He kissed the tip of her upturned nose again, and then the top of her head. She had poured her heart out to him last night as they walked, telling him about how scary it was to be thirsty and weakening and not know where your next drink is coming from, how sickening it was to have to depend on a male vampire you detest, and what products she had used to get that amazing green streak in her hair. All through the telling she had delighted him with her hilarious swearing–she swore and cursed her way through all her stories, making Pierre’s belly hurt from laughing.
She is an artist, he thought, and she doesn’t even know it.
He couldn’t help himself. He leaned down to her, tightening his arms around her, and kissed her gently on the mouth.
Roxanne’s eyes flew open and she looked alarmed and then–an unusual expression for her–she looked content. Very happy to realize who was holding her and kissing her. She kissed back, with delight, and increasing urgency, and reached her arms around Pierre and pulled him closer.
Pierre had not felt someone pull him closer in over a hundred years. With tears in his eyes, spilling out as his irises glowed fire around the outer rims, he kissed his labri deeply, pressing her to him, stretching his legs out beside her and then sliding a leg over between hers.
He reached down with one hand and began to unbuckle her big metal belt buckle, then quickly whipped the belt out of its loops and tossed it aside. He fumbled for a moment unzipping zippers that were on the pockets, then found the zipper to her pants and unzipped it so quickly the metal heated up and melted on the edges so that it was never going to work again.
“Pierre,” said Roxanne, “you fucking God of bloodsuckers–get on top of me!”
He grinned, wrenching her pants off and doing as she asked. He thrust his hips between her legs, his erection full and almost having a mind of its own, wanting to bury itself in Roxanne’s wet warmth.
“Kiss me again,” he murmured, and she did.
He regretted having gone so long without cutting his fingernails. They made caressing her breasts difficult to do gently.
Not that Roxanne seemed very interested in gentle.
“Suck my nipples,” she directed, pulling up her shirt and showing him.
Pierre moaned as he fell on them, licking one and then the other, then sucking, swirling his tongue around one and then the other, finally settling in to suck, while Roxanne groaned and growled and arched her back, bringing her legs up to wrap around his waist, squeezing him with her extraordinary vampire strength.
The few times a human woman had actually wanted to sleep with him, it had never, ever been like this. Pierre felt like he could be exactly himself with Roxanne. He could growl at her and show her his fangs. He could trail his long fingernails along her ribs. He could bite her. At least he thought she wouldn’t mind, if he chose the right moment. And she might even like it, the way he had loved feeling her suck his blood last night.
He was all the way on top of her now, kissing her on the mouth, and thrusting his hard cock along her center, feeling her wetness, rubbing faster and faster until she was thrashing her head back and forth and calling out, on the verge, her body quivering.
Pierre reached down and guided himself inside her. They both yelped, an animal sound of surprise and pleasure mixed together. It was as though they were puzzle pieces that had finally found where they fit, and everything the other did was just the right thing.
He, with his vampire strength, flipped into a squat, with Roxanne still impaled on his boner, her legs squeezing him so tight, and he lifted her and pushed her down on himself, crushed her down on himself, as their tongues were everywhere, her hands reaching down to grip his cock as he lifted her, and they both were crying from happiness and passion and coming together, their hips bucking, great, rippling jolts piercing them both, until finally, they fell back into the leaves, panting, maybe drooling the tiniest bit, their sexual desire at long last sated, and needing only a short rest before they went on to satisfy their blood lust.
Henri called David the minute the lab door was closed.
“Callie Armstrong,” Henri said when David answered.
“Yes,” said David. He sounded unlike himself. Exhausted. Defeated.
“What happened?”
“It was an accident, Henri.”
“What happened?”
David sighed. He was feeling terrible enough about it and he was not in the mood for listening to Henri and his lectures.
“It’s over,” said David. “There’s nothing to be done about it now.”
“It is not over. The village gendarmes are here right now. Most likely American detectives will follow. We do not need this kind of scrutiny. Not that this is all about us–what’s more important–is the girl.
“How could you do it, David?” Henri’s voice, this time, had more sorrow in it than anger.
David was on the verge of tears for the first time in about 180 years. “I don’t know what happened,” he said. “I’ve always been so careful. It was going along just as it usually did, and then the next thing I knew I was holding this…this…body. White as a sheet and lifeless. It was certainly not my intention, Henri, you know that much. I haven’t slept in days and days.”
Henri felt sorry for his brother then. He had lost Jo, he had killed a girl by accident, and now he was a drunkard. As his life spiraled downward, Henri’s had been doing the opposite.
The brothers stood still, holding their phones to their ears, not talking. There were details to discuss, but first they had to acknowledge the enormity of what David had done, and the only way they could do that was in silence.
After hanging up from talking to David, Henri checked the progress of several experiments, did some routine tests in the lab, and sat down to ponder some of the issues left for creating labri Hemo-yum. It was impossible to concentrate. His mind kept going to Jo, the feel of her body as they had lain together, the feel of her lips on him…and then to David, and the girl he had murdered.
