Wicked Obsession (22 page)

They drank in silence, bottle after bottle. It was potent, but not enough. Marguerite excused herself and went to feed. She had offered him the blood of one of her protégés as a restorative, but he declined. It seemed wrong in the face of what they were attempting to do.

Marguerite returned a little while later, sated but obviously tired. He hadn’t heard her enter. He sat slumped in the chair with his thumb scraping over the bristles of his five o’clock shadow. The tap of a cup against his shoulder make him glance around. His cousin had brought him a large snifter of blood.

“For your strength,” she said quietly.

Julian slipped the glass from her hand, and watched as she crossed the room and sat in a chair to wait. Beside one of the narrow windows, she smoked cigarettes and watched the glow of the fire on the horizon. Julian drank the blood and felt better, tired. His eyelids felt heavy. He watched Marguerite until he dozed off.

Around 4:00AM, Eleni awoke in shrieking sobs, her body gripped in throes of agony. Julian leapt up, severed abruptly from a dream of wandering aimlessly through the vineyard. In an instant, he was beside her on the edge of the bed, holding her down to keep her from hurting herself.

“
Mon Dieu
!” he gasped. The whites of Eleni’s eyes had turned the color of a dark garnet. Her skin was clammy, yet blazing hot to the touch.

“It’s happening,” Marguerite grimaced. “The blood… She’s turning.” She hurried around to the opposite side of the bed and did her best to hold down Eleni’s legs.

Eleni writhed, moaned, and hissed for a five full minutes. Then, she began to convulse. Horrified, Julian cursed, shouted in fear at Marguerite, who had no idea what to do.

“Eleni, everything is all right,” Julian told her in his most soothing voice, trying to calm her even as he struggled to keep her on the bed. He couldn’t risk her hurting herself. Sweat beaded along his brow while turmoil raged inside him.

You must be all right, mon amour. Because I need you—I can’t lose you. How would I live?

Almost as soon as he thought the words, a searing white hot pain erupted across his brain. It nearly toppled him. Clenching his eyes tight, he growled and felt his fangs elongate—a defensive reaction. His head swam, and distantly, he could hear Marguerite’s voice asking him if he was okay.

Rising up through the agony—the sharp awareness of hunger. His body was on fire with it, the need so strong it nearly took his breath. A minute passed before Julian realized the hunger was not his. It was Eleni’s. Their connection had cemented, and his bloodmate needed to feed.

In a flurry of movement, he ripped open his shirt and pulled Eleni close to him. “You need to feed, Eleni. Do you hear me? The pain you feel…only blood will make it stop.”
Blood rushing hot and potent through your veins. Drink, love, drink from me.

He felt her panic, the uncertainly lingering in her mind like a shadow. Then, instinct took over. Julian flinched in ecstasy as Eleni’s fangs pierced his flesh.

She stilled as she drank from him. Her pain ebbed away, but in its place, Julian discovered a well of fear and confusion. He let her drink until he could feel the tugging in his veins warning him to stop. When he at last disengaged her fangs from him and laid her back in the bed, she had grown limp, docile. Her expression had grown even more distant.

The room had fallen abruptly silent, the only sound Julian and Marguerite’s ragged breathing. They were both still reeling in shock when Eleni’s head turned to the side, her gaze regarding her Biter as if through the mist of a dream. “Julian…”

“I’m here, my love. I’m right here,” he croaked raggedly.

Without warning, her eyelids drifted closed.

Julian hovered over her a long minute, trembling, shaken. He leaned over her, cradled her to him, and kissed her hair, murmuring a jumbled litany of relief against her lips.

Finally, Marguerite tugged him away. “Come. We should let her rest.”

Chapter Nineteen

They stepped out into the hallway, where Julian stopped and leaned against the wall. Worry ate at him. He ran his hands through his hair, then stood away from the wall and paced. A minute later, he leaned against the wall again and covered his hand with his mouth. He was so stressed it was almost unbearable.

“Julian, you have to be calm.” Marguerite laid a hand on his arm. “She will be okay.”

“I don’t know,” he rasped. “I just don’t know.” He shook his head. “I feel her confusion.” He hesitated before admitting what he had noticed while in the room with Eleni. “She senses your emotions.”

