Anna and the Vampire Prince (2 page)

The man, Georges, lies on his back on a bed in a sunny, cheerful room. Amélie closes the door behind me, and he rolls toward me. His eyes meet mine.

“You are American? My name is Georges.”

Thankfully, he’s fully dressed. I nod and make a motion with my hand, and he rolls again so his back is to me. When I feed from a male, I prefer this position. I don’t have to feel his obvious physical reaction to the feeding.

George has unbuttoned his shirt, and now he pulls it off his shoulders and offers me his neck. I settle myself beside him, an arm across his chest, and let my lips graze his neck. He shudders, and I know it’s not from fear, but from excitement. Humans who offer themselves as hosts take great pleasure from the act.

When I break the skin at the carotid, just at the base of his neck, he moans and shifts to press himself closer. I draw first blood, the clean, sweet and salty elixir that sustains my life. As it courses through me, every cell comes alive. For a vampire, only feeding and sex impart warmth. This is the most human I’ve felt since Frey left. The feeling will fade as soon as I’m finished, so I bask in it now.

Too soon, I know it’s time to stop. I lick the wound, and Georges’ artery and skin knit closed. I gently pull his shirt up over his shoulders.

“Combien vais-je vous payer?” I ask.

He looks surprised. “Rien. Nothing. I do it as a favor to my great friends Amélie and Alexander. It is my pleasure.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

He settles onto the bed. “I will sleep now for a little while.”

I can’t help but smile. The bulge in his slacks tells me he’ll be doing something else first.

I leave him and return to the living room where Amélie awaits me. “Did it go well?” she asks.

“Perfectly. Thank you.” I look around. “Vlad?”

“Still with Alexander.”

Then she adds,
They should be finished shortly. Here, sit with me. Tell me about yourself.

I join her on a chintz-covered couch. The room is decorated with rose wallpaper. Vases of flowers from the gardens outside mingle with books and knickknacks scattered over the surfaces of well-worn tables. Their scent mingles with fresh, spring air wafting through open windows. A fireplace mantle displays a bank of candles.

A very romantic room,
I tell her.

Alexander and I are a very romantic couple.

How long have you been together?

Too many years to count. We met during the time of the great French Revolution. A terrible, frightening time, but not all was lost. I found my soulmate.
She fixes me with bright eyes.
Vlad tells me that you have, too.

I drop my eyes.
Frey is a shifter, not vampire. We will not have centuries. But I believe that, yes, he is my soulmate.

Then enjoy the time you have.

I smile.
We do.

A door opens from somewhere down the hall. I expect Georges to appear, but instead it’s Vlad. He’s alone.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks.

The abrupt manner is back. “Yes.”

He bends to Amélie and kisses her cheek.
Merci, ma chère. 

Then he leans close and whispers in her ear telepathically. Too softly for even my vampiric hearing to pick up. Her brows furrow, and her lips turn down in a frown. She whispers back, and Vlad straightens.

I will be sure to keep you both informed,
he tells her
.

During this exchange, I’m left standing by the door, bristling over being left out. Their brief conversation may have been personal and none of my business, but my spidey senses are tingling. I wait until we’re outside and on the Harley to ask, “What was that all about?”

He busies himself with the ignition, and the bike roars to life.
Nothing.

I wrap my arms around him and flash on something Amélie said when we first came in.
Does it have to do with what Amélie asked you earlier? Something about
the Marseilles busines
s?

Vlad stiffens against my arms.
You have no power here, Anna,
he snaps.
You may be the Chosen One amongst your brethren, but here you are merely another vampire. Under my rule. Don’t presume to interfere in matters that don’t concern you.

The rebuff stings me into silence. Until this moment, Vlad has treated me like an equal. I swallow back an angry reply and block my next thought from even his powerful mind.

Vlad steers the bike toward the street. He feels my anger and his bearing softens.
Really, Anna, it is of no importance to you. You have your family to think about, don’t you?

I let myself relax against him.
True. But I am here and as powerful a vampire as Amélie. You know you can trust me.