A guest at the Château, killed by his brother’s negligence and irresponsibility.
It was late afternoon now, and darkness was falling fast. Henri left his lab and walked the gravel path around the grounds, making several circuits through the sleeping gardens as he tried to sort through his reactions to what Roland, and then David, had told him. He had slept, while Jo was still with him in his chamber, but he had not had a full day’s sleep in too many days. While he still felt energetic, his reactions felt a little slow and his thinking was sluggish, at least for Henri. Without planning to, he started off in the direction of the stables, wanting to see Jo without actually forming the thought in his head, but before too many steps, he realized it was getting dark and she was not going to be there.
He wished then for a simple way to reverse his status, if only for a few moments, thinking how much he would love to be able to walk into the barn as he had done as a child, to play with the barn cats and talk to the horses. And how thrilling it would be if he could meet Jo there, and talk to her as an equal, human to human, and not ever have to consider the risk of her finding out and being scared her out of her wits. Or running away.
That was the worst of it, he thought. If she finds out I’m a vampire, she’ll go away and I’ll never be able to bring her back. Especially once she finds out about Callie Armstrong, if she hasn’t already.
He was standing just around a curve in the path, so that a bank of shrubs hid him from the Château. He could hear someone walking quickly in his direction. Henri moved to make himself more visible, expecting Thierry.
It was Jo. Walking with her head down, as though trying to put as much distance between her and the Château as she could.
“Jo,” called Henri, trying to find the tone and volume that would startle her the least, and feeling so happy to see her.
“Oh!” Jo stopped, yards away from Henri.
“You headed to the barn?”
“Um, yes. Yes, I was!” She stepped sideways, like a skittish horse.
Henri had the sinking, sick understanding that she was afraid of him.
Someone must have told her about Callie.
Jo was backing up. “It wasn’t anything,” she said. “I can get it later!” And she turned so quickly and ran so fast that before Henri could say a word, she was around the shrubbery and gone.
44
David had been pacing in his room for several hours, interrupted only by Henri’s call, which made him feel even worse that he already did, something he would not have thought possible. He was wrecked from lack of sleep. And also, he had to admit, the alcohol was making him feel like crap, at least aside from the few hours when it had the miraculous effect of allowing him to forget his troubles. He wondered whether possibly biting a second drunk man right after the first would make the effect last longer? And how long would it be before Angélique forbade him to go to the wine cellar for more bottles to give to the guests?
David no longer cared about the chambre d’hôte business. It was not that he had changed his mind about it, it was just that it did not enter his thoughts anymore. He was no longer a host or a businessman or a brother or a lover, he was only a vampire who needed the alcohol-laden blood of drunkards, night after night, and every bit of his energy went to making sure he got it.
But oh, this was not good, he thought, looking at himself in the mirror and seeing a roundness to his belly. I look like I am with child, he thought, horrified. But not horrified enough to change what he was doing.
He picked up his boar-bristle brush, one he had been given by his mother for his birthday in 1902, and brushed his long dark hair, then bent over and brushed it again with his head upside down, letting the brush linger on the strokes, and then digging the bristles into his scalp before the next stroke.
He liked brushing his hair. It was relaxing, it was calming, it allowed him to sweep his agitated thoughts away, at least for a moment. And he liked how glossy and straight his hair looked afterwards.
Now, finally, darkness had fallen. The guests would be eating soon, and drinking, and it was almost time for David to hunt his newest victim. He had made sure that ample wine had been provided for dinner, and he had a couple of bandages in his back pocket. His fangs were tingling in anticipation.
He noted, however, that his cock was…dead. Not even the barest stirring. It seemed that his pining for blood suffused with alcohol had made his formerly prodigious sexual appetite dwindle to nothing. But the interesting thing about a loss of desire, he realized, is that once it’s lost, you just don’t care anymore.
David looked at himself in the mirror again, checking from all sides and the back, and feeling satisfied–or at least as satisfied as he could be with that incipient pot-belly ruining the drape of his jacket–he left his room and shot down the stairs and into the night. He intended to have a brisk walk around the grounds and end up near the dining room, where he would await the night’s prospects.
Dominic and Maloney had not spent long at the hayloft; it was quickly obvious that Pierre and Roxanne were no longer there. Dominic smelled blood, and knew that Roxanne, having recently fed, was going to be a more formidable quarry than he had been hoping she would be.
“She’ll have all her speed back,” Dominic grumbled to Maloney.
“I’ll grab her,” said Maloney.
“You do that,” said Dominic. “Thing is though, you’re strong, no doubt about that. But for speed, you can’t match a vampire who’s just had a good meal. No fault of yours, bro, it’s just how we’re made.”
Maloney pouted for close to a mile before he forgot what he was mad about and started talking about almond pastries again.
