Bound to Blackwood (13 page)

Lena didn’t look up from the unit as she said, “Looks like Heath’s first mission took him to Norton. We going to tackle them in order?”

“Makes sense,” he replied.

“Let's get going then,” she said, as she turned towards the door, her hips swaying as she went.
 

Damn it!
There were those hips again. This time, Thorn couldn’t fight the urge to adjust his combats as he rose to his feet.
 

He glanced at Mercury, who arched a brow in question, yet remained silent. Thorn didn’t acknowledge him as he marched out of the room, his head held high.

He caught up with Lena in the armoury just outside the Command Centre. He had to stifle a moan as he entered the room. She was strapping a set of throwing knives to her lower leg. Bent at the waist, he got a perfect view of her wide hips and firm bottom. She stood up suddenly, as if aware of Thorn behind her.

He moved quickly and was suddenly all about his own choice of weaponry. He was not thinking about those hips. He was not thinking about Lena bent over. He was definitely not thinking about Lena bent over, naked.

Lena and Thorn materialised in Norton just after first dark, giving them more than enough time to retrace Heath’s steps in the humble little village. According to Heath’s notes, the first trace to find Eden led him to the rooms above the village inn. He had been too late when he arrived and Eden had already gone, but he had made detailed notes about civilian families residing in the area, as well as suspected Fallen movements. Lena didn’t believe that the Fallen lead was worth following; they moved around so often, but she was willing to try anything. Civilian Vampires may remember something more concrete though.

They had landed in a small copse at the far end of the village green. Even in the dark, Norton looked like a picture-postcard, quintessential, English village. Small, Elizabethan, oak-framed houses topped with yellow, straw thatch surrounded the village green and cricket pavilion. The village inn, sadly now owned by a major brewery and no longer a free house, was in the middle of the row of houses; truly the heart of the village. It's shiny sign swinging gently in the breeze proclaimed “The White Hart, Good Ale, Good Food, Good Company.”

She dreaded being alone with Thorn. After her episode in the shower, she honestly didn’t know where to look. She certainly couldn’t look him in the eye, though how long she could keep that up without him taking serious offence was anyone’s guess. Yet again, she thanked her lucky stars that Vampires didn’t blush.

She knew she looked serene, focused, calm. On the inside she was still burning. Her veins contained molten lava and every so often she caught sight of that arse of his and had to clamp her thighs together as things tightened further within her. She had no idea how she was going to get through tonight.

“Everything alright, Steward?” Thorn’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Fine. Why?" Her voice was a little too shrill for her liking.

“Just asking. You seemed miles away.”

Yes, I was in the shower with you staring at me!
Shaking the thought away, she said, “You want to start with the pub?”
 

“Good idea,” he said, a frown marring his beautifully broad forehead as he looked down at his uniform. “I think a bit of
menæwan
might be in order.”
 

“Yeah,” she agreed. “We don’t want to freak out the natives!”

Menæwan
was what modern generations referred to as
glamour
, the ability to appear as something you are not. Thorn was right. Their Order uniforms were practical in most situations, but sitting in a pub full of humans was not one of them.
 

All Vampires possessed the ability to glamour humans, though some were better at it than others. Some needed to be. Take Mercury; glamouring humans into thinking he had two perfectly good chocolate brown eyes and baby soft skin was second nature to him. Lena thought he’d been doing it for so long, he didn’t even have to think about it.

Other Vampires could see through the glamour though and for Mercury, that meant that there was no hiding the milky white blindness of his right eye, nor the shiny, burn mark that stretched from his eyebrow, across his eyelid and down his cheek. For a Vampire, looking at glamour was like looking at a photograph with double exposure. The glamour just sat on top of the real image, but it didn’t quite fit and gave a ghostly shadow around the edges.

She glanced at Thorn and could see the image he was already projecting: crisp white shirt, bootleg stonewashed jeans and a comfy, non-threatening pair of loafers. He even managed to tone down the golden hue of his eyes.

Lena’s own glamour took a little more effort and time to bring into being. She hardly ever bothered with glamour since she didn’t really mix with humans, save for the Goths at Diablo, and she couldn’t give a toss what they thought of her appearance. She really had to concentrate before affecting her version of glamour.

She tapped into the rarely used place in her brain and felt a shimmering light encase her body. When the illusion was complete, she was more than a little pleased to see Thorn’s eyes flash with surprise at her projection. Her other self was wearing a summer dress in a blue that matched her eyes. It fell to just below her knees and her feet sported a natty pair of sparkly ballet-pumps. She didn’t think she’d ever worn a real dress in her life, certainly not as an adult.

“You are full of surprises, Lena!” Thorn said.

“It was the least threatening thing I could think of.” Though, as Thorn continued to stare, a familiar feeling danced up her spine. The projection started to waver as paranoia swept over her. Did she look stupid? She was a fool to think she could pull off a girly dress. She considered other options; maybe a nice pair of jeans would be better?

“Don’t change it!” Thorn’s voice penetrated the self-doubt like a blade. His voice was so commanding.

She found she couldn’t reply. Instead she battled with a heat slowly rising at her core. She frowned. First his eyes, then his voice?
God, she was in trouble
.
 

“It suits you very well,” Thorn added quietly.

Lena felt her eyes widen. Did the King look embarrassed? She couldn’t be sure, but if he was, she had no idea why he would be. She pushed the thought aside and tried to ignore the simmering heat within her as she slid the glamour firmly back into place.

She nodded her readiness at Thorn, who succeeded in flummoxing her again when he said, “Fancy a pint, darling?”

