Life in Moonlight: The Primigenio Tales: Book 1

by Alison Beightol

  “Immediately, sir.”

  Eamon dialed the number to her cell phone, but she didn’t answer. He then tried the house phone. Nothing. He sat in the chair, with the receiver across his lap. The tone from the phone became annoying so he dropped it back in the cradle.

  Maybe she’s out feeding, he thought. What else could she be doing? He rested his chin on his palm and stared at the large arrangement of white roses on a sideboard across the room.

  My companion, he thought. She’s my companion, my wife. Even if our marriage isn’t a human marriage, we share the bond of blood. His blood was in her. She might not like it but it was a fact. Trust her. He closed his eyes for a moment. Why did he have to tell himself to trust her? A soft knock on the door caused his eyes to snap open. Collins came in with a glass of scotch and placed it next to him.

  “Thank you, Collins.”

  “Will you need anything else, sir?”

  Eamon drained the glass and stood up. “No, I’m going back to the auction. I’m waiting to bid on something for my wife.”

  Collins bowed his head.

  * * *

  As he rode back to the house, Eamon’s uneasiness dissolved and was replaced by satisfaction since he had been able to get the poster the Lauryl wanted. He didn’t even mind paying the seventeen thousand pounds it had cost him.

  “Is my wife back, Paul?” he asked.

  “I believe so, sir. She went out after I dropped her off, but I think she’s back.”

  Eamon looked down at his watch. Two and a half hours had passed. She should be back unless of course she was playing with her victim. That was a possibility. As they pulled up to the house, he knew she wasn’t home. He didn’t feel her anywhere close. Eamon went inside and tossed off his tuxedo jacket. The house had a curious emptiness. It wasn’t just that he was physically alone in the house. It was something more. He walked into the living room and poured himself a drink while he waited for Lauryl to come home.

  After his third drink and several hours passing, Eamon’s uneasiness grew. He wasn’t angry. He was concerned. She had never been out this long. In addition, she wasn’t the type to feed on more than one human in an evening. He walked up to her room and looked around. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The gown she had worn hung in the closet and her shoes, stockings, and undergarments lay strewn across the floor as they usually were. He could still sense her presence in the room. She wasn’t very good at hiding from other vampires. He wasn’t sure if she just couldn’t do it or didn’t care to do it. Eamon checked his watch. It was now half past four. He went into his room to get his car keys.

  Eamon despised driving in London. Although, at this hour of the morning, it was tolerable. He turned onto Wardour Street and cruised down it slowly. He understood why Lauryl liked this area. Its trendy bars and clubs still sat in the West End but it edged along some areas that made the hunting easy. Drunks, tourists, and thrill seekers always made an easy meal. As he looked at the now-darkened bars and clubs, he felt no sign of Lauryl. He pulled his car over, got out, and stood on the sidewalk. The fading trace markers of other vampires brushed against him but nothing of her. He didn’t even think she had been there. He got back into his car and drove along Oxford Street to Bayswater Road parallel to Hyde Park, thinking maybe she had changed her mind. He only sensed the presence of random, anonymous vampires looking for blood before dawn. They scattered as he lingered on the sidewalk, his marker frightening them away. He felt the same thing along Kensington High Street. He knew she wouldn’t be there but he checked just the same.

  When he returned to their house at Holland Park, he knew she wasn’t home yet. The house was dark. If she had come in, she would have left every light on. He walked to the edge of the park, but felt nothing. He turned on his heel and walked back to the house.

  It was now close to six. He’d finished his business correspondence and reviewed the final details of Irina’s estate.

  The lingering particulars of her possessions wounded him. Her New York apartment sold quickly, which was what he wanted. Grant settled the majority of the details for him. He had all of her personal things gathered up and put them in storage for Eamon in New York. Grant sent her jewelry to Eamon’s apartment. One day, Eamon hoped he could go through the boxes and jewelry but he didn’t think it would be anytime soon. It still hurt too much.

