Blood Hunter (The Grandor Descendant Series) (4 page)

“It was just a little joke,” Ragon added, seeing the still dumbstruck expression on Ari’s face. 

Still Ari did not move, and so Ragon swept her up in his arms, cradling her as he exited the plane. The diluted sunrays caused him no discomfort whatsoever. Ari, who had recovered from the shock, was now struggling in his arms. She was not amused by his little joke and fought hard to keep her face stern, despite Thomas and Clyde’s incessant laughter ringing in her ears behind her.  

“That’s fine. Next time it looks like it’s going to be a hot day, I will ask you to come sunbaking with me,” she said, holding her head up high as Ragon continued to cradle her down the run way. “All of you,” she added, turning back to glare at Clyde and Thomas, who immediately fell silent. “I hope you packed your sunscreen.”

“Yea,” Clyde sneered, “because we’re really going to need it here.”

“Oh my love; I was just teasing,” said Ragon, putting Ari down on her feet and forcing a kiss on her cheek. “Look I’m fine; the sun is too filtered here to have any effect on us. That’s why there are so many vamps in England.”

There were those words… ‘my love’. It infuriated her that those words were enough to melt her resolve. Still, she didn’t have to pretend to be upset. The fact that Ragon was a vampire had meant that in Australia, where it was sunny 365 days of the year, he had only been able to go out during the night.

“So, I take it that you will be spending more time out and about here?” she asked, shivering slightly as another rush of chilly breeze blew her dark hair messily across her face.

Seeing Ari shiver, Ragon reached for his back pack and fumbled for something, finally producing a white coat and scarf. Beaming up at him, she let him wrap the scarf high around her neck, so that it covered her mouth slightly, before he held the jacket out for her to step into.

“Don’t you look cute,” he said, lifting the collar of her jacket up so that it acted as a windshield.

“Could you two be anymore disgusting?” asked Clyde, walking past them as he mimicked a vomiting motion.

Ari smiled sarcastically in response and quickly returned her attention to her new jacket, running her hands down the front, and admiring the feeling of the cashmere under her fingertips. It was then that she realised she was the only one in the group who was affected by the cold weather. Looking at the rest of the coven she frowned; they were all still wearing the same summer clothes they had sported while in Australia. This was hardly surprising; a vampire was made when a person died with vampire toxin in their blood. The process wasn’t always full proof and sometimes the fledgling didn’t survive the transformation, but one way or another everything mortal stopped; they had no heartbeat, held no warmth, did not need to breathe, could not have children… all they needed to survive was blood.  

“Maybe you guys should change into something less tropical,” she suggested.

“Thank goodness we have Ari here to remind us,” Clyde said sarcastically, “guess I won’t be able to wear that new Hawaiian shirt.”

It was only a short walk along the runway from the plane to the customs office, but Ari was grateful when she crossed the threshold and was out of the chilly breeze. Though the airport looked more like a large converted shed, it did wonders at shielding its occupants from the harsh weather outside. Bert was already there, drinking deeply from a large cup of coffee and smelling strongly of cigarettes. There were large purple bags under his eyes and he did not stand when the coven and Ari approached him, but locked eyes with Ragon.  

“Your car is ready for you sir,” he said, indicating outside with a wave of his hand. “I took the liberty of phoning Bramond when we were nearing our arrival.”  

“Excellent Bert,” Ragon replied. “Thank you again for accommodating us with such short notice.”

Ari watched as Ragon reached inside his jeans pocket and produced a thick yellow envelope. He weighed it in his hands for a moment then passed it to Bert, who was now sitting upright, a keen expression masking the fatigue which had been there previously.

“There is a little something extra for your troubles,” Ragon added. “Make sure Chantelle sees some of the bonus too.”

“Of course sir, of course,” said Bert, pocketing the yellow envelope quickly as he looked suspiciously around the airport.

“Sir?” asked Ari, slipping her hand from Ragon’s and faltering as she curtseyed playfully on their way outside.

“Some people just have good manners,” Ragon replied, smiling as he moved over to a large white limousine that was waiting for them near the entrance to the airport.

Ari couldn’t help but gape at the car waiting for them. The limousine was beautiful, looking to be from the 1960’s. The shape of the car, despite clearly having been stretched to accommodate more passengers, was very curvy, with an extremely long bonnet that arched gracefully to make way for two round antique head lights. At the front there was a small central black grill, on top of which a gold figurine that looked like a person with wings was fashioned. Seeing the impressed look on Ari’s face, Ragon grinned and held the door open for her.

“Welcum bak Mr Young, sir,” said an extremely old man in the driver’s seat; he had a thick and almost incoherent Welsh accent, forcing Ari to learn forwards as she tried to decipher what he was saying. “N may I say, you’re look’n very well n’deed.”

“Thank you Bramond,” Ragon replied, suddenly sounding formal. “It’s good to see you.”

“To da house sir?” asked Bramond, looking up at his master from the driver’s rear view mirror, once everyone was inside the car.

“That would be lovely Bramond,” Ragon replied, sitting back in his seat and moving a little closer to Ari, so as to make room for Ryder and Patrick.

“The house?” asked Ari.

Ragon nodded but did elaborate.

“Oh ye miss,” said Bramond, slowly putting on a pair of extremely large and thick goggles, which perfectly matched his driving gloves. “Mr Young is very bussy, but he still cumes to da house once a yeer or so.”

“You use to live in England?” Ari asked in surprise.

