Her Devoted Vampire (9 page)
Read Her Devoted Vampire Online
Authors: Siobhan Muir
Not my fault
.
As she
finished the water, she noticed a little blue plastic tube standing upright next
to the plate. Curious, she picked it up and read the small print carefully.
arnica
HOMEOPATHIC
MEDICINE
ACTIVE INGREDIENT:
listed above.
USE:
for
self-limiting condition listed below or as directed by a physician.
WARNING: DO NOT USE
if pellet dispenser
seal is broken.
There were other warnings, but she
skipped them to read what it was supposed to treat.
TRAUMA, BRUISES, MUSCLE SORENESS
She’d certainly experienced all
that in the last few hours. She shook the tube and listened to the rattle of
the pellets inside. Skeptical, she wondered if it had been made just to keep
her complacent; but the seal remained unbroken, and the tube looked official. Of
course, given the decorations she’d seen in the house on her way out, Mr.
MacGregor and company had enough money to make anything for their own purposes.
Breaking the seal, she sniffed at
the contents, but nothing came to her nose. She rattled the tube again and considered
her options. On the one hand could be pain relief and rest. On the other could
be pliability and submissiveness to whatever he chose to do to her. She cocked
her head to one side thoughtfully. Any rape with her would be pretty pathetic
if the drug made her so pliant. She didn’t want to be raped, but if she felt ambivalent
about it, it really didn’t constitute rape. All she had to do was not care.
Yeah, right. And how do I get myself not to care?
Bridget debated for a while until she heard a gentle knock
at the door. Shaking her head, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She
supposed she could tell whoever it was to go away, but if she truly wanted to
get out of this place she needed the door unlocked
. The
memory of the deadbolt sliding home made her shiver.
“May I
come in?”
Bridget opened
her eyes to see Cynthia hesitating on the threshold. The black haired woman held
some clothing folded neatly into a compact pile.
“How are
you feeling?” She crossed the room, setting the clothing down on the bed. “You
haven’t touched any of your food. Aren’t you hungry?”
Bridget’s
mind was still stuck on the first question.
“Why
haven’t you eaten anything? Do you think it’s poisoned?”
“Poisoned?”
Good God, she hadn’t even considered that, but it made sense. “Whyever would I
think anything like that? It isn’t as if you’ve held me here against my will or
locked me in or anything. Oh, wait. You did, didn’t you?”
“I heard
that you left the house last night.” Cynthia continued as if Bridget hadn’t
spoken at all. “I’m impressed. I can’t imagine you were feeling very well after
what happened to you in
I guess we underestimated you.”
“Is that
why you locked me in here?”
“What
are you talking about?”
“The
door. Didn’t you notice it was locked?”
“I
thought you wanted your privacy.”
“Oh,
yeah, like I have a key to this place. Why would I have locked myself in when I
was trying to get out last night?”
“Usually
when humans realize they’re dealing with inhuman creatures and they can’t get
away, they barricade themselves in some sort of structure.” Cynthia shrugged. “I
assumed you understood what you were dealing with and hid in your room out of
desperation.”
This woman’s insane
.
“And
locked it from the outside?” Bridget snorted. “Are you suggesting I buy into
this delusion about werewolves and vampires?”
Cynthia
sighed. “Unfortunately for you, it’s not a delusion. However, I can guarantee
the food is fresh, organic and safe. I’d be able to smell any poison in it.”
“You
sound like you expect me to believe you, but you’re one of my captors. Hard to
believe someone who won’t let me leave.”
Cynthia
laughed. “You’re right. I wouldn’t believe me, either, with that perspective.
But I give you my word as a woman and a Luna that the food is safe and will
help you replenish the energy you’ve used healing the wounds in your side and
your shoulder.”
“My
shoulder?” Bridget narrowed her eyes. “How do you know about my shoulder?”
“Fredrick
left me a note.”
Of course he did.
Then her
curiosity got the better of her.
“What’s
a luna?”
Cynthia
cocked her head to one side just like a curious dog. “Tell you what. I’ll trade
you that information for you telling me who you are.”
Bridget
groaned and shook her head. “I don’t understand what the big deal is! My name
is Bridget Shanahan, and I’m a project manager for a company in
“That’s
just your cover story to hide among the humans. I want to know who you really
are.”
“What
are you talking about?”
Cynthia
looked at her a moment with consideration, then tilted her head back and took a
deep breath in through her nose. “You smell like an autumn pine forest with the
bitter tang of frustration for flavor. Humans don’t normally smell like that.
In fact, they usually smell like raging pheromones, sweat, fear, and primate.”
She bit her bottom lip with an especially sharp looking tooth. “You don’t know,
do you?”
“Don’t
know what?”
“That
you’re not completely human.”
Bridget
opened her mouth to protest, but Cynthia held up one hand. “I know you think
you’re human, but my nose tells me different. Werewolves are especially good at
determining scents, and each species has basic scents that identify us. You
don’t smell like anything I have ever encountered before. And that list
includes Faeries, trolls, vampires, werewolves, dryads, goblins, and the Water
folk.”
Bridget
groaned. “Faeries and goblins, too? I feel like I’ve landed in the Lord of the
Rings.”
“You’re
none of those, but you’re not completely human. You have some human scents, but
not the basic ones, which makes me wonder what your ancestry is. Where were you
born?”
“What does
that have to do with anything?”
Cynthia
sighed and turned to go. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I’ll leave you alone
if you prefer your solitude.”
