Red Awakening: (Red Knight #2) (3 page)

“For god sake Mum!” I grit my teeth.

“I think it’s about time we call it a night,” Geoff says, still relatively sober.

Adrien pays the bill, plus a huge tip; a tip that makes my mum curse out loud. I’m so damn cross with her. One night and she couldn’t behave, not even for me.

Adrien slips his wallet into his back trouser pocket.

“Ruby, let’s get you home,” he extends his hand.

If it were up to me, I’d just leave her here.

“Don’t put yourself out. I’ll just call a taxi.” Geoff threads his arms into his brown cord jacket.

“No need, I’ll drive,” Adrien insists.

I remain silent on the way to Mum’s house. I won’t be ready to speak to her for some time after tonight’s events. She was acting like a hormonal teenager, rebelling in her forties. It’s always the same, a few drinks down her neck, and she thinks she’s eighteen again. 

Adrien calls goodbye as Geoff guides Mum’s staggering body up the driveway. I stay still. I refuse to help when she’s in that state. She knows I’m pissed-off with her. I think she got the message when I turned my head away when she tried to kiss me.

Thankfully, after huffing out loud to let Adrien know I’m done with tonight, he pulls out onto the road.

My head is banging. It’s probably high blood pressure, and all Mother inflicted. I run my fingers through my hair as I sink into the seat.

“What is your problem tonight?” Adrien asks as we turn left.

“Nothing,” I utter.

“Yeah right… there was no need to be so cold to your mom.” His eyes flick on me for a second. “She’s really nice.”

Okay, now the words are fighting to blare out of my mouth. “Are you kidding; you did see her in there didn’t you?” I sarcastically laugh. “She was a damn mess, Adrien. And you… you had to go and encourage her, with the, oh Ruby, you are so ravishing crap.”

“You’re not jealous of your mom are you?”

“God, you have no idea.”

Suddenly, he puts his foot down on the accelerator, swerves the car right down a dark ominous backstreet, and slams on the break, missing a garage door by an inch.

My heart rumbles against my ribs and I’m panting. I loosen my white knuckles from the door handle, and whip my head around to face him. I know he’s angry, but shit, so am I.

“Are you nuts!”

“You’re being way too fucking tetchy,” he glares, fury aimed right on me. “You’re taking your shit mood out on everyone else. I remember you collapsing on the floor back at The Mill when you were tanked-up. So what is with this high horse you’re on all of a sudden?” I blank him, completely. “Elizabeth!”

I wheeze in and out, ready to fire at him. “I’m on no high horse,” I snap. “And yes, I’m in a mood, and do you know why?” I hum, narky. “Well sometimes I think you presume too much, like now you’re presuming I’m in a mood because of Mum… that’s only a small portion of the problem.” I zip my mouth shut before I spill more cross words.

I try not to look at him, but I can hear his breathing. It’s forceful, deep, and I’ve heard it before. I gulp down a sensual knot in my throat and turn to him. He’s gazing at me with an insatiable raging lust.

“You’re being a bitch.”

“I know.”

His hand shoots across and heaves at my neck, pulling my face to his. He angles over the handbrake and his lips explore mine, violently. Hell, I have to have him right now. 

I unclip my belt while he mouths my neck, then clamber breathlessly over to his side. I straddle his lap as his hands grip at my waist, tight. He pushes his seat back, reclining it half way. His head is pressed between my breasts, as he rips the straps of my dress down over my shoulders so the fabric tears. He wrenches the roots of my hair closer, and pants into my mouth. I moan out as his lean mean eyes fix on mine. I lick my lips. I want more, and he’s making me wait.

“You still angry?” His jaw locks, pulsing with desire.

He elevates his crotch a little and I rub against him.

“Yes,” I say in a breath.

His fingers claw up my thighs, ripping at my damp lace underwear. Frantically, I open his belt, button, and pull down his zipper, threading my fingers down deep over his soft pubic hair. I growl low at the feel of how hard he is in the palm of my hand. I knead, squeeze, and stroke, watching him wince and twitch for me. With his hand clutching my back, I position my wet and ready sex over him.

