Chapter 12 Gideon
Gideon
Alyra: I’m so pleased I voted for Arabella to join the community. She’ll liven things up around here, no pun intended. See if you can make her agree to do a vampire pole dancing class. I bet she’ll have lots of attendees.
I don’t care what’s all over Sepulchrr. I adore living in Sanctus. You don’t need Aeternus’s money!
I hope your plums aren’t too smushed. Can you send Sinead over to my place? I’m feeling a little peckish.
“DO YOU NEED ANYTHING ELSE?” Sinead presses the icepack into my crotch.
“I’m fine, thanks.” I try to shove her hand away, but she’s relentless. My phone’s been buzzing with a frantic screed of messages, but I haven’t even been able to pick it up off the table. “What’s not helping is you turning my gonads into a Scandinavian ice hotel.”
Sinead pouts as she reluctantly removes the icepack. “I can’t believe Arabella did this to you.”
“Technically, I did it to myself.”
“She cackled like a witch. She’s evil.”
“Sure, she’s evil, but I’m her favourite.” I go to roll off the couch, but she traps my thighs with hers, straddling me and grinding down a little, sending a fresh spasm of pain through my ruined gonads.
“Are you sure she’s not Dusk Court? Because she’s got you under her spell. I know what will help.”
Sinead undoes the top button of her blouse and tugs down the fabric, offering her neck.
It’s the same move she pulled on me at her job interview, where she revealed she’d known about vampires for many years and was excited to work among us.
I can see the faint scars from previous bites.
I try to be careful and only open the same wounds when I drink from humans.
Sinead’s skin won’t heal like ours, and she’s too young and pretty to have a neck covered in puncture wounds.
But some of our other members aren’t as careful.
My stomach growls. I am thirsty. But for some reason, the idea of biting down on Sinead’s neck while she moans in my arms is anything but tempting.
I try to duck under her, but she blocks me. “Come on, Gideon. You know you’ll feel better after a drink.”
“How many others have drunk from you today?”
“Only Alyra,” she pauses. “Oh, and Duncan had a little nibble. And I guess Eleanor, as well. But I’m fine. I had a big slice of cake and an electrolyte drink.”
That’s three vampires. And while Alyra and Eleanor might’ve been delicate sippers, Duncan would have drunk deep. I warned her about this. “That’s too much. You can get addicted.”
“I know what I’m doing. I look after myself, and I gave my consent. Enthusiastically.” Her eyes glaze over in anticipation as she leans closer. “Let me help you. You need your strength.”
“I’m hardly an invalid. My ego hurts more than my testicles.” Not strictly true. That pole was brutal. “Especially since you’ve done such a good job with the ice.”
Sinead sticks out her lower lip. “Are you refusing?”
She says it as if I’ve somehow offended her.
“You’re still my most trusted employee.” I pat her arm as I push her gently off me. “I’m not myself today. I’ll have something from the cellar tonight.”
Sinead makes a face as she buttons up her shirt. I understand. I’ve been enjoying her neck for weeks now, and her little groans of ecstasy tell me that she’s happy with this particular job perk.
But the idea of drinking from her has lost its appeal.
Which has me puzzled. Normally, I love the Upyr–Thrall connection, the way they melt into you as you share such an intimate moment, the taste of warm blood pulsing straight from the source, and their little noises that tell you they’re enjoying themselves just as much as you are…
But I don’t want to be close to a human like that, to share that kind of intimacy, unless…
Unless I’m sharing it with her.
From the moment Arabella’s eyes locked on mine during her dance, I was gone. I’ve been a fool to think I could be this close to her without being pulled under her spell. I’ve told myself for one hundred and fifty years that I hate her for trying to have me killed. That I’m over her.
But it is a lie.
I’m madly, impossibly in love with Arabella Lestrange.
And she hates me. And my poor squashed testicles.
But a man can dream.
Just the thought of feeding with Arabella makes my crushed cock grow hard and ready. I push Sinead away and leap off the couch before she sees my arousal and thinks it’s for her.
“Thank you for your help, Sinead. Have a good night.”
Sinead gathers her things and leaves in a huff. I hope she does the sensible thing and goes home to bed, instead of what I suspect she’ll do, which is head downstairs to Brimstone and find another of our members who needs a feed.
As she waits for the elevator, Sinead turns and flashes me a mirthless smile. “If you want my opinion, Sir, you should spend a little less time chasing after that cold bitch courtesan Arabella, and a little more time worrying about strengthening our battlements against the coming onslaught.”
