After their brief talk, she’d closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. The conversation about her family made her remember a past she now looked back on with pain. As the silence thickened, Tristan had fallen asleep. And she lay awake, waiting for something terrible to happen, for the anger to burst forth. All she felt, however, was satiated.
She turned and faced the sleeping man next to her. His soft breathing and relaxed features stirred warmth in her chest. Temptation to touch him tingled through her fingers, and she bit back a curse. The anger she expected didn’t exist, or maybe it did, but she was too tired to revel in it. Being with him had been so beautiful. She frowned at her choice of words: beautiful? It shouldn’t have been. She shoved the negative emotion aside, not quite ready to face reality.
With a tentative hand, she traced her fingers across his cheek, over the indented scar and along the line of his jaw. She enjoyed the funny sensation in her stomach, the slight imprint of happiness, and after tonight… A silent tear trailed down her face. Tomorrow she would deal with the guilt. Her eyes drooped and she drifted to sleep; hoping daybreak took its sweet time.
****
Brianna cringed, unable to recall when she had fallen asleep. She’d had sex with Tristan. The reality roused her.
You chose him over your sister once again. A sly voice echoed through her thoughts.
Her eyes shot open, mouth agape, a gasp caught in her throat.
It was true, she did. The first time had been at the Armistice Celebration, when she took off with him rather than seek her sister, and last night, choosing the pleasure he gave over honouring her dead family, one that had done everything for her.
What have I done? Shrinking back into the mattress, she hesitated, her eyes shifted to the ceiling, down to red silk sheets, then at last, the spot beside her. Empty. He must have positioned her to the head of the bed before he’d left. A white sheet of paper lay on the pillow. She sat up on her elbows and snagged it.
Dear Brianna.
I must attend a meeting this morning, but I'll be back in your arms in no time.
All my love,
Tristan.
He wrote, all my love. Love? The word sent vibrations through her. The single syllable became an awakening, an undeniable truth that pumped in sync with each beat of her heart. Love! Bile rose in her throat, replacing the mellifluous emotion.
Oh, no, no, no. Tears stung her eyes, so hot as though she sniffed sulphur. Salty drops ran along her cheeks, over her chin and down her neck. She loved her sister's killer. Unable to deny it any longer, he held her heart. He had it from the first time she laid eyes on him, but it wasn’t right, and could not go on. Even if she wanted him, and every part of her ached to be with him, what sick person continued a relationship with the man who took her sister's life? She ran her hands through her hair, nails clawing at her scalp.
“I love him,” she cried. Last night she struggled to sleep, but now she realised she hadn’t wanted to. She hadn’t wanted the night to end, to wake the next day and face reality.
Guilt and shame ground her up from the inside like a school of piranhas. She sniffled, rubbing her face with the back of her hand. He said he didn't do it, told her he never killed anyone. Yes, he'd said that, yet that didn’t change what he did. Her shoulder’s sagged, forcing the tiniest bit of hope to disappear. Why he lied, she did not know. But, she wasn’t blind. She knew what she saw, and would rather die than disrespect her sister's memory by continuing this relationship. Only one thing left to do. She must leave. Now.
Brianna shot from the bed and ran to the closet. Grasping both iron levers, she flung the doors back. Several shades of dark shirts hung on the left. Tristan had made space for the new clothes Cynthia gave her. The gowns draped in neat order off the rack on her right and she scanned through black dress after black dress.
Dammit. She could just see herself tripping over the long gowns in her flight. These were not appropriate for fleeing a cave. She yanked open one of the drawers beneath the rack, rummaged through the sets of folded lace underwear, and found a pair of thick, black pantyhose…thick enough to pass as leggings.
This will do. She sifted through his shirts, stole a grey long-sleeved one and slid into the soft cotton. The material fell to her knees, but was better than the alternative. She tied a leather belt around the shirt, then made her way to the bathroom and slipped into her waitress shoes.
Her shoulders slumped when she reached the door.