He grins sinisterly, amused as always by my impatience. “You’re not behaving like a lady tonight, Elizabeth.”

With my teeth, I nip the skin below his earlobe. I need to release myself; release my frustration. And lady or not, I just want him inside me. I want to feel in control of him. Deep down, I know he likes it when I lose my mind over him. I can feel his juice trickling over my hand, and that sweet pulse beating in his cock.

He grabs hold of my biceps and pushes me back, forcing me to stop. My throat tightens as his thin, horny eyes, lock onto mine.

“You.” He lifts me, slamming his sex up inside.

“Shit!” My hand crashes into the headrest.

“Are.” His ass moves in the seat as he brings me up then down with a fucking fantastic skin slap. “Mine.” Again he thrusts up into me. “Fuck me, Elizabeth.” He releases his hold, taking his arms above his head, leaving me to ride him.

My clit aches heavy. To ease it, tame it, I rub harder.
Holy mother of god.
I jack my knees up and down, gripping the headrest, weaving my fingers through his. I ride and he joins my movements, his hips dancing with mine. Again he yanks my hair to his face, using one hand on my butt to inspire me to go faster.

“God!” I cry out, unable to stop the orgasmic sex torrent flowing.

I know there is more than this beyond, so I swap for a deeper slower motion, and he meets me again with pelvic thrust rises.

My sweat laced hand hits the steamed glass, squeaking as I claw my fingertips down the condensation. He’s watching me, hot golden eyes, with pupils pinpointed in sexual craze. My thighs twinge and toes painfully curl in my shoes, as each hit causes me to flood onto him.

“Elizabeth,” he grunts. “Are you still cross with me?”

Hell yeah I am. But stop talking, I need to feel the beyond.

My walls inside pulse and quiver,
boom, boom, boom
. I’m so hot and wet. He pulls my elbows so I slam into his body. He wants my neck. He wants to fantasise as we fuck.
Do it, do it,
my head is screaming at him.

I feel his teeth and immediately I’m in the beyond. I close my eyes, savouring the erotic fire bursting between my legs. Jeez, my brain is buzzing.

He clutches my butt cheeks and rams me down: Once. Twice. Three shit hot times.

“Elizabeth!” he growls out, peaking, coming to an unwelcome end.

My head drops down onto his fluctuating chest, feeling all squidgy and calm. He strokes my hair and kisses the crown of my head.

“Elizabeth…”

I know what he’s going to say, so I stop him. “No, I’m feeling rather fantastic now.”

“Good. It always works a treat.”

I angle up over him. His hair is messy, good time sex hair. I dread to think what mine looks like. He lies his hand on my cheek, peering up tenderly.

“We have a lot going on right now,” he says. “Your new job, planning the move, and the wedding… it’s understandable you’re on edge.”

“I’m fine,” I murmur.

“Well I think it’s safe to say that we got over our first fight very well.” His fingers softly caress my face. “Look, the wedding… if you still want to get married?” I nod, because I most certainly want to spend the rest of my life with him. “I was thinking, Killiecrankie?”

My heart booms with delight. God, it’s really going to happen isn’t it? And how romantic, Killiecrankie: the magnificent sex, the bungee jump, and that room too.

Oh crap, I forgot he’s partial to diving into dark gorges. He’s not about to suggest we have some thrill seeking ceremony is he?

My face freezes. “Killiecrankie… good. But you’re not wanting to say our vows while jumping off a bridge are you?”

His eyes crease, thinking about it. I’ve put the idea inside his head. Mr Knight the adventurer, is actually considering us marrying on the verge of death.

“Well, only if you want to?” His lips pucker a cheeky grin.

“You know my answer to that.” I shuffle up and dismount back into my seat, clumsily. “The new Executive will be here by then?”

I have to ask. He told me he’d be able to leave his role serving The Order. I watch as he fastens up his belt. He’s avoiding the question.

“Adrien?”

