Pretty When They Collide (8 page)

“
Oh, I don
’
t like Felicity?” her mother said reading her latest notation, sounding mystified. “Why is that?”

Cassandra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “She cheated on me.”

“
Oh! I need to write that down.”

Listening to the scratch of the pen against paper, Cassandra pressed her still tingling hand against her chest and sighed.

Chapter 8
:

No Safe Havens

The warmth of the sun was slowly becoming an uncomfortable heat against her bare shoulders, but Aimee ignored her discomfort. Pulling another weed, she glanced toward the modern adobe
multi-level
house to make certain that none of the guards were spying on her. She hated when Frank sent his goons to watch her, especially when she was in the garden. It was the one place in the sprawling
West Texas
estate
that she could claim as her very own. Frank was unable to enter due to the vervain she had planted along the edges. The vampire was under the impression the entire garden had an adverse effect on him and had no idea she had deliberately planted a barrier to keep him out.

The hot desert sun glinted off the mirrored surface of the windows and she adjusted her sunglasses to keep out the glare. The triangular sun shade stretching overhead gave her some respite, but allowed enough light to keep her plants healthy. Sweat trickled down her nose and she twitched it
,
since rubbing her nose with a grimy glove was not the best idea.

Dressed in her usual attire of a tank top and a flowing skirt,
Aimee
knelt in the soft earth tending to her plants. Her long trip abroad had allowed the weeds to get a foothold. Even though she had left detailed directions for Frank
’
s staff, she supposed she should take comfort in the fact they had at least remembered to water it in her absence. Her delicate rosemary plants were tucked along the wall and out of direct sunlight and looked a bit ragged. Rosemary was one of the most important ingredients in her spells and she felt like kicking a few shins every time she looked at the weary plants.

Body aching and still feeling weak after her battle in Vegas, she refrained from using her powers to check on the guards. Frank had poured protein drinks down her throat and a dose of his own blood in the aftermath of her victory over the black witch, but her energy reserves weren
’
t bouncing back like they once had.

Magic was energy. True witches could control energy and manipulate it to their bidding. Aimee used the energies of plants and other organic material to do her will. The right combination could pack a powerful punch. Yet it was her own energy reserves that she had to use as a catalyst to get the ball rolling. There were rituals she could use to revive herself, but Frank
’
s tight leash on her via his blood tie kept her from ever being at full power. Vampire blood was false life and it robbed her of the ability to reach her full magic ability. Maybe that was what Frank wanted. She knew he feared that she would one day find a way to break his power over her. At one point he had been arrogant enough to believe that she loved him enough to be loyal, but Aimee was certain he now knew the truth.

If she ever got the chance, she
would
escape.

An especially vicious little weed refused to give its hold up on the earth and she tugged harder. She respected its tenacity
,
but she wasn
’
t about to let it choke the life out of her sage. Digging at the gnarled roots, she couldn
’
t help but compare
the weed
to Frank. Frank
’
s roots were deep in the soil of her life and he was choking the life out of her.

Checking her watch, she saw that her little tracking spell would be ready soon. The dhamphir was Frank
’
s next target, that much was clear. Aimee didn
’
t know a lot about dhamphirs, but she had one of Frank
’
s researchers working
on remedying that fact. When the vampire
had finally fallen asleep, she had carefully unwound the strands of chestnut colored hair from the clips of the extension and stored them in a small cotton bag. She had
straightaway
mixed the
tracking
spell upon returning to the estate.

A long shadow fell over her. Aimee immediately twisted about, and saw Ivan, one of Frank
’
s most trusted guards, standing over her.

“
What is it?” she asked, squinting behind her tinted glasses.

“
He
’
s awake and he wants you.”

Sighing, Aimee set her tools in the bucket caddy beside her. Tugging off her gloves, she tucked them into one of the side pockets. Ivan leaned over and claimed the bucket caddy, and gestured sharply with his head.

“
He wants you now. I
’
ll put this up.”

Frank had to be in a truly bad mood if Ivan was willing to clean up after her. She pulled off her gardening hat and glasses and handed those to Ivan.

“
Thanks,” she said, then strode through her garden toward the sliding glass door that glinted in the sunlight.

The door slid open when she drew near and the cool, stale
,
air
-
conditioned air flowed out
,
brushing over her heated skin. With a shiver, she stepped into the dimness beyond the door.

Another guard slid the door shut, cutting off the heat of the day, then slid the heavy thermal curtain over the glass, banishing the daylight. Candles and lamps lit the interior of the house. The wide rooms with high ceilings felt cavernous, but were crammed with antiques. Frank was an avid collector and she was annoyed at how easily he could fill a room with his countless acquisitions. When they had first moved into the much bigger house on the massive estate in West Texas, she had loved the airy feel of the rooms. Now they felt as stale and heavy as their previous home in Louisiana.

Aimee was sweaty and grimy and considered cleaning up before entering
Frank’s
bedroom, but then thought better of it. If he was demanding to see her immediately
,
he could put up with her being grungy. She hated when he wakened in the afternoon hours. It was rare for a vampire to be able to do so, and Frank used this rare gift it to his advantage. He loved to wake up early and scheme.

Frank
’
s bedroom was black and red, filled with heavy antiques from his home country of France, and always smelled of incense and blood. Still in his black silk pajamas, Frank was greedily sipping from the wrist of one of his blood minions. The young woman
’
s eyes were closed in rapture, and beneath her silk teddy, her body was trembling with pleasure.

