Unbitten

by Valerie du Sange

  Jo felt her usual blush start to rise up from her neck. And as usual, she cursed it to herself. With Henri’s kind words, some of the bad feelings she’d been wallowing in began to lift, just a little.

  “You’re good to say so,” she said, moving farther into the little room, and then sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s never happened to me before. It’s…well, it’s really embarrassing to me.” With that, the memory flooded back, and to her even deeper embarrassment, tears sprang to her eyes. Henri had come to see her, to watch! And she had failed, right there in front of him.

  He said nothing, but his expression was very warm and very loving. “Oh, Jo,” he said finally, taking a step closer, and then pulling her up to stand beside him. He reached his hand to her face, brushing a tear from her cheek.

  “Henri!” she sobbed, and broke down crying, feeling such a crazy mixed-up bunch of emotions she couldn’t even begin to sort them out.

  He gathered her into his arms and she let her head drop to his chest. He held her close while she shook with crying, and before too long she was quiet. Henri stroked her hair, murmured, “It’s OK, it’s OK. I’m here, Jo,” and felt her relax in his arms.

  Jo lifted her head and looked into Henri’s eyes. She felt her blush intensify, in fact, felt her blush ignite throughout her body, as she stood there with her arms around this strong and absolutely sexy man who was her friend, their bodies touching. Her arms tightened around him.

  Henri leaned his face closer to Jo’s. Then closer. He wanted more than anything he had ever wanted to touch his lips to hers, but he was fighting the desire, telling himself that even if she wanted him to kiss her, it would be a mistake.

  Her mouth opened, just a little. Her eyes, still wet with tears, dared him to do it.

  Henri leaned in again, and kissed the woman he loved. She was eager. She opened her lips a bit more, and he darted his tongue, just barely, touching hers. He brought his hands up to her face, holding her, pouring himself into the kiss, feeling his whole body leaping up, alive for the first time in so long.

  Jo let her hands roam over Henri’s back. She held on to his muscular arms, then his hips, unable to keep still, shocked by what they were doing and how incredibly good and right it felt. The kiss went on and on and on.

  And his scent–what was that? He smelled like fresh-cut grass, like old garden roses, and somehow the rosy part was manly and deep. He smelled to her like the place she had always yearned for and been looking for her whole life, and never found.

  Uh oh, thought Jo.

  They broke the kiss and looked into each other’s eyes, and for a long moment, they were both at peace, both ridiculously happy, both filled with desire and satisfied, all in the same instant.

  But then the moment ended. They blinked. Henri pulled away first, arguing with himself, criticizing himself for doing the one thing he had sworn to himself not to do. And Jo was thinking that the last thing she should be doing was getting involved with anyone. She was terrible with men, a disaster! Henri seemed like the most decent guy in the world now, but if she started seeing him, something would go wrong. It always did.

  For one thing, she thought, backing up, he could be about to bite me.

  “I’m sorry,” said Henri in a low voice.

  “Don’t be sorry,” said Jo, and she meant it. At the same time that she was telling herself she’s no good with men and should just leave it alone, another inner voice was drowning that first one right out. She felt safe with Henri. She knew that whatever else happened, even if he turned out to be a vampire, that he would never do anything to hurt her.

  Jo realized, as they continued to look into each other’s eyes, that she knew this because it was true, not because she wished it to be true.

  If he wanted her, he could have her.

  And he did want her. Badly. Painfully. But he was not going to let his self-control fail now. Not just for his own sake, but because he was thinking of her. What kind of life is it for a human to be with a vampire? The secrecy alone made people bitter. He needed to sleep all day, and she, all night. And what about her friends and family? If they found out his status, he would be risking his own family’s security. And Americans, to top it off. A totally different culture, she could never feel at home here at the Château, and I certainly can never leave.

  It was impossible.

  Henri looked lovingly at Jo, and put his big palm alongside her face. “I’m not sorry,” he said, correcting himself, “but I will go now. My train leaves soon,” he said, “and I will see you back at the Château.”

  Jo’s face fell. She closed her eyes for a moment to brace herself. “See!” said the unpleasant voice, the one that seemed to rejoice when anything went wrong. She wanted to reach out and hold on to him, to breathe in fresh-cut grass and old roses again, and not let him go.

  “And Jo? Please, do not give the show another thought. There will be others. I saw how extraordinary you were out there, and Drogo too–and I have no doubt that in the future, we will have so many trophies we will need to build a new room to hold them.”

  And with that, he moved to let himself out. Jo reached out to him, unsure of what she meant but not wanting him to go, and he turned back around, just as her bathrobe fell partly open. Henri caught a glimpse of her sleek body under the damp nightgown, her lush breasts showing through the thin fabric.

  He swallowed hard, and fled.

  36

  Part of Pierre Aucoin’s routine was strolling past the train station after the evening train came through, in case there were any tasty morsels getting off with no one to meet them. To Pierre, there was something a little mournful yet appetizing about that, a solitary person standing lonely at a train station. And to his mind, which was rather twisted from all the years of solitude he had endured, having a bite and a drink and maybe a quick fuck was a way of welcoming the stranger–hopefully blonde, hopefully skinny–to Mourency.