Crap. What am I thinking? The door would be locked, not to mention guarded by those vampire goons known as Tristan’s brothers. “Think, Brianna,” she muttered. If she wanted her plan to work, she needed to find a way to pass them. Okay, she could trick them; bang on the door, fake an emergency to make them open, and run past them…. No, maybe if she convinced them to take her to Tristan, and then lose them on the way…
Air puffed from her lips. They would never believe her. She laid her head against the door, closed her eyes and listened to the silence. She was doomed to remain down here…wait! Silence? Pressing her ear against the thick wood, she waited for the mutter of voices. Nothing.
A speck of hope sparked inside her. With gentle precision, she secured her hand around the handle and twisted. The knob turned with ease, and her brow rose to her hairline. She opened the door with care. “Impossible,” she whispered.
No one stood outside. Had Tristan forgotten? Had his brothers gone on a break? A smile arched her lips. This would be easier than she imagined. She shut the door behind her, headed down the long hallway, recalling the route she took with him last night, and how it led to an open space. Nerves raked her body, making her shiver.
She didn’t know her way out of this cave. No, I made it out of that room. That’s a start. Besides, Tristan or his brothers would soon realise she had run away, and no doubt send a whole vampire army after her.
She descended the same set of stairs from last night. The hallway on her right was her best bet, since the one on the left led to the main ballroom. She hoped this trail led to an exit. The smooth floor silenced her steps—thank goodness for her sneakers—but she kept looking over her shoulder just in case someone spotted her, or followed. She turned the corner.
“And I told him he should consider his future. I just don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Don’t let this get to you, Lydia. Your boy is only sixty years old. It’s a phase he’s going through. It will pass.”
Brianna swung back around, hid against the side of the wall as two British females strolled by. This time she stole a peek. The women were further down the hallway, entering a room. A few others stood in the distance, but the chatty group didn’t notice her. She darted out from behind the wall, but kept close to the shadows. The long staircase on her left felt like her best choice and she descended the steps. Torches lit the dark place, thank goodness; otherwise she’d be lost in darkness. There must be a way out. She passed several empty rooms, coming across another staircase.
Down the stairs, she found, yet again, another vacant room. Smoke shadowed the air and she frowned, looking left, then right. Had a fire started? Was someone in trouble? She rushed around another corner, ran into a hard object and staggered back. She had knocked into a vampire. Oh crap.
He was about her height, wore steel capped boots, a brown leather apron and tatty welding gloves. Ash and smudges of coal covered him from the top of his white-blonde hair all the way down to his thick boots. He must be a blacksmith of some sort.
“Vous êtes qui?”
“Um, sorry. I don’t speak French.”
He blinked. "Why are you down here?" His tone held surprise, brows furrowed with confusion.
"Oh, you speak English. Hi.” She smiled with a bravado she did not feel. “I’m…um, I’m just touring the cave, that's all."
He surveyed their surroundings, as though unable to believe she wanted to tour this part of the cave. "You shouldn’t be down here alone." His hand rested on her back to guide her around.
<
br /> “Oh, but I’m not by myself,” Brianna swung and faced him. “My, um, moitié will join me soon…he told me to meet him down here.”
"Your moitié?" His nose tilted, breathing in the air. “Strange.”
“What?” Did he smell something on her? Brianna checked herself over.
“I smell a bond, but it is weak. I’ve never come across a person with a weak bond. Who is your moitié?”
“Tristan. He’s in a council conference, but should be down here any minute,” she said with what she hoped was a convincing tone.
“Tristan Delacroix?” His thin lips stretched into a grin. “You are the human girl everyone is talking about.”
Ah, yes. Cynthia mentioned she and Tristan were the talk of Désuet. “Yes,” she said, heat filling her cheeks. She never liked being the centre of attention.
His eyes danced over her body, brows furrowed. “Were you not given custom clothing when you arrived?”
“Oh,” she muttered, rubbing her slick palms down the long shirt. All this questioning made her nervous. “Where I come from we only wear formal gowns for a special occasion, like a dance.”
