Supernatural Seduction (Book 2 of the Coffin Girls Series) (8 page)

Speaking of the devilishly hot fae, he was
heading – no, gliding - towards her. “Sophie,” Sylvain’s pearly
whites glistened, sending the usual frisson of awareness that
followed it. “You look beautiful.”

Sophie looked down at her dress. She wore a
cerulean blue dress, anticipating a different kind of venue and
ambience. It was flimsy, girlish, and embellished with the same
diamante pattern on her strappy sandals. Sylvain, on the other
hand, wore lounging clothes - grey linen pants and a white cotton
shirt. The white looked good against his tanned skin, making his
hair more golden, and eyes even bluer.

“I think I’m a bit over-dressed,” Sophie
observed.

Sylvain waved the remark away, “Not at all. I
was remiss in informing you of all the changes I had made here.
And, I’m honored you took the time to get dressed up. You look
beautiful and the fae welcome beauty. Besides, the changes are new
and you’ll notice a few of the fae are still dressed formally. Old
habits die hard, it seems.”

“Why did you change the dining hall?” Sophie
inquired.

“I was inspired by how you live at
Papillion,” Sylvain replied candidly. “The table in the plantation
kitchen is the center of the home. It is where you all share, love,
and learn. We had sharing and learning here, but the difference is
that you are more relaxed, less informal, and your love is deeper.
I’d been an absent monarch for centuries and the fae were wary of
me. This is one of my ways of showing them that I’m approachable,
my version of PR, and despite our close connection, fae are formal
when together.” He seemed to consider that statement, then
shrugged, “Well, most times anyway. I thought that it was time for
us to loosen up.”

“And other times?” Sophie probed, tipping her
chin up to look at him.

Sylvain’s eyes sparkled, mischievously, “I
hope that is a revelation I can make to you in future.” He reached
out and gently pinched her chin.

Swatting his hand away, Sophie ignored his
chuckle by paying more than necessary attention to the food she was
determined to eat. She wasn’t hungry for food. She wanted to take a
bite out of his scrumptious derriere.

xxx

Sophie and her maman were huddled together
within one of the chateaux’s secret passages. Despite the thickness
of the walls, the battle cries, clink of knives meeting, and the
inevitable yells of death penetrated the barriers that were meant
to keep them safe and hidden. There had been rumors of witch hunts,
but they had occurred far away from their small village. Little did
they know that the so-called ‘Warriors of God’ were stealthily
making their way to them. They’d approached her papa, the Duke,
demanding that he hand over her and Maman, stating that the act
would redeem the souls of her father and brothers. When her father
refused, the battle commenced. It was an unfair battle, as her
father and brothers had been outnumbered, but Sophie prayed that
their exceptional skill would see them win.

Whilst the battle ensued, Maman had dragged
Sophie to the hidden passages within the chateaux. They sat,
trembling and waiting for their victorious men. Sophie stole a
glance at her maman. She was as white as the Chantilly lace she
wore around her neck, whispering reverently, begging for
deliverance. Sophie decided to join her in prayer and grasped her
maman’s hands, seeking comfort and hoping that the joint requests
to the God above would hold more weight.

Maman’s sudden cry jerked her out of her
trance-like chanting. Her face was a mask of pain. Her maman had
felt the metaphysical bond that bound her to her husband and sons
being but. So, Sophie’s father and brothers were all dead.

Asleep in her room at the fae hollow, Sophie
sobbed while some part of her knew it was a dream and begged to be
released from sleep, in order to end the torturous recollections of
the past.

Then the dream changed shape and Sophie
found herself in a wagon, heading towards the mass grave where the
executed witches would be unceremoniously dumped. Her pretend death
had allowed them to place her body with that of the truly dead,
persecuted witches. She waited for the wagon to be covered, then
crawled out of the middle of the body pile, and sat as far back in
the corner as she could. The covering was meant to mask the smell
of rotting flesh from possible travelers the wagon might pass by.
For the public to know that witches were being persecuted was one
thing but seeing and smelling the results of it was another. The
religious heretics would not risk the public’s sympathy - they were
nothing if not cleverly political. Sophie tried to ascertain where
they were by the sounds outside the wagon. She hoped that she could
identify when it was deep enough within the forest. There, she
planned to jump out of the wagon. She could get lost, hunt, eat
berries, and perhaps wash. She might find a branch to climb up
onto, and get some sleep. Then, she would plan her next steps.