“I haven’t been told yet,” he says. “Selene said to leave it in her hands, and she’ll deal with it. Look.” He reaches over and places his hand affectionately on my neck. “Everything will be great… promise.” He leans across and kisses me softly. “I’m in love with you, and I’m yours. That’s all you should be concerned about.”

Liz

I open up my emails. I have one message of interest from Sara, telling me my appointment at London Bridal is at 7.15pm, and not to be late. With the wedding only three weeks away, on the 28
th
of June (also my birthday) time is now of the essence. My belly flips over, bursting with nervous bubbles. I still can’t believe I’m getting married. The panicky excitement waves over me at least a dozen times a day.

On my part, there’s not been much to plan. It’s going to be a small ceremony, with just close family and friends at a venue we are yet to agree on. I’m not keen on the great big fancy wedding thing. It’s just about me and Adrien. Plus the thought of hundreds of guests, analysing my not so demure walk down the aisle, petrifies me. So small scale is perfect for us. 

“Liz.” Mary pops her head out of her office as everyone else leaves work for the day. “How’s that article on the Dewhurst’s; I want it in Friday’s print.”

I look at my monitor to see the god awful picture of the Dewhurst’s, that giant smelly dog, and Bacon’s wet snout. God, it’s enough to fuel the nightmares I have of that place.

“It’s done. I’ve forwarded it to you.”

“Good. So…” She wanders over and perch’s on the edge of my desk. “I hear in the rumour mill, you’re engaged to Adrien Knight. Why on earth didn’t you say?” she shrills in curiosity.

I knew booking two weeks off for the wedding this morning, would come back to haunt me. She’s probably been doing a bit of digging. I didn’t tell her, because I don’t want gossip flying around on why the notorious hot bachelor of the city, wants to marry some bland, boring, penniless girl. I don’t need the hassle, or people combing me for details. Plus there’s the vampire issue. The less normal folk know, the better.

“I… I just didn’t see it as relevant.” I lower my eyes briefly. “I like to keep work and home life separate.”

I want to tell her to keep her nose out of my private life. I thought she was different. But at the end of the day, she’s a journalist. It’s in her blood, and that’s why she’s the director and chief editor here.

She takes her red framed glasses out of her frizzy hair. I don’t want to come across as standoffish, like I want to exclude myself. But seeing her curled bottom lip and wide eyes, I know she’s put out by my unwillingness to open up about my engagement to Adrien.

“I’ve had my hand slammed in the door a few times when I’ve enquired about doing a piece on him; all that red tape,” she says. “He’s the most inaccessible man on the planet.”

Please Mary, do not ask me to persuade him to take part in an interview. I can’t work for a company that will use me as a means to sell.

“He’s a very private person,” I reply, annoyed.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah… sure.” I sigh as I shut down my computer.

“Why are you working here?”

I frown, because I think it’s clear what she’s getting at. Because I’m engaged to Adrien Knight, I should become some kept housewife type, spending my days shopping, and having my nails manicured. Not a chance; I’d be bored within a week.

“Sorry, that sounded awful,” she holds up her hand. “What I mean is, I bet you could work anywhere with the connections he has.”

“That’s kind of why. I want to make my own path,” I say. “I suppose I want to make sure all the work I’ve put in studying, pays off. Doing it for myself, and nobody else.”

“Well, you’re a credit to yourself.” She pats my shoulder and stands. “Many girls in your shoes wouldn’t be so ethical.” She heads back into her office.

                                                          ***

Cate waits for me outside work. It’s been her turn to have Beryl today. We have a mutual agreement. On my days, I drop her off at work before I head to the office, and on her days, it’s vice versa.

We park on the side street behind Mum’s car. The incident at Le Gavroche, has been brushed under the carpet. Thanks to Adrien knowing my weakness; angry sex is a great healer.

I take a breath, attempting to hide my excitement from Cate. Cool and calm. If I begin to scream like a teenage girl, I know Cate will lose her head too. She’s obviously more eager about this than I. She keeps beaming and glancing over, waiting for a sign so she can start to bounce around like a child would do on the way to Disney Land.

