Vampire Assassin League Bundle Five - Loneliness by Jackie Ivie

foreboding.
    Ominous.
    Almost...threatening.
    Another chill ran up Rachel’s spine. She stood straighter and ignored it. And then she offered her arm to her companion again.

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Where was she?
    Wystan contemplated a sword display arranged on the wall just to the right of a fireplace. Not for any particular reason. It was just another attempt to ignore an anxious, on-edge feeling that had started up in the crypt and increased while he’d dressed. It was a new sensation. Odd. He’d spent countless hours in a state of limbo, watching the days, and then the years, and then the centuries, pass. Time lost meaning ever since he’d taken a lance in his side and accepted vampirism over death. Time hadn’t any power. Or substance. Or weight. Yet, at the moment, he swore he could feel every second that passed as if there was a timing gear in him somewhere, and it just kept getting cranked tighter and tighter ...
    She wouldn’t turn down his invitation, would she? Maybe he should have taken it to her personally. Maybe he should—
    Stop, Wystan. It’s been three minutes.
    Maybe the mantel clock was broken. Why else would three minutes feel so long?
    Wystan pulled in a deep breath. He didn’t need it. He was just testing. And it worked. He really could breathe. It was incredible. Still. The velvet doublet he’d fastened didn’t have much room for the move, however. It restricted his chest. It had a row of black satin ribbons securing both sides. Wystan grinned as one bow after the other pulled tight. Because he could feel that, too!
    He probably should have worn material that had some give to it. He had plenty of options in his closets. But he’d selected this seventeenth century outfit, because it matched what she’d been wearing.
    Sort of.
    Actually, she’d been wearing attire that was a mish-mash from several eras. It hadn’t mattered. She’d looked perfect. Better than perfect. That dark fabric hadn’t disguised a feminine form, while the white linen ruffle of her bodice graced a womanliness he’d rarely beheld. She’d been the perfect height, her waist a hand-spanning size, while her bosom ...
    Oh ...my!
    Wystan stared down in absolute amazement as his loins stirred, straining against the tight knee breeches he’d donned. By all the saints! That was true, too! Such a thing was astounding. Unbelievable. And uncontrollable at present. Maybe if he’d had more time to adjust, he could keep this amount of lust tamped, or at least hidden. Somehow. He’d been right about wool, too. It itched. Maybe he should have donned under-drawers.
    He glanced at the clock again.
    Another minute gone.
    Oh. This was bad form. Wystan put a hand to his crotch area and pulled, trying to rearrange and gain some room. Then he pulled the waist of his coat down a bit, stretching seams. Well. Apparently, they hadn’t tailored masculine attire in the 1600s to disguise a man if he enlarged for any reason. Bother. The last thing he wanted was to look like a stag in rutting season when she arrived. He’d be better off examining the swords. And if that didn’t work, he supposed he could pull down a shield from another display and hide behind it.
    Look over the swords .
    Yes. That was it. Examine the swords. And then he was facing another oddity. Checking weaponry used to be an engrossing, time-consuming activity. There was always something that needed to be seen to. Some flaw to be corrected. Oxidation to remove. Corrosion to eradicate. But at the moment, looking over swords was worse than troublesome. It was downright suggestive. They brought to mind what more than one literary source claimed a sword represented to society in general. They were representative of a phallus.
    An erect phallus.
    Merde! This wasn’t working.
    Wystan narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to the sword display. These blades came mostly from the fourteenth century. They had thick, non-ornamented, grip-friendly hilts. They’d seen a lot of