“Mr Young’s family estate is ere,” said Bramond, before Ragon could reply. “Four generatuns they has lived at Young Manor miss. Me father was tendin to Mr Young before me, n before that, me grandfather served da family.”

Ari’s eyes widened at this information; did that mean that Bramond knew that Ragon was a vampire? Surely he must have noticed that his master had not aged in all the years he had served him. Or was Bramond a source? But Ragon didn’t keep sources… did he?

Seeing the perturbed look on Ari’s face, Ragon leaned forwards and whispered, “Bramond’s family have served mine for a long time. I keep his loyalty a secret and he keeps my existence to himself. He is not a source, more like an old friend.”

Ari leaned back in her chair, feeling distinctively uncomfortable. Was Ragon trying to get himself killed? Ari had been told by Sandra and Larissa that there were three Final Death Laws; mortals shalt not know of the vampire’s existence; thou shalt not kill another vampire; thou shalt not suffer a waere to live. If any Elder ever found out that Ragon had broken the first of their laws, by not lulling Ari and Bramond, he would be killed. 

“But,” said Ari, struggling to keep her voice a whisper, “what if…”

Ragon reached out and pushed away the hair that was covering her ears; instantly she fell silent.

She felt his cold lips touch the side of her face and then he said, “Don’t worry so much. I am very careful to keep Bramond’s loyalty a secret. In over 50 years none of the Elders have ever suspected he is not a source. It’s just so unheard of.”

“But why do you keep him around at all?” she breathed back, careful not to let Bramond hear.

Ragon sighed and his eyes became sad as he glanced up at the driver’s seat.

“Bramond has nowhere else to go. You heard him; all his life his family have served mine. That’s the way it is over here; dismissing him would be a huge dishonour. And… and I have grown fond of him.”    

Ari smiled back understandingly. Not for the first time she marvelled at just how human Ragon still was, vampire or not.

A few hours later and the antique car pulled up to a large pebbled driveway, where two ancient conifers marked the entrance of a property. The journey along the driveway seemed to take ages; the car bounced over the tiny pebbles, tossing it’s passengers in their seats as it went. Steep green rolling hills stretched out as far as the eye, only punctuated by dark blue dams. On either side of the driveway were small thick rose shrubs, which the current season prevented from flowering. Perhaps it was that Bramond was driving less than 5 miles an hour, but it took another ten minutes before they reached a clearing large enough to bring Young Manor into view.

The moment she saw it, Ari gasped, pressing her nose up against the glass, so to look at the magnificent building. It wasn’t a house; it was a castle. Young Manor was enormous, fashioned from some sort of light coloured stone, with large towers coming off in every direction. There were giant glass windows covering the entire eastern facing side, while an enormous water fountain stood regally in the centre of a large circular driveway at the entrance.

“Welcum to Young Manor,” said Bramond, jerking the hand brake up a little too forcefully, so that everyone in the car flung forwards.

“Thank you Bramond,” replied Ragon. “It is nice to be home. I trust there have been no visitors in my absence.”

“No sir,” replied Bramond, moving as fast as his arthritic limbs would carry him, as he began piling the luggage out of the boot.

“Let me,” said Ragon, relieving the old man of his duty, much to Bramond’s annoyance.

It took a while for the coven to settle in. Ragon went from room to room, un-boarding the windows, which despite the gloomy weather, were still UV protected, and showing everyone where they would be sleeping. This took longer than expected; there were many winding mahogany staircases that lead to and from each floor, as well as long passages that serviced each level. At the second landing, Ragon had indicated a dark portion of the house and told the coven that the West Wing had been closed off for years. There was something foreboding about the gloomy shadows that clung to the banisters leading to the West wing; they seemed to dance eerily, and it was clear from the cobwebs along the walls that no one had been there for some time.

When finally it was just Ari and Ragon left, he took her by the hand and swept her up a magnificent staircase, to a room on the second floor of the southern wing.

“This is your room,” he said, holding the door open and allowing Ari entrance.

It was difficult for Ari not to be impressed. The room was enormous, with a giant four poster bed, an excessive living area, fire place and adjoining bathroom. The bathroom was cut from white marble, with an elegant old style bath tub made from shining white porcelain, which stood in the centre of the room with large brass taps overhanging it. She swept over to the window and pulled the curtains open. From her vantage, Ari could see most of Ragon’s estate and she smiled as a gaggle of geese waddled towards one of the many lakes that dotted the grounds. Despite the cold weather, she pushed the window open, letting the foggy air, permeated by pine needles, fill the room.

“Wow,” said Ari, her eyes wide to suggest her pleasure.

Ragon smiled, moving her small suitcase over to the bed, instantly displacing tiny beads of dust.

“I guess it needs a clean,” he said, eyeing the dust distastefully.

“I think it’s wonderful!” Ariana declared, ignoring Ragon’s frown and running to jump on the bed, causing an even larger cloud of dust to rise up, “and your family has lived here for generations?”

“My great-great grandfather had the place built in the 1700’s, and it’s been passed on down the Young line ever since. I lived here with my parents until I was 27, then when the war came I enlisted. When I was turned on the battlefield by Kiara, I let my parents think I had died and didn’t return here until-”

“-what… why?”

“Kiara told me that I couldn’t see them, that fledglings shouldn’t be bonded to their old life, and that if I tried to communicate with them, I would have to lull them. It wasn’t until my mother’s death that I returned. Bramond was just a boy at the time, and his father kept the place running in my absence.”

“And… and they didn’t think it weird that you hadn’t aged in like a hundred years?”