Chapter Four
MINA
That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. My mind was too busy blending the events of a hell of a day. When I eventually dozed off, I was plagued by unsettling dreams.
In one, I ran down an endless hallway, chased by beasts.
I turned to sleep on my side, but that only set off different dreams. A lion stalked me from behind the maze hedge — or was that a tiger?
A dragon swooped overhead, blotting out the moon with his huge, leathery wings.
A man with fangs followed me up the front stairs…
I jerked out of that dream, panting in terror. Then I flopped back, heart thumping wildly.
Think of something nice, my mom used to say.
Clement popped into my mind, and I decided to treat myself to a little fantasy of him.
And, ha. A fantasy probably shared by every woman in Auberre.
It worked, and soon, I was dreaming far more satisfying dreams. But the details of the man exploring my body were hazy. Was that Clement or someone else?
All I knew was that he filled me again and again, bringing me right to the highest rung on the ladder of ecstasy, then pushing me off it — and catching me so smoothly, I kept moaning in unbridled pleasure.
A damn good dream, until something in my subconscious yanked me out of it.
I jerked upright, then sank back into my pillow, determined to revisit that dream. But my eyes snapped open again, and I held my breath.
Something was stalking me. For real, not a dream.
Not daring to move, I cast my eyes around.
Moonlight streamed through the slot between the curtains, playing charades with the clothes I’d heaped on a chair.
The faint sound of nocturnal residents filtered in from the woods.
A drop of water fell from the tap in the bathroom sink… and a long minute later, another.
But otherwise, there was silence. Eerie silence.
I closed my eyes, tuning in with my other senses. Highly sensitive, supernatural senses gifted to me by my ancestors. Bit by bit, I homed in on that creepy something and stared at the ceiling.
That’s where he was — whoever he was. In the attic, directly above me.
A scream built in my throat, held back by a wall of sheer fear.
It took everything I had to back away from the brink of panic and think. Maybe it was just a really nasty dream?
No, I decided. I was wide awake, and his — or her — presence loomed over me.
A presence that emitted no scent, no sound, no nothing. Which meant…?
Finally, it hit me. Vampire.
Henrik?
My pulse revved, and I cursed. The more my blood pumped, the more it would call to him. My sensual dreams had already tinged the air with the scent of desire. Rushing blood would only intensify the draw on him.
I did my best to lie still, slow my heart rate, and think.
The attic was filled with small rooms used as staff quarters in the old days. A long, dim corridor ran the entire length of the house, meaning a person — or vampire — could creep from the west to east wing without encountering any obstacle, apart from cobwebs.
So, yikes. Henrik had been out exploring and found his way to the space directly over my bed. Coincidence?
I doubted it.
The question was, what would he do next? Could a vampire move through walls — or ceilings? Was he liable to burst through at any moment, or would he be content to quietly savor the scent of my life’s blood like secondhand smoke from a nice, relaxing joint?
I doubted that too.
Then another thought struck me. Vampires could enthrall with their voices. Could their mere presence enthrall in a similar way?
My skin crawled as I pictured offering myself to him willingly. I imagined his body pressing against mine… The punch of his fangs… The suction in my veins as he gulped one mouthful of blood after another—
I clenched my hands, cutting off such thoughts. How likely was Henrik to come after me in his very first night at the chateau? Vampires were parasites. It made no sense to kill off his host, right?
I grimaced at the unintentional pun. Host certainly fit.
So, maybe he didn’t intend to kill me. Maybe he just wanted a sip of his favorite drink every night. Was he already trying to enthrall me into wanting that, and possibly more? He could come back again and again, wipe my memory, and I would never know.
My stomach churned.
One thing was clear. The longer I lay there, the more I would be at his mercy. A strange buzz was already building around my mind. The early stages of his thrall?
I had to get away, and fast. But moving would let him know I was onto him. Worse, it could even excite him.
I thought hard. Option One — to yell Fuck off, Henrik! at the top of my lungs — didn’t seem wise. Option Two — hightailing it out of bed — was no better, because where would I go?
That left Option Three. I gulped, desperately searching for a better plan.
The buzz in my mind increased from the level of a single bumblebee to a dozen hornets.
I forced a few deep breaths. Fine. Option Three. To move without moving. A trick my great-grandmother had been proud of mastering, but that I had only ever tried twice. Once, it had gone perfectly. The other time, I’d nearly “moved” myself right out of existence. Was I really ready to risk that?
The hair standing on my skin yelped, Risk it! Risk it!
I closed my eyes and pictured myself in bed. The angle of my limbs, the shape of my body. I memorized the feel of the sheets, the pattern of wrinkles in the blanket. I cataloged tiny eddies in the air above and around me.
Then, picturing exactly that scene, I slid silently out of bed, tiptoed to a corner of the room, and looked back.
My body was still in bed, slumbering peacefully. The blanket was wrinkled, and air wafted around my huddled form exactly as it had before.
I was there, but I wasn’t there.
I concentrated hard, maintaining the illusion while the real me hunched silently in the corner. My great-grandmother had claimed it was easy, but I could only pull it off with head-splitting focus.
Shadow-walking, she’d called it. But if you weren’t careful, you risked distancing yourself too far from the illusion. In that case, the illusion could crumple, or the real you would — in the most final way possible.
Death by crumpling didn’t sound too painful, but I’d ventured too close once, and it had scared the hell out of me.
I held still, minimizing each breath, staring at the illusion in bed, then up at the ceiling. Was it working? Had I fooled him?
I exhaled, because those buzzing hornets kept circling over the illusionary me in bed.
Then, shit. The buzz took on a puzzled note, and instead of humming close to the sheets, the hornets started spreading out. They ventured farther and farther away, seeking.
My heart pounded. I could sense, if not see or hear, that imaginary cloud move. More angry than puzzled now, the hornets searched the room, buzzing over the clothes in the chair…the wardrobe…the book on the bedside table…
Holding my breath, I inched quietly along the wall, working my way over toward the bathroom. I crouched, sensing that force invade the space I’d just vacated.
The buzz intensified.
Ice formed in my veins. But maybe that was a good thing, helping conceal my body heat.
My hopes rose, then plummeted as the buzzing crept along the wall, tracking me to my new hiding place.
I balled my hands into fists, desperate enough to consider Option One again.
The words Fuck, off, and Henrik formed on the tip of my tongue.
But the curtains billowed inward on a sudden gust of wind, and the moonlight was blotted out by something huge. Shutters rattled, and a mighty whoosh sounded overhead. Dead leaves tumbled over the roof. The attic floorboards creaked for the first time, and I heard a man curse under his breath.
The buzzing sensation evaporated, and moments later…
I searched the ceiling with my eyes, though it wasn’t sight I was relying on. Was he gone?
A full minute later, I decided yes, he was.
The human-shaped blanket on the bed fell flat as I sat down hard, gripping my head with both hands. Damn, did my head ache.
The vampire was gone, and my shadow-walking had worked, so I should have been glad. But I was too busy shaking — and nursing a pounding migraine — to celebrate.
I curled into a ball on the floor, whimpering, and stayed there for a long, long time.