  Eamon went upstairs back to Lauryl’s room and got in her bed. He told himself that there had to be an explanation. More than likely it would involve her carelessness and lack of consideration. After tossing and turning for an hour, he finally allowed himself to fall into his day sleep.

  * * *

  At four o’clock, Eamon awoke hoping to find Lauryl home but she wasn’t. It was now beyond a late feeding or lack of consideration. His first instinct was that something had happened to her. Maybe she had met someone who knew what she was and killed her. Lauryl was careless enough. It could even happen to an old vampire, like Irina. But when Irina died a few months ago, it struck him to his core. He felt the last bit of life slip away from her like it was him. He hadn’t felt anything like that with Lauryl. It was as if she’d just vanished. Eamon bolted forward in the bed.

  She vanished. Lauryl walked away from him without him even giving it a second thought. That was why her mood changed so abruptly. She must have concocted some sort of scheme and used last night as a chance to put it into action. But how? She wasn’t skilled enough to manage something like that. Or was she? She had come into her own since they arrived in London. The few times they fed together, she was incomparable. It was as if she was a vampire several centuries older. Her ability to glamour humans was superb. Perhaps her “I hate being a vampire” line was just a cover story, a ruse.

  Eamon tried to dress but couldn’t put off calling Grant any longer. “Grant, have you heard from Lauryl?” he asked as he buttoned his shirt. He tried to keep his voice calm and unconcerned.

  “Lauryl? No, she can’t stand me. Why?”

  “Because she isn’t here.” The muscles in his neck tightened into knots as the remainder of his patience evaporated.

  “What do you mean?”

  What little composure Eamon had maintained snapped. “Did I stutter, you fool? She isn’t here. She left last night and I haven’t heard from her since. All of her things are here but she isn’t.” His hands shook as he fastened his cuff links and threaded his tie through his collar.

  “Can she do that?”

  Eamon stopped tying his tie and his jaw clenched. “Grant, I swear if you were here, I’d kill you. Apparently, she can because she did. Jesus Christ, you’re stupid for a lawyer.”

  “I’m only stupid about your world. Not the legal world,” Grant said defensively. He hesitated for a moment. “Have you checked back in Washington?”

  “No! I’m not going to call and say, have you seen my wife? I’m leaving in an hour to come back to the states. While I’m in transit, I expect you to be looking for her. Don’t close any of her bank accounts or credit cards. Just leave everything as it is.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Eamon ended the call. He finished his tie and put his watch on. Lauryl had surprised him beyond his expectations. She had told him she couldn’t stand him over and over again. She figured out a way to leave him and she did. Now he had to find her before she ended up dead. Although at this point, he wanted to kill her himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Can’t You Just Find Her Using Your Own Ways?

  The flight from Seattle to Northup’s tiny, private airport seemed to take three times longer than it usually did. Eamon got off his private jet without a word to his flight crew and jumped in his car. The car squealed off the tarmac and shot down the road.

  His thoughts had been racing since he left London. Twelve hours later, he still was mystified by how Lauryl had disappeared without even the tiniest of traces. It was like she didn’t exist. Some vampires had the ability to camouflage their markers to appear almost invisible. But he thought
that skill was limited to older vampires like himself. He’d never heard of any who could completely mask their presence. Even he had trouble doing it for extended periods. His thoughts drifted back to the ancient teachings of his maker, Eleanor. The only relevant information she’d given him was that humans who possess gifts of guile or cunning before being turned often learned to amplify those as a vampire. Had he underestimated Lauryl?

  Eamon unlocked the front door and disabled the alarm system. He took a cautious look around the foyer, feeling for Lauryl’s presence. When he felt nothing, he jogged up the stairs to her bedroom. Again, nothing. He couldn’t tell if she had been here or not.

  The room was exactly as she left it. He could smell the fading scent of her perfume but not her. He opened the closet doors and all of the clothing she’d left was still hanging, as it should be. Her jewelry drawer remained closed. He opened it, half-expecting it to be empty, but it wasn’t. It was all still there.

