The monster waited, as if he expected a reply. Her lips stayed buttoned, and finally he decided to go on.
“If you attempt escape or self-harm, I will have you; I repeat myself only to be very clear. Also, attempts to recruit any of my staff are doomed to failure, and will result in their elimination. If necessary, I will terminate them in your presence, and I will be cruel. Do you understand?”
So, what, you’re holding me hostage? Nobody’s gonna pay anything, even Don. She was thinking through sludge. At least pain would keep her awake; this funny floating feeling was probably close to the fatal, gentle drowsiness of hypothermia. “Why not just kill me?” Come on, man. I stabbed you right in the chest.
“I would rather pluck out my own eyes and seek true-death than harm a single hair on your lovely little head, kitten.” He finally hit the brakes for real; a single light shone on the left side of the road ahead, winking through tree branches. “But if any of my staff are so foolish as to intrude upon our games, I will not brook the interference.”
Games? You want to play Scrabble or something? Her head took up a fuzzy ache, the bite-marks on her throat throbbing insistently. If she focused on that, she didn’t have to think about any other physical sensation. “So there’ll be real human people, where you’re taking me?”
“In the morning, at least.” The light on the left hopped closer; the car slowed further. “Tonight we have pleasantly to ourselves.”
Color me under-enthused. How much more before she started to scream and never stopped? “If someone helps me escape, you’ll fire them?” Did that mean he was going to keep her around? Like a pet, or a walking buffet?
How much blood would her body make after each bite? She didn’t feel woozy from loss of plasma, but then, it was hard to tell through the exhaustion, the numbness, the reminder of recent activity between her legs.
Do not think about anything but the next few minutes, dammit. You need all your brains for getting through this. Whatever this was.
“If any are so disloyal or stupid, I will flay them, drain them in agony, and crush their bones to powder.” The monster said it like reciting a grocery list, and Bea found she believed every word.
“Are you going to bite me again?” Please, just tell me you won’t.
“Absolutely. But not tonight; you require rest.”
Golly gee, isn’t that nice of you. Bea watched as the mouth of a driveway swelled to the side, pavement overlaid with scattered gravel, the car taking the turn and bouncing slightly as it left the road. The light shone on a huge wrought-iron gate, gleaming as it swung wide. The driveway itself was a curtain of ink until headlights slashed across, revealing a smooth concrete ribbon between thick underbrush, skeletal branches rattling. Probably really pretty in spring, but right now creepy as all hell.
“I don’t think you comprehend quite yet, but no matter.” Patiently, quietly, as he steered the silver shark of the car uphill. “We have all the time in the world, Beatrice.”
That does not sound good. She stared as twinkling lights came into view, a house at the hill-crown peering through sodden, shivering forest. A big old fieldstone mansion, in fact, banks of windows burning in the night. The rain had become heavy sleet, slashing down hard.
The BMW slowed to idle. One of six garage doors was opening—real conspicuous consumption, here. Dripping, the car slipped easily into a brightly lit, concrete-floored maw.
CHAPTER 12
Like any lair held in readiness, the house smelled faintly of polish and disuse. But the thermostat had taken its remote instructions smoothly, the lights were welcoming, and the structure was solid as well as fully stocked. The layered scents of human staff lingered along maintenance tracks; they might be glad of a change in routine—or bemoan it. Either way, those held in readiness for his new cover would serve her well enough. Isolated, well-cushioned, adjacent to more thickly settled areas for hunting, this particular lair was a relatively ideal location for a newly bonded leman’s introduction to the rest of eternity.
His prize tensed when he cut the engine and might have bolted from the vehicle had he not laid a hand on her knee, his palm cupped, enjoying a hint of her warmth through the coat’s double layers. A single shake of his head, and she waited for him to open her door like a gentleman. She did not demur at being carried, though there was no more sweet resting of her cheek against him. Stiff and pale, Beatrice simply submitted.
His ears told him the house was empty, breathing alone on a winter night. The layout was fairly clear inside his head; it was old habit to install saferooms no matter the cost, though a daywalker did not need such exigencies unless deeply wounded.
The Everly guestroom had not been ideal, this lair’s saferoom was properly windowless. She only had a short while longer to enjoy mortal daylight; fledglings were delicate, though with repeated infusions of his own claret she would reach daywalking status relatively soon. Half a millennia, perhaps?
Another pleasant prospect to contemplate. Especially the necessary feedings.
He did not take her to the saferoom just yet. The water-pipes were clear, his maintenance staff no doubt expecting a bonus this year; he set the matter aside as the master suite’s sunken tub filled. Steam rose; she looked up at the skylight’s dark eye.
This lair’s windows were one-way and UV-coated to discourage both prying gazes and sun damage. Such things were marvels, and their presence in bedroom or bath counted a sign of luxury. Were it daytime she could gaze at the sweep of valley, the concrete artery of the Causeway, at a faint persistent haze of smog above the city proper. As it was, only the stain of porch- and streetlights showed indistinct in a dark sea. Her reflection lingered, pallid and beautiful, staring huge-eyed at the pale stone floor, the expanse of countertop, the paired sinks with heavy brass taps, stacks of thick, thirsty forest-green towels.
Then she studied his own moving image on the glass surface, her eyebrows drawing together.
He tested the water—too hot for a still-mortal? Another wonderful problem to solve. “Come, see if it’s warm enough. I don’t know what you like.”
“Why do you…” She freed a hand from hugging herself, pointed at the window. “Is it only silver-backed mirrors you don’t reflect in? I mean, there aren’t a lot of those around anymore.”
“I am solid enough.” Save in lighter mistform, but that might unnerve you. “Light behaves as it should in my vicinity, unless I force it otherwise. There are natural laws even for our kind.”
“Your kind.” She swayed, catching herself almost before he had a chance to twitch. “Vampire, right? I hate that word.”
Our kind. Enough time for that later. “The proper term is sanguinant, at least nowadays for the European-adjacent.”
