Avalon Revisited (8 page)

“You will enjoy this immensely,” I breathed into her ear, bending over her and pressing my body fully against her entire frame, grinding my erection into her backside. She moaned again.

I stood up and pulled the sash down off my face, for she could not see behind her, so there was no fear of being recognized or later identified. I dropped my trousers to my knees, as I wouldn’t be moving from this position any time soon, and set the finger blade against her back.

She gasped and then giggled as the pointy tip tickled the skin on her back. I traced the blade down her back to her plump ass then down one thigh. As I came up the other leg, I slid two fingers inside her, feeling her wetness therein. She squeezed them tightly, using her skill, honed over decades. Yes. Something to be said for experience. Sliding them out and back in, I continued tracing the blade around her back and buttocks, heightening her and my anticipation for what was to come. She swelled up around my fingers and I moved them faster, inserting another. Her breath came faster and she drenched my hand with her juices. Appetizer done. Now it was time.

I removed my fingers and positioned myself behind her for the main course.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

She whimpered a reply and nodded her head. I slowly slid myself inside her much to both our delights and began rocking against her, shaking the table as I did so. The thrusts were slow and deep, making full contact with her at the end of each. One hand held onto her hips while the other continued to trace the frigid blade against her back. Simultaneously with a particularly hard thrust, I pressed down slightly and cut into her skin, just deep enough to draw blood. She gasped, tugged against the restraints, and squeezed my cock in the most delightful way. Blood flowed from the wound, accumulating in the indentation along her spine. I stopped and admired the dark red pool against her fair skin. Folding myself on top of her, I lapped up the dark drink and started thrusting again, harder and faster than before. When I could get no more blood from one cut, I made another, slowing down between each cut and then diving back into her as I soaked my tongue anew. With each cut she gasped and moaned until finally she came as I made the final cut, a little deeper than the rest, but by no means mortal. I drank deeply and slammed into her until I exploded inside. My mouth bathed with her blood, and my body anointed with our mingled juices. Her knees buckled and she relaxed against the table, catching her breath.

After wiping off my mouth and my nether regions with her robe, covering my face, and fixing my trousers, I shoved five pounds under her stomach, whispering, “This is for you if you stay right in this position until after I leave. Agreed?”

She nodded. Sweat droplets decorated her brow. Her fair back was mottled with drying blood, but the wounds had already begun to congeal. She would but need a rest, and all would be fine. I untied one of her hands.

“Count to twenty before getting up, then forget me,” I spoke softly, dropping the false accent, and brushed the hair from her face.

She nodded again.

She remained bent over the table until I was out of sight. Before she could’ve taken another breath, I was out of the building completely and halfway down Gray’s Inn Road. Once I was back en route to Knightsbridge, I uncovered my face and kept to the shadows, moving more quickly than human eyes could see. Well before dawn, I arrived home to a darkened house, got undressed, crawled into bed, and drew the curtains around it, satisfied. I settled into sleep, hoping to dream of Avalon.

I awoke the next morning to Cecil standing over me. Once my eyes focused, I could see just by his stance that he was quite cross. Hands on his hips, he stared down at me like an angry wife would to a lazy husband.

“What is it, Cecil?” I rolled over and covered my face with the blanket. Not my ideal morning.

“This,” he said, tossing the newspaper onto me. I picked it up and looked at the headlines:
VAMPYRE STRIKES AGAIN
.

“But...” I stammered.

“This is laying low, m’lord? Twice in two nights? Pardon me for saying so, m’lord but this is too risky. I like it here, and you’re jeopardizing our place.”

“Don’t be insolent, Cecil. I didn’t do this,” I said throwing the newspaper back and him and pulling the blanket over my eyes again.

“A whore–found in a compromising position in the Chamber of Horrors. Do you really expect me to believe that you didn’t do this? Do her?”

That got my attention. I sat up, alert, and wiped the blur from my eyes.

“I did. I mean, I was with a whore in the Chamber of Horrors last night, but I didn’t kill her.