  She hadn’t been back here. He closed the closet door behind him and stood for a moment, considering where she could have gone. The only thing he could think of was to call Martin and see if he had heard from her. Or call her therapist.

  That God damned doctor. His fists clenched and his fangs dropped down at the thought of that fool. She’d probably run to him and then they’d gone off to God knows where. He pulled his phone out and turned it over a few times as he walked to the door. As he reached for the doorknob, he stopped. Something caught his eye and he turned to make sure he had seen it correctly. In the corner, by her bed, was the easel the Degas painting sat on. It was empty.

  Three quick strides across the room brought him in front of the easel. He glared at the empty wooden stand. She’d been there after all and stayed long enough to steal the painting. The gift he’d given her. Technically she didn’t steal it, but she might as well have. She snuck in like a thief and absconded with it.

  He shoved his phone back in his pocket and grabbed the easel. With a swift movement he collapsed the easel’s legs and swung the it into her dressing table. Her perfume and lotion bottles shattered and shards of crystal flew across the room. Eamon launched the easel against the wall. The wood splintered as it impacted. He yanked open the closet door, pulling it from its hinges. With a new fury, he hurled out her clothing. Dresses and shoes flew out the door and within minutes he emptied the entire closet. The only care he exercised was with her jewelry drawer. He simply dumped the contents into his pockets and stalked out of the wrecked closet.

  In his room, he unloaded his pockets onto his dresser and paced back and forth.

  She left me, he thought. The stupid bitch betrayed me for that asinine doctor.

  Eamon couldn’t believe it. No one, human or vampire, had ever betrayed him. It just didn’t happen. Lauryl was full of firsts for him. He looked at his watch, a quarter to ten. He dialed directory assistance for the phone number for Lauryl’s doctor and then dialed it. A recording told him that Wilson’s office was no longer seeing patients and all records could be obtained—. Eamon hung up and dialed Grant.

  “Grant, have our investigators begin an immediate search for Anthony Wilson, MD of Ocean Shores. I don’t know anything else of the man other than he’s a psychiatrist. I want no stone left unturned. I want him found.” He ran his hand through his hair.

  A pause ensued on the other end of the line. “Eamon, I’m not questioning, but why are you looking for him?”

  “Because when I find that moron, I’ll find Lauryl.”

  “Can’t you find her using your own ways?”

  “I could if I could feel her or sense her, but I can’t. Simply do as I ask.”

  He ended the call and glanced around the room. In all of this he had neglected his hunger. He hadn’t fed in four days and now was hungry to the point of distraction. If he didn’t feed soon his judgment would become impaired and his strength would decrease dramatically. He dialed his phone again and a smile turned on his lips when he heard the voice on the other end.

  “Hello, Jennifer. Have you missed me as much as I’ve missed you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  As Long as You Aren’t a Pervert

  Eamon knotted his tie and frowned as he sat back down on his bed. Tampa annoyed him. Or at least the August weather did. The heat, even after sunset, was sticky and oppressive and the wind that blew in off Tampa Bay wasn’t pleasant. It just circulated the steamy air. He’d come to Tampa at the worst possible time. From mid-June until early September, it rained every afternoon. The humidity that lingered irritated him as well. Most evenings, when he woke up, steam would still be rising off the wet streets and his windows clouded with condensation.

  Right now the only charm the city held was that it hid his runaway, duplicitous companion. He still couldn’t sense her, though. As much as he reached out with his mind, he came up with nothing. His small team of human investigators had been a waste so far. They were only able to track Wilson to Tampa and then they came up empty handed.

  One thing Tampa did have, Eamon discovered, was a high population of vampires. This seemed unusual to Eamon. Vampires usually didn’t congregate in such large numbers in cities the size of Tampa. It was dangerous. More vampires in a concentrated area meant more opportunities for discovery and potential destruction. Wherever he went he could feel at least one lingering and no doubt, they felt him as well. Since he arrived, Eamon removed all of the mental barriers he maintained to keep his self-imposed isolation intact. He hoped that by keeping himself open to other vampires, one of them might be able to help him find Lauryl. He still couldn’t understand how another vampire, a younger vampire, would be able to do what he hadn’t learned until he reached over one hundred years of age.

