“Lucas says you have no family in the area – is there anyone we should contact on your behalf? Family who will wonder where you are?” Rowena queried.
I shook my head, trying to hide the sadness I was certain would show in my expression. “No. No-one.”
Rowena seemed disturbed by this admission. “You have no family?”
Picking up the coffee cup, I sipped slowly, giving myself time to compose an answer. “No. My— Mom died a couple of years back. I haven't seen my father since I was a child,” I explained cautiously, not wanting to reveal too much. I didn't want to answer questions about my family, couldn't speak about what had happened, to bring me to this point in my life.
Rowena's eyes filled with sympathy. “That's such a shame, Charlotte. I'm so sorry.” She brightened a little. “I wondered if we might bring you downstairs for Christmas tomorrow? Lucas could carry you down easily. What do you think?”
I stared at her in dismay. “Tomorrow is Christmas?” It was shocking to discover four days had passed since the attack, and I'd lost track of time. Sadness swamped me as I recalled my former life and the reasons for my many suicide attempts. I'd been so beleaguered with my current circumstances, I hadn't thought about it since the attack. A blanket of gloom descended over me as I thought about it now.
Rowena reached out, placing her cold hand on my arm. “Would you like to talk about it, Charlotte?”
Shaking my head, I tried to compose myself enough to speak. Tears were brimming against my eyelashes, threatening to fall and I couldn't allow it to happen. If I cried, I might never regain control. “I don't think I can.” The words came out in a whisper, as if anything louder would break the fragile dam holding my tears at bay.
“It must be something dreadful, for you to feel this way,” Rowena fretted. “We're all aware there is something difficult in your past. I can feel your pain, the wretchedness you're enduring when I touch your arm. It's overwhelming for you.”
“You… can feel it?”
Rowena nodded. “I'm empathic, but only through touch. It allows me to tap into other's psyche, take their emotional temperature, if you will.” She gave me a sympathetic smile. “Your emotional health is poorly, Charlotte. Whatever it is which hurts you so, it's killing you slowly, from the inside out.”
I lay back on the pillows, feeling utterly miserable. I hated keeping secrets from Rowena when she'd been so compassionate to me, and asked for nothing in return. Except for the one thing I couldn't give, not without the possibility of destroying myself.
Marianne strolled into the room, settling gracefully onto the edge of the bed. “Charlotte, this really must stop,” she announced nonchalantly, brushing her fingers through her bright pink spikes of hair. “Your future just disappeared again.”
“I'm sorry,” I muttered. The cinnamon roll had been discarded, my appetite disappearing along with my future, it seemed. I looked up, first at Rowena and then Marianne. My bottom lip trembled as I struggled to keep my emotions in check. “I know you don't understand why I'm like this. I wish it was something I could tell you about.” I paused, considering my predicament and turning it over in my mind before I continued. “I'm terrified that if I let go and talk about it, I'll never recover. I'll lose myself entirely and not be able to stop myself from falling into the abyss.”
Marianne reached across and caught my hand in hers. “I've worked out the connections in your future, if it's any help.”
“How's that?” I questioned dully.
“It seems when you're with Lucas, you see yourself having a future. Every time you think about a future without him, it disappears.” She smiled gleefully, silver sparkling mischievously in her eyes. “So all I have to do is ensure a happy ending with Lucas. Given the level of devotion he's demonstrating currently, that shouldn't be difficult.”
“Marianne, you are utterly terrible. Do try to behave,” Rowena chided gently.
I relaxed a little, the idea of a future with Lucas— tempting. Very tempting.
Marianne gazed into the distance, her eyes unfocused for a second, as she seemed to concentrate on something that wasn't in the room with us. Then she looked down at me and grinned. “There is it. Your future is back again.”
I was tempted to ask her what the future included, but decided against it. For now, I was content to live in a moment that included Lucas. Managing a weak smile, I decided I was hungry after all, and picked up the discarded Cinnamon Roll to munch on.
