The Vampire's Temptation

by Cecelia Mecca

  Alessandra laughed. And then sobered when she realized Kenton couldn’t haunt anyone because he couldn’t die. Which reminded her . . .

  She jumped from the stool and made her way into the second room of the shop. Years ago, Birdie and her Uncle Jim had purchased the barber shop next door for an expansion, and though they’d renovated it, they’d kept some of the original features. The red leather chairs were now adorned with life-size skeletons, and the mirrored wall opposite them added to the gothic atmosphere.

  The vampire section.

  Alessandra had never paid much attention to it before, but now the model fangs and mini-coffins held an entirely different meaning to her. Sure, vampires didn’t sleep in coffins (as far as she knew), but the fangs weren’t totally inaccurate. She found herself picking up a pair, examining them with interest.

  Putting them back, Alessandra wandered around the shop looking at each item and attempting not to listen to the whispers in the other room. Each day her hearing improved, but she also somehow knew how to block it out.

  Eventually, she made her way back to the vampire fangs.

  A tingling sensation skated down her spine. Someone was nearby. And not just someone.

  A vampire.

  She spun around to face the back door of the shop, watching it to see if her senses would prove accurate.

  A woman stepped inside. The one she’d noticed the other day at Le Trousseau. She was even more beautiful up close.

  “You felt me coming.”

  “I did.”

  “Who are you?” she asked. She was certain this woman, this vampire, was somehow related to Lawrence, but that was all she knew.

  Smiling, the woman extended her hand. “Laria Derrickson. Lawrence’s sister.”

  I knew it.

  “Odd, aren’t they?” Lawrence’s sister gestured to the fangs in Alessandra’s hand.

  “How so?” she asked, placing them back on the table.

  “I guess I should say the idea of them is odd. That anyone would willingly put them in their mouth and pretend to be something so . . . monstrous.”

  It was an odd thing for her to call herself. Then again, Kenton had insisted it was a curse.

  “Maybe not so monstrous,” she ventured.

  Laria shook the long bangs out of her eyes, revealing eyes as green as her brother’s. They reminded Alessandra of the rumored fairy pools in Scotland. Birdie had once shown her a picture of them in one of the books sold at the shop.

  “Do not make the mistake of believing so,” Laria said, picking up the fangs. “For every appealing quality a vampire possesses, there is another, darker one which can be easy to overlook. There’s a reason the stories about them are considered horror.”

  The shiver that ran down Alessandra’s spine had nothing to do with her Cheld abilities. This was pure, old-fashioned anticipation. And not the good kind, like the possibility of her damn phone buzzing with a text from Kenton.

  Alessandra concentrated on her presence.

  Nothing.

  “You are not a threat to me,” she said finally, opening her eyes once again.

  “No. I am not.”

  She didn’t elaborate, although Alessandra waited several moments for her to speak. “You came here to warn me.”

  Again, nothing.

  “I came because Lawrence told me all about you and . . . I was curious.”

  Interesting. Why would a centuries-old vampire be on the defensive?

  She would play along. “And?”

  Her smile appeared genuine, but then again, her own experience with people, mere mortals, could not compare to this woman’s many lifetimes of knowledge.

  “Having met you, I’m less surprised at Kenton’s behavior.”

  Her heart skipped a beat at his name.

  She would not ask.

  “You know of . . . us?”

  Dammit. She’d asked.

  “I do.”

  What she noticed most about Laria was her lack of movement, as if every gesture were deliberate. Refusing to fidget under her watchful gaze, Alessandra simply waited.

  “I don’t know what to make of it, frankly.”

  The “it,” she presumed, meant the two of them. But she never got to ask.

  “There you are.”

  Toni found them squaring off in the back room, silent and staring.

  Alessandra broke first.

  “Laria, this is my friend Toni. She works here.”

  “Laria.” Toni let the word roll from her tongue. “You look familiar.”