She was quite alive when I left.” I snatched the paper back from him. This was no way to start a new week. “Just give me a moment to read the article, Cecil. I’ll have tea on the balcony in ten.”

“As you wish, m’lord,” Cecil replied and then left my bedchamber.

“And remember who’s lord of this manor,” I called after him.

He slammed the door. Getting more brazen by the day.

I read the article:

Police were called to the notorious Gray’s Inn Brothel, owned by Madam Jeffries, during the
early hours this morning. There they found a prostitute brutally murdered. The woman in
question was found by Mrs. Porter, the night attendant, strapped to a table in a compromising
position with her throat ripped out and several superficial cuts upon her back. Police have yet to
release any further details, but they mentioned that the scene was reminiscent of the previous
murder at Lord Pemberton’s two nights ago. No other persons on the scene were harmed. Mrs.

Porter told police of a medium-height presumably Irish man who came in late last night and
requested that room specifically. She said all of his face and body were covered except for his
eyes. She added that this was not uncommon to their clientele, as many are prominent members
of London Society. The only clue the police have to go on was the black scarf that gagged the
prostitute’s mouth, assumedly left by the killer. Further details reported as available.

“How inconvenient.” I thought about the events of last night, certain I didn’t hurt her enough to kill her. Most certainly didn’t ‘rip out her throat.’ Not even a nibble. The only wounds I left were made with the finger blade. Confounded, I put on my dressing gown and went down to tea, taking the newspaper with me. The table by the window was already set. There were fresh-cut flowers in a vase and a plate of current scones, my favorite non-human food. Moments later, Cecil came in with the tea, poured me a cup, and turned to leave.

“I’d like two drops this morning, Cecil,” I said to his back.

“You’ve already had enough, m’lord,” he replied rudely without turning around.

“Now see here,” I said in a not too-friendly voice, rising from my seat. “This is still my house and you still work for me. Come back here, Cecil; I will not abide further insolence.”

Cecil returned like a petulant child and stood before me, obviously grumpy, holding the silver platter defensively over his heart, as if I’d pluck it out in my anger. I might just if he keeps up such behavior. I sat down again, shoving the newspaper into his hands.

“As I said in my room, I did not kill this woman.” We stared at each other intently, but I didn’t continue until he lowered his eyes. I shouldn’t have to play such alpha male games with my manservant. Indeed! “But it does seem that things do not look good for us, dear man. As you likely read in the article, I did have my face covered, so I will unlikely be identified. The only people who knew I was at the brothel are in this room, and, quite possibly, the actual killer.

Perhaps there was another vampire in London. In fact, I would be quite shocked if there were not more of my kind in a city this large. Still, the article said nothing about fang marks, but rather said the poor woman’s throat was ripped out. Anyone, vampire or not, could’ve done that.”

“Indeed, m’lord. My apologies for my behavior.” Cecil bowed to me and resumed his normal demeanor. “I believe that you did not kill the woman, but as you said, it isn’t a good situation, for now the police no longer think this a random act of violence. They see a pattern, and there will be an investigation.”

“But there is nothing to tie me to the crimes.”

“Except your scarf, m’lord. Countless people saw you in it last night at the gala,” Cecil said.

“True, but I was hardly the only man there with black silk scarf.” Still, he did have a point. I would have to get a new scarf, identical to the last, before the next formal event. Thankfully, the scarf was simple and black, without a pattern on it, quite common in my circle.

“Let’s just wait and see how the investigation progresses before getting too nervous, shall we? After all, I’ve overcome far worse. Two drops, please. My tea is getting cold.”

With a sigh, Cecil obliged and left. I stirred my tea slowly and gazed out into the grey London day. My thoughts returned to Avalon. Such a dangerous place for a young woman, London. Especially a single, unmarried woman like Avalon. I must find a way to see her again and put all this murder nonsense behind me. She was by far more interesting.