“All the bakeries are closed,” said Dominic. “And yes, before you ask–even the one around the corner from the inn, your favorite one. You’re just going to have to wait until morning.”
“Hmphf,” said Maloney. “Well, where are we eating dinner, then? I am hungry. Dominic, you don’t ever take it seriously when I tell you that I am hungry!”
“I promise you, as soon as we have Roxanne, or the documents from Henri, either one, we will have a big, celebratory meal. In a restaurant. After dark, of course.”
“It’s dark now! So can we go eat?”
“Roxanne first,” Dominic said wearily.
“Where is she?” asked Maloney.
“We’re looking for her. That’s what we’ve been doing for the last few hours, and what we will continue to do until we find her.”
“Do you think she’s going to be on the side of the road?”
“No, Maloney, I do not. But we have searched everywhere in the village, and also at Pierre’s hayloft, and the only place left is the Château, so that is where we are headed. Now please, no more questions. Just keep your eyes peeled–spiked-up hair, dressed in black, remember–and grab her if you see her.”
The imposing gates were just ahead, but Dominic and Maloney walked around the side of the property along the fence line until they came to the short tunnel Maloney had dug the first time they had broken into the Château’s grounds. Apparently no one had found it, because aside from a bit of erosion thanks to rain, it looked the same as when they had last used it.
Jo was not crying, or anywhere close to crying, which was interesting, she thought, considering how violently things had changed from a few hours ago. She had been floating on a cloud of romantic happiness after her time with Henri, feeling certain, this time, that she had found her man, and that whatever problems might come their way, they could surmount them together.
She had thought that finally, finally, she had gotten out from under the hazy inability to judge a trustworthy man from a jerk, the legacy of her father, who played both roles so well, as he bounced from drunk to sober and around and around, dragging his family after him.
Henri was stalwart, she thought. Consistent. Incredibly strong. And, she had been thinking all day, as she did her work with Drogo, he was also flaming hot. That thing he did with his tongue–
But then, on the staircase, pure chance as she was running up to her room to change after a long ride, she had run into the gendarme, Durant. Who spoke with her about Callie Armstrong.
David had killed a girl. Sucked her dry.
Jo had eaten dinner once with Callie at her table. She remembered a vibrant girl– funny, pretty, young.
Durant had also hinted that Henri was a vampire as well. Jo realized that she had known all along, deep down, but had kept hoping that maybe that little detail didn’t have to matter so much. Maybe it would turn out to be nothing, in the long run. He loved her, right? He and his brother were vampires, OK, but they were…nice vampires.
As Marianne said, she minimized.
Well, she wasn’t minimizing now. She was afraid for her life. She figured that the last night she spent with David, when he had bitten her, she had been this close to ending up like Callie Armstrong–and how long would it take, how many nights would she spend with Henri, before he lost control, just as David had?
And maybe David had not just lost control. Maybe he had intended to kill that girl, to suck every last drop of her blood. Or just not cared, one way or the other. She was like a container to him, really, just an empty bottle to toss away after he was done.
They weren’t the same man, and Jo didn’t forget that.
But they are vampires. It’s what they do, she remembered David saying.
Right now she wanted to find Marianne, wherever she had disappeared to, and get the hell away from the Château and the la Mottes as fast as they possibly could.
She was running now, down the gravel path towards the stables. She kept glancing over her shoulder to see if Henri was following. She felt a lingering pang at the expression on his face a few minutes ago; he had looked so hurt when she had backed away from him, but she wouldn’t allow herself to keep thinking about that. Or about how she had introduced Marianne, her dearest friend in the world, to this nest of murdering vampires.
Thierry too? No, it couldn’
t be.
She slowed to a jog when she was near the stables, then a walk. She stopped. What was that? Such a lot of birds calling for a cold November night! Jo looked towards the forest, about a football field away, and there on the right, just emerging from the total darkness of the trees, walked some dark figures. It looked like they were carrying something on their shoulders. And they were the ones making the clamoring bird calls.
Jo looked intently at them–she couldn’t quite tell, but they appeared to be the same women she had seen in the forest that day, a day that felt years distant. She had practically forgotten all about them, except that they had been responsible for the day when Henri had come after her, when she had ridden the moped with her arms around him….
She shook her head to keep thoughts of him from rushing in from any direction. What was that they were carrying? One more glance behind her to see if she was being followed, and then she walked towards the women for a better look.
Just then, Dominic and Maloney appeared to the left of the stables, walking along the edge of the forest from the direction of the lake, having shimmied through the tunnel under the fence. Their attention was drawn to the women and what they were carrying as well–although all of that would be difficult for anyone to ignore, given the deafening shrieking and calling and hooting.
The shrieking and calling and hooting brought Tristan Durant and Roland out of the kitchen where they had been chatting with Marcel. Before running in the direction of the noise, Roland went to their car and grabbed the launcher recommended by Jessica Winston, and made sure he had plenty of stakes in his jacket pocket.
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