Marguerite froze. “Are you sure? I don’t feel any different,” she said in quiet amazement.

“I will take that as a good sign. Then again, you didn’t drink from her directly. Even so, I know for certain we’re all connected. I can feel Eleni feeling you,” Julian confessed, and leaned heavily against the wall. He raked a hand through his hair.

“Madame,” someone said from behind them.

It was a slender young woman with dark hair. Her brown eyes skimmed warily over Julian.

“What is it, Josephine?”

“There is a man at the front door. He says he works for Master Julian.”

“Henri,” Julian rasped, and pushed past Marguerite. He walked through the house and found the old man standing in the foyer, crumpling his hat in his hands.

“Monsieur, the police came. I told them you weren’t home when the blaze started. They’re looking for you, nonetheless. I suspect it is to do with Claudette and Gisele. They said you should contact them as soon as possible. This is the inspector’s card.”

Julian slipped the contact card from his fingers, and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Henri. I will reward you handsomely for your loyalty once this mess is over.”

“I am grateful,
Monsieur
, but that is not all of it. Last night, a vampire came to me at my
gîte
. He was well tailored…tall with reddish hair. He appeared to be from the city. The man asked for you, and then asked if the girl, Eleni, had lived through the blaze. I told him I didn’t know.”

“Did the man give his name?” Marguerite asked.

“No, Madame. He spoke passable French, but his accent was distinctly Russian.”

A flame gleamed in Julian’s eyes as he turned to Marguerite. “Liev Sidorov.”

“You know who it is?” Her brows lifted.

Julian’s eyes narrowed. A muscle ticked in his cheek. “He has come to the house before to speak to Eleni. He’s a representative of Zander Rubio, Eleni’s former Biter.”

“Are you sure? It could have been someone from the council. The fire at the chateau has been in the news.”

Julian had already guessed that much. He knew for sure the fire had been reported as far as Paris. Eloise, the housekeeper at his townhouse, had tried to phone him many times. He had waited until Eleni was resting comfortably before he returned her call.

Julian turned to Henri. “Did the vampire say where he was staying?”

“
Non, Monsieur
, but by the cut of his clothes, I don’t think he would choose poor accommodations.”

Julian thanked his servant, and offered to find a place in the village for him to stay, but Henri had lived in the
gîte
for over thirty years—it was his home. He was determined to remain in the former rental cottage, and Julian had no desire to take that small comfort from him.

The following night, Julian gave his statement to police. The inspector from the village had traced him to his cousin’s house. He answered their questions as thoroughly as possible, yet careful not to go into overly elaborate detail of his whereabouts, since he didn’t know what Henri had already told them. Curiously, they didn’t ask him about Eleni. Perhaps they did not realize she had lived at the chateau. Whatever the case, he certainly wasn’t going to mention her. She was not in any state to face questioning by the police.

The inspector didn’t stop with the one interview. After Julian, they questioned Marguerite, and also, briefly, Marguerite’s premiere, Oksana, who sat demurely on the sofa and obviously knew nothing about the fire, or the typical goings-on at the chateau. The inspector lingered a few moments after that, looking around with great interest at both the arrangement of the house and Marguerite’s protégé, Antoinette, who had arrived late, and sat like a haughty bronze goddess in one of the leather wing-back chairs.

Finally, the inspector gave Julian his card, and said he would be in touch if he needed any more information. He didn’t seem to think he would.

Once the police were gone, Julian went upstairs to check on Eleni. In the dimly lit room, he walked over to the bed, and looked down over his sleeping bloodmate. She had curled on her side with her hands tucked protectively against her body.

Overall, she slept soundly and didn’t seem to be in any pain. Julian was glad for that. He brushed her hair back from her forehead and leaned down to drop a tender kiss on the bruise that darkened her forehead near the hair line. On his way out of the room, he grabbed his sport coat off the corner chair.

When he came back downstairs with his keys in his hand, Marguerite looked up from a book she was reading. There were dark shadows under her eyes. She sat straighter, closed the book. “You’re going out?”

