My Reluctant Warden (3 page)

At that moment, that admiration was buried beneath mounds of resentment. I remembered all too well what she’d told Mr. Ward.

Kill her. I don’t care.

She’d trapped me in this house with someone she thought would kill me. And she might have been planning it for years.

I left the shoes where I’d dropped them by the door and walked out of the bedroom. My gaze flew to the loveseat. A tiny part of me—all right, maybe not so tiny—had hoped Mr. Ward would be back. And only because I had more questions for him, not for any other reason. No reason like deep, fathomless eyes, lips soft as a dream, large hands, or an equally large—

No. No other reason at all.

The sitting room was empty, however. On the loveseat, rather than Mr. Ward, I found a silver tray with a metal dome covering a plate, a tall glass of water, a smaller one of wine, and a slice of chocolate cake.

My stomach gave a growl of approval. I was almost proud of myself when, rather than falling to my knees in front of the loveseat and wolfing down every bite of food, I managed to control myself long enough to sit down next to the tray and spread the napkin on my lap.

Only then did I wolf it all down.

I was just finishing the last bite of richly decadent cake and wishing there’d been another slice when a light knock on the door startled me.

“Yes?”

My voice wavered at the thought that it might be Mr. Ward. And yes, I was little bit disappointed when Stephen walked in. He was still wearing the same suit and gloves as the previous night, but now his shirt was crisp and his jacket flawless. He must have changed into an identical outfit. Was this what he wore every day? I’d assumed he’d only put on that elaborate livery for the party, but there he was.

“Miss Angelina,” he said, inclining his head as though in greeting. He eyed the empty tray and asked, “Did you enjoy your lunch?”

I set the cake plate down on the tray. “Very much. It was all very good. Thank you. And you can call me just Angelina.”

When he replied, “Of course, Miss Angelina,” I assumed it was his way of saying he would do no such thing. I didn’t insist. I had bigger problems than what he wanted to call me.

I always introduce myself as Angelina, but it rarely takes long before people start shortening my name. To my father, I was always Angel. To my mom, Lini. My friends call me Angela. Miss Delilah, early on, decided to call me Lina. It was actually nice to have someone call me by my proper name, even with the unnecessary ‘Miss.’ It’s a pretty name, and I do like it.

I liked the way Mr. Ward said it even more, with the trace of an accent and that rumbling voice of his…

“Was it enough?” Stephen asked, interrupting my trip down memory lane. “Or would you like anything else? Another serving of cake, maybe?”

“Tempting,” I admitted. “Maybe later.”

With a thin smile, he inclined his head again.

“Was there anything you needed?” he asked.

To go home. To find a new job. To get far, far away from people who claimed to be vampires and could control me with just a few words. To forget any of this had happened.

Well, all right, maybe I didn’t need to forget my fantasy on the balcony. It was pretty harmless, after all.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find shoes, would you?”

His gaze flicked down to my feet.

“I could give you…” His voice trailed off and he appeared to change his mind about what he’d been about to say. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you. I’ll ask Mr. Ward about getting you some appropriate footwear. I’m sure his omission was accidental.”

His
omission?

“Mr. Ward is the one who broke into my apartment?”

A slight smile curled his lips. “Broke in sounds so crass. Let’s just say he let himself in. And only to bring you a few necessities.”

I crossed my arms, meager protection against the discomfort I felt. How could I be so annoyed, and yet grateful for the care Mr. Ward had put into bringing me those ‘necessities’?

“Does he do that often?” I asked. “Break into people’s homes? How did he even know where I live?” A thought occurred to me, probably born from watching too many vampire movies and TV shows. “How did he get in? I thought v-vampires needed to be invited inside a home?”

A flicker of surprise lit Stephen’s eyes, but it was absent from his voice when he said, “That’s a myth. One I suspect vampires like to propagate through popular media.”

“So… you’re not a vampire, then?”

The thick relief in my voice surprised me, but really, it was good to know I wasn’t the only human around. He seemed to understand, because he gave me a thin, wry smile.

“I am not,” he confirmed.

“But he is.”

I didn’t bother explaining whom I meant by ‘he.’ Stephen caught on easily enough.

“Mr. Ward is, yes.”

“And Miss Delilah?”

He nodded.

I couldn’t explain why, but Stephen confirming what Mr. Ward had told me somehow made it seem more real. Maybe because he looked so prim and proper in that uniform, like he was above any nonsense—any lying. That might also be why I asked him the same question I’d asked Mr. Ward twice already.

“Is he going to kill me?”

He didn’t even blink at the question, which comforted me in my belief that it was a good question, worth asking. The fact that he didn’t answer right away, on the other hand, was not so comforting.

“Did you ask him?” he said after far too long.

“I did. But why should I believe anything he says?”

“Why should you believe me?” he shot back. “Being human doesn’t make me any more trustworthy. My loyalty is to Mr. Ward. And if I may speak frankly, he’s less likely to lie to you than I am. He might refuse to answer your question, but if he does answer, it’s doubtful he’d bother lying.”

Until that moment, I’d sort of seen Stephen as an ally. He worked for Mr. Ward, the same way I worked for Miss Delilah, and somehow I had assumed that put us on par with each other. Now, I realized I’d been wrong. There was one major difference between us: he knew what his employer was, and, as he’d just noted, he was loyal to him. I, on the other hand, had never had the smallest inkling that anything was different about Miss Delilah.

Stephen inclined his head once more, picked up the tray, and walked out. He left me alone with my jumbled thoughts. I tried to think back on the last five years for any clues I might have overlooked, strange things that, in hindsight, should have set off alarm bells in my mind. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t come up with anything.

