Night's Cold Kiss (26 page)

“It would be a unique opportunity. Very well, I’ll help in any way I can.” He stood. “Speaking of which, can I offer you anything? Are you hungry?”

Her stomach churned at the thought and she shook her head.

“I had some blood stocked up in case I needed a transfusion or an operation while I was here. So I have a little on hand, but I’ll get some more ordered in.” He held out his hand and walked her to the door. “Come, let’s get you settled in.”

Lucian’s estate was exquisite, full of earthy colors and old-world charm, like a Tuscan villa. The walls showcased landscapes of the Italian countryside, marble statuettes stood on wrought iron, and wood furniture and terracotta pots filled with leafy plants decorated corners. Her heels tapped across the tiled floor.

As they walked past a hall Lucian pointed to the plastic sheeting hanging across the doorway. “I’m in the process of having some redecorating done in there. It’s quite a mess, so it might be better to avoid that area.”

The presence of scaffolding and drop sheets just beyond the plastic brought home how inconvenient it must be to have her turn up on Lucian’s doorstep like this. “I’ll try and stay out of the way.”

“Hey, it’s all right,” he said, his brow furrowing. “That area is just so filthy, and as usual the work seems to be going much slower than the decorator led me to believe.”

“Look, I’m sorry to just turn up like this. I didn’t think…”

“Antoinette”—Lucian placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her face to look at him—“To be honest, I could really do with the company. If you’re up to spending time with this poor old invalid, that is.” Lucian shrugged his uninjured shoulder and smiled.

Antoinette couldn’t help but smile back. “You’re hardly old, Lucian.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said. “But ever since the shooting, I’ve been feeling that way.”

They continued down the hall until he stopped outside a door. “This’ll be your room for as long as you stay.” He took her hand in his good one. “If you need anything, Hector will help you.”

The large butler materialized out of the shadows. He was very quiet for a big man and he eyed Antoinette in a way that didn’t exactly make her feel welcome. Lucian waved him away and the manservant disappeared down the hall the way they’d just come.

“Now,” Lucian said. “I must say good night. It’s getting late and I need a lot more rest than I used to.” He gently touched his wounded shoulder.

“Of course,” she said. “And thanks for everything—I didn’t know where else to turn.”

“Hush.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “You don’t have to explain to me. We’ll talk some more tomorrow, in the evening. You’re healing too and need your rest.”

“Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

He left her alone. The room was as lovely as the rest of the house. A large four-poster feather bed dominated the center, full of pillows and cushions. More Tuscan-style paintings of grapes, wineries, and peasants working in the fields adorned the walls. The adjoining bathroom had an old clawfoot bathtub and a rustic charm she’d only seen in magazines.

To her surprise she did feel sleepy. Being embraced, she assumed she wouldn’t feel tired again until the sun came up. She tossed the redundant pillows off the bed and undressed before crawling beneath the covers, and her eyes closed as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She awoke feeling unwell. Her stomach cramped with periodlike pain and her head screamed. The absence of any prickling in her blood meant the sun had set. She must’ve slept through the remainder of the night and an entire day.

After dressing, she found Lucian in the dining room eating his evening meal.

“Good evening, sleepyhead,” he said, rising to greet her. “I’d just about given up hope that you’d be joining me.”

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to sleep so long.”

He waved aside her comment. “It’s part of the process. From what I understand, a lot of sleep is required for the first two to three days after the change to allow the body time to adjust. How’re you feeling?”

She shrugged her shoulders and looked at his plate. “Hungry, thirsty—I’m just not sure which.”

“That’s to be expected—they’ve both become the same driving force for you now. I’ll have some blood brought out.”

She shuddered and he laughed. “You’re going to have to get used to it, you know.”

“I know.” She screwed up her nose. “It’s just I don’t remember anything except waking up like this. It doesn’t seem
quite real yet, and if I take that first drink, I’ll really have to deal with it. I’m not sure I’m ready yet.”

“They say the pain is so intense it would make you insane if you remembered.” Lucian picked up his wine and signaled the nearby servant. “At least join me in a glass.”

“Okay.”

The rich aroma of the deep red merlot tantalized her senses as the servant poured. Antoinette took a sip. It exploded into her mouth, a riot of flavor. It was the best wine she’d ever tasted.

Lucian watched her. “Everything is sharper when you become an Aeternus.” He raised his glass to his lips and drained the contents. “How do you find the wine?”

“Magnificent.” She drained her own glass and waited for it to hit her the way it usually did. “Wine usually goes straight to my head.”

“Your new physiology gives you a greater tolerance to alcohol. Drink enough and you will get drunk, but your body will also break it down faster so you’ll remain intoxicated for less time.” He rose from his chair and held out his arm. “Would you like to join me for a short walk in the garden?”

“That’d be nice.” She pushed back her own seat and took his offered arm.

He led her through the house and out into the perfumed garden. The air was fresh, free of pollution or smog and full of aromatic plants.