≈†◊◊†◊◊†◊◊†≈
By the time Lucas returned, I'd been showered and was dressed in a pretty white negligee that Marianne provided. She and Rowena had made a run to my cottage earlier, collecting some of my belongings, and Marianne had been appalled by the tragic state of my normal bedroom attire of sweatpants and t-shirts, insisting her lingerie was much nicer. My hair had been washed and thoroughly brushed by Rowena and after cleaning my teeth, I felt like a new woman. Albeit an uncomfortable one, as the exercise made everything throb again. I smoothed my fingers across the negligee's lacy sleeve, wondering about the enigma of Marianne. It seemed so unlike anything I'd seen her wear so far, which at best could be described as chic grunge, and yet she apparently adored this sort of silky and elegant nightwear.
Lucas was in the doorway when I glanced up, his skin showing a hint of color and the dark circles under his eyes had vanished. He'd showered and changed, wearing faded blue jeans and a crisp blue shirt with white pinstripes, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his toned forearms. His hair was still damp, appearing darker than I'd seen it before and increasing the brilliance of his midnight blue eyes.
“Keep this up and I will have to hunt more often,” he teased with a wicked smile and I flushed as he appraised the negligee with undisguised admiration. “Do you feel up to visitors? I would like to introduce you to a couple of my friends.”
I agreed eagerly, curious to meet others who lived here with Lucas. Would they accept me, as readily as Ben, Rowena, and Marianne had?
Lucas entered the room, closely followed by two other men. “Charlotte, I would like to introduce you to Ripley Wadworth and Striker.”
Ripley Wadworth stepped forward and extended his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Duncan.” When I took his hand he didn't shake, instead he bowed and pressed a kiss against my knuckles, his lips cold against my skin. “I trust you are feeling better?” He spoke with an elegant drawl, his accent sounding distinctly British.
“Yes, thank you.” I glanced at Lucas, saw him smile, and tried to loosen up the anxiety in my chest. If Lucas thought I was safe – I was safe. He wouldn't let these men hurt me. Ripley settled at one side of the bed. He was wearing a formal suit of dark grey with a waistcoat beneath the jacket and a crisp white shirt with a neat navy tie at his throat. He was perhaps a few inches taller than me and thin, but the subtle shift of muscle beneath the sleeves of his jacket assured me he was more powerful than he appeared. His face was slender, with a square jaw line and he had almond shaped eyes. I suspected he was possibly in his early thirties. His hair was golden brown, pulled back from his face in a short ponytail, which he'd tied with a leather strap at the nape of his neck.
The second man was exceptionally tall, with long blonde hair falling down over his shoulders and reaching halfway down his back. He was a mountain of muscle, the polo shirt he wore displaying the sleek ridges of sinew and muscle in his shoulders, chest, and abdomen. His thighs were ripped beneath faded blue jeans and I recognized him as one of the men who'd restrained Ambrose. “I'm Striker,” he growled.
“Striker, do try and show some degree of civility,” Ripley suggested with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “Don't frighten the girl.”
I watched the heavyset man smile, and found it more intimidating, than comforting. He didn't look much more than my age, but the hardness in his eyes made him seem much older. “My name is Striker,” he repeated. “Hello.”
“Oh, that's so much better,” Ripley said, with a sarcastic roll of his br
own eyes. “We need to work on your people skills.”
“My people skills are just fine,” Striker protested with a growl.
“Your skills are terrible. It's no wonder we all cringe when you suggest going into town. It's hard to keep our secret, when you act like such a vampire.”
“Gentlemen,” Lucas said quietly.
Ripley sighed heavily and turned his attention back to me, any sign of humor disappearing. “Lucas says you will keep our secret, however, I need to reassure myself of your integrity. Can we trust you?”
I nodded, watching him wordlessly.
His expression was serious and he studied my face intently for a minute or two, until I wanted to squirm beneath his penetrating gaze. “Are you certain we can trust you, Miss Duncan?”
Inhaling deeply, I met his eyes. “I guess you're as certain you can trust me to keep your secret, as I'm certain that I can trust you not to bite me.”
