“So, this man kept you with him because he was lonely?” her father asked skeptically.
Bryony nodded. “He was just a strange, lonely man.”
“How strange?” her father asked, his voice sharp.
“Well, for one thing, he said his mother was a witch.”
“A witch?” Maida frowned. “To my knowledge, I’ve never met a witch. Of course, how would I know?” she asked, with a shrug.
Barrett snorted. “Did he do anything magical?”
Bryony bit down on her lower lip, not liking the direction of this conversation. Still, there was no reason for her father to suspect Stefan was a vampire. Few really believed they existed. “He did a few things, like start a fire in the hearth with just a look, that kind of thing.”
“He never misused you?” her mother asked anxiously. “Never hurt you in any way?”
“No. He was very kind to me. He bought me all the lovely clothes and shoes in those trunks., He took me out to dinner and to the theater, granted my every wish, except to come home.”
“Who’s this?”
Bryony looked at her brother, who had been pawing through her belongings and now held up the three paintings she had done of Stefan. She groaned inwardly as she glanced at the one of Stefan as a vampire.
“That’s the messenger who came to tell me you were all right,” her father remarked. Rising to his feet, Barrett stared at the painting. It was all the proof he needed that the vampire had been his daughter’s captor. He swore under his breath, knowing she was lucky to be alive. And more determined than ever to see the creature dead.
Bryony glared at her brother. Always a troublemaker!
“He’s quite handsome,” Veronica remarked, glancing from one painting to the other. “But why did you paint him with fangs in that one?”
Alone in her bedchamber some two hours later, Bryony undressed, and pulled on her favorite nightgown. Stretching out on the bed, she closed her eyes. So many questions. Thankfully, her father had made no mention of Lord Bloodworth. She could only hope that meant the marriage was off. Every time she’d thought the inquisition was over, someone asked another question. Did she remember where his houses were? What was his last name? Who else had shared the houses with her? Why hadn’t she run away? Reluctantly, she had told them he had bewitched the house so she couldn’t leave and that she had painted him as a vampire because, in the beginning, she had viewed him as a monster when he refused to let her go.
The way her father had looked at her when she explained the painting told her more clearly than words that he didn’t believe her, that he knew, somehow, that Stefan was a vampire. But how could he possibly know? They had only met once, briefly. Surely Stefan hadn’t bared his fangs!
What was he doing now? He’d said he was sending her away because being with him was dangerous, but she didn’t care about that. She cared about him, and missed him more than she would have thought possible.
Tears stung her eyes and she dashed them away. She told herself she wasn’t crying for Stefan, that they were tears of joy and relief because she was finally home with her loved ones where she belonged. Thankfully, her father had madeno mention of Lord Bloodworth. Burrowing under the covers, she cried herself to sleep.
Stefan sat on a mountain peak overlooking the city below. How empty his life would be now that Bryony was gone. How had he endured centuries without her? What had he done all those long, lonely evenings before she came? His future stretched before him, as wide and deep as the sky overhead. Perhaps he would go to ground for a thousand years. Perhaps then he would forget her.
Shaking off his melancholia, he thought about the woman who had turned him. Charis. Was she still alive? She had been a tiny little thing, barely five feet tall, with a mass of curly brown hair, and a blue and green peacock tattooed on her left forearm. She had one brown eye, and one blue. Where was she now? He had not seen her or thought of her in seven decades or more. Why was he thinking of her now?
“Perhaps because I was thinking of you.”
“What the hell!” Not much surprised him these days but the sudden appearance of his sire gave him quite a shock.
“What the hell is right!” she agreed. “Why are you sitting here like some lost soul? You are a vampire. The most powerful creature in the world. You can have anything you want and yet you sit here like a bump on a log.” She snorted her disdain. “I should have let you die.”
“I am glad to see you, too,” Stefan muttered.
“I am glad to be here. The Hunter’s Guild has grown considerably larger over the past sixty years. They now have one or more members in every country in the world.”
“Yeah. I recently had a run in with a few of them. They said they thought I was the last of our kind.”
“Not even close.” Charis smiled a sly smile. “I have been making new ones.”
Stefan stared at her. Making new vampires? Well, why the hell not?
“You do not approve?”
He shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy.”
