Chapter 32
He had neither dreamt nor thought such things possible—first the luxury of twilight rest without fear of true-death, then arriving at consciousness to find his leman somberly, shyly willing to grant him singular grace. The quicksilver turn nearly left him gasping like a landed fish.
He took her in the shower’s warm embrace, her back against warmed tile wall and her damp cheek pressed to his, the thrall riding him unmercifully as she whispered slow down, just a little.
..oh...there, yes, and her willingness was far sweeter than the Gift had ever been.
Her pleasure arrived in great gripping waves, nearly robbing him of the strength to resist his own release.
Following her rhythm, her sweet husky little cries echo-overlapping, wringing one last honeyed spasm free as his fangs sank slowly into her throat.
A single smoky, delicious mouthful, merely to confirm she was very close to full transition, and he regretfully withdrew; rinsing a languid, relaxed leman was a more diffuse but no less exquisite experience.
Her hair had fully shed the black dye; gold with coppery tinges edging many a sleek wave, it was pure sanguinant glory. The tender damp satin of mortal skin was sleek and burnished now. He had heard leman described as lamps in the night; now he knew why.
Once the seals were taken down, however, there was no time for anything but careful attention to their surroundings.
This lair was furnished in overstuffed, deliberately almost-shabby style, an imitation of actual comfort.
Outside, a soft hiss of falling snow rose and receded in waves, the peculiar sound meaning small flakes not quite convinced of their own inevitability; his senses dilated as he shepherded a towel-wrapped Beatrice to the decoy bedroom.
No hint of other scent in the luxurious little brownstone, no untoward rustling in the nearest neighbors, either. These were largely vacation or second homes, retreats from more frenetic city existence; mortals of a certain status were fond of such things.
“So, do you have these places built or remodeled? They can’t all come with saferooms.” Beatrice scrubbed at her damp hair with casual roughness; the offerings, paltry as they were, seemed to meet with her approval.
At least, she let out a sigh of presumed relief upon seeing a selection of her preferred denims, and chose a wine-red jumper with an intriguingly steep V-neck as well.
She disdained the underthings, for some reason. He had no complaint.
“It depends. Even an unfinished space may serve, so long as the seals can be set.” He kept a wary watch upon the windows, though most were blinkered by slatted blinds and heavy drapes.
Instinct told him it would not be very long now; still, this was not a tactically sound place for what he suspected.
“Your trainers were nearly unsalvageable; the new ones should fit.”
“Trainers.” A sly, engaging half-chuckle as she laid the towel aside; she dropped onto the cheerful yellow-draped bed, bending to tie shoelaces, and he was hard-pressed not to have her again.
Especially when the jumper’s neckline showed that lovely freckle, peeking at him from a generous slice of décolletage.
“When did you come over the pond, sir?” A mimicking of his speech-pattern; he had not thought he sounded so. ..stilted.
“In the latter half of Victoria’s reign.
I thought it would help me shake off a degree of calcification.
” Two new slim silver cellphones had to take precedence over more civilized accoutrements; Lukas disliked the absence of watch or cufflinks, but he had been lucky to secure even these supplies.
Mortal weather-watchers predicted the storm would only intensify over the next handful of days, laying the foundation for further waves of packed icefeathers.
To the north, the sleet had already turned to freezing rain.
“Yeah, you were in Chicago. 1905, right?” A quick, calculating glance, almost fearful, though her pulse did not change much. “The Comptain Murders. You know that’s still being argued about? Everyone’s got a theory.”
“It was nothing extraordinary. A battle for territory, incidental mortal casualties necessitating a change in identities.” He checked the phone cases once more, then tucked them away.
The thought that she had traced that particular thread gave him a half-chary, half-lovely frisson; it irked him to have left even muddled traces, yet her attention was most welcome.
“Most mortals simply do not wish to know of the demimonde; the rest have short lives and even shorter memories. A few alterations, and they will not recognize even one they held as a friend.”
