“Yes, I’m quite an aquarist.” Bernard sat down behind the large desk and scanned through a stack of papers.
“I had a little ten-gallon aquarium when I was a dance student in New York,” Lauryl said as she continued her assessment of the office. It was generic. There was the desk and seating around the room but nothing upscale or trendy in it. Even the computer was a clunky desktop.
Bernard chuckled. “My office is a bit low end, isn’t it?”
She overlooked the fact that he continued to read her thoughts. “Sorry, I’m just used to Eamon.”
“It’s simply an office in a night club. I didn’t see any reason to spend a fortune on it. Have a seat.”
Lauryl sat down across from the desk and twisted the hem of her skirt. The evening was becoming more and more surreal. She was sitting in an underground vampire club in east London and not with Eamon. She tugged at the skirt fabric, half-excited and half-fearful. Not of the vampires she was with but of the vampire waiting for her at home.
Phyl and a large, male vampire on the security staff interrupted her thoughts. The bouncer pulled another vampire into the room. This one kicked and struggled to break away.
“Here ’e is, Mr. T. Don’t know how the little wanker got in, but I’ll find out.” The large vampire punched the resisting vampire in the back of the head with a force that made Lauryl cringe. The blow halted any further resistance.
Bernard stood up and surveyed the punch-drunk vampire. He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Micah, you must think I’m a fool.”
“No, sir, I don’t” he replied.
“Then you must think I’m weak.”
Micah’s eyes widened. “No.”
“Then what possible reason could you have for being in my club this evening when I’ve told you never to return.”
Micah looked around the room and hoped for some sort of help but didn’t find any.
“He asked you a question, you piece of shit,” Phyl said, her fangs bared. She slapped him on the neck. Her nails sliced into the skin and blood poured out.
“Patience, Phyl,” Bernard chided.
“I was here because I was following a girl. A human.”
“Break his arm, Reg,” Phyl said.
“No!” Bernard said. “You two are far too eager this evening. Micah says that he was following a female. Perhaps. However, Micah is an ancient vampire and should’ve been able to prevent the human from coming in here.”
“Mr. Townsend, please, I only wanted to meet her! I didn’t plan on causing any problems.”
“But you have, Micah. You disobeyed an order from me. So you’re causing problems in my establishment. Perhaps not the same type of problems as before, but problems none the less.”
Bernard nodded to the big vampire holding Micah. “Reg, would you deal with Mr. Rollins?”
“What are you gonna do?” Micah asked trying to pull away.
“I’m going to ensure that you never disobey me or return to my club again.”
“No!” Micah shouted.
Knox stood up. “As Commissioner of London, I say that the sentence handed down by Bernard will stand.”
Reg snatched the condemned vampire up by the arm and Lauryl heard the sickening snap of his humerus. Micah howled in pain but Reg’s fist connecting with his jaw silenced him. Blood, saliva and teeth flew across the room. Micah shook his head in an attempt to restore some clarity to his addled thoughts. His jaw now moved in the opposite direction that he was shaking. Lauryl bit her lower lip and turned her head as Reg dragged Micah out.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Lauryl. I hate mixing business with pleasure,” Bernard said as he sat back down.
She looked from Knox to Bernard. “You’re almost gangsters. I mean, I don’t know what he did, but you settled it like you were from New Jersey.”
Knox laughed and glanced at Bernard, who shook his head at Knox. “Bernard isn’t the Mafioso type.”
“What are you going to do with that guy?”
“Deal with him appropriately,” Bernard said.
“What did he do?”
“He was a trouble maker and was making life difficult for us,” Knox said.
“That’s kind of vague.”
“Mr. Rollins was a careless vampire. He killed humans rather than fed on them. He even had the nerve to kill one in my club.” Bernard folded his hands in his lap. “And that’s forbidden.”
