Chapter 6 Gideon
Gideon
Alaric: Arabella has not called about the scrotum-filleting knife. I’m sorry that you’re distressed.
There was a hairline fracture on the latest sculpture. It was invisible to the human eye but to a vampire, disgustingly obvious. I have thrown it away and begun again.
Winnie says to tell you that yes, you HAVE been secretly pining for Arabella.
Callista: The Conclave is displeased about your little real estate project.
They think you’re creating a stronghold of dissenters so that you can establish your own court.
I informed them that your ambition stems from a desire to have blood cocktails at all hours of the day and night-time spa treatments, but I’m afraid they remain unconvinced.
You would be wise to respond publicly to their claims.
And find that killer!
I STARE IN HORROR at the message flashing on the Sepulchrr app, dredging up my past and warning Upyr not to invest in Sanctus Estate.
It’s up to over 10,000 Digs.
My fingers tremble with rage as I navigate to the Sanctus profile to type a response, only to discover that my profile has been blocked from posting.
I guess we’re officially on the Conclave’s bad side.
I did have an inkling this could happen.
At first, Sanctus had broad court support, especially from the Midnight Court – my “official” affiliation – whose highest-ranking officials were attracted to our modern amenities and the social aspects of vampires living together, and bought early shares.
But they couldn’t stay out of my business.
Each court demanded its corner of the estate, with home designs and court-controlled amenities specifically for their members.
They wanted inspections and to impose all kinds of restrictions.
They levied taxes and fees and taxes on top of the fees and fees for paying the taxes.
They looked at everything I created here from my blood, sweat and tears, and saw only dollar signs.
(The blood, sweat and tears are purely a poetic device – vampires don’t sweat, I cry only during Pixar movies, and my blood is too precious to waste on manual labour.)
The final straw came when Alaric and Winnie announced their engagement.
Even though the vampire–human copulation ban is woefully out of date, and the Lady of Agony and many others stand with Alaric, the three courts refuse to officially recognise their union or to grant my oldest friend an audience with the Conclave to discuss giving Winnie the Kiss.
So I decided to cut them all off.
Sanctus Estate is officially for solitary, uncourted vampires only.
No court rules, no Conclave oversight. We are exercising our blood-given rights to live free.
Judging by the interest I’ve had since making the announcement, many vampires are fed up with the court system and demand another way to live.
Clearly, the courts are determined not to let Sanctus out of their control… even if it means tanking the entire project.
Every vampire in Europe uses the Sepulchrr app as a social network and marketplace. It’s supposed to be a private company, but prominent Conclave members sit on its board. My entire potential investor base has seen this message.
Worse, most of it is technically true.
This is… less than ideal.
We just broke ground on the next building stage. We need to sell those houses quickly, or we’ll run out of cash.
The phone on my desk rings. I drop my mobile and grab the receiver. “Gideon Blake.”
“You finally read the post, Sir.” Sinead’s voice rises with concern.
“I read it,” I mutter.
“I’m afraid things are worse than they appear. Wainwright just pulled his funding.”
I swallow down the urge to throw the phone across the room. Wainwright was our second biggest investor. If he’s gone, we’ll have to stop construction within days… unless I can come up with another source of funding.
“Sir?”
“It’s okay. It’s fine. Everything is going exactly to plan.”
“But Sir, we can’t afford to—”
“I’m aware of our financial situation, thank you, Sinead. I said I have it all under control.”
“Oh, good.” Her voice calms. “I’m pleased that you have a plan. Arabella Lestrange is here to see you.”
My heart clatters against my ribs. I think of the message from Alaric, unanswered on my phone.
I have not been pining for her.
Okay, there may have been some pining. A lot of pining.
But that doesn’t mean I still want her.
I knew there was no hope for us the day she sent her sire to kill me.
And then I found a golden chemise smouldering in the fire.
I’m going to prove that one hundred and fifty years of seeing her face in my dreams is no big deal by being completely civil to her on this tour and not checking out her legs once.
Because I am nothing if not a gentleman.
A gentleman with a desire for legs, especially long, dark, silky legs that go all the way…
Ahem.
I straighten the lapels on my favourite suit, trying to ignore the pounding in my chest. “Send her in.”
