He gave a nod. I ran my fingers through his hair and Benjamin swooned.
I pulled away from him. “Let me give some to Rachel.”
“It’s all my fault.”
“Life takes us down roads that we are unprepared for.”
“Your son?”
Despite trying to lock him out, he’d glimpsed images. “You’ll need to feed like that once every night,” I said. “Take criminals. It’ll be easier. Just take a few sips and let them drink a little back and they’ll remember nothing.”
“But you’ve not done that for awhile?”
He’d done more than glimpse. “Just don’t get caught.” I emphasized the importance of that statement with a pointed finger.
There was truth in his words, that I’d far from taken my own advice. Over the last few weeks, I’d been so crazed that they’d been no small drinks, rather a sucking dry. “I need to go back to my old ways.”
Even though I’d taken thieves and murderers, I couldn’t shake the guilt and, when least expected, the memory of their faces revisited me.
As though full of wonder, his eyes widened. “Such a life you’ve had.”
An unfamiliar sense of affection filled me. I’d been so distracted lately that I’d forgotten how kindness felt. As soon as I saw Sunaria, I’d remind her how much she meant to me. Her patience had been extraordinary. Despite the fact that I’d pushed her away, she’d stayed. I missed her.
“Perhaps you should turn away.” I encouraged him.
“What are you going to do?”
“Save her.” I pulled Rachel into my arms. Her soft, spiraling curls tumbled over my forearm.
She gazed up and I smiled at her and gestured to Benjamin. She turned her head to look at him and gave a frown.
“Please hurry.” Benjamin placed a hand over her eyes. “It’s best she doesn’t look.”
“And you,” I said. “Turn away.”
I leaned into her neck and kissed her milky, soft skin. Rachel shuddered. Flawless pleasure, the purest claret stolen from an innocent. Images so perfect that I hesitated to cease, indulging in the moment, aware enough that it wasn’t mine.
Another bite into my wrist and blood flowed again, dropping onto her grey lips and trickling into her dry, plump mouth. Rachel’s tongue greeted the bloody drops, her breasts rising and falling. A hint of lavender wafted. Rachel and I shared the lull. She quivered again as she swallowed, and death’s scent dissipated. Her cheeks, once a dusky hue, now flushed.
The door flew open.
The silhouette of a large man loomed. With lightning speed, he neared us. A vampire Status Regal, a haunting, evocative face, transformed in his late forties, or so. He had a hooked nose and a heavy lidded gaze that bestowed a seductive quality. Dressed lavishly, he emanated wealth.
From Benjamin’s expression, I assumed I’d just met Count Delacroix. He didn’t blink as he traced Rachel’s curves with a lustful stare and then his gaze fell onto Benjamin.
“Stay where you are, Benjamin.” I shot him a look of insistence.
Benjamin prodded Rachel’s arm.
With an iron-clad grip, Delacroix clutched my wrist. A strange hypnosis ensued. He still hadn’t blinked. A familiar trance-like sensation filled me, one that Sunaria had tried on me once. I hadn’t liked it then, hating the powerlessness it wrought. With all of my will, I fought his.
Rachel tugged on my trouser leg and broke the spell.
“The Manor, Belgravia,” the count commanded. His voice had an unearthly resonance. “Bring her.”
Rachel reached for me and I interlocked my fingers through hers.
“If I’m not mistaken,” his crooked smile widened, “you’ll see a fair exchange in Rachel for Sunaria.”
Delacroix vanished.
“Who’s Sunaria?” Benjamin said.
Chapter 37
THE COUNT’S HOME WAS a sprawling gothic mansion of extraordinary character.
The striking facade rose out of the midst of the lesser homes surrounding it. The magnificent workmanship suggested French design. Blackfriars Manor was forged into the entry gate’s cast-iron arch. With my hands formed into fists, I reconsidered. My time could be better spent.
I’d not brought the girl.