  “She is Lawrence’s sister,” Alessandra cut in. And just like that, Toni’s mouth dropped open, her eyes combing Laria from head to toe. Poor girl could never be a poker player.

  “Nice to meet you,” Toni finally said, although it was obvious she would have liked to interrogate her. She gave her head a little shake and turned to Alessandra. “So Birdie is here. She’s actually looking for you.” With a quick nod to Laria, she returned to the register.

  “Excuse me,” Alessandra said, happy to have an excuse to leave the tense nonconversation.

  “Of course.”

  Although it seemed Laria had come specifically to speak to her, she didn’t follow Alessandra through the store. No matter, she had a feeling this wasn’t the last she’d see of the vampire.

  “Morning,” she said as she rounded a corner, feigning a cheeriness she didn’t feel.

  “Hi, sweetie.” If Birdie’s chipper greeting had not announced her presence, her bright orange top and flowing purple skirt certainly would have. “I’m glad I found you here. I spoke with someone who knew of your—”

  Alessandra put a finger to her lips and pointed into the adjoining room with her other hand.

  Birdie’s voice dropped. “Who knew of your Cheld, and they had quite a tale to tell.”

  Her interest piqued, Alessandra accepted a chocolate biscotti from Birdie. In her funk, she’d completely forgotten about breakfast.

  “So who did you talk to? What did they say?”

  Birdie’s brow creased. “Before I tell you, I need to know. Have strange things still been happening to you? Toni said you no longer believe you’re in danger—”

  “I’m not,” she said emphatically. “But yes, my ‘abilities’ have continued to manifest.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Birdie said, looking for customers. “Sit down. When the shop is empty, we need to talk.”

  Kenton gripped the iron railing in front of him, waiting for any sign of movement from the mansion next door.

  It struck him, not for the first time, or even for the fiftieth, that perhaps the feud between their families would not run so deep had Alec, Lawrence’s older brother, been killed in battle.

  But Alec’s traveling party had been attacked in a time of relative peace. Kenton’s kin had been blamed, and so it had all begun. Lawrence’s father had demanded bloodwite, which Kenton’s father had refused to pay, insisting on their family’s innocence.

  And so a bitter and bloody conflict had broken out between the two families, one that had directly led to the curse.

  The Cheld had brought them together again over the years—on opposite sides of the breach once more—and the enmity between the families remained as strong as ever, centuries after it had begun.

  But Kenton was about to do something he’d never imagined—ask his enemy for help.

  And so, when Lawrence walked out onto the wraparound front porch, Kenton ungripped his hands and descended the side stairs toward his enemy. There was no sign of Laria, which normally he would consider a good thing.

  But not today.

  Today, Kenton would take all of the help he could get.

  “Chief,” he said, joining Lawrence.

  Immediately suspicious of the moniker, which had been said deferentially rather than mockingly, Lawrence raised his brows.

  “What are you up to, Morley?”

  Oh, if his brothers could see him now. The words stuck in his throat, b
ut he said them anyway. He said them for her.

  “I need your help.”

  As expected, Lawrence did not react at first. Poor Scot. He was likely too stunned to speak. Hundreds of years of animosity brewed under the surface of this meeting, and it would not be easily dissolved.

  “We don’t need a truce to protect Alessandra,” Kenton added. He needed help, yes, but he did not wish to count Lawrence Derrickson among his few friends.

  “Jesus, Kenton. Do you understand what you’re asking?”

  Running his hands through his hair, Lawrence finally sat, picked up a white ceramic coffee mug, and drank.

  Kenton sat beside him, hoping to diffuse the tension even further.

  A blast from the train’s horn, the first departure of the day, reminded him of his interlude with Alessandra on the train car. He’d thought of little else since, aside from the fact that he was letting down everyone—his parents, his brothers—by coming here today.

  “I do,” he said finally. He paused, then felt the need to add, “This does not mean I condone what you do. Allowing most of the Cheld to live threatens our existence.”

