Chapter 8 #2
Thomas turned from the window to take him in.
“I don’t need sugar-coating. I much prefer plain-speaking, actually.
My emotions are my own to wrestle with, and it is a work in progress.
What you said yesterday at lunch elicited a strong response within me, but I am not angry with you.
If you assume fault every time I have a mental breakdown, we’ll only exhaust ourselves. Do you understand my meaning?”
Nodding, Cameron dropped his palm from his neck.
“I do, yes. I understand.” He wore a beautiful, vibrantly red cable-knit sweater and a pair of loose-fitted trousers.
Lord Ashford was as tall as Thomas but much broader in his upper chest, back and shoulders.
His presence felt solid and warm. Words like “lumberjack,” “brawny” and “strapping” flitted across Thomas’s consciousness when he looked at him.
“What is this room, exactly?” Thomas asked, focusing his thoughts and stepping over boxes and piles of books to reach the worn sofa.
“Storage,” Cameron said, sighing. “All of my father’s old furniture and decor.
His records and accounting—tax receipts, ledgers and contracts from decades upon decades of running Upper Avalon.
I mean to come up here once a week and organize things, but I’m quickly overwhelmed and then abandon the effort. ”
Thomas plopped down on the sofa and found it surprisingly comfortable. “Ah, you’ve inherited his dealings, then?”
“More like he abandoned his unorganized piles of shit and left me to deal with it.” Cameron’s hazel eyes flickered over to Thomas. “My apologies for the uncouth language.”
“Shit, fuck, goddamn. Now we’re both uncouth.” Thomas smiled. Cameron grinned and shook his head. Thomas went on. “Your father didn’t give you any direction as far as managing his old records?”
“No. He and my mother left this estate two decades ago and have never returned.”
“Two decades?” Thomas balked, quickly doing the math. “You were twenty?”
“Nineteen, actually. They traveled extensively for most of that time. Now they’ve built a new home for themselves in Adelaide, Australia. They check in quarterly to ask about the estate, make absurd demands and pester me about getting married.”
Thomas crossed one leg over the other at the knee. “Huh. What about Rachelle?”
“What about her?”
“How old was she when they left?”
“Nine. We’re ten years apart.”
“They left her alone with you as her sole guardian when she was nine?”
Cameron shrugged. “Lennon helped me with her a lot. It was the two of us, really.”
“And they don’t care to see how the estate is being run for themselves? They must… really trust in your capabilities.”
Cameron knelt on the rug and began rummaging through a box. “They trust me, yes. But they also hate Eden. I truly believe that their sole purpose in birthing me was to have someone to eventually dump this place on so that they could escape.”
“Wow…” Lots of vampires in Eden had shitty parents, himself included, of course.
But it was interesting to learn about the degrees to which they were shitty.
Eden purebred parents existed on a spectrum, and Thomas found himself envying Lord Ashford.
How nice it would have been for Lord Blakeley and the viscount to just vanish when he’d reached a certain age, leaving him alone to manage the castle and his younger siblings.
One can only dream.
“Do you share your parents’ sentiments?” Thomas asked. “Do you hate Eden as well and wish to escape?”
Cameron paused and set his large hands on either side of the box. “No, I love my home. I don’t mind Eden—except when I’m forced to do weird things that I wouldn’t naturally do. Like attend annoying parties or…”
“Acquire a husband you don’t really want?” Thomas batted his eyelashes, speaking the words for him.
Cameron visibly bristled and rolled his shoulders. “I mean to offer you a good life here, Thomas. You’re not a prisoner—”
“Oh, I’m just teasing you.” Thomas sighed and relaxed back. He folded his arms. “Besides, I’m much better off here than I was in my home estate. I should be thanking you.”
“You don’t need to go as far as that. I…
I had no idea that your hand was forced in this arrangement.
Given that fact, I would simply be content with your contentment.
” Cameron pulled a file from the box and flipped the cover open.
He fell quiet for a moment, scanning the pages.
“Thank God for digital files and recordkeeping. What a pain.”
“I could help you, if you don’t mind the company,” Thomas offered. He wasn’t doing anything else but lying around—interchangeably reading, despising his father, being depressed and feeling sorry for himself. Maybe having something to work on would keep his mind busy and out of the dark abyss.
Cameron blinked up at him. “I don’t mind, but this isn’t fun work by any means. It’s tedious and unrelenting. I’d like this room to be functional at some point—perhaps renovate it.”
“That reminds me,” Thomas said, unfolding his legs and leaning forward to rest his elbows atop his thighs.
“Lennon told me that you intentionally closed off and renovated a two-story library with a built-in iron staircase? Are you utterly mad? There are vampires who would kill for that kind of design aesthetic.”
“It was impossible to heat! It sounds aesthetically Gothic and charming, but the reality is that it felt like a hollow, frigid cave of books and it was not cozy at all. Besides, I left the staircase connecting the two spaces intact. It’s just hidden now.”
