “And why is it in you?” she screeched, thinking the worst.

  “I have Hodgkin’s,” he said flatly. “I get my chemotherapy through it.”

  She shifted her stance. “What?”

  “The reason why I wanted you to move to London,” Blake added, “was so that I could go on sick leave without you knowing.”

  “Blake, I’m so sorry. You should have told me.”

  “Keeping it from everyone was relatively easy until I started this damn chemo.” He ran his fingers along the edge of the mahogany bar. “You introduced me to Belshazzar’s. I didn’t believe you at first. Thought you were crazy to be honest.” He looked roguish. “But then I decided to check out the place.”

  “You came here?” her voice rasped. “Without me?”

  “Mentioned Orpheus’s name,” he said, “and walked right in.”

  “What did he offer you?” Ingrid asked. “Tell me it’s not what I think it is.”

  “Please listen to him,” I said.

  “How long have the doctors . . . given you?” she asked softly.

  “Not long enough,” he said. “Ingrid, I don’t want to die.”

  Ingrid realized. “No.”

  “What would you do, Ingrid?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you fight to live?”

  “They have amazing scientific breakthroughs,” she said, panicked.

  Blake gestured that was naive.

  “Orpheus is dead,” she said. “He can’t turn you now.”

  Blake’s focus slid over to me.

  Ingrid caught it and said, “Blake, we need to talk about this rationally away from this place.”

  “I’ve had plenty of time to consider this,” he said. “I want to see Italy. I want to ride in a hot air balloon.” His face lit up. “Paris, I’ve never seen the Eifel Tower—”

  “The Taj Majal,” I murmured.

  “You think this is helping?” Ingrid snapped at me. “All you’re doing is confusing him.”

  “Let’s hear your plan,” I said.

  “Blake, you’re the one who tampered with evidence aren’t you?” Her tone was nervous. “All this time I thought it was Vanderbilt.”

  Blake was spotted in perspiration. He rested his forehead on the bar. “I’m sorry.”

  “Orpheus tried to kill me!” Ingrid said. “You do realize that?”

  Blake reached for a discarded napkin and wiped his brow. I gestured my reassurance to him.

  “What was that?” Ingrid glared my way. “Tell me that wasn’t what I think it was?”

  I ignored her. “Blake, go lie down.”

  Using his last remnants of energy, Blake headed over to the lift and p
unched the down button.

  “He knows where he’s going?” she asked anxiously. “I thought this place was stripped bare?”

  “Not quite,” I said. “Not yet, anyway.” I waited for the lift doors to close behind him. “I’m afraid Blake has a hard road ahead.”

  “How dare you decide what’s right for him!”

  “Ingrid, how about we make it your decision then?” I asked. “You always like to have the last word.”

  Chapter 19

  SEBASTIAN REOPENED LEIDEN the following day.

  I returned to the gallery that evening and found him still hard at work, sorting through boxes of business supplies.

  He’d actually gone out of his way to organize the back office and with its modest bookcase, swivel chair, desk, table lamp and silver plated pen holder as well as all the other tasteful accoutrements, it easily inferred this was a working gallery. And the Big Ben paperweight made a nice touch.

  Sitting behind the desk, I took a moment to give normalcy a try, peering into the teacup and cringing before sliding it out of the way.

  I’d spent hours mulling over the map spread out before me, studying where the fifty red crosses had been marked indicating where vampires had been supposedly poisoned. That, as well as the other documented cases, left me feeling frustrated that we really had nothing.

  “Someone drove over my bloody bicycle,” Sebastian said appearing in the doorway.

  I looked up at him and leaned back in my chair.

  “My bike is sticking out the back of the chassis of some twit’s jeep.” He stormed on in.

  I folded up the map. “Alex’s driving leaves much to be desired.”

  “Alex?” The veins on Sebastian’s neck bulged.

  “Consider it a goodbye gift.” I reached for the small box on the desk and slid it over to him.

  “I need more time.” He moved closer. “Where’s Alex?”

  “Open it.”

  “Your brother needs his head checked.” He picked it up and flipped open the lid. “Car keys? A Jeep?” He ran his thumb over the key ring. “The same one that’s squishing my bike?”

  “We’re not comfortable with you cycling through London.”

  “Oh.”

  “Blame Alex. It was his idea.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank him,” I replied.

  “But he did crush my bike.”

  “Well, I could say we’ll replace it. But we won’t.” I pointed to the teacup. “What kind of impression am I meant to be making exactly?”