For a moment, there was a charged silence and then, to my surprise, Striker chuckled. “Nice one, human girl.”
“Striker, do try and behave,” Lucas groaned.
Striker grinned, a more open smile than his first attempt and I wondered if he'd been deliberately trying to intimidate me. Not that he'd have to work too hard at it; the whole Striker package was intimidating. “I am behaving. I haven't tried to bite her yet, have I?” He glanced down at my shocked face and grimaced. “Just kidding. Hope you're feeling better soon.”
I swallowed heavily, providing much-needed lubrication to my suddenly dry throat. “Thank you. I hope so too.”
Striker turned and left the room, leaving me with Lucas and Ripley, who was still watching me with a slight frown. “I myself have little faith in humanity, but I will defer to Lucas's judgment for now. Adieu, Miss Duncan.” With a small bow, Ripley strode from the room and Lucas sat down beside the bed.
“Are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” I agreed.
“You handled that very well. You're not frightened?” he inquired mildly.
“No. Although if I met Striker in a dark alley, I might be a little intimidated.”
A roar of laughter erupted from elsewhere in the house and I stared at Lucas, perplexed by the sudden sound.
“Our hearing is extremely acute,” Lucas reminded me wryly.
“Oh.” I flushed with embarrassment again, wondering if I could ever make sense of this.
“Don't worry. Most of the time we try to respect one another's privacy. You learn to tune out and not listen,” Lucas explained. “Striker doesn't have as much control as the rest of us, in that regard.”
I heard Striker yell out an apology and grinned despite myself. “Is Striker his real name?”
Lucas nodded. “It's his surname. He doesn't ever use his first name, absolutely loathes it.”
I played with the sheet, rolling the edge between my thumb and forefinger. “I don't think Ripley likes me.”
“Ripley doesn't understand you. He can't read you, and it is frustrating him.”
I glanced up. “Excuse me?”
Lucas rubbed a hand across his chin. “Ripley has the ability to read minds. He can hear thoughts, get an idea of what people are thinking and planning. For reasons unknown, he is struggling to reach your thoughts.”
“Seriously?” I raised my eyebrows in question. “He can read anybody's thoughts?”
“Only if he specifically chooses to tunes in, and the person is a good broadcaster. In your case, he can't get a good reading and it bothers him.”
I thought for a minute or two. I didn't like the idea of anyone being able to read my thoughts, and certainly didn't want Ripley to gain access to them. My thoughts were my own, a private hell which I didn't want anyone knowing. I was relieved Ripley couldn't read me, but could appreciate why he found it frustrating. “So he doesn't know whether he can trust me.”
“That's correct.”
“I don't want him to read my thoughts,” I announced adamantly. The very thought of him having access to my mind was appalling.
“None of us particularly want our thoughts read, Charlotte. But it is Ripley's gift and something he treats with a great deal of respect. He deliberately avoids getting into other people's minds.”
“But he'd like to deliberately get into mine?” I snapped.
Lucas exhaled heavily. “You can't blame him, Charlotte. We are placing our very existence in your hands. If you tell someone about what you've learned, it could destroy us.”
“Nobody would believe me.”
“But they might,” Lucas countered.
Silence stretched between us as I considered their concern. They were taking a risk by letting me stay here – not knowing me, how could they be expected to believe I would keep my mouth shut? Of course, it was a two-way street; I was placing faith in their ability to control their need for blood. It seemed both sides had issues to overcome.
Lucas captured my hand in his and squeezed my fingers gently. “You look much better.”
“I feel better.” Lucas smiled warmly and I was confident he trusted me, even if the others didn't. But there were still many things I didn't understand, subjects we hadn't broached, which needed discussion.
“You have more questions?”
“How do you know?” I voiced my surprise aloud. “I haven't said anything.”
Lucas leaned forward, pushing the curls away from my face. “I can tell by the look in your eyes. They are very expressive.”
I was flummoxed and it took a few seconds to regain my composure. “I do have some questions.”
