by Cora Zane
As she started across the tarmac, the door of the car opened and an elderly man, of average height and build, stepped out. There was nothing remarkable to remember him by, other than the gaunt, if somewhat rosy, face. He wore a black beret pulled low over his eyes, black driving gloves and a buttoned up pea coat in a dreary shade of brown. Unassuming and anonymous, he was the kind of man you could lose easily in a crowd.
He didn’t come forward to greet her. Instead, he shouted something in French to the co-pilot and went around to the back of the car, opening the trunk for her luggage, which the men were now carrying from the plane.
Eleni followed the driver. “Julian?”
“Non, Mademoiselle. Henri.” He tapped his chest with a gloved finger. “I drive you to Master Julian’s chateau.”
Eleni stepped out of the way as the pilot and the co-pilot, two healthy looking middle-aged men, brought her bags around to the back of the car. They set some of them in the trunk, the others they set down near Henri’s feet. The pilot left first, his gaze roving over her briefly before he stalked off toward the plane. The co-pilot lingered. He exchanged a few brief words in French with Henri, words that Eleni couldn’t interpret, then the tan, gray haired man laughed and gave Henri a hearty pat on the back before he started toward the plane. Henri placed the last two cases in the back of the car. Eleni watched him, shivering in the cold, not sure whether she should go ahead and get in the car or wait for him.
“Come, Mademoiselle.”
He walked her around the car and opened the door for her, and she took a step forward. When she glimpsed an open fur coat and crossed legs in sheer stockings, she hesitated. Her gaze jumped to see the face, but it was concealed beneath a large hat with a black veil. Without a doubt, the woman was a vampiress.
“Enter or shut the door,” the woman said in a thick French accent. Eleni slid into the seat. The interior of the car smelled of rich leathers and the fading crispness of the cold air. Henri closed the door for her, sealing her in, and Eleni swept her hair from her eyes. It took her vision a moment to adjust to the darkness of the car.
The woman drew back the veil and removed her hat, revealing a wealth of sleek, auburn hair and delicate, pale features. Her lips were painted a bright matte red.
“Welcome, Eleni.” The tips of her fangs gleamed like little pearls when she spoke, and Eleni jumped when the woman leaned forward and greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks. The vampiress pulled back, her eyes sparkling like emeralds. “I am Marguerite de Sévigné. Julian sent me to pick you up this evening. I hope you don’t mind. He rarely leaves the chateau these days.”
“You live with Julian?” Eleni asked. The woman dazzled her with a smile.
“I have my own chateau, and my own harem to care for. Julian is a cousin. We’re separated by centuries, and several generations, of course.” The car was moving, and for a moment, she glanced out at the landscape scrolling by. “Men, they are demanding souls, you know? I don’t think it ever changes for them, regardless of age.” She laughed softly. “Julian is no different. When he needs something his servants cannot provide, he calls on me to do what I can.”
“You’re lovers? You and Julian?” Eleni asked, unable to hide her shock.
Marguerite laughed, then reached over and patted Eleni on the thigh. “Ah, Eleni…as much as I adore my dear Julian, I could not put up with him to that extent. No, he’s not my lover. I’m afraid that role will be left entirely up to you.”
That was a relief. She nodded, but her face was hot and red from her faux pas. She wasn’t really sure what else to say or think. There seemed to be a double entendre in almost everything the vampiress said. She fiercely hoped that Marguerite and Julian were not lovers. She’d been told that he had no harem, but he had to have a blood source. Eleni hadn’t anticipated this new worry. The Sévigné’s were from old aristocratic stock, and vampires had their own rules regarding relationships. It was not unheard of for cousins to enter an arranged marriage in an effort to keep the bloodline pure.
The vampiress reached out and took her hand, and Eleni jumped, even though the gesture was gentle enough. Marguerite’s skin was cool and smooth as silk. Her nails were long and red, and filed to perfect ovals, so very different from Eleni’s hands. Perhaps the woman found humor in Eleni’s French manicure. She had no idea what the woman was thinking when she turned her hand palm up, exposing her wrist. The vampiress traced a long red nail over the fine blue veins beneath Eleni’s pale skin, making her shiver.