“Liz,” she sings my name. “You need to get out of the car now.”

I don’t look at her, just open the door and step out onto the sidewalk, gaping into the shop window of London Bridal Boutique. It’s so classy, lit with spotlights, and glass plinths showing off beautiful satin shoes and accessories. Jeez, the dresses on the mannequins are stunning. I’m looking at my reflection in the glass, wondering if I could fashion any of them and do them justice.

I see Sara and Mum inside. Sara is holding her Filofax, chatting with the lady behind the counter, as Mum’s animated eyes skim through the satins, silks, and laces. She spots me and waves madly, unable to contain her delight. My eyes loop. I know for the next hour, I’m going to have dress after dress shoved in my face.

Sara turns to me as I enter. I’m nervous; not sure why. It’s what girls’ dream of isn’t it, finding that perfect wedding dress. Now I’m here, noting all the fine-looking gowns, I have the sudden urge to bolt.

“Elizabeth,” Sara tilts her head, wanting me to join her and the shop owner.

Crap, my legs refuse to move. Why the hell do I want to run out of the door? Cate nudges me as Mum seizes my arm, loudly encouraging me to get started.

“Come on Lizzy,” Mum squeaks. “There are some gorgeous dresses in here. I’ve seen one that was made just for you.”

I narrow my eyes without saying a word. I’m going to be performing a bridal fashion show, in which I will have no say. It will be like my big fat gypsy wedding in here.

I approach the glass display counter, which houses crystal and pearl tiaras, small silk drawstring bags, and fancy hair combs.

Sara offers me a reserved smile. Now I wish it was just me and her. She won’t push ideas on me, and get all sensitive about it. This is her task for the evening, and she will do it in an unrushed, quiet, and professional way.

“Elizabeth, this is Vicky Hartley. Anything you need, she’ll help.” Sara waits for me to speak, but I can’t, my mouth is parched.

Vicky smiles sympathetically as she comes out from behind the counter. She takes my arm and tells Mum, Cate, and Sara, to take a seat on the cream couch, and help themselves to a glass of bubbly.

“I’ve seen that dissolute look a thousand times before,” she says to me. “The shell-shocked look, not knowing where to start.” I sigh and anxiously grin. “The shop is yours for the next hour. There is absolutely no pressure. It’s your decision, and you don’t need to hurry.” I release a long breath, feeling more at ease. “Go and browse. Anything you like, place on this rail, and we’ll get you all fitted in the changing area.” She guides me to one of the rails. “These are th
e
renaissance designs we have, then there are the more modern dresses over there,” she points. “Why don’t you take a look through, and I’ll be in the back if you have any questions,” she smiles. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Err, no thank you… I think I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, well go and enjoy yourself.” She leaves me listening to Cate and Mum wittering.

I slowly turn to a rail that is lit with soft lighting above. Wow, there are so many dresses in here: skirts and bodices, laces and nets. I pull out the first dress I come to and study it. It reminds me of one of those toilet roll covers made of wool. It’s bloody awful.

“Liz, here, have a swig of this.” Cate holds out a small champagne flute to me.

Perhaps I should have done what most brides to be do. Researched and put together one of those scrapbooks of possible gowns. I’ve not thought about this at all. I tip the champagne down my neck, hooking the ugly dress back onto the rail.

I see Mum out of the corner of my eye. I knew she wouldn’t stay seated for long, not with chatty Sara. They have only met each other a handful of times, and I know Mum thinks she’s a bitch.

Mum scans the rails, making gasping noises. “Oh Lizzy, there are some lovely dresses here. Expensive mind.”

I’m not going over there. I’ve started here, and don’t need fashion advice from a woman who still thinks it’s 1989.

I’ve been combing through the shop for the last half hour. Sara has fixed it with Vicky, so my time slot has been extended. I’ve chosen four dresses that are definite possibilities, and now I’m making my way into the huge swanky dressing room with Vicky and Sara.