Chagrin
at her bad manners smacked Bridget hard. “I’m sorry. I’m just really confused
about everything. I don’t understand what you’re telling me because it just
seems so fantastic. Please, don’t leave. I’d rather have company if you’re all
so determined to keep me here.” She gestured to the end of the bed.
Cynthia’s
smile filled with smug amusement, and Bridget realized she’d been manipulated,
but she really did want someone to talk to, however off the wall. The black
haired woman sat on the bed, folding her hands in her lap as she waited
expectantly.
Bridget snorted. “I was born in
“Did you
live there long?”
“No, my
dad got a job in
so we moved up there soon after I was born.”
“Did you
spend all your time in the city?”
Bridget
frowned. What did it matter? “No, every summer, we rented a cabin in a little
town on the Upper Peninsula near
Those
summers were the best time in Bridget’s family history. Her father hadn’t been
so drunk and stressed all the time, and she’d met her best friend, Kate
Blackamber. Kate had lived with her great aunt after her parents died. They’d
been peas in a pod and spent as much time together as possible. Their friendship
had bloomed and solidified even after Bridget stopped visiting
“What’s your
dam’s name?”
“My
what?”
“Sorry,
your mother’s name.”
“Abigail
Colleen Shanahan, why?”
“What
was her last name before she got married?”
Bridget
frowned, trying to remember. “I think her last name was Cymru.”
Cynthia’s
head came up and her nostrils flared. “Cymru, as in “
it “khoom-ree”.
“I
guess. I don’t know Gaelic.”
What is she
getting at?
“What
was her mother’s name?”
“I don’t
know. Gramma never came to see us, and we never visited her. Mom didn’t talk
much about her. Why?”
Cynthia
grinned just like a kid who’d grabbed the brass ring on a carousel.
“There’s
a legend I’ve heard that talks about the Goddess of the Gaels taking human form
periodically and giving birth to children in hopes those children will help the
human race restore the balance of nature.”
Bridget
raised an eyebrow. In her experience, humans didn’t give a damn about nature
unless it stopped them from getting where they wanted to go or doing what they
wanted to do.
“Each
country has a bloodline stemming from the Goddess, and those from the Welsh
line came from the Cymru Clan, Cymru meaning
guess you’re descended from one of the Cymru Clan, which would explain why you
don’t smell human, but more like a pine forest. You aren’t completely human if
your grandmother was, or rather is, the Goddess.”
“Whoa! Hold
on here.” Bridget shook her head as she put both hands out to forestall any
other weird pronouncements. “Trust me, I’m human enough. My parents were ordinary,
dysfunctional people. My dad was a drunk, and my mother is a normal,
guilt-driven Catholic woman who prefers her men manipulative and abusive. Why
would the child of the Goddess, if there is such a being, put up with my asshole
father until his death? If she was so special, wouldn’t she have raised my
brothers and me with knowledge of our birthright?”
“You
said she was a normal, guilt-ridden Catholic. Perhaps she fell out of favor
with her Mother and turned her back on her heritage.” Cynthia shrugged. “The
Catholic religion did a number on the druids and the ‘nature-lovers’, as they
were called. I can only guess, but it sounds like your mother was trying to
hide her ancestry and abilities.”
“What
abilities? The only abilities my mother had were making her children feel awful
and getting in the way of my father’s fists,” Bridget said bitterly. “There was
no magic, no spiritual pursuits other than Catholicism, and certainly no escape
except alcohol. It’s a wonder my brothers and I even survived to adulthood.”
“Are you
a Catholic?”
Bridget
snorted. “I gave up Catholicism for Lent one year, and by the time Lent was
over, it didn’t seem all that worthwhile to pick back up again. I never was
into the whole ‘guilt-by-birth’ thing. Sin doesn’t get handed down to us like
an inheritance.”
She
stopped before she got going too much. The old argument she’d had with her
brothers, who
practiced Catholicism,
still irked her. She didn’t need to tell a perfect stranger, and a delusional
one, she’d never felt comfortable worshiping the graphic displays of Jesus’s
suffering to get a free pass to a paradise. All bets were off if sex happened before
marriage, which meant she’d lost her free pass years ago.
“My
brothers and I have agreed to disagree about Catholicism,” she said at last. “I
won’t even talk to my mother about it. She goes into this whole ‘Hellfire and
Brimstone’ rant that would make you think she’s Southern Baptist.”
Cynthia gave
her a compassionate look. “Did you ever feel good as a child? You know,
comfortable and happy some place, as a kid?”
“Yeah,
those summers in
just sit in the cleared meadows and fields, telling stories and weaving flower
crowns.”
Cynthia
smiled and sniffed again. “Wow, you smell really good, like the forest after a
hard rainstorm or a meadow of cherry trees in the spring when the blooms come
out.”
“Stop,”
Bridget said with a frown. “Why do you keep sniffing at me like that?”
“Two
reasons, actually.” Cynthia winked. “The first is werewolves are very similar
to their canine counterparts, and smelling everything tells us a lot about
what’s really going on. And second, I know it annoys the hell out of you, which
makes you smell more like a forest fire, all hot, smoky, and singed.”
“You’re
so weird,” Bridget said after a moment, but Cynthia’s grin was infectious. “I’m
not going to break you of this delusion, am I?”
“’Fraid
not, m’dear,” Cynthia told her cheerfully. “Nor Fredrick, either.” Then her
smile faded. “I’m not sure why your door was locked, though.”