Sinead appears a moment later, shoving my door all the way open. “Arabella Lestrange, I’m pleased to introduce Gideon Blake, CEO of Sanctus Industries. Gideon, this is Arabella Lestrange, our newest resident. She’s here for her grand tour.”
Sinead could be reciting the ingredients of Reginald’s closely-guarded hot chocolate recipe and I wouldn’t even notice. From the moment she strides into the room, Arabella has my full attention.
Every inch of this woman is pure sin. Her hair is shaved close to her skull, revealing the shapely curve of her neck and the place where her clavicle dips.
She wears a crimson suit with tailoring so sharp it could circumcise a man.
Her shirt jacket has only one button, revealing a plunging neckline and…
nothing else. She’s wearing nothing underneath but a mesh bra covered in a design of coiled snakes.
This… this is a trap. It has to be.
My enemies at court have sent her to undo me.
“We’re already acquainted.” Arabella bites off each syllable like the testicles of all the men who’ve wronged her. Thankfully, there doesn’t look like there’s space in that suit of hers to hide one of Alaric’s blades. “Gideon. It’s fascinating to see you again.”
Her lips curl back into a dangerous half-smile as she stretches out her hand to me. Her nails are painted in a glossy crimson to match her suit, and each of them is sharpened to a point.
I’d prepared myself for every eventuality, but not this. Not this beguiling creature. Not the courtesan with the seductive smile tugging on the corner of her lip.
I might almost believe this is the Arabella from 1879, the Arabella she became when we wandered the streets of Paris, anonymous in the crowd, or when the lamps were put out and it was just the two of us arguing over a game of backgammon. The Arabella she was when no one else was watching.
But that’s impossible, because I know the real Arabella, and now that she knows she didn’t get rid of me, she’ll be keen to finish the job.
So what is this?
And why do I want it so, so much?
“You haven’t changed a bit.” I take her hand. Instead of shaking it, I bring it to my lips, brushing them lightly across her knuckles, giving her skin the tiniest of scrapes with my fangs. She doesn’t react at all. “You’re just as ravishing as ever.”
“I think you’ll find I’ve changed,” she says.
“Is that so? Then I look forward to learning about the new, more forgiving you.”
I am trying very hard to keep my eyes on her face. It’s quite difficult with the plunging neckline of her suit jacket and the way she folds her impossible legs into that perfect triangle as she sits opposite me, but I’m managing.
Mostly.
“I’ll leave you to your tour.” Sinead’s voice drips with boredom as she closes the door behind her.
I’m alone.
Alone in a room with the woman I’ve grieved every day since the night I left her.
Alone with a woman who would be well within her rights to castrate me.
I am so dead.
“So…” I flatten my hands against the table. “Drink?”
She lifts one of those sharp eyebrows. “Do you make a habit of drinking on the job, Gideon Blake? You certainly have changed.”
“I’m offering the finest blood on the market. I still don’t drink alcohol. My clients are here to enjoy the finer things in life, and that includes sharing a glass of blood in public without worrying what humans might say. Would you like fresh or will a vintage suffice?”
“Vintage, please. I find fresh so… messy.”
I pour two glasses from the bottle on my desk.
This is a drop Alaric gave me to celebrate his engagement to Winnie – a fine nineteenth-century railroad worker, all peaty and full-bodied.
I lean across the wide expanse of my oak desk, which today feels not nearly wide enough, and hold out the glass to Arabella.
As she reaches across like a scandal in motion and takes the stem in her delicate fingers, her skin brushes mine.
A frisson of something descends my spine. Hatred or fear or wanting… I can’t decide which. Perhaps all three at once.
Only Arabella can make me feel so unsure of myself.
She tilts the glass to her lips and her head falls back, exposing that long, graceful neck of hers. I suck in a breath.
My memories of that neck are of it clad in heavy, glittering jewels, resplendent as an Egyptian queen. I’ve only seen her neck naked once before, and that was the night I betrayed her.
She licks a speck of blood off the corner of her lips. “Out of curiosity, what would happen if I asked for fresh?”
“Many humans on our staff – like Sinead – are Thralls employed by Sanctus Industries. As long as the vampire obtains their consent, these humans are happy to offer blood to any of our members.”
“Mmmm.” Arabella’s eyes dart in the direction of my office door. She purses her lips, and I think she’s about to say something else, but she sips her blood in silence.
I raise mine to my lips but don’t drink. I’m too wound up.