Chapter 23
BERNADETTE CRENSHAW
“Not one single electronic in the whole mansion? This has to be some kind of joke,” I sigh and shove closed the desk compartment I’d been pilfering.
The sharp snap of the wood echoes through the empty library.
I’ve been searching the mansion for three days and still no closer to finding anything remotely like what I need.
The room is all dark walnut shelves lined with old books, just none with anything remotely like what I’m looking for or need. The upper shelves have extensive collections of matching, color-coordinated encyclopedias and then yards and yards of exquisitely bound books on any topic under the sun.
I’ve been in enough wealthy homes to know the eye-level books usually reflect the owners’ real interests, but I seriously doubt Frank’s favorite topics are the history of doorknobs and lawn care.
Of course, what do I know? The man walks around like he’s cooking a corndog up his ass, barking orders at anyone who dares to approach him.
But what a fine ass.
I tuck the hairpin I’ve been using as a lockpick back into the ball of hair atop my head and glance about the room I’d stupidly saved for last.
My whole idea being that I would find an old laptop, maybe even a dinosaur of a computer if I had to, in Frank’s office, call Aubrey and twist her arm into asking the lovesick vampire she’s dating what Frank is with the friend code fully invoked.
The longer I’m here, the more obsessed I am with the need to know, to where it’s now festering beneath my skin.
Typically, any time I grow an obsession like this, I’ve the entirety of the worldwide web at my fingertips along with several databases people would give more than fingertips to have access to. But now? I have nothing.
Except an empty mansion.
After checking in on Brom this morning, who couldn’t be bothered with me as he had his face in a barrel of apples, I started my search. Then, Edgar and I cuddled in bed until breakfast before I started foraging through the attic and scored an old box full of hairpins that have really come in handy.
The attic level was layered in about an inch of dust but had a couple of ornate trunks with some old doctor’s notes on flowers and not much else. I then made my way down to the kitchen but didn’t find anything interesting there, just a stocked fridge and cupboards of usual kitchen things.
Maybe he really is a doctor? Or maybe that’s why she called him Frankenstein that day and it’s just a cool play on words?
For not the first time since my first kidnapping, yesterday being the second after Frank galloped us away on Brom, I curse myself for not researching Frank Stein more.
If only I had a device with the internet.
I assumed I’d find some electronic Frank and the others would overlook as being useful by now, but everything is empty. I’ve now checked every room, but so far the only information I have is how thorough his maid service is.
They’ve got to be the best in the business too, because there’s not a speck of dust in the place, the kitchen is always tidy and stocked with fresh food.
Dinner arrives around 7 p.m. every night like clockwork.
I’ve lain in wait and tried to yank the door handle off in my attempts to catch whoever is maintaining this place so well, but so far, the hallway is empty every time I try.
Every nook and cranny is without a hint of grime, and no electronics anywhere.
The frown that’s been furrowing between my brow for the last hour deepens, and my gaze turns to slits.
I mean, who has a whole tiny town locked away from the rest of the country? Although saying that, if I were wealthy and were trying to hide a bunch of supernatural people, it’s exactly what I’d do. But it still doesn’t answer any of the questions I have. And boy are they mounting.
My gaze crawls from one side of the large opulent library to the other as I sit in front of the old desk I just ransacked, bare of any items like every other drawer in every other room.
The leather of the big sway-backed chair I’m occupying creaks as I lean back and stare up at the ceiling. What a waste of time.
My gaze catches on a glint in the far corner of the room, and I freeze. Is that…
I shove away from the desk, getting to my feet and pushing my glasses up my nose as I do, squinting up at the offending video camera.
“Mother Hubbard,” I mutter, recognizing the tiny device for the high tech it is, and let out a curse. There’s electronics in the place after all.
I just assumed since the place seems so outdated, no surveillance was in place. More the fool me, I guess.
Not that it matters, with Mikael and his team, they could be monitoring the mansion from anywhere, and I wouldn’t be able to get my greedy hands on any of the tech, which is probably exactly what they had in mind in bringing me here.
I wonder if this was all part of Frank’s devious plan.