“Vampires can’t kill humans carelessly. It draws attention to us. In order to survive, we avoid unnecessary attention. So we deal with those who don’t think like we do. I as Commissioner seek out lawbreakers and bring them to justice and Bernard decides on sentences for crimes.” Knox said.
Lauryl looked from Knox to Bernard, who seemed content to watch Margaret Thatcher swim in the tank.
“I thought there weren’t many rules for vampires.”
“There aren’t, believe it or not,” Knox said. “One would think that for as long as we have existed, some sort of codified system would have been developed but it just hasn’t ever happened. Newborn vampires look to ancient ones for guidance.” Knox said.
“So is Bernard like a king?” Lauryl asked.
Both Knox and Bernard laughed.
“I’m hardly a king. I’m the oldest vampire who permanently resides in London, or for that matter, the U.K. so I oversee its vampire population. I’m the Elder,” Bernard said.
“You’re older than Knox?”
“By two hundred years.”
“So you’re like seven hundred and fifty years old and not the oldest vampire in London?”
“Yes.”
“Who is?” As soon as she asked, she knew. They didn’t have to tell her. She knew it as if Eamon whispered it in her ear. Their blood bond told her.
“Let me guess who’s the oldest,” she muttered. She frowned at the shark and then at Bernard. “How old is he?”
“You don’t know?” Knox asked.
“No.”
“I don’t either. He’s older than any vampire I know of. He’s rumored to be the oldest vampire in the world.”
“I can’t believe it.” She kicked her platform shoe in frustration.
“What can’t you believe?” Knox asked.
“I can’t believe I have to be bound to the oldest vampire in the world. I can’t stand him and I’m stuck with him.”
“Ask him to let you go,” Knox said.
“I’ve tried. The only way of getting away from him is if I just disappear.”
“When you learn how, you can,” Knox said, smiling.
Bernard carefully observed the interaction between Knox and Lauryl. “Knox,” Bernard said coolly. The two vampires stared at each other as if they were engaged in a silent conversation.
After a moment, Lauryl reached out to Knox. “Can you teach me?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
You’re Living. Like It or Not.
“I have a surprise for you.” Eamon fanned an envelope in front of her.
Lauryl flung the copy of Hello! Magazine in her hand aside.
“I think this is something you will enjoy,” he said. The smug expression on his face gave the appearance he was already congratulating himself for whatever he was going to tell her.
Her shoulders lifted in a shrug.
Eamon pulled a large vellum card out of the envelope and held it out to her. It was an invitation to a charity auction benefiting the schools of the Royal Ballet. A ripple of excitement rolled through her. She handed the card back to him and picked up the magazine again.
“I guess it sounds okay,” she said with the same remote look he often gave her.
Eamon snatched the card away from her. “Perhaps showing a bit of gratitude or excitement might in order.”
“Yay,” she said, not even bothering to look up from the magazine.
“In your enthusiasm, I’m sure you failed to notice the date. Two weeks from tonight.” He rolled his eyes and walked out of the room.
&nbs
p; Lauryl glanced up from the magazine and smiled.
* * *
Lauryl fiddled with a bead on the new couture gown Eamon bought for her and stared out the window of the limo as they drove along. She twisted the bead and furrowed her brow as if contemplating a huge problem.
Eamon resisted the urge to invade her thoughts. “You are stunning tonight.”
She stopped twisting the bead and turned toward him. Her green eyes held no emotion. “Thank you.”
He stared at her for a minute before shaking his head. “I don’t understand you. You sit there like you are dead.”
“I am dead,” she said. “Or am I? I don’t know. Am I dead or undead, like they say in the movies?”
“You’re living. Like it or not.”
“Well, I’m living with someone I hate.”
Eamon’s jaw clenched. “You’ve got a long time to get over that.” The car pulled in front of the Royal Opera House. Eamon frowned at the long line of paparazzi that had lined up. “But as it stands, you’re stuck with me.” He smoothed his hand over his shirtfront and looked back at her. “Now, get your negative, little ass out of this car.”