“Sinead, darling, a little word of advice.” I let something of the old Gideon – the Gideon who ran a successful criminal empire for several decades – into my voice as I smile at her, making sure she can see my fangs.
“If you want to keep your job here, and don’t want to have to swallow any of Lilac’s little potions, then you will do well not to say things like that about our members.
Arabella’s old life is no one’s business but her own. ”
Her eyes immediately fall to the floor. Good. I won’t tolerate anyone calling Arabella names or shaming her for her old profession.
In the background, my phone buzzes again.
My gaze falls on the large painting of waterlilies on my wall. “Incidentally, how do you know Arabella used to be a courtesan? You know all information about clients’ past lives must be completely private. They have to trust us. If you’ve been snooping in my safe—”
She has the good sense to look ashamed. “I swear, I haven’t!
I wouldn’t even know where to find your safe!
I saw her on an ad for the pole dancing studio in the village – the owner has ripped off a famous Toulouse-Lautrec poster, and it’s clearly of Arabella.
And Paul Badica says he remembers her from her Parisian club.
He remembers things he paid her and her girls to do to him.
Depraved things, even by vampire standards.
He’s telling anyone at Sanctus who will listen, and posting about her on Sepulchrr, which isn’t helping our reputation, especially not with Hamish blowing everything up—”
I stalk towards her. “What happened with Hamish Aeturnus?”
“See?” Sinead fixes me with a look that’s half triumph, half exasperation. “You’re so obsessed with her, you don’t even know. Aeturnus pulled his investment. He doesn’t want his name associated with a criminal. As of right now, unless you can come up with more money, Sanctus is over.”
The elevator arrives and she stomps inside. The doors close with a final DING.
Shit.
That must be why my phone’s been going off. With Aeturnus out, we’re done. I barely have enough in the accounts to make payroll, let alone fund the next stage of the build. If only I could pay people in treasure…
Wretchedness twists my gut. I knew I was stretching myself building this place, and that I was taking a big risk by allowing vampires to pay for their homes with treasure instead of cash.
I also knew that cutting out the Conclave would have consequences, but I had to do it or else everything Sanctus stands for would be a lie.
How could I claim I built a sanctuary for Upyr if I let the Conclave control it?
I never imagined that Aeturnus would turn on me. The Conclave must have got to him, which means they see me as a threat. They won’t stop until they destroy this place, which won’t take them long. I’ve poured every cent of my fortune into Sanctus. I have nothing left.
I could ask Alaric for money. He has enough of it. But if word got out that he was an investor in Sanctus he’d lose any ground he’s made on changing the human–vampire laws. Callista’s out for the same reason.
I hate this. Why ruin something that Upyr need, something that’s been nothing but good for vampires, because you can’t have a slice of the pie?
I flop back down on the sofa, gingerly touching my crotch and thinking about how best to approach the implosion of my life’s work and my new revelation that I’m absolutely besotted with Arabella Lestrange.
Again.
Still.
Arabella hates my guts, but that’s only because she doesn’t know the truth about what happened.
But I’m nothing if not determined.
I’m Gideon Blake.
I can save Sanctus.
And… I can win Arabella back.
I just need to show her that I’m sorry I stole from her, and that we can pick up where we left things in Paris.
Not even her closest friends know her like I do. I’ve been privy to all the secrets she’s hidden from them for so many years.
She trusted me once. All I have to do is win that trust back.
Ideas begin to sprout in my mind.
How hard can it be to sweep Arabella Lestrange off her feet?
But first, I need to remind myself of exactly who I am.
I grab my jacket from the back of the sofa and my favourite knife from the table.
Time for a chat with a certain unworthy human.
I circle the cottage twice, my brogues crunching on Dora’s prize-winning flowerbeds as I peer in the darkened windows to be certain of what I’m seeing.
Mike is sitting at the kitchen table, alone, in the dark, staring at the kettle on the stove. The kettle is not on.
His odd behaviour is almost enough to make me get back into the Lamborghini and return to Sanctus.
I drove past Spell The Tea on the way in, and spied Dora and Isis inside, sharing a bottle of wine while they stuffed herbs into hex bags.
I’m pleased Mike hasn’t stayed true to his threat of stopping Dora from seeing her sister.
And he certainly doesn’t look like a man who’s proud of his outburst.