The sudden jerk of the wagon startled her.
Sophie hoped that she hadn’t somehow missed her chance to escape.
But, the sounds of men shouting and again, that dying yell, told
her that the wagon was perhaps being held up. She knew that this
part of France was notoriously known for its highwaymen and a
covered wagon usually carried merchandise to villages for trading
purposes. Would they leave the wagon alone once they found out that
all it carried was dead bodies? She prayed that they would. Then
she’d still be able to escape.

Men approached the back of the wagon and
Sophie made her way softly into the pile of bodies, pushing aside
her nervousness, and ignoring her pounding heart. She had to
pretend to be dead again. But she was too late. Just as she was
about to lay down, the cover was pulled back. Sophie looked up into
Sylvain’s face.

“Sophie, wake up,” Sylvain’s voice broke
through her nightmare. After having seen his face in her nightmare
and now here in the present, Sophie instinctively edged away from
him.

“It was just a nightmare
ma petite
chérie
,” Sylvain soothed. “You’re in the hollow and you’re
safe.”

“It was you,” she accused him.

Sylvain blinked in confusion. “Sophie, it was
a nightmare. You’re in the hollow, now with me. I haven’t done
anything,” he said, in an attempt to bring her back to reality.

“I know where I am,” Sophie bit out
irritably. There were so many emotions going through her at the
moment that she didn’t know what to do. Logic had been replaced by
instinct—the same instinct that had kept her alive in France
centuries ago.

“I don’t understand,” Sylvain stated,
puzzled. He’d heard her cries from his room down the hall. Although
he had his own wing apart from the guest wing of the castle, his
friends often slept close-by when they stayed over. It made the
mammoth place feel more homely. Sophie had never stayed over by
herself before though and looking at her in bed—beautiful and
broken, he questioned his sanity. One part of him wanted to pull
her into his arms and comfort her, the other wanted to play dirty.
Yet, despite the throbbing need located in the area of his crotch,
he wasn’t a blackguard and willing to take advantage of a guest who
was both in a fragile state and under his protection. When Sophie
continued to stare at him, blue eyes brimming with unshed tears, he
repeated, “I don’t understand. Please explain to me.”

Sophie took a deep breath and faced him, no
longer afraid, the fugue following her nightmare having evaporated.
“I was in a wagon in France with the bodies of executed witches. My
mother was amongst the dead. You’re the one that stopped the wagon
and killed the guards. I had forgotten what my savior had looked
like. I’d blocked it, from my mind. In my dream, my nightmare, I
saw his face and it was you.”

Sylvain seemed to recall something as he sat
back on the bed, thinking. “I did much in those days,” he said,
cryptically. “Tell me more of what you remember.”

Sophie huffed in frustration. What was a
monumental moment in her life, didn’t even register with him. She
took a breath and enlightened him. “You told me not to be afraid,
and then led the wagon to a deeper part of the forest. It was not a
well-traveled path. After salting the dead and burning their
bodies, you gave them each a separate burial. You’d brought a
sympathetic priest from a nearby village to bless the graves. You
gave me food, something to drink, and clean clothes. You also
showed me to a nearby stream where I could bathe. You said…”

“I said that you’d feel better once you
washed the smell of death off of you,” Sylvain interjected, long
lost memories returning rapidly. “That was you?” Sylvain asked,
regarding Sophie. “Well, I know, now, that it was, but in all the
times we’ve been together, I never would have thought that the
frightened, traumatized girl had been you.”

“And, I never would have thought that the man
who had saved me, helped me for no price, but the opportunity to be
kind, was you,” Sophie stated.

“Well, no wonder you blocked it from your
mind, Sophie. What you had endured was cruel and inhumane. I
believe that it is a natural reaction.”

“Yes, but you see,” Sophie moved closer to
sit next to him and took his hand in hers, “I never got a chance to
say ‘thank you’.” She smiled sweetly, sadly, and with the type of
gratitude he didn’t want to see on her face.