Lauryl pushed back against the seat. “Why won’t you let me go? You don’t really care about me. I mean, why can’t I live on my own? You let Irina live on her own.”
“Because you’re careless. You’d be dead in a month. There are people out there who know our kind exist and want to kill us, as evidenced by Irina.”
“I wish I could find one of them,” she mumbled as she slid across the seat. Eamon reached over before she could get out and caught her wrist. She cried out as he squeezed until her diamond bracelet cut into her skin. She looked down at her wrist and then up at him.
“Behave tonight, please.” He squeezed again, this time not as tight, and let go of her.
Eamon’s driver, Paul, opened the door and she tried to bolt from the car, but the blinding flashes from the photographers stunned her, halting her escape. Her eyes adjusted and she started to walk when Eamon’s hand cupped her elbow. She stiffened briefly fought to hide a frown.
“Do you have to touch me?” she asked.
He leaned into her and smiled for the benefit of the photographers, who thought they were getting a shot of the elusive Eamon Rutherford. “I’m your husband,” he said as he gave her a soft shove through the door.
Once inside the Paul Hamlyn Hall, Lauryl pulled away from him and blended into the milling crowd. She could still hear his voice though. He had stopped to talk to who she assumed was a business acquaintance. The muscles in her neck and shoulders remained knotted until she could no longer hear him and then relaxed. Freedom, she thought as she glanced around the crowded room. A star-struck smile crossed her face when Sir Anthony Dowell and Miyako Yoshida looked up from their conversation and acknowledged her. She waved back and continued through the room. Dancers, agents, designers and other assorted dance people talked and laughed. This might not be so bad after all, she thought. She took a glass of champagne and scanned some of the items available in the auction.
One item caught her eye. An autographed performance poster from long ago signed by Dame Margot Fonteyn. She sighed and recalled how much she loved watching her dance on TV when she was a child. She told her grandmother that she was going to dance just like Miss Margot, as she called her. Lauryl smiled as she recalled the warm memories of her grandmother. She made a mental note of the item number on the poster. She wanted it and she didn’t care how much he had to pay.
After wandering around and socializing with dancers and choreographers, Lauryl decided that she’d have to go back and sit with Eamon if she wanted him to bid on that poster. The idea of sitting with him was unpleasant but she wanted the poster. He’d want something in return, which she wasn’t willing to give. That was being selfish but she was following his lead.
It still puzzled her why he wouldn’t let her live on her own. She doubted it was because he thought she couldn’t take care of herself. Instead she suspected that he couldn’t admit he’d made a mistake with her. His pride wasn’t going to allow her to be free and happy. She knew he was unhappy. They fought all the time, but he wouldn’t let go. She wished she could just get rid of him or disappear herself. She stopped walking.
* * *
“Planning my death?” Eamon asked when he walked over to her.
His presence startled her. “I couldn’t do that,” she said quickly.
“No, but this is the first time in months I’ve seen you genuinely happy. You must be planning to do me some sort of harm for you to smile like that.”
She laced her arm through his and shook her head. “I’ve found something I’d like to have. Would you bid on it for me?”
The sensation of her willing touch melted his brittle irritation from earlier. “What is it?” he asked as they walked to their seats.
“It’s a performance poster autographed by Dame Margot. I’d love to have it.” She sat down and leaned against him. After a few moments, she scratched the top of his thigh and kissed him.
Suspicion rather that pleasure pulsed through Eamon. Something was up, he thought. He took her small hand and folded it in his. Perhaps he should take a brief peek at her thoughts, just to be certain, he thought. No, she’d feel it and it would upset her, causing her to swing back to her moody self. Trust her.
“I’ll buy you anything you want.”
“Thank you.” She took her hand from his, slid it up his thigh, and down between his legs.
“Are you certain you’d like to stay? I can have someone bid on our behalf. You seem to have other things on your mind.”
She removed her hand coyly. “No, I want you to get it. Besides, won’t it be more fun if we wait?”
