Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
By his third week in the Ashford estate, Thomas had fallen into a comfortable routine. Most importantly, he noted, he no longer wished to erode into a cloud of dust.
Breakfast was usually brought to him in his room at first light. He assumed this to be an order from the lord of the manor, who likely didn’t want to be bothered with entertaining him so early in the morning. Thomas didn’t mind, though.
He enjoyed the tranquil ease of his slow, isolated mornings.
Wiggling his feet into the velvet, fur-lined slippers he’d been provided, then donning his heavy matching robe to sit at the bistro table beside the window.
He especially liked taking in the dreary, rain-soaked mornings through the glass while eating his warm, buttered and freshly baked muffin.
The bagged blood in the crystal goblet was… difficult. Increasingly, something in it made him nauseated. He shut his mind off and forced it down, though, because at least the taste of it was lovely (and unquestionably Cameron). It was a ridiculous mental hurdle he simply needed to get over.
Sometimes Cameron had errands, which he always attended to immediately following breakfast. When he didn’t have errands, they’d spend an hour or two together in the upper library, sorting and chatting about whatever grabbed their attention.
Sometimes they’d work in a comfortable silence, the only sound being the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops littering the circular window or the ghostly howl of the wind sweeping through the hills.
In the afternoons, Thomas would spend time in the lower library.
Recently, he was reading Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky.
Another complex work of fiction with a plotline centered on revenge.
Thomas sincerely commiserated with the book’s protagonist, Raskolnikov, and his desire to kill the pawnbroker for the betterment of society as a whole.
How much less suffering would occur in the southwestern realm if my elder father were dead? Thomas pondered. Surely enough to justify disposing of him entirely? Enough to absolve Thomas of the murderous and hypothetical crime itself?
Thomas had the will, but no way.
“Oh, what’s this?”
On one particular morning, Thomas reached the bottom of his storage box and found another box. This one was wooden, a perfect square, embellished with ivory stone designs around its sides.
Cameron glanced over from his position by one of the shelves. He was organizing a row of books there. “I had forgotten about that. It’s a chess set.”
“A chess set…” Using both hands, he carefully set the box before him on the floor, then lifted the top.
The set was made of coral and black marble.
He picked up a coral knight, examining it.
The piece was smooth and weighted in his palms, and the stone’s natural swirls and veins gave the entire set a textured and beautiful finish.
“This set is stunning,” Thomas marveled, picking up another piece. “Why in heaven’s name is it in the bottom of this box?”
“Because no one wants to play,” Cameron said.
He held a book in his hands and was casually flipping through its pages.
Today’s cardigan was a deep mustard color with wooden toggles.
Quietly, Thomas loved the way this man dressed.
He had the body and stature of a Viking king but the stylish sensibility of a contemporary.
A well-read sort who drank Italian coffee and had eclectic musical tastes.
Cameron was always handsomely, comfortably tailored, whether he intended to leave the estate or not.
“I used to play with my mother—she taught me the game,” Cameron went on. “After she and Father left, I played with Rachelle, Lennon and the house staff occasionally, but after I beat them all mercilessly one too many times, they refused to play against me anymore.”
Thomas turned the black queen over in his hands. “I’ll play with you. Shall we set up a game tonight? After dinner?”
Cameron paused, clearly surprised by this offer. “Yes, we can do that…” He grinned, turning his attention back toward his book. “I must warn you, though, I’m very good.”
“Then I’ll look forward to the challenge.
” Thomas set the queen back inside her designated spot within the velvet interior, then returned the lid and set the case aside.
Quietly, he was feeling even more waifish than usual today.
He was due to feed from the glass goblet, but was not looking forward to it.
“Is there another box that you’d like me to tackle today? ”
Cameron gestured with his chin. “You can look inside this one here, at the edge of the carpet. I pulled it out for you in case you wanted to unpack it. We’re getting deeper into my father’s strange knick-knacks, so I have no idea what’s inside. Probably nothing of interest.”
“How can you say that when I’ve just exhumed a stunning chess board? This room is a veritable treasure trove.” Thomas stood gingerly and stepped over the neat piles of papers, books and files to reach his new assignment.
