A Vampire's Rise (40 page)

I took a seat in the corner of our lavishly decorated lounge and opened Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, resting the book on my knees.

A bloodhound sluggishly settled at my feet. This was the first room Sunaria had furnished and she’d gone all out. We were immersed in decadent colors, lush textures, and sweeping curtains. The far wall was painted a deep red, enhancing the semblance. Despite my initial reservations, the color actually complemented the décor and went well with the candelabras positioned here and there, providing a soft yellow illumination.

I barely looked up from my well-worn novel to greet Marcus. Quietly judging my mood, he joined me, taking the seat opposite. I glanced up at the bookcase, now half-stocked. Sunaria enjoyed assisting Rachel with her collection, and I’d granted permission for her to shelve it here. Though I preferred a more modest setting, this room had become the center of activity in the house, and tonight I desired company, if only for a while. A robin hopped along the window ledge and pecked at the frame.

I broke the silence. “The doctor accepted the money?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Marcus said. “He’s a man of integrity, which is—”

“A good thing.”

The robin flew off.

“He needed some gentle persuading,” Marcus added.

I gestured for him to elaborate.

“I just told him the money came from a grateful custodian,” Marcus explained. “And as you’re always calling Jacob your rock, I told him the gentleman’s name was Roch.”

“You must have intrigued him.”

Marcus opened his mouth to reply, though cautious of my mood he chose not to. I saved my page and closed the book.

“The money will be used for Jacob’s education,” Marcus said.

“And Jacob?”

“He looked well. He has your eyes.”

Unable to be that close to my son and not be able to embrace him, I’d sent Marcus. “He has his mother’s eyes.” I looked up. “And that other matter?” I pulled at the frill beneath my white ruffled sleeve.

“Our third orphanage has just been purchased and the children are being schooled,” he said. “Do come and visit.”

“No.”

Marcus’ knuckles were white as he clutched the armrests.

Not that I cared. “Sunaria tells me that there’s a place in London where mortals and our kind mingle?”

Marcus smiled. “Madam Rouge’s. Where the wine flows like water and so does the blood.”

His words faded into the background. Entranced, my thoughts wandered, hypnotized by the snow. A robin jumped onto the sill again and pecked at the window.

“Do you think that’s the same bird?” I asked wistfully.

Marcus frowned. “What are you talking about?”

I breathed in the scent of burning oak. Oranges and yellows lapped in the grate, the log almost turned to ash, and, as though striving for life, fresh flames burst up around it and smoke rose into the chimney.

Chapter 49

TWELVE YEARS PASSED before I considered setting foot in Madam Rouge’s illustrious home.

Despite its reputation, I found myself reluctant to pursue any kind of personal pleasure in her private East London house. For an hour, I’d lingered outside, trying to coax myself to enter. Eventually, with hope that my depression would lift, I headed in. Such a spontaneous visit would be a nice surprise for Sunaria and I wondered if Marcus would be enjoying another evening here.

Wall to wall guests mingled in every room. Admittance wasn’t something to be taken for granted. It took a notable recommendation and a great deal of money. Endless decadence, although not reflected by the unassuming exterior, once inside, one discovered an exotic den. Large couches were positioned here and there, with love seats scattered amongst them. Dark colors painted upon the arched walls and minimal candles threw mysterious shadows, enhancing the sultry mood.

Socializing here were the forward thinkers, holding late night discussions into the early hours, and when conversations became tedious, guests were encouraged to roam the upper chambers and search out amusements that would keep them coming back for more. Wine flowed.

This sumptuous home, nestled in the heart of London, welcomed those who desired to forget, a promise of feeling human again, if only for a night. Or for the mortal, the chance to embrace what it is to be bohemian. Although many of the mortal visitors had no idea with whom they mingled, there were a few who did, and the chance to taste our blood was the motivator for their risk taking. Just as Archer’s documents had suggested, we were integrating more with society and disappearing into its very heart.

If I could appear normal to them, then perhaps I could find the confidence to finally reveal myself to my son. Jacob was now twenty-one years old, and had made a life for himself, having realized his dream, following in Dr. Potts’ footsteps and becoming a physician. Although I’d never have chosen such a life for him, I did have a sense of pride that, despite everything, he’d prevailed. I resigned myself to remaining in England for the duration of his life.

He still did not know me.

I’d gone to great lengths to discover the classic nuances within the city, forcing myself to find captivating elements, searching for a pathway that would not lead to sadness. Within me was the desire to grasp the last trace of whom I’d once been, and find the answers to the questions I’d once been afraid to ask. To let go would be self-betrayal.

Although we’d invested in property, it wasn’t out of a fondness for the city, but rather to secure several safe houses. Marcus often joked that if we lived for over one hundred years, taking inflation into consideration, our net worth would be substantial. Although as a young man, I’d strived to obtain wealth, my motivation had been that it brought with it freedom.

Sunaria and Marcus had taken over the day to day dealings of our business. Marcus also discussed the importance of creating wills, so that by the time we were meant to be dead, we’d inherit our property back. He always looked to the future. I, however, preferred living in the present. As I now found myself in the most erotic of places, I wanted to explore and shake off this moodiness and rekindle the old Daumia.

Holding my tall glass of red, a house special, I strolled on, following the trail of rose petals that crushed beneath my feet as it led through the house. The fragrance still sparked a visceral response.

This place enabled people watching at its best. Music struck up from somewhere in the house. I recognized the violin and another instrument with a deeper base, one that I was unfamiliar with. The dark melody enhanced the already risqué atmosphere.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a young blond woman staring at me.