  He left the bar where no one was including him in the conversation anyway. He had gotten tired of soccer about fifty years ago, and the endless chat about the last game had bored him to the point of anger. He walked faster than usual, taking his favorite route down by the river, pulling his coat up around his neck to keep out the cold.

  The train had already arrived and was sliding out of the station, on its way south. Pierre could see the blank faces of some of the passengers, looking blankly at yet another village, probably thinking about going to get some snacks in the snack car, or whether to wait another half hour. Dull thoughts for dull people, thought Pierre.

  But oh! He suddenly felt…a tingle. A little zippy, zingy feeling in the small of his back, that he only got when at the Château, near Henri. He looked around at the few people there. A old man in blue coveralls sweeping the sidewalk. Walking quickly in the opposite direction, a young woman he recognized, the daughter of the baker on the next street over.

  And then he saw Roxanne. She was wrestling with her bag, which was refusing to roll. She swore at it. Then she walked around behind it and kicked it as hard as she could, swearing more loudly. She was not like anything he had ever encountered before.

  Pierre’s fangs were throbbing. He grinned and walked over to the girl, who was disheveled, dressed all in black with numerous extraneous buckles and chains that clattered when she moved. Her eyes were heavily made-up, dark, so that to Pierre they looked like deep bottomless pools with flashes of light deep within. Her dyed-black hair was not anything the French girls in Mourency went in for, but he loved it immediately, wanting to touch the spikes, run his fingers through the green streaks, and rub his face on the buzz-cut side.

  He got close to her, his nostrils dilating, cock beginning to harden, fangs pulsing painfully. He growled a low growl.

  Roxanne looked up into Pierre’s face. “Oh my fucking God,” she said, sarcastically. “It’s a French bloodsucker.”

  Pierre laughed. Now he understood what the tingle had been about. This black-haired vixen was that rarest of creature
s (in Mourency at least)–a labri. He could not believe his luck.

  “Mademoiselle,” he said, making a small bow, playing a role for her. “Allow me to welcome you to our small village.”

  Roxanne threw her bag upside down and began studying the wheel mechanism, ignoring Pierre completely, which made his fangs throb even more.

  “Let me help you,” he said, dropping his role-playing voice. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her up and placed her to one side as though she were a small package slightly in the way. He pulled a crumpled bit of paper out from under the wheel and shoved it in his pocket.

  “It will work now,” he said, flipped the bag back over and testing it.

  Roxanne stood with her arms crossed, considering Pierre. He was big, and he was strong, and she did like that French accent.

  He smiled at her, letting her see his fangs. “Let’s go have a drink, shall we?” he said. “You must be thirsty after all your traveling, yes?”

  She did a double take. Was this vampire she had just met offering to let her suck from him? That had never, ever happened to Roxanne before. Not in the small city she had grown up in, not in New York once she moved there. It was a constant struggle to find any drinking security at all exactly because offers like this were so very rare.

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “What’s in it for you, Froggie?”

  Pierre hesitated. “I’ve never done it before. I mean, let a labri…” he said, feeling shy. “I don’t know, I’ve never done it, as I just said, but I like the idea of it. If you want to,” he added.

  “Where can we go?” asked Roxanne, her thirst doubling now that she had a prospect for slaking it.

  “My place,” said Pierre, and dragged Roxanne’s bag behind him as he started on the way to his hayloft.

  Jo rode with Thierry in the truck, which was pulling the very swank trailer that Drogo traveled in. Thierry was, of course, very understanding and supportive of her performance, which made her feel even worse.

  “Just yell at me!” she said. “Really! Just yell and scream and tell me how much I sucked and how I don’t deserve to walk into a barn where Drogo lives and how I should go back to shoveling manure so I can have some lessons and learn how to ride!”

  “What are you babbling on about,” Thierry said mildly. “Check the map, please, the GPS seems to be cockamamie again.”

  She checked the map and directed him onto the proper autoroute to get them back to Mourency in about four hours.

  They stopped at the French version of a truck stop diner and ate a three course meal, wine included. Midway through, Jo could not contain herself a second longer, and excused herself to go outside and try to phone Marianne.

  No answer. Jo almost texted her about the disqualification, and about the kiss with Henri, but decided to wait until she could hear Marianne’s voice. As much as she loved France, and living at the Château, sometimes her loneliness for Marianne was acute.

  She went back in to finish the meal.

  “This stew is maybe the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” she said to Thierry, dipping her spoon in for another mouthful of soft, flavorful meat and glossy carrots.

  “Do not say this to Marcel,” Thierry answered with a grin.

  “Never!” agreed Jo. She had become so fond of Thierry, and he seemed like the sort of man to have many children who all adored him; she had been wondering for awhile why that was not so. Before she could stop herself, she said, “So, Thierry, you’ve never mentioned a wife. If it’s not too nosy, or, well, it is too nosy, but tell me anyway! Why aren’t you married?”

  Thierry crinkled his eyes at her. "I would like to tell you it’s a long story, and then we could push our chairs back and have some more wine and I could relate it to you. But the truth is, Jo, that I am not married simply because I never found anyone I wanted to marry. It’s that simple.

