Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Abi
Imanaged to haul myself into a standing position, and took a few staggering steps. “Hello.”
“Yeah, hello,” Daphne said.
“You look terrible,” Flint bluntly said.
“Flint,” Daphne hissed.
“Seasick,” I glumly said. “Even though Lake Michigan is a lake.”
“Did you go out on the lake and fish this morning?” Daphne asked.
“I attempted to,” I said. “I got out on the lake but never got around to the fishing part. My guts disagreed with the activity so we had to come back in early.”
“Do you want a ride back to Kinge Mansion?” Daphne asked.
I shook my head. “No, I drove here. I can drive back.”
My stomach made an alarming gurgle and something burned at the back of my throat.
“On second thought, maybe I’ll take you up on that,” I said, the desire to get home and collapse in my bed overtaking all else.
“Smart call. We’ll drive with the windows down. Oh, and here.” Daphne pulled out a blister pack of gum as she shepherded me to her truck. “Chew this. It’ll help.”
I popped the gum in my mouth and started chewing. The gum had an overwhelming minty flavor, but I didn’t mind as it helped the burning in my throat.
Flint ran ahead and opened the passenger door of the red truck, then crawled into the middle spot of the bench seat. Daphne helped me up, and I didn’t protest even when she buckled me in.
She then hurried around to the driver’s side and started the truck up.
Normally I wasn’t one for strong scents, but there was something comforting about the smell of gas and the roar of the truck’s engine—reminders that I was on solid ground and not still out on the lake.
“Just keep chewing,” Daphne advised as she turned onto Lake Street, which ran parallel to Lake Michigan along the beach for a short way.
“Understood.” I rolled the window down and popped my head outside, looking like an exuberant dog.
I still felt sick, but between the gum and the fresh air I could at least sit up without my stomach rebelling.
Look at the horizon—isn’t that what they tell you to do for carsickness?
I blearily shifted my gaze to the lake, which shimmered with the barely risen early morning sun.
The beach was empty, except for some crazy person standing broodingly on the shore.
It took me a moment to recognize the tall and gangly shape as Christopher—Kinge’s contracted handyman. (There was no mistaking his mussed hair and he was probably the only guy in Algoma who liked to stand like a hero in a Shakespearian tragedy.)
Apparently lake appreciation ran deep in these parts. Unfortunately, I suspected it was something I was not going to be able to learn, given today’s experience.
When Daphne parked in front of the Kinge Mansion, I flung the door open and tried to jump out of the truck. My seatbelt—still buckled—held me in place and cut into my still protesting stomach, making a fresh wave of nausea wash over me.
I groaned and fumbled with the belt before practically falling out of the car.
Daphne scrambled from the driver’s seat, hurrying around her vehicle to help me. “Here, I’ll help you into the mansion.”
I shook my head and staggered a few steps. “Carriage house.”
“What?”
“I live in the carriage house.”
“Oh,” Daphne said. “Sorry. Your scent was just so strong in the mansion when we visited, I assumed.”
I heard the click of a lock, and I had apparently recovered enough to feel horror as the mansion’s front door opened.
Kinge stood in the doorway, tall, imposing, and dark—very at odds with the lovely morning light. “What happened?”
“Seasickness,” I managed to say.
“Ah,” Kinge said, unsurprised. He glanced at Daphne and raised an eyebrow.
“We saw her at the marina and noticed she looked… unwell,” Daphne hurriedly said.
“We?” Kinge asked.
Daphne jerked her thumb back at her vehicle. “Flint is in the truck.”
“Ah.” Kinge sauntered down the few steps and approached us. “Thank you for driving her home. I’ll see her inside the mansion.”
“Carriage house,” I croaked.
Kinge stared at me, his merlot colored eyes gleaming in the morning light. “Do you honestly believe you can make it to the carriage house?”
I grimaced, and—I’m ashamed to admit it—leaned into Kinge when he took ownership of my right arm.
I was faintly aware when he rumbled, “Thank you, Daphne, that will be all,” before he guided me towards the mansion, practically carrying me up the steps.
He didn’t speak again until we were inside and the door was closed behind us. “Can you make it to the library?”
“Yep,” I said, snapping my gum—which wasn’t quite as effective since I’d been chewing on it for some time.
He herded me to the most sacred of rooms, but I felt so sick I couldn’t even appreciate the beauty of the library as I hobbled to the tufted, velvet couch and collapsed on it.
“Thank you, I’ll be fine if I just rest,” I said.
The world wasn’t rocking anymore, but the sloshing sensation in my stomach was still there.
Kinge walked off without another word, leaving me to my misery in the quiet library. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on chewing my gum.
There was something about being alone that made me feel extra pathetic and miserable. It reminded me of the late nights I’d pull at my previous job, when the office was oppressively silent, reminding me just how little anyone outside my family cared about me.
“Here, smell this.”
I shrieked.
I hadn’t heard Kinge when he returned, but when I opened my eyes he was crouched next to my couch, holding out a folded square.
“What is it?” I asked, reaching for it.
“An alcohol wipe,” Kinge said. “Specifically an alcohol wipe for tablets and computer screens.”
I took a whiff of the wipe, and the sharp, sterile scent filled my nose.
Kinge stood and slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants, watching me.