Still this murder was strange. To happen so shortly after I left couldn’t be just a coincidence, could it? Certainly the whore wouldn’t have stayed in that position for long. She was, after all, still strapped to the table when they found her. Was there another vampire in London? It certainly would be interesting to meet another, but this new player must learn some basic rules. One can’t go around indiscriminately killing and still expect to survive in society! Oh no. Perhaps I could be a mentor, of sorts. Perhaps he was following me for that very reason.

I pondered on the concept of me as mentor for a moment and decided that wouldn’t work. I truly didn’t have the patience or desire to teach another. No. I’d rather go it alone, or with Avalon, of course. I could certainly teach her a few things.

I sipped my tea. Cold. Setting it down, I looked out at the street. The traffic outside my window was quite busy, normal for a late Sunday morning, as everyone was returning from church. Such a devout populace. I had a special loathing for the Church of England, mostly because my brother pretty much created it for the sole purpose to divorce my beloved Catherine.

That fat bastard. I did enjoy watching him die of syphilis, though. He deserved much worse.

Many of these pious people were now heading over to Hyde Park for an afternoon picnic.

Lovely day for it. Perhaps I’d be lucky enough to run into Emily Bainbridge again and make up for my rudeness yesternight.

After all, she was the only sure way back to Avalon.

Just before five, I returned from the park in time to meet Nicholas for tea. He would likely be late, as he usually was, but one must stick with one’s own principals, and I found it quite rude to be late or to keep a guest waiting.

“Cecil,” I called out as I stepped into the foyer. There was no answer. “Cecil!” I shouted, dropping my gloves and bowler on the console. “Where could he be?”

I opened the front door and stepped out with one foot. Thomas was still there with the carriage, polishing the seats. His long leg stretched out the side door while the rest of him was inside the carriage. “Thomas, did Cecil mention anything to you about going out?”

“No, m’lord,” he said, looking out from inside.

“Huh. He’s not answering.”

“Perhaps he’s in the cellar, m’lord.”

“Perhaps. That will be all for a few hours, Thomas. Make sure the carriage is ready for The Wellington tonight.”

“Of course, m’lord. Thank you, m’lord.”

“Cecil!” I called, stepping back into the darkened foyer then closing the door behind me.

Although it was not yet dusk, the light was quite dim. I took a box of matches from the ivory box on the console and lit the oil lamps. Appalling that I must do this myself.

“CECIL!” I shouted loudly and with renewed irritation. Certainly the neighbors heard me with that one. I strode angrily through the parlor back toward the kitchen. He had better be in the cellar. Just as I reached the kitchen, Cecil came in through the back door, breathless.

“Where were you? I’ve been calling!” I demanded.

“Sorry, m’lord. We had run out of biscuits,” he said, holding up a small package. “Not sure how that happened, m’lord, but I thought it best to run out and get some more before Lord Stanton arrives.”

“Of course. It would’ve been disastrous!” I agreed. “Tea without biscuits? Indeed.”

“Thank you, m’lord.”

“Still, there is no excuse for letting us get so low on biscuits, Cecil. It’s a staple.”

“Of course, m’lord. It won’t happen again, m’lord,” Cecil said, head bowed.

“It had better not, Cecil. Now get busy. Nicolas will be here presently.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Cecil set the package down and put the kettle on.

“We’ll take tea on the balcony,” I said and turned to leave him to his duty.

“Yes, m’lord. Very good, m’lord,” he said. I think he felt quite embarrassed about the tangle, as well he should. He was so flushed. He must’ve run all the way to the market and back. Good man, Cecil.

I went up to the dining room to wait for Nicholas to arrive, and I didn’t have to wait long. For a change, Lord Stanton was nearly on time.

“Lord Nicholas Stanton,” Cecil announced him at the door. His color was quite back to normal and his appearance impeccable. Nicholas, on the other had, looked playfully tussled. He must’ve had a nice afternoon!

“Nicholas! Welcome, dear boy. Do come in,” I said, rising to greet him.

“Good day, Arthur. We have much to discuss,” he responded while striding across the floor to the tea table. He grasped my hand firmly, shaking our hellos like the well-bred men we are.

“Indeed,” I said, then to Cecil, “Cecil, the tea?”