Fangs and Stardust (Hidden Tales of Blue Moon Bay Book 3)

by Jovee Winters

  Giles finally came to a stop nearly at the end and stood off to the side after opening the door for me.

  I glanced inside and almost smiled at the décor. It was exactly what I would have expected a centuries old vampire might have. There were brocaded silk curtains, a plush golden bed comforter, rugs that looked hand woven, and a crystal chandelier that glittered with the colors of the rainbow whenever the flickering flames of candlelight touched upon them. There was even an ancient looking organ pressed up against the wall.

  “Will this do for the, mistress?”

  Again I frowned, uncomfortable by such a formal title. But because I didn’t want to attempt talking right now, I simply sighed and nodded.

  “Good, then I will come at the seventh hour. May you rest well.”

  With that the large man turned on his heel and walked back the way we’d come. I stood there, frowning. Was I to be a prisoner in this place? They might keep strange hours here, but I didn’t. I wished I’d grabbed the book off the tea table, at least I could have entertained myself with some reading.

  I was far from sleepy. In fact, I felt an urge to explore. But I didn’t want to be impertinent either.

  So I stood there, long after Giles had gone, wondering what in the devil I’d agreed to.

  “Not up to your standards, dragā?”

  I gasped, limbs going loose on me the instant I heard the tenor of his silky voice. Twirling, I was shocked to note how close he was to me. And once more I smelled the rich scent of his cologne lingering like a wonderful cloud around him and now me.

  I took surreptitious inhales, trying to fill my lungs with it.

  “Do you not care for my home?”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s beautiful. So beautiful.”

  Once again I could speak without problem and I couldn’t understand it, but I was so grateful for it.

  Then he smiled and it was like staring into the sun it was so beautiful. I could just make out the tips of his strikingly white fangs and I swallowed, but not with fear.

  “Ah, yes. You are not tired, little one. Are you? I cannot believe I’d forgotten that.”

  I laughed. “Well, it’s not as if you’d know.”

  He sniffed. “Quite.”

  But he didn’t sound as though he’d meant it. I shook my head. “The problem is,” I admitted softly, “I’m so enthralled by your ancestral home that I quite wish to explore.”

  “I take it from your hesitation that you’re not used to feeling such wanderlust then, am I correct?”

  He’d left so quickly earlier that I thought I’d angered him, but he was back and acting like naught had happened between us and it was quite disconcerting. But even so the truth was he was absolutely right.

  “I’m going mad with it. I’ve never been in a vampire’s home.”

  His laughter was deep and soft, full of rich undertones. “Is that so, dragā?”

  I frowned, quite forgetting my boredom of just moments ago. “What is that name you keep calling me? Dragā, is it?”

  He nodded. “I often slip into my old tongue, I apologize if it makes you uneasy. It takes me a moment to grow accustomed to the new world I awaken in.”

  We were still standing in the hall, where anyone could see us. He seemed to realize it the moment I did, and he gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

  “I was just about to take some refreshments in my room. If you’d care to join me I’d be more than happy for the company.”

  I should say no. Going to a strange man’s room. Alone.

  And then I realized that there was no reason why I shouldn’t. We were two grown adults and though I’d matured up during the time of the Puritans I was not one of them. Never had been.

  “I’d love to.”

  His smile was radiant as he stepped to the side and gestured for me to enter. “As my lady wishes.”

  I giggled, feeling giddy and silly. He’d actually said it as though he’d meant it, and oddly enough, I hadn’t minded it one little bit.

  Chapter 2

  Dracula

  I was as enchanted by her today as I’d been over seven hundred years ago when we’d first met within her king’s stables.

  She looked nothing like the woman I’d once known and loved with the entirety of my being and dark soul, but her reincarnated forms were never similar.

  I only ever knew her because my soul instantly recognized hers.

  Evanora and I had been entwined nearly from the very beginning. In her I’d found my unbridled equal in all things and in me she’d found truth and steadfast devotion.

  And no matter which form she returned to me I always knew. Because that was how the castle’s wise woman had designed her counterspell to be.

  Where Evanora was reborn I would have no choice but to follow, and the only way I could endure the pain of our separation was through a deep sleep. Awakening only when it was time. When her memories were close to the surface and she would likely remember me. Us. And our love that transcended both time and distance.

  She laughed, tucking an errant strand of jet-black hair behind her milky colored ear lobe.

  It was all I could do to remain in my seat and listen to her. It wasn’t that listening to Evanora tell me of her life had ever been a chore for me, more that I was cursed to never forget even when she couldn’t remember. And so I longed and yearned for us to be back to where we’d been right now. Which was no good for her. Coming on too strongly was a sure way to get her to run away from me. A lesson I’d learned the hard way far too many times.

  It used to pain me, to know that our love could be forgotten by her, but it no longer did. Because more than being forgotten what I feared most was not being remembered at all.

  There had been incarnations when no matter how hard I’d tried she’d not known me. And had chosen to walk away. Those periods were my darkest times. The worst ones for me, the ones I almost hadn’t survived.