  “How can you say that when you sit here asking for us to help protect Alessandra? What about her brother? Will you allow him to live as well?”

  He’d given it much consideration.

  “She would never forgive me if I did not.”

  Lawrence’s cup clanked on the table between them as he put down his mug.

  “Your logic is faulty, Kenton. Either the Cheld are too dangerous to live, whether they choose to be hunters or not, or you admit the opposite is true.”

  He wasn’t wrong. And yet, Kenton could not banish the memory of his mother’s death—or of the many other vampires who had been cut down by Alessandra’s kind. Some had not even posed a threat to humans, but the Cheld, like any other group, included members with extreme opinions.

  “I don’t dispute you,” he said finally. “But here I am asking for your help nonetheless.”

  Lawrence sighed.

  “We will help you.”

  He’d sensed Laria nearby. She crested the top of the stairs and sat in the empty chair beside her brother. Looking down at the town below, she said, “If your brothers know you’re here—”

  “They don’t.”

  “They will eventually.”

  The Derrickson’s kept tabs on his family, as they did the Scots. Neither family stayed apart for long being on opposite sides of a mission, and she knew as well as he did that his brothers would eventually descend on Stone Haven too. It would not happen yet, though. They’d not contacted him in weeks, which told him neither Drake nor Rowan had yet realized Alessandra or her brother lived.

  As the eldest in his family, it was usually he who sensed the Cheld’s presence first. Even so, if he’d not come across her in New Orleans, Alessandra may never have come in contact with a vampire. Might never have aroused. But now that she had . . .

  “I wish you would reconsider your stance—” Lawrence began.

  “I won’t.” That was not negotiable.

  “What’s your plan?”

  Hell had officially frozen over. He and the chief were on the same side. And they had to make it count. Alessandra’s life was at stake.

  “I was hoping you would tell me. Obviously you’ve managed to cloak the Cheld from our awareness, otherwise—”

  “They would all be dead,” Laria said, her tone flat.

  He would make no apologies for that.

  “Yes.”

  “We need to think about this,” Lawrence said. “Find a way to help her without giving you the means to destroy our family.”

  Kenton had expected as much. The Derrickson siblings had kept a secret, one Kenton had long since abandoned trying to solve, for over seven hundred years. He didn’t expect Lawrence to reveal the truth about how to cloak the Cheld to him now. They were enemies yet.

  He stood. “I don’t know how much longer it will be. Her abilities grow—”

  “And therefore so does our kind’s awareness of her existence,” Laria finished.

  He turned to leave, pleased by the outcome even as dread filled his very core for what lay ahead. “Thank you,” he said.

  He descended the stairs before he could see how they reacted, but he could well imagine it. Kenton Morley thanking the great chief of Clan Karyn and his sister for their assistance.

  Shaking his head, he took a deep breath of the clean, small-town air, knowing his time here was coming to an end. Alessandra’s was as well, though she did not yet know it, though she would not likely wish to leave.

  But now that he’d elicited the Derricksons’ help, he could see her again. The anticipation of it told him he had done the right thing. Alessandra Fiore had reached into his chest and grabbed hold of his heart. The question was, would she tear it out?

  Chapter 18

  She hated running when it was hot.

  Alessandra would have much preferred to have to don a jacket and gloves to battle freezing cold temperatures on a run, as miserable as that was, than have sweat beading on her face like it was now. But after her talk with Birdie, she needed the release.

  Pressing her earbuds more firmly into her ears, she marveled at how quickly the scenery around her changed. The river’s bend was usually a milestone for her runs. Now she’d passed it with little effort. Not even the stifling heat slowed her pace or quickened her breaths.

  Because I am a Cheld.