  As he tucked his phone into his pocket, it vibrated. He saw Grant’s name on the caller ID.

  “Yes?”

  “Eamon, I got a call earlier from someone down there in Tampa who wants to meet with you.”

  “Who is it?” he asked as he walked down the stairs.

  “She said she was someone who wanted to introduce herself and provide hospitality for you.”

  “A vampire.” Eamon stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked around the foyer.

  “She didn’t say.”

  He laughed. “She didn’t have to. I can tell by what she said.”

  “Oh. I told her I’d speak with you but I couldn’t guarantee anything. She said that she knew you valued your privacy.”

  “Tell her I’ll meet with her. Get the specifics and text me.” He ended the call and checked his watch. It was only eight o’clock.

  * * *

  Eamon walked down the sidewalk of Hyde Park Village, a quaint shopping area close to his house and studied the people as they filed in and out of the stores and restaurants. Being alone at home was intolerable and driving around in the dark grey Porsche Boxster the dealership sent over to him now bored him as well.

  Tonight, his loneliness was more acute. In his entire existence as a vampire, he’d only experienced loneliness of this intensity one other time and that was when his maker died. It had been long ago but he still remembered her. Eleanor was beautiful. She was fair with light red hair and had the most vivid blue-green eyes. The daughter of a Roman Senator, she’d been turned around the time of Julius Caesar by a Persian slave girl her family bought to work in the house. The day walking vampire slaughtered entire family but decided to spare and turn Eleanor because of the color of her eyes. Eleanor often told Eamon that there is always something in humans to redeem them if you’re willing to search for it. She found it in him. He wanted to be like her and that was enough. She said he possessed a strong survival instinct. He didn’t think it was anything that noble. It was far more self-serving. He simply wanted to be a vampire.

  Now, he was alone again. He chided himself for having such a small line of vampires. If he’d been like other vampires he’d encountered over the centuries, he’d have more offspring around him. He was different, though. He regarded his rol
e as Primigenio, the Great Old One, with an intense solemnity and chose not to turn many humans. He couldn’t protect them properly if there were too many, and if he was honest, he didn’t have the patience for many offspring and their needs. But that was when he was a much younger and more self-centered vampire. Tonight, he wished he’d made different choices.

  Eamon stopped outside of a bookstore and studied the books on display in the window. A book might distract him. Watching the people inside might distract him even more. He wasn’t hungry, but he never ruled out the occasional, random feed. He stood in front of the shelf of new releases and glanced around the store. In the back, in the new age and occult books, a young woman caught his attention.

  Her black hair fell almost to her mid-back and one of the straps of the oversized overalls she was wearing hung unfastened down her back. Her pale skin at the top of her curvy hips peeked out where her tank top stopped and the strap was unfastened. She caught him studying her and glared at him. A smirk appeared on his lips when she adjusted the ear buds on her iPod and returned her attention to the books in front of her.

  Lovely. Her brown eyes, which burned with irritation at him, drew his attention. They appeared almost black against her porcelain skin. She was lovely, like a little gothic doll. He walked over to the aisle where she was and stood a few feet from her. The music that overflowed from the ear buds was from La Bohème. He shifted his position. The delicious smell of her floral perfume and natural scent drifted over to him. He took a deep breath of her, leaned an elbow on the shelf and picked up a book on Tarot cards. His view was better but no sooner than he became comfortable, she snatched a book from the shelf and made her way to the front of the store to pay.

  Eamon replaced the book he had been thumbing through and moved toward a table of current events. His focus remained on the young woman. Now, even more intrigued, he followed her out of the store, but stayed a few yards behind her. Twice she stopped abruptly, sending him hurrying into doorways. The third time she stopped she spun around, pulled the pink ear buds down, and scowled at him.