Chapter Thirteen
Harlow
The Consort Suite
I wind up meeting several more people in the final hours before the sun rises. Nearly all men, one more female, and I learned that only the men are vampires. All the men are vampires.
Watching Scarlet and Kyson, and Lisette and Luther, I think I begin to understand what a consort is.
Or at least, what their purpose is. It’s all a bit confusing, and it doesn’t help that my mind is chasing threads of information in several directions at once.
But by the time Mateo takes me to a beautiful, if not isolated, room on the upper floor, the surrealism is wearing off.
None of the men I’ve met walk around hissing or snarling or openly salivating like the half-mindless, rabid beasts in old movies.
But I did glimpse an occasional flash of fang when I started paying attention.
I’ve yet to see whether or how they consume blood, and it seems an awkward subject to ask about.
What does seem true, and will certainly prove disorienting, is that they sleep during the daytime.
Mateo says the sleep comes over them not unlike a compulsion, much more demanding than the ordinary sleep humans can shift around or often undervalue. Rather, it’s at times debilitating, leaving them vulnerable.
The moment that word falls from his lips, fear skitters through me.
He’s being hunted by a madman I’ve met first-hand, a man so haunted that multiple ghosts hang off him. Yet he has no choice but to crawl into bed and enter a deep, dreamless state of sleep for several hours. All of which coincide with the most active hours of a human’s life.
That does help explain how they stay hidden.
Mateo rests a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, the gesture affectionate and lingering.
“You’ll be safe here,” he says, indicating the well-furnished room.
“The walls are sturdy, the window is shatterproof, and a while back we separated the electricity so that this space is maintained with its own backup generator. Just in case.”
I frown at his words. He’s trying to assure me that I won’t come to harm in the event of a disaster while he’s under the grip of his vampiric slumber, but that’s not what I’m hearing.
“Mateo,” I say, “why would you have a room like this?” I glance inward again and note what appears to be an attached bathroom suite off the far wall.
If there were a kitchenette of any type, the space would qualify as a studio apartment.
Mateo follows my gaze for a moment before looking away entirely and releasing a quiet breath.
“We call it the Consort Suite,” he says.
“Generally, or in theory, this is where our consorts would stay after we’ve found them, but before they’ve fully bonded.
The room is meant to protect what is our coven’s—every vampire’s—most precious treasure while it’s at its most vulnerable. ”
Again with that word.
I take a breath. “So, since I am a consort and I only have a guess what you mean about ‘bonded,’ this is to be my room while I’m here?” That is how he’d presented it, yet I still feel ... bothered, somehow, by the notion.
It isn’t where I want to be.
“It’s just a room, Harlow,” he says, as if reading my mind.
“We won’t lock you in.” He doesn’t say they can’t, and I choose not to ask because I already know.
If he spoke the truth about the purpose of the room, his people would be fools not to design it with a door that locked.
His hand slides down to curl around mine again, his thumb stroking my skin softly.
“Elfde will be around, probably prowling the halls, but you’ll only hear her if there’s a problem.
Or if you go to the door and strain really hard. ”
My lips twitch. It’s unironically wild that they have a leopard at all, let alone one that is apparently fairly well trained.
But I can’t afford to spare a lot of energy dwelling on that.
Instead, I adjust to face the man fully as he prepares to disappear for the next several hours. “And if I need you?”
He smiles as if my question warms him. “You know where my room is. You’re welcome to come and go as you please.
” He releases my hand and cups my face. “It will be hard to wake me before noon, but not impossible. In the meantime, if a true catastrophe occurs, Scarlet and Lily are easier to rouse. They still sleep like humans, even if they’ve adjusted their schedules.
” He looks at me like there’s more he wants to say, and a pang of something I can’t yet define reverberates in my chest.
I would rather stay near him. But it’s much too soon in whatever this is between us for that. I don’t honestly know if I’m comfortable enough to sleep beside a man who may or may not be thirsting for my blood.
So I smile, accepting that I’ve entered an awkward adjustment period, and rest my fingertips on his chest. “Do you still say goodnight?”
He grins. “I will for you.” Then he bows his head and seals his lips to mine in another toe-curling kiss that leaves me clinging to him, breathless and flushed and aching inside by the time he retreats.
“Help yourself to the kitchen if you get hungry before we wake. No one will mind.” His lips brush across my forehead. “Try to get some rest.”
Then, with soundless steps, Mateo is gone. Leaving me alone in the room he calls a Consort Suite, with the faint glow of the rising sun beginning to penetrate the uncovered window.
I heave a breath and raise a hand to my chest. I should be used to being alone.
I’ve been on my own, unable to depend on others, for nearly all my life.
Even when others were around, they couldn’t be trusted.
My feet carry me to the window so I can look out, but all I see is the vast—arguably beautiful—view of the forest that I know surrounds Sangre.
The town where that hunter stalks, searching for his next opportunity to slaughter.
I push the thought down, step back, and yank the heavy curtain closed to obscure the window and blanket the room in darkness. The faintest light trickles in from a wall sconce in the hall outside, but it’s enough for me to find my way to the bathroom.
I familiarize myself with the suite. The overly lavish bathroom, the comfortable bed, the wall of books and maps in the seating area—all of it.
I allow myself a long, overly indulgent shower in the hopes it might relax me.
Or reinvigorate me. I’m not sure it does either, but the shower itself is wonderful.
I wrap myself in a fluffy robe because I have no clean clothes to change into and curl up with one of the old romance novels I find on the built-in shelving unit, opting to take my mind entirely off the situation for a little while.
I’m not sure how long it is before the words blur or when sleep comes over me. Only that I wake to the unmistakable aroma of coffee, bacon, and something sweet that makes my mouth water. My stomach rumbles even as I blink my eyes open.
I’m in bed, still wrapped in the fluffy robe, with the comforter tucked so tightly around me it almost feels like a hug. It’s obscenely comfortable, in fact. A bit too warm, though.
Then Mateo leans into view and clicks on the bedside light, illuminating the darkened room, and the warmth in his smile as he looks down at me threatens to shatter me. Tears burn behind my eyes, and he hasn’t said a word.
My throat swells as my mouth opens.
He brushes some hair from my face with a light touch.
“I think you slept even harder than I did,” he says, something like a faint laugh lifting his tone.
“Since you were so exhausted, I thought you might appreciate a little breakfast in bed.” He moves out of sight for a moment, something clinks, and then he’s back—holding a tray of food and a mug with steam still wafting gently from the surface. “But you’ll have to sit up.”
I shove upright so quickly my robe falls open, exposing far too much of my chest. I don’t even realize it until his gaze drops and his eyes darken.
The air charges between us.
I don’t dislike the way he’s looking at me.
I already know I enjoy the way he kisses me.
But my stomach refuses to let me forget that I skipped dinner, so I quickly adjust to make myself decent and pretend I’m not as bright as a tomato.
“I—My clothes were dirty.” I fold the comforter over my lap.
“That smells amazing. What are we eating?”