She stood there opened-mouthed. The Vampire King, Thorn Blackwood, had just asked if she fancied a pint? And called her darling!
What the hell?
 

Thorn rescued her from the million incoherent thoughts racing around her brain. “I’m getting into character.” he explained.
Of course he was, you fool of a girl!
 

“Well, that, and the fact I do actually fancy a pint!” he added, his voice light and jovial as he grinned at her, fangs flashing in the moonlight.
God, he was magnificent
.
 

“You’d better keep those fangs in check, Thorn,” was all she could come up with. What a class-A eejit she was.

They walked across the green to the cosy-looking inn. Their glamour projected a normal, human couple out for an evening stroll. When they reached the door, Lena couldn’t contain her amusement and actually giggled as Thorn had to stoop just to get his massive frame into the old-fashioned porch.

Like the true gentleman he was, he reached past her to open the solid-oak door and guided her in, his palm stretched across the base of her
spine
. That simple touch reignited the heat smouldering within her, the warmth of his hand like a firebrand at her back. Steeling herself, she glided inside.
 

Chapter 7

The inside of The White Hart was just as Lena hoped it would be. If it hadn’t been for the clientele sporting jeans and fiddling with mobile phones, she supposed the inn looked much as it had centuries ago.

Thorn struggled to make himself smaller as he ducked to avoid the low oak-beamed ceiling on his way to the bar. It was a long, continuous, stretch of dark wood, proudly displaying its scars from years of service. Gleaming brass beer pumps stood to attention whilst the overweight landlord beamed his welcome at the two strangers making their way towards him. Lena found she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Evening, sir! What’ll it be?” the jovial landlord asked Thorn as he towered before him.

“I fancy a real ale. What have you got?” Thorn replied.

“Got just the thing sir — Star Spell, from the local brewery. I got a brand new cask, tapped the other day, so she’ll be about right for drinking now. Will it be a pint, sir?”

“Sounds good!” Thorn nodded enthusiastically whilst Lena rolled her eyes at him. Who knew the King was such a real ale aficionado?

The landlord shuffled off to fulfil Thorn’s order. Lena smiled to herself as she ran her hand across the bar, noting that although it was battered and scarred, it was smooth to the touch. She was tracing a particularly deep groove with her finger when Thorn’s huge hand on her shoulder shook her out of her musings.

She snapped her head towards him and read the confusion that danced across his broad face. “What? I mean, sorry?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

“I asked what you’d like to drink, darling," he replied, a mischievous wink accompanying the statement.

He’s playing a role. He’s playing a role. He’s playing a role

“Oh! Sorry, I was miles away.” She tried to smile sweetly; though she felt like a moron with
"I am an idiot" stamped on her forehead.
 

She moved her focus to the bar and tried to find something she recognised. No bottled lager, and the only thing they had on draught was a premium Belgian lager she hated. There was a distinct lack of tequila too, though given her current surroundings that was probably a good thing.

At a loss, she simply said, “I’ll have whatever you’re having, darling,” accompanying her reply with her best, not-too-much-fang smile.

Thorn arched his eyebrow, but nodded at the landlord who loped off to get the other drink. “I didn’t have you pegged for a real ale kind of girl,” he said, his scepticism clear in his voice.

“I’m not really, but there was nothing else I fancied. Besides, how bad can it be?”

“You can’t beat a real ale, as long as it’s kept well, and judging by the award plaques I saw on the way in, this should be a real treat.” He grinned like a little boy in a sweet shop and Lena shook her head at him.

The landlord returned with Lena’s drink and placed it on the bar next to Thorn’s. Her brow furrowed in confusion. Thorn had the pint he asked for, yet she was furnished with a delicate looking half-pint glass instead.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” the landlord asked, oblivious to her concerns.

Yes, there bloody well is! I’d like the other half of my drink.

Thorn pre-empted her response as he collected the drinks from the bar and cheerfully replied, “No thank you,” before guiding her to a table in the saloon bar.

She huffed loudly as she plopped herself down on the bench seat of the little nook Thorn had chosen. She was pleased he chose this seat because it gave a view of the door and everyone else in the pub. She was not pleased at the look on Thorn’s face as he passed her the drink. She worked hard at keeping her mouth shut, but she knew she was scowling all the same.

“Problem, Steward?” Thorn asked in a hushed tone.

“Yes. Where is the rest of my drink?” she hissed back.

Thorn let out a quiet rumble of laughter before replying. “These are simple, old-fashioned people, Lena.”

“So?”

“So, that means women don’t often go into pubs, and when they do, they are accompanied and they drink halves, white-wine spritzers, or soft drinks.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” The timbre of her voice rose, drawing a few glances from the other patrons.

“I am not.”

“You are aware that it’s the twenty-first century, right?”

“I am, but I don’t think our hosts are quite there yet.”

She knew before they had even walked in the front door that everyone inside was huma. Beyond that, she didn’t really care. Now, she looked around more closely at the rest of the clientele.

There were only two other women in the place and one was a miserable looking barmaid. The other was a plump woman, probably forty-something, sitting with an equally plump looking man who seemed much older. Lena could see the wedding rings they both sported, but apart from that, there was nothing in their behaviour to suggest they were a couple.

They sat in silence, the woman sighing occasionally and sipping her orange juice. Her husband shovelled handfuls of dry roasted peanuts into his mouth whilst crumbs fell into his scraggly beard and onto his over-darned dark green jumper. His beer drinking followed much the same pattern. Lena shook her head, hoping that at least the orange juice had vodka in it.