  Evanora didn’t always return a woman, but it didn’t matter to me. Whatever form she came in it was not her body so much as her soul that I desired above all else.

  The last incarnation when she’d been Paul she’d not known me. Would not accept me. He’d run away from me, into the darkness of the night, returning to his world, and his peoples.

  He’d even married another, sired many children. When I awoke I did not sleep again until Evanora did. I’d told myself to keep away from him, to let him have his life, because he’d not chosen to remain by my side and I had to respect his wishes. Three times now she’d never recalled me at all, and the first two I’d had to suffer the agony of knowing she’d passed on from this life to the next one without ever knowing the truth of our destinies. So in those incarnations I’d chosen to remain behind, keeping myself at a distance if she should ever want me back again. She hadn’t though, in either of the three lives, and I wasn’t sure if watching her die without her even wanting me by her side, or aching for me as I did for her, had been better or worse for me.

  I’d watched Evanora’s innumerable forms die countless times. Some deaths had been peaceful. She’d grow old and frail and silver of hair, but still just as lovely to me, and I’d hold her till the last moment when she’d breathe her last in my arms. But other deaths were not so easy. My enemies—of which I had countless—had taken her from me by unnatural means more often than not. Those deaths had been violent and dark and brutal to endure for us both.

  Evanora and I had been cursed by a black witch long, long ago. A spurned lover of mine. True, I’d not always been a faithful lover. But I’d not known Aziria’s heart until much too late. By then I’d fallen in love so deeply and completely with Evanora and in Aziria’s insane jealousy she’d crafted a simple but surprisingly effective curse for us both.

  Evanora and I had gone out countless times in the first few centuries to search out a cure. Hoping and praying that at some point in history someone would come along who could help us break the hex. But then she’d die and I’d be forced to halt that s
earch until I’d awaken into the next life. And with Evanora sometimes stubbornly refusing to remember the truth there’d been some lives where I’d not bothered searching at all. The worst times were when she came back to me as a human.

  I’d fallen in love with the human Evanora, so it wasn’t that I despised humans. And I’d even learned to ignore the dark hunger. I no longer fed from mortals, hadn’t for quite some time. But her humanness also made her fragile and so quickly lost to me. I’d only get a few years with her, if I was lucky. Sometimes it was much less. Once it’d only been months.

  The nightmare of watching the woman I loved die over and over and over had long since taken its toll on me. Giles often told me that I’d grown grave and moodier with each incarnation. He saw to my body while I slept the great sleep. I knew he was right. But there was naught I could do about it. No one understood what it was I suffered, not even Evanora could understand it. Because she always had the luxury of forgetting. But my memory was eternal.

  I forgot nothing.

  Now she was a witch in this life and witches were long-lived, in fact, certain spells could make them very nearly immortal. She’d been a witch in a past life too, and I’d been so full of hope and excitement. It’d been the one and only time she’d come back to me as a supernatural. Sadly, it’d taken me little time to suss out that her witch flame had been dim. She’d not been a powerful witch. Nothing like Aziria. Evanora’s spells had been whimsy, fantastical, and lovely. She could create animals from light. I’d loved watching her prancing flames long into the night. But she’d not known enough then to figure out how to remain by my side eternally.

  And though I should feel excitement at the possibility that this time around she seemed like a stronger witch—her internal flame burned bright—I found myself not as hopeful as I once might have been. Seven hundred years was a long time to ask anyone to continue holding out hope that this time would be different. That this time we’d finally figure out a way to break Aziria’s vengeful curse.

  But if I’d learned anything from the failure that had been Paul it was that I could not try to force the memories out of her. No matter how badly I wanted and needed her to remember me, she had to want it too. She had to need me to.

  The choice was always hers. In all things.

  She crossed her legs. They were long and shapely. She had luscious curves. I’d seen her in countless forms.

  Rubenesque. Willowy. Robust. Lanky. I loved them all, though I think I’d always secretly enjoyed her curvy bodies most. Especially when I could grip her hips and drive into her softly yielding form as she clutched at me and whispered of her undying devotion and love to me too.

  She smiled. “Really, a lovely home, Dracula.”

  I blinked, realizing I’d been lost in my head again and hoping I’d not inadvertently tuned her out.

  I knew she would. She’d decorated it after all. Each of her incarnations had added touches here and there and I’d never been able to change even a bolt. This manor was my tether to her. A way to preserve our love and a way for me to remember even in the darkest times that she’d once loved me and one day would again, whether in this life or the next.

  But I was really, really hoping it was this one.

  I was tired. And missed her with a bone-deep ache that made me feel like one of my walking dead that haunted my grounds.

  I rubbed at my eyes, feeling a lethargy spreading through me. It was both a joy and a great pain to be with Evanora during her awakening, never knowing how things would go in this new life, wondering if I’d be forced to endure another lifetime without her by my side.

  “You look tired. I have overstayed,” she said with obvious sympathy. My undead heart flipped over in my chest, would she yield to me in this life then? Had that merely been politeness or empathy?

  Her hand touched my knee and my body trembled all over. My gaze latched onto her lily-flower pale skin and I heard her swift intake of breath.