“What if I don’t want to wait?”
“Oh,” she purred in his ear. “Force yourself.”
After waiting ages for her to allow him to touch her, the last thing he wanted to do was wait. Something vague nagged at him. Something about her abrupt turnaround raised a warning flag in his mind. Nothing specific, but it was enough to distract him. He cut his eyes over to her and studied her face. A tiny, predatory glint lit up her eyes as she stared at the auctioneer. Hunger.
Her appetite approached the level of a mature vampire and that pleased him. She was no longer squeamish about feeding. Once in a rare moment of confidence, she told him that she’d never felt so complete, so powerful. The admission came as a surprise to him. She was difficult to understand, a complex puzzle. He wondered how that idiot psychiatrist had managed to do so.
Lauryl ran her tongue over her lips and then turned to him. He looked forward but the gaze she’d now fixed on his face irritated him. It was the same predatory stare she’d watched the auctioneer with. He looked back at her and her expression softened to a more complacent one.
Better, he thought.
“Are you hungry?” he whispered.
“Somewhat.”
“Let’s go.” He was hungry himself.
“I can wait,” Lauryl whispered back.
“Now,” he mumbled as he sat forward.
“No,” she said and pulled him back. “I’ll go and meet you back at home.”
“I’m ready now. I’ll have someone proxy bid for us.”
Lauryl caught his hand and put it on her breast under her dress. “Stay and meet me back at home.” She scooted forward and touched his cheek. “I won’t be long.” She kissed him softly but then her kiss deepened. He withdrew in surprise and she placed her hand back between his thighs. Eamon relaxed into the kiss.
I want to leave now, he said into her mind.
His tongue slipped deeper in her mouth and they remained in their embrace for a moment. If she said fuck me here, he would have done it. He would have glamoured the two hundred people there and stripped off the twelve-thousand-dollar gown she was wearing.
“Just give me a little time.” She pulled away and caressed his cheek.
“Against my better judgment.”
An inviting smile appeared on her lips and she stood up. The people behind them gave her a disapproving glare. She bent back over him almost completely exposing her breasts. “Now, don’t forget me.”
“As if I could.” After she walked out, he turned to the people seated behind him. “We’re newlyweds.”
“We gathered,” the man said and gave Lauryl an appreciative glance.
Eamon turned back to the auctioneer and thought about Lauryl. It would be impossible for him to sit through the entire auction, especially when all he could think about was going home to her. However, until she fed and settled her more predatory impulses, it was best to wait.
Her sudden change of attitude still bothered him. How in the span of less than an hour could she adjust so acutely? It was as if she was a different person. Eamon grit his teeth together as he thought about that. What if what she had done tonight was false? What if the affection she had shown was an act? What if that was her attempt at glamouring?
He looked down at his watch. She’d only been gone a little more than an hour. He knew she wouldn’t be back from feeding. It would take her some time to find something she liked. Eamon shot out of his seat. As he stalked out into the lobby, he grabbed the first uniformed usher by the arm. The startled young man backed away from Eamon.
“Mr. Rutherford, sir. Is-is there a problem?” he stammered.
“I seem to have left my phone in my car. Is there a private phone I may use?”
Before the young man could answer, the house manager hurried over to intervene. “Mr. Rutherford, if you’ll follow me, I’ll be happy to direct you to a phone.”
Eamon let go of the usher and followed the house manager to a private suite. The manager motioned to a chair and brought the phone over to the table next to him. “Thank you,” Eamon said curtly.
The house manager, who was accustomed to being ill-treated by patrons simply nodded politely. “May I bring you a drink? Or perhaps I can inform your wife—”
Eamon held his hand up, cutting off the man in mid-sentence. “The drink…” Eamon waited for the man to volunteer his name.
“Collins, sir. Timothy Collins.”
“Yes, Collins, Glenlivet.” He motioned to the door.
Life in Moonlight: The Primigenio Tales: Book 1 Page 14