in the rest of Dragulhaven , and I find it difficult to believe Garthelle is the responsible party. Every time I try, I end up with energy-memories of his black flat flashing along my nerve endings, flooding my senses. Of course, the residual incense in the air may very well be triggering them.
Though my knowledge of him is shallow at best, he doesn’t strike me as the gaudy sort. That chandelier? Not him. I want to think better of him than that. Despite the fact that he’s dangerous—or perhaps because of it?—I find myself attracted to him. It’s just simple lust, I’m sure. The intrigue of the unknown.
I lean toward Jhez so my words don’t echo through the vaulted chamber. “I wonder who else lives here?”
The corner of her mouth curls up in a smirk, but before she can respond, the staccato rap of footsteps on the marble floors announces someone’s approach. The corresponding thrum of the energy in my veins names it Garthelle. Like the faint tingling one feels as blood floods back in to circulate through a numbed limb. Perhaps that’s the only reason why I feel this inappropriate attraction. The lack of pain associated with his presence; to my body, he’s a drug.
When he appears through one of the archways on the far side of the chamber, he halts. An uneasy silence ensues. I don’t look at him. Instead, I make a deliberate study of the scrollwork edging the domed ceiling.
“The twins have arrived, Monsieur,” the butler intones as he steps past us and halts. “I was just about to come find you.”
“No need.” Garthelle’s reply is hushed but clearly audible.
The butler executes a very precise nod of assent, inclining his torso a fraction. I wonder if he practices that angle in front of a full-length mirror. His retreat is just as measured, heels clacking steadily on the marble. As the butler’s tread fades, it only intensifies the strain of the silence.
Odd. The vampire seems to be waiting for something. Reaching out with my aura, cautiously, only gains me the impression that he’s reluctant to venture any closer. That’s enough to make me frown. Granted, reluctance isn’t fear, but they’re close relations. I take a few seconds to get my facial expression back under control. Take a few measured breaths, hoping with each one that the next won’t be laced with incense. Damned energy-memories. One particularly deep breath causes the entire domed foyer to disappear for a heartbeat. Having the world flash black-lit black isn’t pleasant.
When I lower my gaze, his eyes draw mine immediately, holding my attention by sheer force of will. Given his ability to influence the energy throbbing through me, it’s not surprising. Such a simple form of torture it represents: Kill someone without getting one’s hands messy. Without leaving a single shred of evidence. Knowing what he can do, that newfound awareness of what his kind is capable of makes me fear him, all vampires, that much more.
He doesn’t look any different tonight, which strikes me as odd—on some level, I expected he would make an effort to impress his guests with his appearance. Yet the only alteration is his shirt, a black silk that shimmers in the chandelier’s light. And this evening he’s making full use of all but the uppermost button. A medallion rests against his chest, glowing silver nestled against the silk.
The vampire’s gaze pulls away from me, shifting to take in Jhez’s presence. “Good evening . . . shall I call you Black and Red , then?”
That has to be the most pathetic barb at our selection of attire imaginable.
“My name is Black.” Despite the abrupt surge of disdain crawling up my throat, I manage to keep my voice neutral.
“That would be an interesting gimmick,” Jhez deadpans. Her outfit, a dark and tainted hue resembling drying blood, was a selection she deliberated over excessively, in my opinion. Garthelle’s gaze flickers between us, considering. As if in the throes of an internal debate.
Though my knowledge of him is shallow at best, he doesn’t strike me as the gaudy sort. That chandelier? Not him. I want to think better of him than that. Despite the fact that he’s dangerous—or perhaps because of it?—I find myself attracted to him. It’s just simple lust, I’m sure. The intrigue of the unknown.
I lean toward Jhez so my words don’t echo through the vaulted chamber. “I wonder who else lives here?”
The corner of her mouth curls up in a smirk, but before she can respond, the staccato rap of footsteps on the marble floors announces someone’s approach. The corresponding thrum of the energy in my veins names it Garthelle. Like the faint tingling one feels as blood floods back in to circulate through a numbed limb. Perhaps that’s the only reason why I feel this inappropriate attraction. The lack of pain associated with his presence; to my body, he’s a drug.
When he appears through one of the archways on the far side of the chamber, he halts. An uneasy silence ensues. I don’t look at him. Instead, I make a deliberate study of the scrollwork edging the domed ceiling.
“The twins have arrived, Monsieur,” the butler intones as he steps past us and halts. “I was just about to come find you.”
“No need.” Garthelle’s reply is hushed but clearly audible.
The butler executes a very precise nod of assent, inclining his torso a fraction. I wonder if he practices that angle in front of a full-length mirror. His retreat is just as measured, heels clacking steadily on the marble. As the butler’s tread fades, it only intensifies the strain of the silence.
Odd. The vampire seems to be waiting for something. Reaching out with my aura, cautiously, only gains me the impression that he’s reluctant to venture any closer. That’s enough to make me frown. Granted, reluctance isn’t fear, but they’re close relations. I take a few seconds to get my facial expression back under control. Take a few measured breaths, hoping with each one that the next won’t be laced with incense. Damned energy-memories. One particularly deep breath causes the entire domed foyer to disappear for a heartbeat. Having the world flash black-lit black isn’t pleasant.
When I lower my gaze, his eyes draw mine immediately, holding my attention by sheer force of will. Given his ability to influence the energy throbbing through me, it’s not surprising. Such a simple form of torture it represents: Kill someone without getting one’s hands messy. Without leaving a single shred of evidence. Knowing what he can do, that newfound awareness of what his kind is capable of makes me fear him, all vampires, that much more.
He doesn’t look any different tonight, which strikes me as odd—on some level, I expected he would make an effort to impress his guests with his appearance. Yet the only alteration is his shirt, a black silk that shimmers in the chandelier’s light. And this evening he’s making full use of all but the uppermost button. A medallion rests against his chest, glowing silver nestled against the silk.
The vampire’s gaze pulls away from me, shifting to take in Jhez’s presence. “Good evening . . . shall I call you Black and Red , then?”
That has to be the most pathetic barb at our selection of attire imaginable.
“My name is Black.” Despite the abrupt surge of disdain crawling up my throat, I manage to keep my voice neutral.
“That would be an interesting gimmick,” Jhez deadpans. Her outfit, a dark and tainted hue resembling drying blood, was a selection she deliberated over excessively, in my opinion. Garthelle’s gaze flickers between us, considering. As if in the throes of an internal debate.
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