  Pushing thoughts of Kenton aside, she turned Birdie’s words over and over again in her mind. The acquaintance she’d spoken to about the Cheld had thought the word’s origins were grounded in a story about Simon of Winchester, although she didn’t know much more. From there, Birdie had done some research of her own. The thirteenth-century tavern keeper’s headless body had been found in a coal storage area. It was the first in a string of similar murders in London’s Ironmonger Lane. None of the heads, she’d said, were ever found.

  That the Cheld was connected to such a gruesome tale naturally concerned Birdie and Toni.

  She could ask Kenton about the connection. He knew more than he’d told her thus far, which only strengthened her resolve to find out more. But she didn’t want to be the one to call first. Something was . . . off . . . about the way he left.

  Alessandra turned around and began running back. To think a week ago her biggest concern had been putting together a syllabus for a history class. Her life had become a history lesson—one with impossible stakes.

  “Holy shit, Kenton!”

  He came around the bend from nowhere, and Alessandra nearly slammed into him before stopping short.

  Bending down to grasp the tops of her knees, she realized the gesture was more habit than anything. She wasn’t really tired at all.

  “Sorry,” he said, taking a step toward her.

  “Oh, no.” Alessandra tried to put some distance between them.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, grabbing her arm. Hauling her against his chest, Kenton slammed his lips against hers. The scent of him burned a path down her chest. The shadow of whiskers on his face scratched against her cheeks.

  Like a deluge of water after a long run, Kenton’s kiss was exactly what she’d needed. But if this continued for much longer, a repeat of the incident with the guard awaited them. This path, made for walkers and runners, was hardly private. It pained her that she almost didn’t care. What had this man done to her?

  “Why do you pull away?” he said, his arms encircling her like a vise.

  A part of her wanted to stay this way forever. Another part of her wanted to slap him. She didn’t like feeling so needy, so enamored.

  “Why didn’t you call yesterday?” The need to be direct had pushed the words out of her mouth.

  He loosened his grip enough to look down at her.

  “I had some thinking to do.”

  Stepping away and grasping her hand, he began to walk back toward town as if it were the most natural thing in the world, the
two of them hand in hand. Together.

  In a way, it was.

  “There’s more that I need to tell you,” he said, a hint of danger in his voice. The danger did not come from him, she could tell, but it did frighten him.

  “Good, because there’s more that I need to ask.”

  He squeezed her hand, his eyes giving her a sidelong glance that sent shivers down her spine. “I would have you understand the conflict between my family and Lawrence’s.” He paused. “It’s hard for many people to imagine it now, but the border between Scotland and England was a dangerous place when I was a young man. Rockford sat in the borderlands, in the midst of it all. There was a thirty-year treaty that kept it relatively safe, but toward the end of that time, the situation descended into chaos.”

  “Why?” she asked. Her interest piqued at the opportunity to talk history with someone who had actually freaking lived it. Her own research had not brought her that far north. She knew more about the years after the time Kenton spoke of, when Robert the Bruce had initiated the end of English rule.

  “A good question, and not really pertinent to my story. Suffice it to say it stemmed from a few men’s greed and divided loyalties, which sometimes saw families from both sides of the border joining forces through familial bonds.”

  The train whistle signaled a temporary end to their conversation. Once the train rolled by them, Kenton continued his story.

  “There was a raid on Derrickson land. Alec led a hot trod back across the border, into England.”

  She remembered that had been the name of the Derricksons’ ancestral home.

  “On their return home, there was an attack. During the skirmish, his older brother Alec was killed.”

  She gasped. Even though Alessandra hadn’t seen much of Lawrence as of late, she did like him. Now that she knew he wasn’t trying to kill her, of course. His loss had happened lifetimes ago, yet she could not help but imagine how much it would hurt to lose her own brother.

  “That’s awful.”

  Kenton refrained from commenting. His expression was stoic.

  “His father, the chief, demanded bloodwite . . . to pay the debt for his son’s death, one supposedly caused by my kin. We were not responsible, so we refused, which only strengthened a feud that had already been ongoing since before my birth.”