He starts to say something else, I read the hesitation in his mind. But finally, he shakes his head.
I will keep that in mind,
is all he lets come through.

At dinner tonight, Trish is bubbling with good news. She and her best friend won parts in the spring play at school. This is the most animated I’ve seen her since Mom died, and it’s a balm to my soul.

Dad is equally impressed. “Trish, your grandmother would be so proud!”

He’s passing a platter of spring lamb and vegetables. Smells delicious but I, of course, beg off with the excuse of a late lunch in town. Dinner is always the hardest meal to fake. Since neither my father nor Trish know my true nature, I’m constantly inventing excuses to explain why I’m skipping dinner. When John-John and Frey are here, they help by surreptitiously taking food from my plate. On my own, it’s a lot harder. Breakfast is the easiest meal because Dad leaves early for the fields and Trish is usually preoccupied with her school day ahead. Lunch, Trish is still at school and Dad drops in to grab a bite and is off again. It’s dinner that’s the problem. I fall back on “eating” a lot of late lunches, but sooner or later, Dad is going to question that.

All this passes through my mind as I sip my wine and watch Trish and Dad enjoying their meal.

After a few minutes, I say, “A part in the school play! Your French must be superb, Trish. I can’t believe how quickly you’ve picked up the language.”

“Well,” she says modestly. “We have been here a few years now. And Grandmother always practiced with me.”

There’s a wistful tone in her voice. Dad quickly chimes in. “Well, if you need help with your lines, I’m here. Je parle assez bien français, aussi, vous savez.”

“Oui, vous le faites, pépé. Nous vous remercions de l'offre. Je vais vous prendre au mot.”

They’re grinning like Cheshire cats at each other. I flash again on the thought that maybe it’s time for me to go back to San Diego. My work here may be done.

Then, I remember what happened with Vlad this afternoon. I can speak a little French, but not read it. “Dad? Is there anything in the newspaper about something going on in Marseilles?”

“Marseilles?” He pauses, eyebrows raised. “Nothing out of the ordinary in the last couple of days. But there is a perennial gang problem. Poverty, a large immigrant population, drugs. Just the right ingredients for a troubled community. A year ago, there were twenty drive-by shootings.” He hands Trish a dish, then adds, “They call Marseilles the Gangland of the Riviera. Like Chicago in the 30’s. Why do you ask?”

I take another sip of wine. “I just heard something in the café today.”

“About the kidnappings?” Trish asks.

I look at her. “Kidnappings?”

Her expression is solemn. “Three in the last six months. Young girls. Taken right from their parents’ homes. One girl was from Lorgues. I didn’t know her, but my friend did. It’s awful.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Dad adds. “Two of the girls were found dead within three days of their disappearances. The third,” he glances at Trish, “is still missing. She didn’t go to your school, did she?”

Trish shakes her head. “No. But it’s got everyone rattled anyway, especially since my friend Cecily knew her.”

“And the Marseilles gangs are somehow involved?”

Dad shrugs. “No one knows for sure. But the girls were found in the northern part of the city, where gang activity is most prevalent. The motive seems to be ransom, but both parents of the dead girls paid and their daughters were still killed. It’s a grim situation the police can’t seem able to get a handle on.”

My brain immediately gravitates to wondering if this could be something other than human dirtbags. Could there be a supernatural connection? Of course, asking if any of the girls were drained of their blood would hardly be a logical question to throw out.

A cell phone chimes from the other room. “That’s probably Cecily,” Trish says, brightening. “We’ve got to decide on our rehearsal schedule. Do you mind?” she asks Dad.

He waves her off. “Go. Can’t interfere with the artist at work.”

Once she’s gone, I smile at Dad. “She’s really doing well.” I lean closer and touch his hand. “How about you? How are you doing?”

The smile is still on his lips but his eyes cloud with sadness. “I miss your mother every minute of every day. I just thank God for you and Trish. Without you two…”

He must read something in my expression because he stops. He squeezes my hand. “It’s time for you to go home, isn’t it? Back to San Diego.”