She nudged the man next to her and mouthed, “Déjà vu.”

Trying to work out why she’d uttered it, I followed her gaze. It settled on a man ascending the staircase. To my astonishment, he not only appeared to have the same haircut as me, but also a similar physique. He reached the top step and headed along the balcony. I quick-footed it after him, down the dusky corridor, hugging the walls. I backed into an alcove, transfixed, watching him.

His age and height equaled mine. Astonished, I realized that his jacket, white shirt, and black trousers had actually come from my own wardrobe. Now that was creepy. His hair, a contrast to my unruly mop of black, lay where he’d combed it.

He knocked on a door and then disappeared inside.

From within, I heard two men talking. A young couple passed by me, and shared a suspicious laugh.

With them out of sight, I turned the handle.

Marcus, wearing a blue robe, stood by the edge of the bed, talking intently with my double. The man sunk to the floor, kneeling before him. I took in the vision as the intimacy between them unfolded. He ran his fingers through my counterpart’s hair, ruffling his dark locks so that they resembled mine. Marcus swooned.

I slid in and lingered just inside. The woman downstairs had looked at me and mouthed, ‘déjà vu.’ She was right. This situation brought back memories of observing Salvador with his lover. Regrets of all that could have been, came back. Salvador’s kind eyes, his dashing smile, the way he’d held me and what I’d missed, and I longed for him even now.

Marcus was staring at me.

I sipped my drink, savoring the awkward moment. Marcus gestured for the man to stop and the stranger stared up at me with equal fascination. He also saw the resemblance. I placed my glass down on a cherry side cabinet and approached them. Marcus’ cheeks flushed. I lifted the kneeling man’s chin, studying his features, an uncanny likeness, both pleasing and yet disturbing.

“Forgive me?” Marcus barely whispered.

I rested my thumb on Marcus’ trembling lips and then kissed his tears, tasting their wetness, and then pressed my mouth against his with such firmness that he almost lost his balance. With my hands on either side of his face, I held him in an ironclad grip.

This was the kiss I should have given Salvador, stealing precious time with him, holding him like this in my arms again, perchance to trust where the moment might take us. My heart still ached for him. He’d been stolen from me, but here now the opportunity had arisen for me to show my true affection to another friend, and prove that my love for Marcus endured.

Marcus rocked, our mouths ever widening, our fangs grazing each others, our tongues brushing together, increasing to a brutal roughness. Marcus’ entire body shuddered. He verged over the edge.

I pulled back.

Glancing down at the man at our feet, I threw him a smile. “Nice jacket.” I stepped back, turned, and headed for the door.

* * * *

I followed the pathway of petals, crushing them underfoot, and strolled out the back door into the garden.

In the corner was an ornate fountain, a stone angel pointing a bow and arrow right at me, out of which water poured. Nearby, under the low lying leaves of a maple tree, lay Sunaria. She reclined upon a burgundy chaise lounge, surrounded by several admirers.

She smiled when she saw me. With my subtle gesture, she knew to remain seated. I needed some cooling off time. Marcus wasn’t the only one left breathless. Thoughts returned to our kiss and I gave a wry smile, wondering how much longer he’d lasted after I’d left.

Breathing in the exquisite scent from the many exotic trees and flowers within the garden, I wanted to get a feel for the place. A feel for the people, and find a commonality that would help me to believe I belonged.

These open-minded individuals had been invited into our private world, one of London’s most exclusive parties. Madam Rouge had established what could be best described as a gentleman’s club, offering its guests a rich assortment of erotic entertainment. Words flowed along with the liquor. Controversial conversations were encouraged and guests sworn to an oath of secrecy. Delicious foods, tasty delights were offered up in abundance, rich delicacies that satisfied the palate and stirred one’s passions, setting the mood for what followed.

Taking a seat in the corner enabled a discreet vantage point. Sunaria held court, arguing with a young fop who failed miserably to impress her. It amused me that we’d both developed flawless English accents, two iconoclasts living it up, the ultimate aristocrats, easily mingling with mortals, and often receiving frequent glances of respect from our fellow immortals.

London continued to flourish.

We were witnesses to the city’s growth. Increasing political stability brought an increase in business and a thriving economy. Architecture had advanced in both common structures and the homes around us. London had become the center for European trade, introducing the newest fashions, entertainment, and both modern and ancient art. Westminster became established as the seat of the royal court and here too, England’s political office grew in power.

Urban crime, such as that of street gangs, London’s mafia of sorts, became more discreet, with the threat of hanging as a form of punishment for commoners. As their activities became subversive, it transformed into a feeding ground like no other.

An argument pulled me back into the garden. Two men were fighting over a young brunette. Madam Rouge stepped in to intervene, and with aplomb offered the woman to both of them. Several mortals strolled by, gawking.

A servant topped up my cup.

Sunaria approached and flopped onto my lap. “Well,” she said, “what do you think?”

I wrapped my arms around her waist. “This is a den of iniquity.”

“I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”

I sighed.

“You used to like this sort of thing,” she said.

“My tastes have changed.”

Sunaria whispered into my ear, “Do you see anything you like?”

Glancing up at the bedroom windows, I wondered what kind of guilty pleasures Marcus might be enjoying.

Sunaria followed my gaze. “Let’s throw a party like this at Belshazzar’s.”

“Let’s not.”

Just as I started to explain that I didn’t want strangers strolling all over our home, Madam Rouge appeared.

“It’s time to leave.” She looked frantic.

Sunaria pouted. “What, why?”

“One of my staff just let in a new guest.” Madam Rouge gestured to the house.