“I don’t need thanks,” Sylvain scowled. “I
seldom do what I don’t want to, Sophie.” Yet, she continued to gaze
at him as though he was some type of hero. The only hero-worship he
wanted from her was from the satisfaction she got once he'd bedded
her. The thought escaped unwittingly and Sylvain’s scowl deepened.
Here she was, looking like any grown man’s wet dream and looking at
him like that. He knew then, that he could take advantage of the
situation, but he wouldn’t.

Mistaking his scowl for humility, Sophie
continued, “It means a lot to me to be able to say ‘thank you’
after all this time. You gave me a second chance, took me to the
only place you knew I’d be safe—the Ursuline convent.”

“I didn’t do such a great job if you’re a
vampire now,” he said gravely.

That admission stung and Sophie blanched.
Seeing that, he shook his head, “No. I don’t mean that I have
anything against vampires, but vampires are rarely born out of
anything, but tragedy. That tells me that you weren’t safe for
long.” He raked his eyes over her. “You became a vampire when you
were, what? Twenty-four?” At her nod, he explained further, “That
means that the path I led you onto only kept you safe for eight
years. That’s barely a blink of an eye for one such as I.”

“But, it is a long time for a human,
Sylvain,” Sophie stated firmly. “Given what I had been through,
believe me, eight years was bliss. I had a good life in those eight
years. They weren’t perfect and without pain, but I had a life,
food to eat, friends I made and though the end was tragic, my life
since becoming a vampire has been filled with unparalleled love. I
have my sisters and Miss Suzette and through all of that, I have
friends like you, Niul, and Conall.”

“Are you really happy as a vampire?” Sylvain
asked. “Happy with the life you have?”

Sophie tipped her head to the side,
contemplating, then looked back at him, and smiled, “Yes.”

“Well then, I believe that I did okay,” he
smiled back. “And I’m glad to have met you again. I've never met
any of the others, I helped Conall rescue back then. So, this is a
novel experience for me.”

“Others?” Sophie inquired. “Come to think of
it, why did you rescue me?”

“Ah,” Sylvain smiled, “my wild warrior days.
That,
ma petite chérie
is a long tale, and it is still dark,
enough time for you to perhaps get some sleep. Tomorrow you begin
your empath training and I imagine that Arianna would have my hide
if I kept you up all night. Being her monarch does not pardon me in
her eyes.”

“No,” Sophie stopped him from getting up with
a hand on his arm. Sylvain winced at her grip. “Sorry,” Sophie
smiled sheepishly at him, “I sometimes forget that I’m
stronger.”

“That’s okay,” Sylvain smiled at her. “I like
it rough and a rough vamp is such a turn on.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, knowing that his
jerkish behavior was a cover-up. He’d risked his life when he'd
helped the Coffin Girls and Conall save the young witches. It was
apparent that he’d made a habit of rescuing damsels in distress. No
man that did that was as superficial as Sylvain liked to paint
himself, and she refused to play into it. “Whatever,” she said,
nonchalantly. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway after all of this,
so how about you tell me that story?”

“If the lady insists on a bedtime story, then
I must insist that we be comfortable.” Sylvain sported his usual,
roguish grin. He lay down on her bed as though he belonged there,
pulling her close, and tucking her into his side.

“You’re going to milk this savior thing for
all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

“Me?” He looked at her in mock bafflement.
“Never.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she retorted. Another
eye-roll, and then she prodded him so that he could begin filling
in the gaps.

“Conall and I were friends as we are now, and
although we had no mission to perform for the Goddess, we had our
own thoughts of chivalry. With the witch hunts spreading throughout
Europe, Conall was always away trying to stop them. You’ll remember
that many of those the church damned were simply unfortunate
humans.” Sophie nodded, her eyes on him, but her mind back in time,
re-living the tale as her own.

Keeping an eye on her, he continued. “He
didn’t just rescue witches, he rescued as many human women and
girls as he possibly could. The enemy was easy to defeat back then.
They were Bible-sprouting hypocrites that used religion for their
own gain. Do you know that the motivation for many of the
witch-hunts, even the famous Salem massacres, was monetary?”