I know he’s got to be around here somewhere. The place is deathly quiet, and I haven’t heard any cars on the drive today. I doubt he would leave again with the chance that I’d head outside to see Brom.
I head toward the big glossy-finished wooden doors of the library, figuring I’ll start with his bedroom again and turn down a carpeted hallway that I know leads to the staircase at the front of the house.
My socked feet pad easily across the marble floors as I stare up at the elegant mossy green walls and the wide-hanging chandelier in front of the curved steps.
There’s only one way to get to the main wing, and that’s up two huge flights of stairs. I groan even as my temper threatens to erupt with frustration as I make a note to bitch at Frank for not having an elevator the first chance I get.
I’m about to fuck up Frank Stein and make him give me my laptop back, or the deal is off.
As soon as I can make it up these steps and find the big bastard.
FRANK N. STEIN
“She’s cursed me,” I mutter to myself as I stare up at the white ceiling of my bathroom. The irony that the female in question isn’t a witch at all but a human isn’t lost on me, when I’ve been actively avoiding being cursed by witches since I came into existence.
I rake a hand through my hair, sending droplets spraying across the lip of the large white marble clawfoot tub I had made to order for my large frame.
It’s filled to almost overflowing with lukewarm water as I soak and try to calm my bodily urges, but the raging hard-on I’ve had since discovering she’s my mate persists no matter what I do.
I palm my thick and aching cock and groan. After spending more time than I ever have in the underground electric chamber, my powers finally feel subdued enough to emerge above stairs without causing another thunderstorm, or worse, a blackout of the village.
I’ve almost depleted my energy source so much so that it’ll take days to recover from the amount of exertion I put myself through. It should buy me some time to figure out how to stop the bond from happening.
If only my dick would do the same. So far, no matter how many times I bring myself to orgasm, it doesn’t go down.
It also doesn’t help that I can’t seem to eradicate Bernadette from my mind, as if she’s consuming me from the inside.
Thoughts of her swirl in an increasing kaleidoscope of the red-haired chaos demon in human form.
Since she stepped foot in my orbit, it’s been one issue after the other.
Literal hell since learning she existed that’s culminated in more than one close call of her own death.
I myself thought to kill her, and now I know I couldn’t stomach it, when there has never been anyone nor anything that would stop my hand before now.
I’ve lost count of the many human lives I’ve taken all in an effort to keep this very place shielded from humankind. Now, I might as well be handing one my entire life’s work on a platter.
Somewhere between finding my mate with my nemesis and almost killing her with hypothermia, my instincts have been sent into overdrive and I’m all reaction, my brain sluggish and thick with fatigue.
The way she shivered in my arms that night, seeking comfort although I’d given her every reason to not look to me for such needs was almost my undoing, and now I crave her with an intensity that I’ve never experienced.
“This was a mistake,” I say to myself, unsure of which part of recent events I’m referring to as my cock begins to leak anew.
Horniness like I’ve never experienced batters at my senses, and I curse my lack of control. I should be stronger than this, not skulking around my own home avoiding a human, mate or not.
At this rate, I won’t be able to stand in the same room as her without falling on her like some sex-crazed beast, unable to focus on anything but her.
Before Bernadette exploded into my orbit, I’d had weekly visits with nymphs, the most seductive magical creatures known in existence for years.
Their bodies are made for giving and receiving pleasure in ways that would break a human, but the thought of touching their pearlescent skin again makes my skin crawl.
I only crave one female.
Being forced to hold her through the storm must have solidified the bond, increasing my wants and desire for her. It’s the only explanation.
I’ve never experienced this level of torture.
I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose.
Not even during my matehood to Anna did I react like this.
I wait for the pain of her demise to strike some sort of chord within me, but it doesn’t come.
It’s been so long, only her demure smiles and remarkable aptitude as an anatomist have stood the test of time in my memory.
Though Anna worked under me in London before the word science meant what it does now, she was absolutely brilliant.
The most excellent mind in her field and a credit to her sex, she’d been privileged enough to be born with wealthy parents who provided the tutors necessary to further her education at a young age.