Where I come from? She made it sound as if Mars were her home planet.
“Odd.” He shook his head. “In Désuet, women wear the dresses on a regular basis out of respect to our heritage. It’s tradition.”
“Right. I must have missed the memo in my welcome pack.” She laughed, trying for a joke, which did nothing to lessen his bewilderment. “Well, I’m sure in time I’ll adapt.” She offered a polite smile, hoping he’d drop the subject.
“Everyone is on a break, and I’m about to head up myself,” he said, eyes roaming over the ceiling, “but I don’t mind showing you around before the councillor gets here.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Brianna insisted. “Go on your break, you must be starved—I mean, thirsty. I’ll be fine.”
“Bien.” He shifted with an awkward pause. “I just find it strange Councillor Delacroix wants to show you around down here. There’s nothing interesting about soot and ash, or even the vents. He should be taking you to the Le Château restaurant or even the Détente day spa.”
Vents? And Bingo was his name-o! “Well, this is a little embarrassing, but you see, Tristan and I haven’t quite gotten along since I’ve been here.”
Those brown eyes widened, and the vampire leaned forward. “Yes,” he whispered. “I have heard many stories, but gossip most of the time is simply that.”
“Well, in this case it’s true. We’re doing better, and I want to atone for my mistakes by showing him how much I can learn about Désuet. So he came up with this idea of touring the place and said we shall start with the vents, but I forgot his directions. It’s so easy to forget which is where and what is what." She gave a clueless grin, holding out her hands. “This place is huge.”
"Yes, huge indeed.” He chuckled, pointing past her shoulder. “This long, downward hallway leads to the vents."
"Sounds great. You know what will be better, if I could impress Tristan with my knowledge of his world. Maybe you could tell me a little bit about these vents?"
The vampire wiped soot off his brow with the back of a gloved hand and smiled. She got him!
And the Grammy for best actress goes to…Brianna Johnson.
"The tunnels lead up to the surface."
Surface! Oh thank god!
"The vents have been here since the first constructions to Désuet. When we do go up them, it is for maintenance, but takes at least two hours to crawl all the way to the top.”
“Interesting, and how often are they maintained?”
“Once a month. Just to clear out any build-up of leaves and twigs. Of course, this must be done at night. No vampire risks going up there this time of day."
Daytime. Good, if she climbed high enough, they’d be unable to come after her. Two hours crawling would be worthwhile. She could do this. "Yes, of course. Thank you. I’m sure he’ll be very impressed when I mention this. So, I guess I'll just wander around a little more before he arrives."
"All right, but don't get lost."
She waved and continued down the rocky hall. The smooth floor beneath her merged into cobble, dirt and pebbles. She took slower, steadier steps down the unstable hallway. When she reached the end, she turned a corner.
Row after row of large, gated holes aligned the dark stone wall. Several lit torches sat between the spaces of each vent, shedding little light.
Drip. Drip. The splashing sound reverberated from one of the vents at the far end. Other than the splash of water, the place remained quiet. So noiseless in fact, ghosts did not bother residing here. The vents seemed big enough to crawl through, but gosh, they were dark. Old, rusty handlebars embedded inside trailed upward until they disappeared within the darkness. Without a torch, or at least a cell phone to light her way, she would have to rely on the feel of the handles. It should be all right. She bit her lip. Right?
Okay, time to put on some big girl panties and toughen up. Brianna stepped to the closest vent, bent down and lifted the gate. Her arms shook, holding the heavy steel open and popped her head inside the dark space. It reeked of…well, crap. Scrunching her nose, she drew back.
This better lead to the top and not some sewage passage. No, the vampire said these were the vents. She had the right tunnels. I can do this. Her whimper echoed in the darkness.
I must do this. The horrible scent and complete darkness would not stop her. She stepped inside, and shut the gate behind her.