Aimee turned away so she wouldn
’
t have to witness the woman
’
s erect nipples pressing against the fine silk of her garment and her hands moving between her thighs. Instead of watching, she occupied herself by surveying the vast array of cologne Frank had arranged on his bureau. He was obsessed with smelling like anything other than death. There were a few new bottles and she once again contemplated the possibility of slipping a spell into one of them.

A reluctant moan and slap on the rump indicated the feeding was over
.
Aimee returned her gaze to Frank as the blood minion scurried out of the room. Aimee no longer learned their names. She
’
d tried befriending the few who had been living with Frank when she had first become his companion, but those blood minions had either died, or been sold to other vampires. Frank kept them sequestered in a small guest house off the main one, so it was easy to deliberately ignore them. Also, it was disquieting how they always looked remarkably alike. Frank definitely had a type. They were all dark haired, blue eyed, and pale.

“
Good afternoon, sunshine,” Frank said, nestling against the bank of red silk pillows resting against the ornate headboard.
He picked up a tumbler filled with ice and scotch and sipped it.
“How
’
s my surly witch?”

“
Sweaty,” Aimee answered.

“
Yuck.” Frank gestured toward the bathroom. “Take a shower. I can
’
t stand the smell of sweat and dirt. It makes me think of peasants. And you, my witch, are not a peasant.” Dismissing her with the flick of his hand, he immediately started working on his iPad.

With reluctance, Aimee followed his command. The bathroom was all black tile and stainless steel fixtures. The only color was the blood red towels. Aimee stood amidst the cold sterility of the room and wished she could just scream until the walls cracked and broke apart around her. Even as her insubordinate thoughts boiled up within her, the blood tie to Frank smothered them. There was always a tipping point where her rebellious thoughts gave birth to torrential rage which immediately triggered the blood bond, stifling her. Taking deep breaths, she fought through the numbness.

Wiping a tear away, Aimee undressed. She hated that even her mind was tethered to Frank. It was a struggle to keep herself from drowning under his constant attempts to completely subjugate her. If not for her witch nature, he
’
d have her completely in his thrall.

The shower refreshed her mind as it cleansed her body. For most of the decade she had been with Frank, she had not fought against his supernatural influence over her. Once she had realized the monster he truly was, she
’
d struggled to balance her emotions and thoughts so as not to activate the blood bond. Now she was fairly adept at maintaining her calm, but tonight she was aggravated by emotions she had never experienced before.

Once out of the shower, she donned one of Frank
’
s robes and returned to his bedroom. He was on his phone and typing furiously on his iPad at the same time. Spotting her, he waved her over to the bed.

“
No, no, you don
’
t get it, Scott. I want her
on the job
as soon as possible. I
’
m not a patient man. Once I have my eyes set on something, I want it immediately. Not in a fucking week, or two, or a month. Now!” Crossing his arms over his chest, Frank listened with a furious expression on his face while the broker on the other end spoke. “That
’
s acceptable. Now make it happen.” Clicking off the call, Frank studied Aimee where she sat perched on the end of the bed. “Why is everyone in this world a fucking incompetent except for you? I ask you to do something, it
’
s done. No worries. Last night you wiped the floor with those assassins. But anyone else...” Frank flung the phone to the opposite side of the bed.

“
Still trying to acquire the dhamphir, I see.”

“
I want her. Not just because she ripped me off, but because of her rarity. Do you understand, my witch, just how rare a dhamphir is?” Frank
’
s dark eyes flashed dangerously. “I tried to make one, you know. Years ago. This one vampire in Italy had a son by a mortal. He was a twisted little fiend. The son, I mean. Well, the vampire father was, too, but that
’
s not my point. The dhamphir could venture out in the daylight and wield his father
’
s will like an avenging angel...or demon. Everyone wanted one. The vampire women were barren, but the vampire men were fucking every mortal woman in sight just about.”

Aimee stifled a shiver. “So what happened?”

“
Well, no one got any of those wenches pregnant and the dhamphir sliced off his father
’
s head and vanished.” Frank sighed. “And that was the end of that little fad.”

“
So if you actually manage to capture this dhamphir, what will you do with her?”

Frank crawled across the bed to Aimee
’
s side and wrapped one wet lock of her long hair around his hand. “Maybe keep her. I could forcibly bond her to me. Chain her up, feed her my blood until she
’
s loyal. Maybe she could be my new companion.”

Frank
’
s eyes were dark and searching. Aimee rested her hand against his cheek and leaned toward him. “No, you won
’
t.”

“
Bah!” Frank pulled her closer by her hair. “Why do I want you so? Why do I dread the thought of you not being at my side, when at the same time I wonder if I shouldn
’
t just kill you?”

“
Because I
’
m power, Frank,” Aimee answered.

Nuzzling her neck, Frank grumbled in French.

Tilting her head away from him, she closed her eyes and struggled not to clench her hands into fists. His sharp teeth raked over her throat, but didn
’
t break the skin.

“
Maybe it
’
s because you
’
re unattainable. I own you, but I can always tell in the depths of your eyes that you
’
re not really mine. Even when you were completely smitten with me, you were never truly mine.” Frank
’
s voice was thick with passion, lust, and anger. His hands slid under the robe
,
caressing her. “My ill-tempered little witch, why won
’
t you be mine?”