I gaze into the huge three way mirror before me. Vicky pulls a long blue dress bag from a hook on the wall, and slides it next to the dresses I’ve chosen. I frown and look to Sara.

“Adrien wants you to try it on if you’ve exhausted all other choices,” she says. “It’s an option only, if you’re finding it hard to make a decision.”

“He’s been dress shopping for me?”

“Like I said, he wants you to make up your own mind,” she adds. “Let’s get started.” She takes the first dress I picked out.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Vicky says. “If anything needs altering, or pinning, I’ll be in the shop.”

Sara fastens the corset back on the taupe silk gown I’m wearing. It’s so tight and makes my boobs look great, which is the only positive thing about it. It has an A-line skirt and boned sleeveless bodice. It’s relatively plain, with a little diamante detailing along the straight neckline.

I stand on a carpeted box, and fasten my hair up into a loose bun. Sara stands back as I grimace at my reflection. I’m unsure of the colour now. It looked good on the hanger, but against my pasty skin, it’s more of a medieval peasant in rags look.

Cate and Mum enter. Mum blows out, covering her mouth. I turn to Cate, she has the same uncertain expression as I.

“I don’t know Liz. You deserve more if you know what I mean,” Cate says. “It’s not fancy enough for your wedding.”

Personally, I disagree with the whole fancy idea. I don’t want the full on pumpkin style gown that Cate showed me in the shop. I want something classy; not some in your face meringue.

“Lizzy, I think you look wonderful,” Mum coos. “But you don’t like it, do you?”

I’m getting frustrated. Why couldn’t I just like the first dress? Now I’ve got to get out of this thing, and start all over again. I step off the plinth and charge across to the second dress, as Mum and Cate creep back into the shop, noting my annoyance.

I’ve been through this three times now, and this is the final dress to try on. It’s pissing me off that the hangers look better in the gowns than I do. Each time I’ve gone to the rail, I’ve wanted to open the blue dress bag, and each time, Sara has had to stop me. Whether it’s now planted inside my head, that Adrien wants me to wear what he’s chosen, and nothing else will compare, I don’t know. But this sweetheart neckline fishtail number I have on now, it’s not doing a thing for me.

Sara takes the dress bag off the rail, hanging it onto a wall hook. She knows I have wasted all my options, and I’m way too curious to go back into the shop and start searching again. We’ve now been here for two hours, and I think I’m starting to irritate everyone, even my mum.

Sara pulls an envelope from the back of the hanger and hands it to me. I swish across the room in the tight fishtail skirt, and open it eagerly.

Dear Elizabeth

                       If you are reading this, I assume you’re growing impatient because you are unable to find what you are looking for. I know this is unconventional, and right now you’re probably thinking that I am once again, taking control of the situation. But this dress was my mothers, and I thought it could be your something old. I have spoken to the seamstress, and if you see fit, she will alter it to your taste.

All my love

Adrien.

I hold the letter down by my side and stare at the dress bag. Jeez, it’s over a century old. God knows what it’s going to smell like. I don’t want to hurt his feelings here, but my head is telling me to go back into the shop and pick something else. For a start- It’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding. And secondly- I don’t want to look like I’m an extra from Downtown Abby.

I take a breath and slowly unzip the bag. Just as I’m about to open and take a peek, Cate and Mum come through, wondering why I haven’t fashioned the awful fishtail dress I have on.

“What’s that?” Mum asks.

“It’s Adrien’s Mother’s dress,” I utter.

“Err, you’re supposed to pick your own dress,” Cate angers. “Not wear something so he doesn’t have to put his hand in his pocket,” she yaps. “Who the fuck wants to wear their mother in laws wedding dress?”

She’s speaking her mind, and she only sounds bitchy like this when she’s tipsy. I bet between her and my mum, they’ve polished off that full bottle of free booze.

“Let her look at it,” Sara snaps.

“Can you give me a minute? The least I can do is try it on.” I release a shattered sigh.

“Sure honey,” Mum says, knowing I’m getting stressed about the whole thing. “Cate, come on.”