On my detour via The Fountain Hotel, I’d panicked at not finding Sunaria. No open book, her latest read, just the clothes she’d worn the previous night, neatly folded over the armchair. Everything was exactly where she’d left it, with no sign of a struggle.
Delacroix had a penchant for manipulation.
Sunaria hadn’t lived this long without learning a thing or two about survival. She’d be too fast for this bully of a vampire, but a nagging doubt refused to let up. The fact that I still hadn’t heard from her made me cautious.
The castle was a bedrock of power, a veritable vampire’s lair. High florid railings encircled the property and served to deter. Anyone who visited would probably never find his way out.
I yanked open the gate. Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I neared the manor. It rose into the starlit sky, four floors up. Slender vertical columns and dramatic arches dominated the facade. Surprisingly, the structure had many windows, but these were shuttered. Stone hunting dogs sat halfway up huge towers with melodramatic carved details, threatening to pounce on an unsuspecting visitor. The edifice was easily out of place compared with the modern buildings that had sprung up around it. Unknowingly, mortals had nestled into a dangerous domain.
I tried to get a sense of what lay within.
Transforming Rachel had been remarkable. A wave of emotions flowed through me at her rebirth, as Rachel’s beauty had intensified, if such a thing were possible, and afterward, within my arms slept titian haired perfection. She’d risen with an expression of wonder, as she took in the world with renewed senses. Benjamin asked that it be he who explained what had befallen her. He wanted to give her time to adjust. Memories of my own death and life again came flooding back.
There’d been awe in Rachel’s gaze as those big green eyes of hers had fixed on her maker. A bond forged in blood. A token bride fit for a count. He’d plucked her out of a crowd of mortals for his very pleasure.
Caught off guard, an uncommon devotion for the girl whom I’d saved, as an extraordinary ardor captured me, prevailing a feeling that I’d always known her. I considered this was the reason vampires kept their young. Sunaria had obsessed over me and even now with my behavior as wayward as it had become, she still loved me. As only the bearer of a life can.
The oak doorway squeaked on its hinges. Candlelight threw shadows over the spacious foyer and up the sweeping staircase. Vampires were everywhere, just casually mingling. Their attire reflected wealth—the finest linens for the men and lavish velvets for the women. All leaning toward darker colors, they’d blend in with the night. This sophisticated crowd easily passed for aristocracy. I was regarded for a moment by them, then—much to my relief—ignored. Their conversations continued as their stares fell away.
No sign of Delacroix, and no detection of Sunaria, caused me to question the sanity of my decision to come here. Receiving an occasional glance, I continued on through. Lavish décor, though signs of wear and tear, and casting an eerie atmosphere were line upon line of weird looking characters represented in numerous paintings, strewn randomly upon the walls. I ascended the stairs and they creaked underfoot. A slight wobble of the banister proved my theory. This place had to be over one-hundred years old.
One had a sense that soon these nightwalkers would be out stalking. Unknowingly, I’d walked amongst them, naively unaware that I’d shared the city with so many.
I proceeded down the north corridor, passing a few lone characters, focusing on the way ahead. The vastness of the place caused a nagging futility. I pushed all thoughts of my son away. Sunaria, too.
Within one of the rooms hung a portrait of Delacroix above the fireplace. Dressed in Italian fashion, he held a carnival mask by his side. His wry smile revealed a knowing expression. Several other masked characters stood behind him. I didn’t need to see their faces to know they were shady. At the end of the far wall, I tried to exit through a fake door that, when opened, revealed not an exit, but a brick wall. A clock on the mantelpiece ticked away, but the time was off. The dial lied that it was morning.
Delacroix’ library appeared well stocked. For a split second, I wanted to linger, but with no time for such indulgence, I headed out and trekked down the corridor.
Two vampires were in the throes of passion on an overly embroidered couch. The female straddled the male, who controlled her pace. Her long raven hair was so similar to Sunaria’s that it was alarming. She paused and turned to glance at me, then turned and resumed as though I weren’t there. Her partner gestured for me to join them.