Thomas sat up straighter, wildly intrigued. “Oh?”
Cameron flashed him a cunning smile. “Yes. Come with me.” He pushed up from his knees and walked deeper into the room. Thomas stood and eagerly followed.
They moved past the dusty, sparse shelves and into a tight corridor lining the back wall. At the end of the row and in the corner sat a completely empty bookcase. Cameron stepped up to it and pointed to the fourth shelf from the bottom.
“Run your fingers along the right side,” he instructed. “You’ll feel an indentation there that’s a small lever.”
Thomas stepped up to the case. The tight space felt crowded with two grown vampires occupying it, especially with Cameron’s large body and gingery-sweet essence filling the air.
Thomas focused and did as he was told. He ran his fingers along the inside of the smooth wood until he found a latch.
He pulled it. The entire shelf clicked away from the wall and a hidden door appeared before them.
“How marvelous.” Thomas urged the door open, and a darkened entryway was revealed.
Without warning, a harrowing sensation gripped his chest, paralyzing him where he stood. The space was too dark, tight and oppressive. His pulse raced as his eyes widened. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
“If you walk inside—”
Thomas stepped back, crashing directly into Lord Ashford’s chest. “I-I can’t—I can’t go in there.”
Lord Ashford placed his palms on Thomas’s forearms. “Thomas? Hey, are you—”
“I can’t. I—It’s too dark and I’m—I—” Thomas pressed back further, trembling, suddenly feeling as if he was trapped between a hard wall and a prison cell. Another dungeon.
He was seconds away from turning and scratching Lord Ashford’s eyes out to get away, but the man slipped in front of him, placed his palms against his biceps and met Thomas’s eyes directly.
“Hey—what’s happening to you? Listen, we don’t have to go inside, but look.
” Cameron turned briefly and touched something along the inner wall of the open entryway.
Warm lighting filled the cavern and brightened the black-iron staircase, which spiraled down toward the lower floor.
The fanciful damask walls were lined with strategically placed sconces.
Gothic-style iron lanterns flickered with electric but realistic-looking candlelight.
Thomas stared at the space with wide eyes as his senses came rushing back to him. It was beautiful, modern and stylish, like the rest of the house. Eclectic and inviting.
“Thomas?”
He shifted his gaze to the man in front of him. Serious concern was riddled in Cameron’s light hazel eyes. Nonsensically, Thomas barked a laugh. Relief washed over him, and he shook his head. “Dear God, I am a madman—I’m so sorry. I don’t know…”
To his surprise, tears began streaming from his eyes. Bewildered, embarrassed, he stepped back and away from Lord Ashford and covered his face with his palms. “I-I really don’t know what’s come over me. I apolo—”
Lord Ashford took hold of his shoulders, then gently turned and guided him away from the door. “Please, stop apologizing. Let’s sit for a minute?”
Thomas was still coming to his senses when he plopped back down onto the couch. The emotions had swept over him with the force of a tornado. It was terrifying and humiliating.
He only looked up when several tissues were thrust toward him. Blinking, he took them and wiped his face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Thomas closed his eyes and breathed deeply. After a long moment of silence, he clenched the tissues in his fist and opened his eyes to find Lord Ashford staring directly at him. Thomas swallowed. “Please don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re afraid that I’m going to fall to pieces and you’ll have to figure out how to glue me back together.”
Cameron didn’t respond. He simply shifted his body forward and looked out into the open space of the dusty library. “Are you alright?”
“I am now, I think. That was… unexpected.”
“Mm.”
Another beat of silence. Thomas inhaled, then blew it out slowly. His pulse was beginning to feel normal. “I think… I should explain… I should disclose to you what has happened to me. Why I am like this. But not today.”
“You don’t need to tell me at all, if you aren’t comfortable doing so,” Cameron said, staring straight ahead. “If it’s too difficult.”
“Yes, but…” Thomas looked down as he twisted and squeezed the crumpled tissues in his pale, bony fingers. “You’ve been candid with me about your life and unique characteristics. I would like to return the favor, at some point.”
Cameron shifted his head, venturing a glance. “I would welcome that. However… the scales are imbalanced. My life is not so heavy. I’m just strange.”
The declaration made Thomas chuckle. He smiled, feeling the crust of dried tears plaguing the corners of his eyes. He dabbed his face with the tissues. “You are not.”
“I certainly am,” Cameron said emphatically. “That’s not so difficult to disclose. More like a fair and just warning.”
Relaxing his hands, Thomas laid his head back against the sofa. He stared at the intricate, swirling moldings in the low ceiling. “Perhaps I should start with something smaller, then? A confession that isn’t so weighted with trauma.”
“You could, if you like,” Cameron said. “Did you have something in mind?”
Thomas tilted his head to the side and exhaled a deep breath. He met Cameron’s eyes. “Yes. I think I’m feeding from you.”