Bending down, she clung onto the cold handlebars and climbed. Frigid air sank under her clothes and into her skin. No doubt fog puffed with each breath. She used her feet to tiptoe across the lower bars and extended her hands for the rails above. Her thoughts centred on what awaited on the other side rather than the sudden fear trembling down her spine. Not the type to be easily spooked, but anyone climbing a quiet, pitch-black tunnel all alone would feel uncomfortable.
She bit her bottom lip. Her heart felt bruised and swollen at the concept of leaving. No goodbye, no…nothing. Why did it cause so much pain? She had to leave. Regardless of this moitié bond between them, she could never be his.
Her breath quickened, puffing from her lips. How long since she started climbing? At least a half hour. Unable to tell if the crappy scent lingered, maybe she had adapted to it, or couldn’t smell a thing through her cold, numb nose.
Her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness, but she sensed where the handlebars were and seized them with swift speed as she climbed. Her body warmed from the swift exercise, and even though she grew tired, she didn’t care. She wanted out, far away from this place as possible.
She shook her head, aware the distance between her and Tristan did nothing to lessen the throbbing pain in her chest. She fought a losing battle with herself. It didn’t matter. The loss of her heart was nothing compared to her honour to her dead sister, or her family.
She froze in the darkness, her rasping breath left her lips. Did she just hear something? Or was her lack of sight playing tricks with her mind? Her eyes squinted through the black void. Useless, she couldn’t see a damn thing…
Eeek! Jeepers, what was that high-pitched sound? Another shudder ran along her spine. No, not just any sound, but a screech.
Eeek! Eeek!
There sang another, and another, until hundreds of high-pitched screeches rang the air, and the whoosh of flapping wings drew closer. Brianna squinted through the darkness. What was it?
Eeek! Eeek! Eeek! Eeek! Bats! No doubt an entire colony. Something smacked her head. Brianna screamed, lying flat against the handlebars with her arms over her face. She had no way of counting how many bats flew past, hitting the top of her head, her back, arms and legs. One passed through her hair, the leathery wing of another glided past her arm, the furriness of another smacked against her hand. They weren’t attacking her, but just the feel caused violent tremors to rock through her body.
The darkness was one th
ing. No sense of direction was another. But, Bats! Now she’d had enough. She could not bear this. The high-pitched screech sound grew faint; proof of the colonie’s distance. She still trembled, unable to stop the agonised sob mixed with the terror-retching scream that shot past her throat.
“Brianna?”
Her head shot up. Tristan. He called her name again, his voice layered with worry, grief and the slightest bit of anger. “Tristan,” she cried out, her voice wavering with the uncontrollable tremors raking through her body. “I’m up here.”
“Brianna!” he called again. Through the darkness, a swift booming sound reverberated up the tunnel, much faster than her steps had been.
Of course…his vampire speed. She peered down. A white spot blurred in the far distance. The glow grew bigger, and before long she spotted him a few feet below, lantern in one hand, its brightness illuminating his taught face. The worry, grief, and anger ringing from his voice a moment ago now expressed in his features. Oh yes. His agape mouth confirmed his concern. The gleam in his eyes infused with a stark pain, and the set of his firm jaw defined his indignation. Of course he’d be furious with her. She had left his room, attempted to leave the cave. At that moment none of that mattered.
“Tristan,” her voice broke as another sob rushed past her lips.
His expression softened, but only a little. His hands extended for the remaining bars, and he wrapped his free arm around her, holding her tight. She welcomed his embrace.
“You’re trembling.” His breath brushed her forehead.
“I’m scared.” She shut her eyes, but the tears still fell down her cheeks and into his shirt. “So scared.”
“Don’t let go of me. I will get us out of here.” Something strange happened. The air around them changed, becoming warmer. A moment later, light fell over her shut lids. Her eyes cracked open, gaze on the wall with its lit torch. Tristan must have somehow teleported them here.
She stared at the low flames, the fire weaved together in a dance. Fear drained away as tears of relief pooled down her cheeks; seeing the light after crawling through the hollow darkness was such a blessed experience.
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