A curious smile curved Marguerite’s lips as she laid Eleni’s hand back in her lap. “You are the very essence of loveliness.” Magnetic green eyes pierced Eleni’s own. It seemed they held a thousand secrets. “Yes, I do believe you will be to Julian’s liking.”
They drove east into the hills along a narrow, winding road, and when Eleni looked off to her right, down in the valley below, she could see the actual village for which the area was named. It looked like something out of a photograph, a dense cluster of stone buildings with slate gray roofs dusted with snow. She studied the peaks and angles of the buildings until a stand of trees blocked her view. By then they had rounded a deep curve, and the village disappeared from view as the car turned north.
Five minutes later, Marguerite pointed up the hill to her left. “Le Chateau du Sévigné.”
Eleni barely glimpsed a segment of gray stone before the trees thickened and obscured it from view. A short distance later, the land leveled out and the landscape opened into a sleeping vineyard arranged in stark rows, the wooden trellising poking through the snow.
“All of this,” Marguerite gestured toward the scene scrolling past the window, “every hectare, is Julian’s. You have heard of Sévigné wines?”
“I have,” she said, and it was not entirely a lie. Dominic told her Julian was a vigneron, although admittedly, she hadn’t given it much thought. Her former Biter had lived off investments and gifts from the Acolytes in his sizeable harem. She had been one of those women providing financial gifts, and even now, the memory of it upset her. Before his fall, Zander Rubio had lived a life of privilege off the backs of others. On the other hand, the way Marguerite spoke of the land and its history, the vineyard was clearly a matter of pride to the family. Still, the mere thought of Rubio agitated her. Eleni frowned at the sudden rise of anxiety. Her hands shook. She tucked them into the folds of her coat to keep Marguerite from noticing, but it was too late.
“You are nervous?” Marguerite asked.
“A little. It’s been years since I last visited France.”
Marguerite laughed. “Nothing changes that much.” She turned her head, her eyes shifting color yet again as the car passed under the shadows of trees, making the interior even darker. “No matter where you go, it is the same. You will see.”
It took another ten minutes to reach the chateau. They wound their way up the hill, and when the drive leveled out, Henri turned off onto a narrow road marked privé. They passed the shelter of snow-laden evergreens, and at the end of the paved drive, the mansion sat, regally overlooking the estate. It looked like something straight out of a fairy tale, three stories of old stone with twin turrets capped with gray, pointed roofs. It was lit both inside and out so that it glowed in the early nightfall.
Henri drove directly into the attached garage, and killed the engine. Eleni’s insides churned with anxiety.
“Henri will take care of the bags,” Marguerite said, excitement in her voice. She threw open the car door and smiled, showing a flash of fangs. “Come. I’m excited for you to meet Julian.”
Eleni didn’t know what to expect. Nerves frazzled, she stumbled a little when she climbed out of the backseat. Marguerite caught her arm to steady her, and heat blazed across Eleni’s face.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“You are shivering.” Marguerite frowned. “We must get you into the house.”
She couldn’t afford to show any signs of imbalance while here. Not with Grigori’s probation hanging ov
er her head. She mustn’t give them any reason to doubt her ability to do her duty.
Marguerite waited at the door for her, and they went together through a heavy black door while Henri walked around to the trunk of the car for her baggage.
“It’s dark,” Eleni said. She kept her hand on the wall to keep from stumbling.
“This is the master’s passage. It’s shielded from sunlight. No windows. It leads from the garage to the main foyer. Or, if you take a right a little further down the corridor, it will take you to the kitchens. There is also a staircase a little farther down the passage and on the left. It leads up to the west wing of the house, where your bedroom will be.”
“How many people live here?”