He couldn’t tell her where. Several of her protégés had joined her in the sitting room. They lounged about in front of the television where they could overhear him. The less they knew, the better.

“Keep an eye on, Eleni,” he told her. “I’ll be back before dawn.”

He walked to the front door and let himself outside. For a moment, on the edge of the walkway, he stopped and looked out over the horizon, past the silhouette shape of sprawling walnut trees where an orange glow hung in the sky in the direction of his chateau. It still burned. The police had warned him it would likely burn for days.

His heart clenched as though a vise had gripped it. Losing the house was like losing a first love. It had been his sanctuary for hundreds of years. But even as he stood and gulped in the cool night air, he knew that even if he rebuilt the house, it would never be the same. His life revolved around Eleni now.

He’d just taken the first few steps toward his car when the front door opened behind him. He glanced back, waiting as she walked toward him, her hands fisted on the gap of a tan cardigan she’d apparently thrown on quickly before stepping outside.

“Where are you going? Surely, not to your chateau?” Her eyes were worried.

“I have to find Liev Sidorov before he leaves the village.”

She was silent a moment. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“I have to go. I have to find out what her Biter wanted from her…and what he had been discussing with Gisele that pushed her to…this.” If Eleni’s Biter wanted a war with him, he was more than willing to accept.

“Julian, you must be careful.” Marguerite lowered her voice. “If anyone were to find out what we have done—”

“Unless you plan to tell someone, no one will ever know.” His eyes held a warning. “I can’t avoid the council. Eleni was on probation when she came to me—she still is. As my vampiress, the court will have no choice but to be lenient with her, lest they punish us both.” His eyes darkened. “I don’t anticipate them doing anything so foolish.”

He cranked the car then rolled down the window before shutting the door. “If the effects of her turning become…
problematic,
I will take her and leave France. As far as the council is concerned, I have taken Eleni as my blood mate and that is all they need to know.”

“I hope you are right, Julian.” Marguerite looked grim. “Really, I do.”

He would not argue the matter with her. He rolled up his window, and did a loop in the circle drive, making his way out onto the private road. As he pulled away from the house, Julian glanced in his rearview mirror, and saw Marguerite standing in the red glow of the tail lights, watching him leave. He had never seen her look so fragile and human.

Forty minutes later, Julian pulled up in front of
l’hotel Pont du Clair
, an exclusive bed and breakfast on the outskirts of Ville Cleménce. Julian knew the owners in passing. Charles and Solange were discreet, reliable hoteliers who had catered to vampire society for over thirty years. He was aware there were least two rooms in the converted farm house that could provide a sun-proof rest stop for traveling vampires.

He had called in advance and found out that there was indeed a Liev Sidorov registered.

Julian parked away from the attached restaurant and climbed out of the car. Inside, the hotel was as he remembered it—clean and simplistic, with romantic amber lighting and faux Persian carpets. Paintings commissioned by local artists decorated the walls.

A young woman with a thin face and piercing blue eyes stood behind the concierge desk when he entered. She called to him, but her voice reached him as if from afar. He had planned to show up at the vampire’s room unannounced, but one glance through open glass doors to the dining area on his left, and an onrush of anger surged through him. A vampire with reddish hair sat alone in a booth, with his hands around a china cup, idly glancing through a window overlooking the parking lot.

Eleni had described him perfectly, from his smug expression to the prominent, dimpled chin. There was no room for mistake. Julian gestured to the lady concierge that he had found his party then strode into the dining room, his hackles on the rise.

The vampire did a double take as he approached.

“Ah, Sévigné,” he said, and sat straighter, his eyes dancing with shrewd mirth. “I had a feeling you would come. I heard about the fire at your chateau, an awful tragedy.”

“Is it?” Julian made no pretense at civility. He hated the bastard on sight. “One would think you’d be relieved.”

He scoffed. “Why would you assume that?”

“Because Gisele Gaspar is dead.”

The vampire swallowed convulsively, yet his face remained impassive. It was a long minute before he spoke. “My condolences to her family.”

“I am her only family,” Julian said in a peevish tone. He leaned forward, and glared at the man with thinly veiled hatred. “She was not the only member of my household that has perished.”