  “Oh, I’m—”

  She tried pulling away, and I knew I should let her. I should. But I was weak. I was tired. Just not in the way she believed me to be. I loosely wrapped my long fingers around her slender wrist and held her fast.

  “Don’t go, Rose. Stay here.”

  I wondered if she heard the words for what they really were. Not simply a plea for her to keep speaking with me, but more. So much more. I needed her back in my life. Needed her healing touch. Her gentle words.

  I needed my life to return to me again.

  I dared to glance back at her.

  Her eyes were soft, her gaze thoughtful. “You look unwell. When was the last time you slept?”

  I chuckled, because she had no idea just how unwell I was. “Considering I’ve awoken after nearly a century. I’d say I’m quite well rested.”

  She lightly laughed but managed to wiggle free of my grip and I ached for her touch again. I could sleep, if she was beside me. I could close my eyes and sink into the blissful silence of near death so long as I had her near me.

  As long as I knew she would be mine again, if only for a time.

  Vaguely I recalled that I’d asked her to my room for refreshments, but I’d not poured us any.

  With a shake of my head, I lithely moved to my feet. She gave a soft little gasp as she watched me rise.

  I knew what she was thinking, I’d seen the same wonder in her eyes through countless decades. She was always a little taken aback by my otherworldly nature, how I moved with the ease of a jungle predator, she’d once said.

  Grunting, I cleared my throat and tried to move at a more human pace. Hunching my shoulders a little and looking less supernatural, as it were.

  I felt the burn of her eyes upon my back.

  I hated to hope. Hope was a toxic thing for me. But it seemed to me, that she was much softer in this time then she’d been in others. She was much more open in her admiration of me.

  When I thought of Paul, I sometimes wondered if perhaps his being born into a period where male companions were a shunned ideal had been partly to blame for his rejection of me. It was near impossible to embrace an inconvenient truth when the mores of society labeled you a heathen and monster for it.

  But this was a vastly different time from that one. Western culture seemed much more accepting today than in days past. Still, there’d not been even a bit of warmth from him then.

  The Rose of today and the Paul of yesterday almost felt like two different people, and yet I knew better. She was the same Evanora no matter how she returned to me and I would always, always find her.

  A muscle in my cheek twitched as I finally reached the wet bar. Feeling oddly out of sorts I reached for the blood wine. An ancient vintage made from pinot noir grapes grown on my estate in France and mixed with an aromatic blend of blood pearls from around the seventeen hundreds.

  I poured one out and drank it without even bothering to taste it, already I could feel my nerves steadying. But I poured one more just to be on the safe side.

  Still her eyes remained fixed on me. This time I didn’t slam the drink back, I watched her over the rim of the crystal, noting the curious tilt of her head and the way her blue eyes gleamed in the candlelight.

  Blood had rushed to her cheeks. “You look like Snow White,” I said before my brain caught up to my tongue.

  My brows twitched and I gave my head a slight shake. I was coming on too strong. I knew this. I must stop. With a heavy sigh I pretended to make busy work and drank the second glass, also without tasting the excellent vintage, and rummaged around for the decanter of sweet port.

  No matter the life, Evanora always preferred her wines sweet.

  I was busy searching for her favored goblet when I suddenly felt her presence lingering by me. When I looked up, she was mere inches away.

  No one could come upon me unawares. No one but her. I’d long since stopped being surprised by her ability to get beneath my defenses. If we were in a room of thousands I’d never lower my guard this way, lowering my defenses
meant she could be killed, taken, raped, or tortured. I’d seen it all.

  But when it was just she and I, I often was too tired to keep my wits about me.

  “You do look very tired, Dracula,” she murmured sweetly and I shuddered, feeling the warmth of her curl through my bones like fine wine.

  I relaxed my grip on the decanter of port and shook my head.

  “Are you in a rush to see me to bed?” I asked teasingly, and once again realized after I’d said it that I shouldn’t be coming on so strongly with her.

  Her lips twitched and she reached for my hand, the one that’d been holding the wine bottle. Sliding it out from under my grasp, she then slid her fingers through mine and I jerked almost violently at the first velvety touch of her in this life.

  “Rose, I—” I said in a broken voice I almost didn’t recognize as my own.

  But then I stopped speaking as her fingers glided over my brow and toward the center of my forehead.

  “I feel your strain, dark one. Right there.”

  My entire body quivered like a taut string ready to snap. What was this? She’d never grown so accustomed to me so quickly, she’d always been a shy field mouse. Terrified of the realities of my world and that I was the biggest monster of them all. Even my beloved Evanora had taken some time.

  She’d grown up in a world where humans believed in us but also felt a deep-seated fear and fury of us. Our path had never been an easy one.

  Rose’s gentle touch was still upon me, gliding a hot path down the side of my face before sliding along my cheekbone and cupping it. I could not stop trembling.

  “Look at me,” she commanded in a voice that did not shake and I did exactly as she asked.

  Her eyes were bright and assessing. I could almost read the thoughts behind her them.

  She was fitting the pieces of the puzzle together already without my ever even uttering a word. But how?