“There is Julian and three members of his serving staff. You met Henri. He lives in the gîte rural not far from the chateau. There is also Giselle and Claudette. Claudette—she’s the main housekeeper and cook. If you need something, you will take it up with her before going to Julian. He’s often busy with the running of the vineyard. Although he has employed workers from the village to take care of the day labor, there is the business side of things he must attend to. But do not worry—Julian will sort it all out with you. It will all seem like second nature soon enough.”
Marguerite opened a door at the end of the passage and placed a hand on Eleni’s back, urging her to go through. Eleni stepped across the threshold and froze at the sight of a twin curved staircase off to her left. It seemed to embrace the enormous room. Behind the railing of the central balcony on the floor above, a stained glass window in jewel tones of blues, purples, reds, and greens depicted a sorrowful man in robes holding a book, a millstone around his neck. Around the figure were grapevines laden with fruit, and four ravens with ribbon banners unfurling from their mouths. A chill come over her when she looked into the disapproving eyes of the saint.
“St. Vincent of Saragossa,” Marguerite said, gesturing to the window. “He’s the patron saint of vignerons. In a way, he is the symbol of the Sévigné vineyards. The raven is a part of our family crest.” She tossed her handbag onto a heavy-limbed chair and started across the foyer in long, sure strides, her heels clicking over the chocolate marble.
“Julian!” she called out, her voice echoing through the house as she slipped into the shadowed hallway beneath the interior balcony. Eleni watched her go, overwhelmed by the house and a sudden feeling of ill omen. Heart racing, she watched the vampiress knock briefly before poking her head around a door. Muffled voices in French, then Marguerite leaned away from the door and looked straight at her, her eyes reflecting like two green rings in the shadows.
“Eleni, this way.” Marguerite’s voice echoed down the hall. Reluctantly, Eleni passed beneath the balcony and St. Vincent’s window to join the vampiress who waited for her outside a set of arched double doors.
“You can go in. He’s ready to see you.”
Eleni couldn’t remember a time she’d ever felt so nervous. All her life she had been told tales of the mal vampires, the dangerous ones, the ill-bred or infirm ones, or the ones created too old to be aesthetically pleasing. Vampires that had been damaged in some way that made it impossible for them to heal. For whatever reason, they were not presentable in appearance for human or vampire society. Dominic had warned her that long ago Julian had been in a fire, burnt beyond recognition. It had taken him years to recover, but the healing had not been perfect. Even Dominic had not known the extent of his injuries, but Eleni had a good idea of how bad it must be if he hid himself away in this isolated chateau. Then again, when she entered the room, the only person sitting there was a man watching her from behind a large, teak desk. He did not look at all like a mal vampire.
Long hair the color of midnight draped over his shoulders, and his piercing gray eyes followed her as she came in to stand before him. He looked at her down a proud nose that gave him an air of regal distinction. She was immediately intimidated.
All this time she’d expected a monster, and this man was hardly that. She resisted the urge to glance around the room for someone else in case she had made a mistake.
He was gorgeous, dressed in an expensive black sweater. He eyed her with barely shielded disdain when Marguerite led her forward, her hands on her shoulders as if to present a teacher with a new star pupil.
“Julian, this is your new Acolyte, Eleni. We had a pleasant ride, I think.”
Eleni nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” When he said nothing in response, Eleni threw a questioning glance at Marguerite. She tried again. “I’m grateful you have taken me into your household.”
“Gratitude implies that you are not to be held to the rules of my house. Let us get one thing straight right now—this arrangement is not a favor to you, or to your brother-in-law. Dominic gave you to me as a blood gift. To be used. And you will be used—just as you have used the security of my house to escape the superficial shame of the Vampire Council.”
Julian’s remark struck her like an open palm. A sharp silence fell across the room as her mind worked to formulate some response, some appropriate reaction that would not get her immediately thrown out of his house.
“Forgive me.” She struggled for words. “Dominic told me he worked out an arrangement with you. I assumed it was amicable.”
“One does not have to be amicable to transfer property.”
