Small spotlights focused on a large empty steel security frame attached to the leathery brown, textured wall. A perfect location for Ariadne. Too perfect.
How long does he think I’m staying here?
The floor throughout was pale oak. Glossy black molding gleamed at the top and bottom of the walls. The ceiling was painted a soft wheat. I moved further into the room and noticed a circular portion of the ceiling behind the fireplace was recessed. Intrigued, I drew closer. After leaning my broom against the stone fireplace column, I discovered the interior was a dome painted like a night sky with wispy clouds.
Not a hovel at all. So much more than a hotel room. My “chambers” were a very comfortable apartment.
Beside me, Seven flipped another switch. Pinpoints of light began to glow in the dome “sky,” little fiber optics twinkling like stars. “Wow.”
“I was thinking this for the furniture,” Seven said, offering me a design board she’d picked up off the kitchen bar. Pictures of furniture, swatches of fabric, and a pair of professional sketches suggesting layout were all fastened to the board. A large black four-poster bed would be placed under the dome, with sheer black curtains hung around it. Curtains of a heavy opaque fabric would hang from burnished brass rods running from the side walls to the centered stone stack of the fireplace, effectively dividing a sitting area with two chairs and a black leather sectional angled around an entertainment center. She’d accented the black and brown theme with blues that would rival her eyes for brightness.
“What do you think?” She leaned subtly into my personal space and inhaled deeply. She was trying to “taste” my mortal scent.
Determined not to be annoyed, I smiled and said, “I love it. Everything is so dark, but I know it will feel cozy.” Now if we could just move it to a building that wouldn’t be crawling with vampires . . .
“This area used to be six dressing rooms, a bathroom, and a hallway.” She circled me, pointing. “I had it gutted and completely remade. These walls, the floor, and the ceiling have been reinforced with steel arcs, cinderblock, and concrete. No creature is coming in here, unless you open the door.”
“And the fireplace flue?”
“Asphalt on the roof, iron grille at the exterior top. Any antifey wards between, you do yourself.” She circled me like a shark, her slow, predatory vampire grace indicating a change I didn’t like. “The door is the only way in or out of this room—it’s set in a reinforced frame and is made of solid steel.”
“We can post guards, if you would like, but I doubt it will be necessary,” Menessos said. He’d held back, but now he moved in, intimately close. His nearness caressed my aura, but he hadn’t evoked his usual heated response from me. “Everyone inside the building is loyal to me. Still, some may express jealousy for the attention you will receive.”
His fingers wrapped loosely around my arm and his thumb pressed to the bend of my elbow, on the vein. He leaned close enough that his beard brushed my cheek.
Seven was watching with a level of intensity that made me even more uncomfortable.
Menessos nuzzled close to my ear, near the veins in my neck, and whispered, “With your living blood so warm . . . the interest is unavoidable, but no one would dare harm you, for none would risk my wrath.”
His voice was like warm silk on my skin. Even without his metaphysical push toward desire, I was enticed. Still, he did not provoke that lust heat through my body. And he could have.
Meanwhile, Seven still circled.
It was this kind of shit that made me nervous to be in the company of vampires. So nervous, in fact, that the first idea that struck me made my mouth open. “Then why bother with guards?” I asked. “Nobody wants the boring duty of standing outside a door, right? Your people will think I’m weak and afraid.”
“Aren’t you?” Seven asked coolly.
Her glowing irises were neon bright, but I’d counseled myself to be bold. “Don’t mistake my caution for fear. I am mortal, yes, but Menessos just said there’s no reason to be afraid.”
Seven’s stalking ceased and she announced, “Your witch may survive after all.”
“Not only is she brave and quick to assess others,” Menessos replied as his hand trailed down my arm, “she is beautiful and powerful, as well.” He threaded his fingers with mine. Finally, warmth rushed through me.
Seven must have sensed it and took it as a cue. She moved toward the door. “I hear the crew coming in. By your leave, Boss?”
“Of course.”
I hadn’t heard anything before, but as Seven left, laughter drifted through the open door as did the sound of many footfalls. When Seven shut the door, Menessos stroked my cheek, gently aligning my face with his. Our lips were so close. “You are so captivating.”
He stared at me as if he could see all the way through me, to the burning desire in my very core . . . burning for him.
“Your very presence here soothes me and invigorates me. Your voice and your eyes are, to me, the bright reassurance that a summer day is to you.” His thumb stroked my neck. “In your company I feel as if the world is warm and bountiful.”
His words, offered like a bouquet of summer color, held the trembling timbre of a first date, as if each syllable were felt with such deep intensity, striving to mean more.
He kissed my cheek, so softly. “My world is more tender with you in it.”
His words, a breath in my ear, gently urged my spark of desire to rise up and blaze white-hot.
CHAPTER EIGHT
No! I raged at myself. Refuse his influence! Deny him the power to stoke these flames into more than I am willing to let them be.
Our bond, I’d learned, afforded him a measure of automatic compassion from me, and it was difficult to suppress. This, however, was base instinct responding in knee-jerk reaction to his call. It was up to me to stay mentally alert to his manipulation. Not just to keep my head lest I panic as I had in the cellar, but I realized that if I gave in to the passion he kindled, my regret would be fierce.
I expect exclusivity from Johnny and I owe him nothing less.
The heat within me began to cool.
Features wilting with rejection, Menessos slipped his attention to the side. His fingers gently combed into the hair at my temple. The strands fell free of his touch. I shivered.
“The Beholders will continue to work in shifts throughout the day.” He sauntered away from me. “My people will work around the clock. All will be completed in the hall in two days’ time. We will have the ceremony Friday.”
His matter-of-fact shift reminded me that, like it or not, I was going to be here for several days at the very least.
“May I take you to dinner? There are many fine restaurants in the vicinity.”
“I ate with Nana and Beverley.”
“A diminutive portion.”
“What makes you think that?”
His lip twitched. “Think? I know this to be true. I am very attuned to your body.”
Twenty minutes later, we were outside and I pointed to the restaurant next door—the upper half of an old, finned Cadillac sat atop an out-of-place attempt at a formal entry. A neon sign graced the lintel. “There?”
“Decidedly not.”
“Not good?”
“I wouldn’t know. But the manager emphatically communicated his dislike of our kind. I therefore forbid my people from visiting those premises. He will find his registers lacking for his misjudgment.”
“Okay. Where, then?” I buttoned my blazer.
Waiting for him to answer, I took in the crisp lines of his suit. He’d changed out of the one he’d worn when he slept in the hay in my cellar. All of his suits were cut to complement him as only the best garments can, but tonight there was something especially masculine about him. He wore no tie and his linen shirt was neither tucked nor fully buttoned. I appraised his self-assured gait, and the competent way he scanned both sidewalks ahead of us and behind, gauging every facet of our environment.