“Go ahead.” Lucas leaned back in the chair, holding my hand between his.
“When you… hunt… how often do you need to do that? Do you have to eat… or is it drink… every day?”
Lucas rubbed the pads of his thumbs over my hand, a little smile tugging at his lips. “No. Generally once every week or two is enough to sustain us.” He sighed heavily. “Right now, it is far more regularly for me. Being near you causes my craving for blood to intensify. Since I met you, I'm hunting at least two to three times a week. Sometimes more.”
I pondered his response for a minute, keeping my face composed, although my heart was pounding a little faster. The extra hunting was needed to stop him from killing me, and although I had a measure of trust in him, his desire to drink my blood was deeply disturbing.
“Charlotte, it's okay to tell me what you are thinking. I hear your heart racing; I know you must find this alarming.”
“You can hear my heart?”
“Constantly. I hear its tempo change when you are frightened by something I've said.” He offered me a sultry smile and grazed his fingers across my cheek. “I heard it increase dramatically when I kissed you this morning.”
Blushing furiously, I looked away, trying to regain my composure at his mention of our kiss. I knew he'd be able to hear the flutter of my heart as I recalled the touch of his lips against mine. It took a few seconds before I regained enough composure to speak. “How did you all come to live here?”
“We drifted together over the years. Ripley joined me first, then Ben and Rowena. Striker and Marianne arrived sometime after them, followed by Acenith, who was acquainted with Ripley in the past. Holden, who is away right now, joined us in the late seventies. Gwynn and her partner William were the last to join the group.”
As Lucas explained, I recalled the conversation I'd overheard a few days ago, when I'd feigned unconsciousness. Gwynn was the one who didn't want me here. Did she want to kill me?
“Charlotte?” Lucas interrupted my thought process and I looked up, found him watching me intently. “What's the matter?”
Screwing up my nose, I knew I'd have to admit to eavesdropping again. “I heard you mention Gwynn once before. When I woke up… and pretended to still be—”
“Asleep.” Lucas finished for me. He thought for a second, and then repeated the conversation I'd heard, word for word. “Marianne, you think she's better here with us. Gwynn has made her
attitude about Charlotte being here very clear.”
“How did you do that?”
“One of my gifts. I recall every conversation I've ever had.” He brought my fingers to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “Gwynn will come around, she's worried.”
“That she's going to attack me?” I voiced the anxiety without thinking.
“What? No, not at all.” He rubbed his hand over my arm, a reassuring gesture. “Gwynn is terrified you will reveal our secret. Probably more apprehensive than Ripley.”
“I won't. I promised I won't, and I meant it,” I reassured him. “I'll never tell anyone about you.”
“I believe you. Gwynn is not easily convinced however, and she is quite jealous.”
“Jealous.” I repeated. What could possibly make her jealous? I was a suicidal, depressed scrap of humanity, who had, until recent days, only wished to die.
“She is jealous because you retain your humanity,” Lucas stated quietly. “Gwynn chose to become vampire and it's a decision she has regretted many times in the ensuing years.” He squeezed my fingers. “Don't worry about Gwynn. I want you to concentrate on regaining your health. What else would you like to know?”
“When you… bite. Does it hurt the animal you're biting?”
Lucas chewed his lip thoughtfully before he responded. “Our fangs contain a paralytic agent, to stop our prey moving when we feed. It keeps the pain they experience to a minimum.”
“But they know,” I persisted quietly. “They know what's happening to them?” My thoughts weren't entirely focused on the animals. It was the humans he'd admitted to killing, who were uppermost in my mind. Had they been terrified when he'd attacked them, draining their lives through their veins? Had they known their deaths were imminent?
His expression hardened and he lifted his chin defiantly. “It's what I am, Charlotte. I cannot change what I've done in the past, nor can I seek redemption for it. I have murdered many people and it's not something I'm proud of, but you have a choice. You can either accept me, for who I am, or you can't and we stop this now.” His voice was hard and cold and he watched me impassively, waiting for a response.
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