The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) (23 page)

Before I could respond, he kissed my forehead and left me at the foot of the stairs. I lingered long enough to watch him disappear from view as he returned to the main path of the corridor. By then, Julianne had come downstairs to meet me.

“Je vous accompagne, s’il vous plait.”

“Sure.”

One of the few French phrases I understood. I ignored her smirk and gave Julianne my arm, as she requested. She then led me upstairs to my room. Along the way, I wondered if she spoke English like the others under Racco’s employment, but I decided not to ask. Officially at my hosts’ mercy and stranded in a remote castle far away from everyone I’ve ever cared about, it didn’t seem like a good idea to pry into the motivation behind speaking only French in my presence. Perhaps it was a tactic of isolation, designed to make me more dependent upon my immortal hosts. I felt a sudden loneliness and a desperate ache to reconnect with those who truly loved me.

y bedchamber in the castle would be considered a coliseum in comparison to my accommodations at Massey Hall. I had a huge king-size bed, full media center, armoire full of designer fashions, and a real Jacuzzi tub and waterfall shower in the bathroom. Not to mention the bedroom portion of my suite was large enough to create an echo with my voice. I know, because I tried it.

I thought having a couple of hours to relax and get used to my new surroundings would mean plenty of time. But the media center proved far too distracting to play with for just an hour. The next thing I knew, I had roughly twenty minutes to get ready for the night’s dinner party.

I was still putting on the last touches of my makeup when Julianne arrived to escort me back to the main level. She had changed into a beautiful lavender sequined evening gown that accentuated her modest curves. Relieved to see her dressed like this, it made me feel less self-conscious in the burgundy Versace gown of similar style and fit that Racco’s people had left on my bed for me, along with a matching pair of Manolo Blahniks for my feet. I think Peter would have enjoyed seeing me dressed in the kind of formal wear that I stubbornly refused to let him buy for me. I felt a moment of guilt in that thought but refused to dwell upon it.

Julianne spoke something else in French, which I assumed was a compliment on my appearance judging by the way her eyes scoured me. She made a very slight adjustment to the shoulder of the gown, which improved the lay of the dress on my own curves. I thanked her by way of a smile and then she led me downstairs, where a fairly long jaunt to the deepest regions of the castle brought us to a dining hall. I should’ve guessed it would be even more ostentatious, since it obviously was where the castle’s undead inhabitants liked to hang out. There was enough gold leaf and stained glass to compare to the finest buildings of King Louis’ superfluous kingdom long ago.

Vampires were everywhere; a quick estimation told me there were roughly sixty of them. Each was unique in their eccentricity of style and clothing. They were also uniformly beautiful—like male and female fashion models that had never seen the light of day. They flitted about between a long, heavy-oak table in the room’s center and huge gold vats nearby. No one had to tell me what was stored in the vats, or within a large crimson-stained crystal punch bowl on the table’s center that they crowded around.

“Welcome Txema Ybarra!” shouted an especially pale man sitting on a glistening jeweled throne at the end of the table. His skin was almost alabaster, emitting a soft glow under a massive crystal chandelier that hung above the table. “Welcome indeed to ‘le château de douleur!’”

The man appeared roughly the same age as Racco, and he suddenly rose into the air and drifted toward me. Dressed in a long white robe bearing unusual symbols embroidered in red and gold, he wore a very tall, matching hat that reminded me of what a Pope would wear. He seemed to glide just above the floor, his robe lightly touching the marble squares. As he drew closer, this one’s ethereal glow and longer incisors clearly announced him as the leader amongst the others. That, and the fact the other vampires deferred to his presence, some even bowing as he passed by on his way to where I stood.

“Txema… I have long awaited this moment!” he enthused. His voice was mellower than any of the others. He smiled, revealing two smaller fangs next to the more prominent incisors. “I am Gustav Domnul-delael—presently the reigning king of Europe’s civilized vampires.”

I tried not to think long on his silly attire, afraid to laugh. He seemed stranger than anyone else, and therefore, much more dangerous. There was an almost palpable aura of power accompanying him and some primal instinct within me warned that he could obliterate my entire existence with just a thought. When he took my hand, he did so gently, and I could tell his fingers alone could crush mine into dust. Maybe that’s what living for several thousand years will do to you.

His eyes were a mixture of blue and gold—hard to define in a continuous flux of color as they glowed preternaturally. They were much more intense than any of the other vampires’ eyes.

“This is quite a place you’ve got here,” I told him, unsure what to say to such a person.

I mean, king of the undead, and apart from that fact scary as hell? I could tell the former human was once quite a looker in his day, with a sleek nose and high cheekbones.

Perhaps Gustav would still be considered comely, in a ‘Friday the Thirteenth’ sort of way. Think about it—do you know someone with kaleidoscope eyes and skin whiter than snow? Other than something in an old Beatles cartoon? I think not…
hopefully
not, anyway.

“Yes-s-s… it certainly is,” he said, studying me as if trying to piece together the rampant thoughts colliding in my head.