“I should go,” Marguerite said quietly.
Julian did not disagree with her. He remained silent, his eyes narrowed on Eleni as Marguerite bowed slightly and backed out of the room. She shut the door to the study, leaving the two of them alone. Eleni stood trembling in her coat, not knowing what to say or do. He hadn’t invited her to sit down. Had he already decided to send her away?
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I don’t know what to say.”
Julian scoffed. “There is nothing to say. You have nowhere else to go,” he stated bluntly. “And yet, when I was talking to my cousin, I got the distinct impression that you felt it beneath you to go to the home of a mal vampire.”
She swallowed hard “I assure you that never once crossed my mind. Even if I’d had room for doubt, I know my brother-in-law wouldn’t send me anywhere objectionable.”
Julian’s dark laughter made her skin prickle. “He sent you to me, and I’m entirely objectionable, ma chére.” He raked his teeth across his lower lip, offering her a brief view of his fangs. “I have my own rules, and I couldn’t care less what society thinks of me, or you, for that matter. What I do care about is the running of my household. I am the only master here, and I do not care for drama.”
“Neither do I.”
“Your history tells me otherwise. Now here you are, set to enter a mal vampire’s household to try to preserve your rank. I suppose in some ways you must think you’re better than me, or that I am eternally stupid to take someone with an addiction into my house.”
A lump had risen in her throat. “You’re a vampire, I’m an Acolyte. I would never assume you to be of a lower rank than me.”
A thin smile stretched his lips. “How modest you are.”
She was ready to crack, ready to call Anya and Dominic and tell them she wanted to return to San Francisco. But, at the same time, she’d already brought tremendous shame on her family. She sighed. “I don’t want my shame to reflect on my sister,” she told him flatly. “I will do my part to fit in with your household. I only want to live in peace. I know immortality is permanently off limits to me, but I still have this life, and I just want to live…to be as happy as I can be with the time that I have. Surely, that’s not too much to ask.”
A mote of heat gleamed in his eyes for a fraction of a second, then it was gone. A trickle of unease flowed through her. Eleni was aware she’d somehow touched a nerve with him. Wary of her new Biter, she fell silent, and made a conscious decision to choose her words more carefully from now on. Better that, than give him more ammunition to hurt her with.
Confrontation stressed her out easily, a residua
l effect of Biter’s Addiction. Even this brief conversation with him left Eleni’s nerves frayed. Whatever she’d expected when she’d agreed to move to France, this was hardly the welcome she’d anticipated. Not only that, a dim throb nagged at her temples—a headache coming on. Julian Sévigné’s intense scrutiny was almost unbearable. The sooner she made it to a private room, the better.
“Tell me about your life with my cousin, Dominic,” he said, his shrewd expression a mask of curt impatience. “What role did you play in his household?”
“I stayed as Anya’s guest. You know he no longer houses a harem? Not since he joined with my sister, Anya, in the blood bond,” she said softly. “I believe they’re happy.” Or they would be now that they weren’t babysitting her. “I had no formal role while living with them. I stayed in one guest suites, and they employed a series of doctors, Biters, and nurses to help me get well. I’m sure Dominic told you all that when you spoke to him?”
“We talked only briefly, a phone call. A few emails. Besides, I wanted to hear it from you.”
“I can’t imagine what Dominic must’ve said to convince you to take me in.”
“He did nothing to convince me. I owe him my blood, and I believe that’s why he called me. He knew you were a gift I could not refuse.” Julian changed the subject. “Tell me, what did your sister think, you living in the same house as her husband?”
“I imagine there were times she thought…my presence was an inconvenience,” she admitted, then shook her head. “Even so, I doubt that had anything to do with Dominic. He never sponsored me. Why would it bother her? He was never my Biter.”
Julian squinted at her. “He never bit you? Not once?”
“Well, he…yes, but… It’s hard to explain. My sister called him in to help me. I was grieving at the time and…”
“With your addiction, you were beyond control.”