The stars glowed bright against the inky moonless sky, yet everything was as clear to her as if it were day. For the first time she just relaxed into her new self. A cricket chirped loudly under a bush, she followed the sound and saw it rubbing its hind legs together. A cat stalked through the garden, hunting a brown mouse that scampered through the fallen orange, gold, and red leaves of an old oak tree.

The detail was awe-inspiring. From the patterns in the foliage to the detail in the brickwork, all with a stark vividness she’d never seen before. The fall leaves whispered on the ground as the gentle wind blew them aside, the oak tree
groaned and creaked in a language of its own, and the night was full of beauty and life.

“Do you like it?” Lucian asked, smiling.

“Yes,” she whispered, noticing more and more the closer she looked and listened. “Do you mind if I sit out here for a while? I just want to kinda…” She shrugged. “You know.”

“You take all the time you need.” Lucian smiled. “The doctor would have my skin if he knew I was walking in this cool night air.”

“Lucian,” she called as he walked away. He turned, raising an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

His raised a quizzical eyebrow. “For what?”

“For everything,” she said, walking up to him. “For letting me stay, for giving me space, and for not asking about Christian.”

“When you’re ready you’ll tell me,” he said. “And if you don’t,” he shrugged his shoulders, “then it’s none of my business.”

She was grateful for his kindness, one day she’d repay him, she just had to work out how.

Antoinette sat for hours lost in her new world of wonder. She listened and watched everything from the large owl sitting in the old oak to the tiniest bugs crawling through the grass and leaf litter. The night talked to her in a way it never had before. She felt lightheaded, like she was high on drugs.

The night passed quickly while she sat there and before she knew it the sky to the east took on a lighter shade. The creaking and groaning of the oak tree and the house, once musical, was now grating, setting her teeth on edge. The rustling of the leaves also grew too loud. Everything seemed too noisy and soon a throbbing headache split her skull. When the eastern sky took on a pinkish tinge, she went inside and climbed into bed. Life would never be the same again.

Antoinette pulled the pillow over her head and she cried herself to sleep for what she’d lost.

Hunger gnawed at her gut the following evening. She’d woken before sundown and, afraid to leave her room, she just paced. Finally she could bear it no longer and went to open the door. The handle crumpled in her hand and she ripped the door off its hinges. She hadn’t even pulled hard. The lights seemed to glow far too brightly and as she passed the grandfather clock in the hall the ticking was almost deafening.

“Sorry, being late is becoming a bit of a habit,” she said as she came into the dining room.

Lucian wiped his mouth with his napkin and rose to greet her. “You’re a creature of the night now, it’s to be expected. You’ll build your strength soon enough and then you’ll be able to rise during the daylight hours.”

Again she sat opposite him but this time the clanking of cutlery—the scraping of knife and fork on china—the clicking of glass—was almost too much for her to bear and she fidgeted in her seat.

Finally finished, he pushed back his chair. “Come, I want to show you something special.”

He led her through the garden to a large greenhouse. Inside the air was thick with damp soil, rain, and rotting plant matter along with scented flowers and greenery. Lucian lovingly touched the different flowers as they passed—orchids, violets, and roses were the most recognizable of the many different species he was growing.

“This way.”

Lucian led her through another room, warm and damp, filled with large leafy rainforest plants. Then they reached a room in the center of the enormous glass building. He placed his hand on a palm reader and the door clicked open.

In the room a rose grew like no other she’d ever seen. She held her breath and stepped closer to the nearest blossom. It was blue—real blue—not the mauve or purple that was often passed off as a blue rose. The outer petals were a deep, rich midnight color graduating to a stunning cobalt center.

“Isn’t it magnificent?” Lucian asked.

“Yes,” she whispered, reaching toward the flower with reverence. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I call it the ‘Elisabeta’.” He gently caressed the petals. “After my late mother.”

“Late?”

“Yes—she died when I was a boy.”

“I’m sorry.” Antoinette touched his arm lightly, understanding the sadness in his eyes.

“My mother’s favorite flower was a rose and her favorite color blue, so for years I’ve toiled to create the perfect blue rose in her honor.”

She walked around the bush looking at the unopened buds among the blooms. Her new eyes, her Aeternus eyes, could see the perfection better than any human could. She leaned in and sniffed the unusual, slightly spicy, rose perfume.

“Here.” Lucian snapped off a newly opened rosebud.

She reached for it, almost afraid to touch such beauty.

“Ow…” he exclaimed as she took the flower. “I could have bred them out, but what is beauty without its thorns?”

A tiny spot of blood appeared on his finger. A spot so small and inconsequential, but all of Antoinette’s senses honed in on it. The rich coppery tang overpowered all other scents, everything faded into the background as the tiny crimson bead expanded. Her mouth became dry and her throat constricted. She was so obsessed by the small drop she didn’t notice her fangs until she bit her lip.

Blood slid across her tongue, and she crouched low, a growl rattling in her chest. Oh God, the scent. Just to taste it.

Lucian stuck his finger in his mouth and Antoinette closed her eyes to an image of her taking his hand and sinking her teeth into his wrist. His throat pulsed with life under her gaze and a hiss escaped as she licked her lips, wondering what he would taste like and ready to find out.