The sour feeling in my stomach started to fade the longer I sniffed the cleaning wipe, and I could feel my entire body relaxing.
“Thank you,” I said with serious reverence. “I feel so much better, and I know this goes beyond the regular employee-employer duties.”
Kinge shrugged. “It was nothing.”
Silence stretched between us. This would normally be the time for Kinge to finish the interaction and leave. He did take a few steps away from my couch, heading for the door.
On an impulse, whether it was because I didn’t want to be alone again or something else, I called out, “It seems like I lost the genetic lottery when it comes to a strong constitution. Not only does the sight of blood make me faint, apparently I am highly susceptible to motion sickness.”
Kinge paused halfway between my couch and the door. “I take it the fishing trip didn’t go well?”
“It didn’t happen,” I grumbled. “I got motion sick pretty fast once we got out on the lake.”
“Perhaps if you got more sunlight and vitamins you wouldn’t be so weak,” Kinge said.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Was that a joke, or an actual suggestion?”
A slight upturn of his lips cracked his usual stone cast expression. “Both.”
I made a huffing noise. “Fishing is an outdoor, under-the-sun activity, I’ll have you know!”
Kinge actually strolled back towards me, continuing our conversation. “Certainly. But charter fishing is known to cause seasickness. Which leads me to ask why you selected it as your activity for the day when you haven’t been out on Lake Michigan before.”
“It was the first activity I came across in my Algoma guide,” I admitted, feeling good enough that I could sit up—although I kept the alcohol wipe near my nose.
“Interesting,” Kinge said. “You don’t strike me as the outdoorsy type, given your blood issues.”
“I’m not,” I admitted. “But I want to make an effort to explore the area and get out and do things while I’m here. I took the job and moved to the area because I wanted to experience more life.”
“Based on the way you’ve referred to your previous job, I assume you worked long hours?”
“Yep. I lived to work. And then I turned thirty and woke up and realized that outside of work, I hadn’t accomplished much besides taking the occasional vacation with my family in my twenties. I’m here because I want to change that.”
“I was unaware the Door Peninsula was the place to go for a thirties life crisis,” Kinge said.
“No, I just knew it was safe because my little sister had worked here before and recommended it,” I said. “The real deciding factor was how high you paid.”
“Ah, yes. The student loans you previously mentioned,” Kinge said.
“Exactly!” I made a dramatic flourish with the alcohol wipe, then hurriedly returned to smelling it.
“Regardless, while I’m here, I’m determined to try new things and see the local sights.
” I cocked my head. “Which I guess means being employed by a vampire is a cherry on the top. Talk about a new experience to top all experiences! Because of you, I got to meet two werewolves! Which reminds me, do they always have that intense air to them?”
“Daphne and Flint have more Alpha to them than a typical werewolf, so the feeling of being near a predator is likely stronger when you’re around them,” Kinge said.
“Huh. Since you’re stronger than them, does that mean being around you should make me feel something, too?” I asked.
Kinge shrugged. “Not really. As vampires used to prey upon humans, we are designed to pull in human attention, so to speak. Only a highly observant person might notice the differences to us—that we move a little faster, tend to be most active in the evenings and early, early mornings, and so on.”
“Cool,” I said while mentally adding moves silently to the list—I thought my heart would stop when Kinge had soundlessly returned to the library.
Kinge rubbed his neck, scratching the spot where his fake tattoo was. “Since your plans for this morning were ruined, what are you planning to do today?”
“Oh, I’ll just wo—” I snapped my mouth shut and thought.
His voice was too casual for it to be an innocent question.
Suspicious, I peered up at him.
Kinge smiled, and I fully understood what he meant by ‘designed to pull human attention.’ (It felt impossible to look away from him!) “Were you going to say, work, perhaps?”
“Nooo,” I said, dragging the word out. “I wouldn’t do that. Pft. Work? Me? No.”
“Then what were you going to say?”
“Uhh,” I tried to dig up an excuse. “I’ll just… wonder… at… nature?”
“And how will you do that?”
“By… wandering around the mansion gardens! You have a lot of pretty flowers, you know. I don’t know if you’ve seen them in the daylight, but your gardening service does a great job. I should leave them a review online,” I babbled, trying to distract him.
“I’ve seen the gardens in the daylight plenty,” Kinge said, letting my answer slide.
“You can go out in the sunlight?” I asked.
“Yes. Sunlight weakens vampires and dulls our senses, but it doesn’t hurt us.”
“Fascinating,” I said.
“Yes,” Kinge agreed. “So I’ll be awake and working today.”
“Is that your way of subtly telling me you better see me out in the gardens and not working?” I asked.
“Perhaps.”
Giving in, I laughed. “You are a really unusual employer, Kinge.”
“And you are the most interesting house manager I’ve had,” Kinge said. “And call me Beckett.”
“Beckett. Is that your first name?”
He nodded.
“It’s a nice name, Beckett. But if we’re on a first name basis, then I have to insist you call me Abi.”
“As you wish, Abi.”
I grinned, and despite my less-than-fun morning, I felt lighter than I had in days.
Kinge—no, Beckett—being a vampire might be unexpected, but he was fun, and interesting to talk to. I had a feeling that working here was going to be enjoyable not just because of all the exploring I could do and life changes I was making, but also because of him.