“I beg to differ,” Cameron said, smiling. His grin suddenly faltered. “Are you alright today, Thomas?”
“Perfectly fine, thank you.” On his knees, Thomas opened the box and found it full of small books and trinkets.
He reached inside and removed one book. The cover had an illustration of two gnomes with pointy red hats.
One held a murderous-looking axe. “You mean to tell me that you have no interest in learning, quote, How to Survive a Garden Gnome Attack? You would dismiss such esteemed knowledge?”
Cameron groaned. “Oh God. How embarrassing.”
Another book was stuck along the side. Thomas wedged it out, flipped it over and read the title. “Oh.” His eyes widened. “How about The Art of the Kama Sutra?” Thomas looked up, and noticeably, Cameron avoided his gaze.
“Absolutely not.”
Curious, Thomas asked simply, “Why not?”
Cameron looked at him, a teasing tone registering in his voice. “Thomas the Ever Inquisitive.”
“Forgive me,” Thomas said, placing his hand over his heart.
“I don’t mean to overstep boundaries. I’m just surprised that you, being such a well- and diversely read man, would immediately dismiss a legendary text.
I’ve heard—and I may be wrong, of course, as I too have not read it—that Kama Sutra is not exclusively nor predominantly a manual on sex.
This is a common misconception, as it is rather a guide to the art of living well…
be it in regard to love, acquiring a partner or maintaining a healthy sex life. Allegedly, the text reads like poetry.”
“Perhaps you should read it, then?” Cameron suggested. “Since you have such a strong interest and foundational knowledge.”
“Perhaps…” Thomas openly watched him standing there, radiating with something warm and palpable that made his fangs ache. The more time he’d spent with Cameron, the more he was certain that he was feeding from the lord’s personal blood bags.
Thomas was growing to hate feeding from inanimate objects.
Before his imprisonment, he’d never once fed from a bag, cup or glass.
He’d never needed to. Afterward, it was all he ever had access to, and something about it agitated him.
A constant reminder of what he’d been through and that his life was different now. He was different now.
Still absently watching Cameron, Thomas took a deep breath. The air was honeyed and enticing, and it made his mouth water.
Would Cameron… possibly allow Thomas to feed from him someday?
Was this selfish desire totally improbable?
Thomas knew that he should simply buck up and get over himself—embrace his new life of fancy glass goblets and room-temperature blood.
He hadn’t physically fed from another vampire since Dawn, and…
Thomas wasn’t ready to emotionally wrestle with the truth that he felt physically drawn to a new vampire so soon after her.
If not for the imprisonment, they would be in London together, happily, right at this moment.
What did it say about him? That he discreetly desired this man and deigned to think of him this way when he didn’t even know where Dawn was, and if she was alive and well.
Vexed, Thomas lifted a hand and rubbed his fingers through the soft heft of his dark hair.
Feeding in its nature was an intimate and emotional act that required mutual trust. He’d trusted Dawn, and inexplicably, he knew that he trusted Cameron as well.
But Cameron had never given anyone consent to feed from his body—nor had he ever been interested in doing so.
If he was strictly averse to these things, why was Thomas even considering any of this?
How could he ever dare to request it from Cameron?
“May I ask a candid question?” Thomas ventured, despite himself. “You once remarked that you preferred candid and plain-spoken conversation. I might be testing you now.”
Cameron closed the book he’d been scanning, set it on the shelf and turned his body to face Thomas. He leaned with his shoulder into the case and folded his arms. Defensive position. “Go on.”
“Are you averse to physical intimacy?” Thomas asked. “Repulsed?”
“Not repulsed. I’m simply… uninterested? It isn’t a priority for me. There are about fifty things I’d rather be doing, if that helps to give you context.”
Thomas nodded and took that in. Fifty wasn’t an astronomical number.
A thousand by comparison would be much worse, he supposed.
For himself, the number wasn’t nearly as high.
Maybe there were three things he’d rather be doing.
If that. “When you had intimate experiences in the past, did you enjoy yourself?”
Cameron shrugged. “Not especially. I found sex to be quick and messy. Not worth the time, effort and harried exposure.”