Uncertainty crept into his eyes. “Antoinette?”

She crouched lower. Something crooned in her mind demanding to taste the nectar flowing through his veins. She
could hear his blood pumping—smell his delicious fear. Her whole body throbbed with the need to tear into his throat—to get at the crimson goodness beneath his hot skin.

“Antoinette, stop,” he commanded, and a sharp stinging slap rocked back her head. The pain was nothing, no more than a tap, but enough to clear the red fog from her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, hanging her head. “Oh God, I could’ve killed you, Lucian.”

“You need to control your lust—you must feed.” He opened the door.

After a few more seconds, Antoinette straightened and followed him back through the conservatory and into the house where Lucian rang for a servant.

“Bring the special meal I asked to be prepared for Miss Petrescu,” he said to his maid when she arrived.

She returned a few moments later carrying a tray with a crystal glass and matching decanter filled with a rich red liquid. The thought of drinking the blood made Antoinette’s stomach churn and heave, like it was filled with a thousand worms—until the maid lifted the stopper off the decanter.

A rich delicious scent filled the air, better than the wine, better than anything Antoinette had smelt before. She sighed and closed her eyes, inhaling the mouth-watering aroma.

The gums above her front teeth tingled—she touched it with her tongue. This time she kept a tight control of her senses so she felt the fangs nudge her gums and slide down to nestle in front of where the central incisors touched the lateral incisors. She’d expected it to hurt, but it didn’t, in fact, it was quite pleasurable and her body quivered.

The most powerful arousal she’d ever felt hit her—an arousal of mind, body, and soul. Her skin prickled, her nipples hardened, and her groin grew heavy, throbbing with intense erotic heat.

She picked up the decanter and poured crimson liquid into the glass. It splashed against the crystal in such beautiful ripples that she didn’t want it to stop. But the aroma made
her head swim; her mouth watered and her throat constricted with the desire to taste it.

Antoinette picked up the glass and trembling with anticipation, she brought it closer to her mouth. The cold touch of crystal on her lips preceded the first drop of heaven that exploded into her mouth, making her cry in ecstasy and want to weep with joy at the same time. It flowed down her throat in a golden glow, lighting up every nerve in a trail of absolute rapture. When she drained the glass of every last drop, she sighed. “Oh my…”

“I’ve never seen anything like that in my entire life,” Lucian spoke, his tone hushed. “I’ve seen Aeternus drink before, but never like that.”

She poured some more, and took another sip. While it was still exquisite, it didn’t match the intensity of her first taste, but she still drank with as much ardor. Satiated, she replaced the stopper on the rest of the blood in the bottle.

“Well done, my dear.” Lucian sat back pleased. “You’ve passed your first test.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you stopped and didn’t take any more than you needed.”

She smiled, the afterglow of feeding still jangling her nerves. She felt better—more than better actually—she felt renewed, alive and full of energy. The clock in the hall chimed nine and she realized that it didn’t sound as piercing or grating as before—she could even tone the sound down a little so it didn’t seem so loud.

“Well, I must leave you, my dear. I have my medication to take and then rest.” He took her hand. “Will you be okay?”

“Yes.” She blushed, feeling utterly stupid. “I’m much better. I can’t believe that I waited so long.”

“It’s your humanity, but now you’re an Aeternus, you must learn to think like one. An Aeternus needs blood to live—it’s a fact of life for you now. Starve yourself and you only run the danger of hurting yourself…or someone else.”

She dropped her head, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry for what happened in the conservatory.”

“Don’t be.” He cupped her cheek.

Lucian had been so understanding, so good to her. Would her family be as accepting of what she’d become or would they treat her differently now? Antoinette had never really thought about the consequences her change would have on her family—she’d had a hard enough time coming to terms with it herself. She’d better ring Sergei and tell him. Soon.

Antoinette wandered back into her room, looking for something to occupy her time. She took a long bath and brushed out her hair, but even after that it was only ten o’clock, still early for a creature of the night.

Nothing in her room appealed to her. Maybe she’d find something downstairs to do. Lucian’s study had a large-screen TV and she could watch an old late-night movie.

Antoinette settled on the lounge in the study and started flicking through the channels. After ten minutes she grew bored. All that was on were shopping channels, infomercials, bad sitcoms, and worse-than-B-grade movies. When she landed on an old Christopher Lee Dracula movie she gave up in disgust.

In the past, popular culture’s vampire stories were mostly propaganda films designed to scare humans and keep the divide between the races. Today’s books and films tried to demystify it by painting them as heroes fighting a world of evil. This was almost as bad as the former. All the wackos wanted to become like them and many died trying.

But the book that started it all—Bram Stoker’s
Dracula
—was actually based on the most infamous Necrodreniac, who’d wreaked havoc across the European continent.

Antoinette rose off the lounge and turned to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves behind her. They were mainly filled with history or reference books with a minor selection of fiction such as Edgar Allen Poe, Shakespeare, and Robert Louis Stevenson. All classics and nothing contemporary.
Antoinette ran her finger along the spines of the books, occasionally pulling one out and flicking through it.