I release a breath. “You know I’ll stay as long as you and Trish need me. But yes, at some point, I have to go back. David and Tracey have been carrying on without me, but I can’t ask them to do it forever.”

He nods and sighs. “If it were up to me, I’d have you and Frey and John-John move here. Help me run the vineyard.” He sighs again. “But that’s my dream. Not yours. Your mother and I learned our lesson a long time ago about interfering—I won’t make that mistake again.”

He’s speaking of the rift that once arose between us because I made the decision to give up teaching for bounty hunting. But that was another lifetime ago. Before I became a vampire. Before Trish came into our lives. “That seems so long ago,” I say.

“Not so long that I haven’t forgotten the pain we caused you. I don’t ever want you to resent me, Anna. Not ever again.”

Trish bounds back into the room. She must sense the darkened mood because she stops, looking from her grandfather to me. “Is everything all right?”

“Absolutely.” I gesture for her to return to her place at the table. “So when is this play anyway?”

 “Three weeks.” She slips into her chair. “We’ll be rehearsing every day after school and on Saturday afternoons.” She looks at Dad. “That’s all right, isn’t it? I promise to keep up with my chores and homework.”

“Of course it is.” He glances at me. “But I’m not sure your Aunt Anna will be here—”

“Are you kidding?” I stop him with an upturned hand. “Miss Trish’s stage debut? Not on your life. David and Tracey can wait another couple of weeks.” I lean toward Trish. “But I think you’d better translate the play for me before the curtain goes up. I don’t think my limited French is up to the task.”

It’s not until later, when I’m in bed, that I think again about Vlad and his Marseilles problem. I don’t know what’s more aggravating, the way he shut me down or me being so out of touch with the European vampire community. As he took great pleasure in reminding me, the vampires here, the oldest in existence, claim their own sovereignty. They never recognized my position as the Chosen One. Since the execution of their leader a few months ago, Vlad has reluctantly assumed a leadership role.

But then, I’m out of touch with my own vampire community. I’ve not had contact with any vampires in the States or elsewhere, and they, out of consideration for my mother’s passing, have left me to grieve in private. That, too, will end once I return to the States.

My thoughts return to Marseilles. Of course, there’s the distinct possibility that the kidnappings have nothing to do with vampires. Not that anyone would admit if they suspected it might. Our existence is still a secret, and most mortals know nothing of us.

Still, I’ll go into town tomorrow and pick up an English edition newspaper. Maybe I can pick up a clue or two on my own.

I leave right after breakfast to head into Lourges. I drop Trish off at school first and make a stop at a little newsstand on Boulevard Georges Clemenceau, right next to the café where I met Vlad yesterday. I find several English language newspapers but pick
The Connexion
, a newspaper for the ex-pat community in France. It’s edited in Nice so I figure it would have the most local news for the region.

Settled in at the café with a latte and the newspaper, it doesn’t take me long to find an article about the kidnappings. During the night, the body of the third kidnap victim was discovered. Strangled, just like the others, and killed after the ransom demand had been met. I flash on Trish saying last night that her friend had known the girl. It makes this kidnapping feel very close to home.

The article goes on to say that it is believed an immigrant gang is responsible, operating outside of Marseilles. The suspicion is causing widespread resentment among the populace toward those now working the vineyards. To make matters worse, the leader of the gang is suspected to be Muslim. Police fear retaliation against all immigrants if the crimes are not solved quickly.

I take another sip of my coffee.

Well, that’s certainly qualifies as “a Marseilles business.” But nowhere does the article say that the girls met their deaths by exsanguinations—which would suggest to me that these girls might have been killed by vampires. Of course, police have been known to keep certain facts about a crime from the public. But the cause of death in all three cases was listed as strangulation.

If I were in San Diego now, I could call a friend in the coroner’s office and bribe him for more details.

As it is, all I can do is scan through the rest of the paper for anything else that might have a negative tie, however nebulous, to the vampire community. But I find no reports of attacks where a victim was bitten, no reports of animals found drained of their blood, no hospital or blood bank break-ins where blood was stolen. Nothing.