“Yeah, you have this thing where you look different every time you…” She straightened, and despite the lightness of her tone, those wide, liquid eyes held more than a touch of fear.
“Simple tricks,” he assured, gravely. “Playing to mortal expectations. Often they see only what they wish, and that is a great aid to passing unnoticed. All the same, I am aware I have grown somewhat...stiff. You will teach me better.”
“Huh.” Not quite convinced, she nevertheless granted him a rather timid smile. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“No need for effort, kitten. Your mere presence is enough.” He still heard nothing untoward outside the lair; he was loath to break this small enchanted interlude, for what loomed ahead might unnerve her.
Yet the sooner dealt with, the sooner he could soothe her, and begin the business of teaching his prize the more enjoyable aspects of her new existence. “Tell me, do you like trains?”
“Like, the subway?” Puzzled but not suspicious, yet the ghost of trepidation still lingered. A bright, fragile bird, no longer battering herself against the cage bars—but any untoward movement might startle her into frantic flight. “It’s fine, I guess.”
“No, passenger trains. If you dislike such things, we can drive.”
“You’ll let me drive?” She leaned back on her hands, giving a few charming trainer-kicks, a little girl asking for sweets. Yet her smile held a knowing edge, testing a boundary, curious what a measure of seduction could grant.
If only you knew, sweet Beatrice. “Not tonight.”
She tensed, kicked a few more times. “Then when?”
“After a few loose ends are arranged, perhaps.” Lukas was entirely aware a reminder of any escape attempt’s inevitable end would certainly distort if not shatter this momentary accord—especially if she lacked plans in that direction at this moment.
Best not to mention it, and also best to restrain the urge to answer her challenge with a different game.
The thrall was a sleepy murmur, ever and always ready to be roused.
“Allow me the honor of making our travel arrangements tonight. Please.”
“Fine.” Sudden watchfulness. “Can I at least ask where we’re going?”
“Into the city.” Perhaps it was old-fashioned to refer to it that way, but he found the tradition pleasing. “There is a meeting tonight, one better handled sooner than later. I could obtain only two coats in your size; choose one, and we shall leave.”
* * *
At least he had not calcified to the point of eschewing modern electronics; the things were so utterly useful.
Still, he missed the days of private railway cars.
Leaving last night’s vehicle at the station was a relief; the upholstery was still slightly damp, and the scent of dead greiben unpleasant at best.
A calculated risk, to take her among mortals—if she suffered an attack of sudden mistrust or attempted to interest them in what she might view as a predicament, he would be forced to far less comfortable measures.
Yet this was a mode of transport his current prey would not suspect, and his leman surprised him once more with cheerful semi-docility.
She walked under his protective arm at the station, and her furtive glances at the mortals hurrying to their own destinations paralleled a rise in the soft thunder of her pulse.
No doubt the sudden noise and relatively bright lights were overwhelming to newly fledgling senses; at least his timing was sound and they did not have to wait for boarding.
Nowadays first-class was called business and ‘first’ meant something else, but he had taken the precaution of purchasing several other seats in the same car and thus there were only a few scattered travelers.
She gazed out the window, worrying gently at her lower lip.
No sign of true teeth yet, though everything else about her shouted of the Gift.
Tiny dots of melted snow jeweled her mane, dusted the shoulders of the red woolen peacoat she had chosen, and she perched with every evidence of enjoyment as the train accelerated.
His prize gave him many a curious, lingering look, holding her peace for quite some while.
The night would be in its deepest part when they arrived; half an hour into the journey a buzz from one of his pockets intimated his orders had been received, if not quite honestly answered. The last part of his trap was set.
There was some question as to exactly how deep and far the rot extended; it was possible, though not very likely, that a few among those present tonight would be innocent of wrongdoing.
Nevertheless, this would be a violent lesson. His leman would not enjoy some aspects, certainly...but perhaps she would be comforted in some measure by its rationale.
Settled in a reasonably comfortable seat, the linchpin of the universe at his side, Lukas let his eyelids drop to half-mast, and contemplated each likely scenario in turn.