  “The village is small, as you know. And I am quite self-sufficient. I suppose there are times…” he looked off, through the window, at the traffic whooshing by on the autoroute. “…there are times when I wish it were otherwise. But overall, my life with the horses is a good one, and I do not spend time on regrets.”

  Jo nodded. The marvel is that anyone ever finds anyone and it works out, she thought.

  37

  The next day, Jo spent time at the stable with Thierry, keeping equipment in good order and cleaning up. They joked and laughed while they did the mindless work of polishing and sweeping and saddle-soaping leather, which helped keep Jo’s mind off of Henri.

  Because…that kiss. As intense as the chemistry had been between her and David, the kiss with Henri was in an entirely different category. There was chemistry, oh yes. But it was chemistry on top of friendship–a whole new thing for Jo. She found herself thinking dreamily about him, and then stopping short, and telling herself no. way. was she going to allow herself to get involved with the other brother. It was time she admitted her man-radar was seriously damaged. Maybe after a few years of therapy, she could try again. Or, you know, just forget the whole thing.

  She shivered to remember how it had felt after David bit her, how she had felt practically lifeless, drained of her spark. It’s always been that way with me and men, she thought. My father, Hugo, David–vampire or no vampire, I let them suck me dry.

  Back at the Château, she spent a long time in the bath, after filling the tub all the way up so she could lie on her back and float, the scent of Albert’s special bath salts soothing her overexcited body. She dressed quickly for dinner, looking forward as always to whatever Marcel had concocted for the evening. She noticed that the idea of running into David, or even having dinner at the same table with him, didn’t bother her in the least.

  It was like she had been under a spell, and the spell had broken.

  Thierry had already discussed the disqualification with David, so she didn’t have to be the one to tell him. But even that no longer mattered. Jo had finished feeling sorry for herself and was already thinking about the next show. David didn’t worry her.

  Once in the dining room, she looked for Henri, but he was not there. He never seems to eat, thought Jo, digging into her dinner with gusto. Lamb stew, the most delicate of dishes in Marcel’s hands, and she closed her eyes to concentrate on the perfect melding of flavors. She could practically feel her belly singing with happiness.

  Towards the end of the meal, as Jo was still sitting alone and waiting to see what the dessert course would bring, Henri appeared in the doorway. He stood still, meeting her eyes, with a questioning expression on his handsome face. She felt herself tense up and relax at the very same time. She wanted to run to him and away from him, in equal measure.

  He glided through the other tables and sat down next to her.

  “So….” he said.

  “So….” she said.

  They both laughed. Henri thought that the music of her laughter was absolutely the best thing in the world. It made him feel like anything was possible.

  “I hope you are not still worrying over the horse show,” he said, in the back of his mind wondering when or how he was going to tell her that the disqualification was his fault, not hers.

  “Not at all,” she said. “Next time!”

  He nodded. “I am happy to hear it. Now, I have a favor to ask,” he said, seriously.

  “Yes, Henri?”

  “Will you come with me, to meet my parents? I will explain along the way,” he said.

  “Of course I will,” said Jo, giving a longing glance to the kitchen, and her abandoned dessert, on the way out of the dining room.

  Henri led her outside to the entrance to the dungeon, and explained some of what Jo would find once they got there.

  “They are very old,” he said. “And they must live where they do because light and sound are quite painful for them. Their lives are pathetic, really. I try to visit at least once a week, but I think you’ll understand once we get there–I hate it. I’m asking you to come not for them, but
for me. Your being there will make it less…dark.”

  Jo was game. But she had no idea what she was in for. After she and Henri had gone down and down the multiple staircases, and then the long pitch-black corridor, with Henri talking the whole time about his parents and their unpredictable states of mind, she thought she was prepared. But what can prepare you for the sight of two wizened old people, who looked every bit of their 400 plus years, one of whom was crying for help and the other…well, that one? His eyes were glowing in the darkness like something out of a horror movie.

  “Good evening, Henri,” his father had said, his voice chilly and agitated. “What have you brought me? She looks delicious.” And le Seigneur had reached towards Jo as though she were a chocolate being offered to him on a plate.

  “I present to you my friend, Jo,” said Henri. “Is it Joanna?” he asked in a whisper.

  “Yes,” Jo whispered back. She was holding on to Henri’s hand for dear life. Le Seigneur was looking at her with such…appetite. She had never been looked at like that in her life, and it was seriously creepy. And frightening.

  His mother was curled up in her armchair, silent, and then bursting out with a horribly mournful cry, “I couldn’t help it!” she would say, dragging out the syllables, and then fall silent again, not moving.

  The smell in the room was wrong. It was not the smell of a nursing home, which Jo remembered from visiting her grandmother when she was a child. She couldn’t say what it was. Probably some weird French air freshener, she thought hopefully.

  Le Seigneur never took his eyes off Jo. She saw him touching his tongue to the tips of his teeth, running it back and forth. His eyes kept flaming up, a ring around his irises seeming to catch fire.

  She had no doubt, none at all, that he was a vampire. The mother, she was not so sure. And Henri? Did he have something important to tell her?