I’d seen Miss Delilah in the sun. For that matter, I’d seen her in the sun just about every day. Her office was at the corner of the building, and two walls were made entirely of glass. Sometimes, it got so bright in there that I had to blink a few times to adjust my vision when coming in. Sunlight clearly didn’t bother her, the way it did vampires in movies.

I’d also seen her eat regular food. Very little of it, which I’d always assumed was because she watched her figure, but I’d definitely seen her eat.

I’d seen her reflection in a mirror. On that day when she’d walked on the runway, I’d been backstage with her, and I’d watched the stylist and make-up artist do her hair and touch up her lips and eyelashes. There’d been mirrors all around us. I remembered noticing she wouldn’t look at herself, but she did have a reflection. Now that I thought about it, it occurred to me how strange it was that there was no mirror in the dressing room in her penthouse. With an entire room dedicated to clothes, it seemed like a necessary feature.

I tried to think of what else I knew, or thought I knew about vampires. The aging thing… well, five years isn’t really enough to realize someone isn’t growing any older. What about the people who’d worked with her longer than that, though? Did they notice? Or did they simply believe she had an excellent plastic surgeon? Come to think of it, I didn’t know how old she was. Her late husband had been a lot older, but I had no idea how long they’d been married by the time he passed away.

Her ability to compel… That wasn’t actually something I associated with vampires. It was in some movies, sure, but not enough that I’d have recognized it as a vampire thing, even if I’d known she was doing it to me. For that matter, how often had she done it to me? Could I trust what Mr. Ward had seemed so certain of?

She undoubtedly had used that trick yesterday when she’d had me play dress-up for her, but even then I hadn’t realized what was happening. When else had she compelled me to do something? I still couldn’t remember any other instance when I’d thought I didn’t want to do something but found myself doing it anyway.

And then, of course, there was the blood issue. I couldn’t have failed to notice if my boss had taken blood breaks instead of coffee breaks. So what did it mean that I’d never suspected anything? Was she careful when she drank blood? For that matter, what kind of blood did she drink? Did she bite humans? Did she kill? Did she prefer animal blood? Even more importantly… what about Mr. Ward?

A line from his invitation came back to my mind. He’d told her he’d organize the whole thing, including the refreshments. Had he meant blood?

The more I thought about it, the more questions I had, and with Stephen’s obvious reluctance to talk about any of it, there was only one person who could answer my questions.

Was I silly enough to go hunting for my vampire host and pester him for answers?

That sounded like an incredibly stupid idea, even if he’d said he wouldn’t kill me.

But then, what was I supposed to do? Stay in this suite until Miss Delilah finally came back to free me?

The thought made me jump to my feet. With a decisive gesture, I opened the door Stephen had closed behind him and stepped out.

And then, I stilled.

For a few seconds, I wiggled my toes into the plush carpet and tried to decide what to do.

Should I explore this floor? The doors Stephen and I had passed last night had all been closed. I didn’t really want to open them at random and maybe intrude on Mr. Ward. How badly would he take that?

The lower floors, on the contrary, had been wide open, each room flowing into the next one. As long as I told myself I wasn’t trying to leave, I should be able to go down there, shouldn’t I?

I tried. I convinced myself that I wouldn’t attempt to leave the house. Of course I wouldn’t; after all, I was barefoot. All I wanted was to look at all that artwork again and see it all better in the light of day, without so many guests around me.

I was working so hard at convincing myself that I missed my first turn, and instead of going left to the hallway that led back to the first sitting room where I’d talked with Mr. Ward, I continued straight on. The doors, all of them closed, didn’t give me a clue that I was on the wrong path. Another intersection, going left and right, did. Realizing I’d goofed somewhere, I retraced my steps to that first intersection and went down the new corridor.

The place was very different from Miss Delilah’s penthouse, but it was just as much of a maze. I found myself wondering if it was something all vampires did: live in maze-like places to confuse their prey.

Of course, I was all too aware that I was the prey.

The last door was the right one. I crossed the sitting room without looking at the armchair where I’d been sitting when it dawned on me that my entire existence had been turned upside down. Another small room, and finally I reached the staircase. I didn’t run down the steps, but it was a close thing.

I kept expecting my legs to start refusing to obey me again, so I continued to repeat to myself I didn’t want to leave, I was just going downstairs. It was like a chant in my head. And I think the worst part is that I believed it. I had to believe it, or I wouldn’t have been able to move.

When I finally reached the second floor and pushed the door open, the taste at the back of my throat was very much like triumph.

It turned to fear when I came face to face with Mr. Ward.

We both froze. For the briefest of instants, I thought I saw the same surprise I felt reflected on his features. He quickly schooled himself, however, and shifted his hold on the stack of papers he held to his chest.

“Angelina,” he said. “Going somewhere?”

His question took a few seconds to percolate in my mind. He’d said my name. Again. He’d said it with that slight trace of an accent I couldn’t quite put my finger on. And just like that, my heart was racing and my knees felt a little weak.

I’m not usually that much of a pushover, but there was something about him that made my mind short-circuit and my body discover hereto unknown swooning tendencies. At that moment, both mind and body did not care in the slightest that he was a self-proclaimed vampire.

“I… huh… I’m not leaving.”

As you can see, I sometimes have a gift for stating the obvious.

“So I assumed,” he replied without even the beginning of a smile.

He took a small step to the side, and I realized he was giving me space to come forward. I did, but didn’t go much further, and turned to watch him go through the door I’d just passed.

“Is that it?” I said, and I’d be hard pressed to explain what came over me. “You’re going to let me roam through your house?”