His French accent was barely discernible, and only revealed itself in certain words. There was another accent, too, and camouflaged beneath the French it was harder to define. Perhaps it was much older, and disguised on purpose.

“You must be hungry. As you can see, we have included a unique variety of entrees tonight,” he said, motioning to the table filled with far more delectable items than were present on Racco’s yacht. “Some of it comes from what Armando told us that you like, and other offerings might take some time to acquire an appreciative taste. I believe you are an adventurous girl, Txema, and as such, would be game for something
different
this evening.”

The way he said this last part sent a chill up my spine—far worse than the vampire’s close proximity to my body. Hell, with so many of them gathered in one room, I wished to God I brought a jacket to keep me warm. Roaring fires burning in the two fireplaces on either side of the room did little to dispel the chill in the air.

“Dear father, I do not believe she will be sharing a taste of anything warm and wet with us tonight!”

I whirled around when the voice behind me erupted into uproarious laughter. Armando stood there, wearing an impish grin, and Franz stood smiling nearby.

“Armando? I should’ve known it was you!” I could scarcely control my enthusiasm. It was so good to see him—and not just because the Vampire King gave me the willies. “Where have you been?”

He stepped back, feigning offense, although surely he understood my rebuke was intended as a playful jab.

“Franz and I had…things to take care of back in the States,” he said, motioning to his companion, who nodded supportively. “But, we are here now.”

He allowed the grin to widen to a gorgeous vampire smile. Both he and Franz were dressed in the black leather attire they wore when I was taken to the cave in the Smoky Mountains the week before.

“Chanson told me that you were in Tennessee,” I said. “Can you tell me about Peter? What about Tyreen and Johnny? Are they all okay?”

He eyed me with compassion that seemed almost human in its sincerity.

“Come, let’s talk,” he said, gesturing for permission from Gustav, who nodded while smiling at me.

I shivered, turning my attention to the table while Armando guided me to it. The aroma of roast beef awakened the raging hunger Gustav had sensed within me. One of the servants from Racco’s yacht offered to carve a few slices for me. I then added some vegetables and a small salad to go with it.

“Would you like some wine, Txema?”

Racco’s soothing voice immediately surrounded me with warmth, and once I turned toward it, I nearly ran into him.

“Whoa! I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, laughing while carefully keeping the glass of merlot he had poured for me from spilling on the white dinner jacket he wore.

He set the glass down next to my plate, and then seated himself to my right. Armando eyed him sullenly from my left.

“Your boyfriend, Peter? He is fine, and anxious for your reunion!” Armando announced, and I could tell from the way he looked beyond me that this news was intended as much for the ‘Lord of this Manor’ as for me.

“Reunion? You mean, I will see him again soon?”

I experienced the weirdest feeling right then. It was such a mixture of joy and guilt, for both the man I loved and the one I lusted after the past few days.

“Yes!”

Armando offered more exuberance at Racco’s expense. I could feel Racco bristle next to me, as if this wasn’t a development he anticipated. The heat of embarrassment rushed to my face.

“So that is good news, no?” Armando continued, reveling in the moment. I looked up and caught a glimpse of Garvan, who stared at us from across the room. Dressed as if still part of Marie Antoinette’s court—with a powdered white wig to boot—he wore a satisfied smile that told me he was listening intently to our conversation. “Tyreen is okay, too.”

“She is? Oh, thank God!”

It was like an incredibly heavy load suddenly lifted off my shoulders. Tyreen survived her attack! Since Saturday night’s abduction, I had thrown myself into every distraction available to keep from dwelling upon the idea that something terrible had happened to Tyreen, and that her wounds from the chupacabra vampires were fatal—like what happens to vampire bite victims in campy horror flicks.

“And, Johnny?” I persisted. “He’s okay too, right?”

“Yes, he seems fine,” Armando assured me. “Maybe when this crisis is over, we can invite them all for a little visit, no?”

“I wish I could go home and see them,” I said, feeling so homesick that I thought I’d cry at any moment. “I really miss them!”

“There, there, my chéri,” Racco whispered in my ear, placing his left arm around my shoulder as he drew close. I began to weep. Armando’s playful smile disappeared, fading into a look of sullen anger as his eyes moved from me to Racco. But it was nowhere near the look of disdain that Garvan shot him from across the room. In an instant, he traveled across the room to us.

“You should court someone your own age, don’t you think?” said Garvan, disdainfully, supported by hearty nods from both Armando and Franz. “Perhaps if we care to list the recent steady string of female company cavorting about your bedchamber, Txema would take her leave from you forever.”

“I’ve got the list!” Armando exalted. He launched into a twirling dance, pantomiming exaggerated arm and hand movements to illustrate an endless series of pages.

“Is such childishness necessary?” Racco’s tone was much more acidic than what I’d heard previously from him. “Perhaps we could toss your caskets out into the meadow behind the castle. As long as the local gentry will ignore their presence, you could last a century or two!”