Heading back the way I came, I passed a sorry looking vampire, and at first considered whether to ask him if he’d seen Sunaria, but thought better of it. I peeked back down into the main foyer and caught a glimpse of Delacroix just before he disappeared.
Into the shadows, I followed him. He disappeared through a doorway and descended a dark stairwell. The lower I went, the lower the temperature. As I reached the end, I almost crashed into a towering, carved stone statue of a naked man. The six foot sculpture guarded the entrance, strangely out of place. I passed under the arched doorway and headed further on in. Three gaping tunnels lay just ahead.
A loud bang behind me made me jump.
I flew back toward the door and tried to turn the brass handle. It was locked. I yelled with anger. Something had been shoved up against the door. The stone sculpture by the sound of it.
I chose the east corridor, careful of my footing as I traced along the wet ground. A rat scurried over my foot. I broke into a sprint as the tunnel veered off to the right. The cold water deepened and the darkness wrapped itself tighter around me the further I went in. Waist deep, I waded on, nervous of what may be lurking.
Sunaria, can you hear me?
Swimming through murky water, the never ending tunnel narrowed, and brick work crumbled. When a bloated body floated by, face down. I turned around.
Dripping wet, I ran down the middle corridor. After ten minutes, I reached a dead end. Layers of clay had been heaped over the exit, shoddy workmanship, but effective. My wet clothes cleaved to my skin.
My last choice was the left tunnel, the ground patterned with dark stains and dead insects. With my handkerchief pressed up against my nose, I rallied my courage and continued on. A series of doors lined the way. I reached the last one, another dead end. If ever I met with Delacroix again, I’d thank him for his hospitality.
And then kill him.
I prized open a rusty hinged door and peered in. A lone chair with leather straps that hung from the armrests was positioned in the center. Beside it lay a small table, strewn with assorted instruments and strange contraptions, designed for the sole purpose of torture. My gaze hovered over the worn saw. From the sticky discolorations on the floor, it had been used recently. Lined along the far wall upon poorly constructed wooden shelves was a collection of oddities—stuffed dead animals, their fake eyes bulging. The skeletal remains of small creatures, impossible to make out what they’d once been, were ghoulishly preserved. Lined along the top shelf were large glass bottles filled to the brim with stained water.
I approached and peered into one of the jars.
Through the cloudiness, I made out a familiar shape. “Bloody hell!” A floating severed hand, pallid and wrinkled. For a split second, I thought that the middle finger twitched. On the small finger, a gold band with an ornate crest was embossed into the metal. I pressed my nose up against the jar.
The hand jerked.
“Fuck!” I leaped back.
The clang of the door echoed as I slammed it shut.
A sob startled me. Using caution, I followed the noise and peered into the end jail. Two young men and a girl, wearing rags, were shackled to the wall. Studying their faces, hoping for a sign that would indicate sanity, I stepped inside and tried to mouth breathe to avoid the stench.
“Take me,” the redheaded man muttered. Tatty spectacles balanced on the bridge of his nose, his right lens smashed.
I shook my head.
“Did Evan send you?” the girl asked.
She looked about fifteen, but her dimpled cheeks, button nose, and pony tails were misleading. I wondered if it had been Evan’s corpse that had floated past me.
“Have you seen a woman, twenty-ish,” I asked, “raven hair, the bluest eyes?”
“She’s gone missing, as well?” said the redheaded man.
“Others have gone missing?” I asked.
He answered with a nod. “Her brother and my sister.”
“She has red hair, like you?” I stepped closer.
“Have you seen her?” He shuffled uncomfortably. “Her name’s Rachel.”
“She’s with Benjamin.” I peeked down the corridor.
“Who’s Benjamin?” His voice was tinged with fear.
I hid my surprise and knelt beside him.
“She’s safe,” he said. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
I wondered if there could be another Rachel, but their similarities went beyond just their hair color.