Last Bitten (The Emerald Night Series) (6 page)

Bruce kept his eye on the road.

“Answer me right now
. I can’t believe this.” Nia held up the ring so Bruce could see it in the rearview. “Answer me now or I toss this out the window, this BIG ring, I’ll toss it.”

Bruce remained silent
.

“That’s it!” Nia pushed the window button, but nothing happened
. “I’ll smash this window out with my bare fists. I know I can. I know I’m strong. I can feel it inside. I feel different. I know this.”

“Just relax
. We’re almost there.” Bruce turned off the freeway, down the curling exit ramp through quiet, plush, rural streets.

“Johnny lives in Bellevue?”
Nia asked, overloaded by the allure.

They drove down an isolated street
, packed with mega-expensive waterfront homes.

“And he’s neighbors with Bill Gates?”

Bruce smiled. “Johnny’s is further down. And the ceremony isn’t there. It’s . . . well, we don’t need to get into that yet.”

Nia
ogled the ring again and held it loosely on her index finger. It was a heavy sucker, and she wasn’t prepared to put it on quite yet—didn’t feel right about it for some unknown reason. It was a gut-niggling thing. She wanted to try it on and was certainly tempted to, thinking about Johnny again, the way he danced with her, held her, kissed—so intimate, like he loved her, had loved her forever—
but I’ve never met him till that night. This makes no sense. The sex was so cold with him.

After checking in with a gate guard, the magic began
. Through packed pines, down a slick, black road, they arrived at a home unlike any other in that part of the city. The mansion was built like a modern-day castle: dark-grey exterior, conical black spires on the four corners, green passion vine cascading over the very large archway . . . but not a single window in sight. It was set back a ways from Lake Washington, but still allowed for direct access to the water. The odd guard dressed in attack-black, surveying the grounds and the upper ramparts.

Nia
clicked the ring back into its pretty box and exchanged her fancy of it for the fancy of the castle. She exited the car just as Bruce handed her a heavy, woolen blanket to hide her red lingerie.

“This way,” he said
.

There were no words for her sense of wonder
.

The large
, heavy, black-iron portal doors slid open, as though weightless. A female butler in a feminine fitted tux set with a red bowtie showed them into the gothic heaven. It was a place for kings and queens. Red-crystal chandeliers illuminated the dark ensemble of red carpets, baroque-style arches, and black walls with a majestic center staircase that led up to the upper-level balcony.

Nia knew they were going up and away
, and they did. Upon hitting the upper level and making a left down the red-candlelit hall, the butler offered Nia a gold chalice, expectantly placed on black-marble table with marble legs adorned in carved cherubs. Nia took the cup and drank, peering in at the dark liquid.

“Blood?” s
he asked.

The butler nodded
.

“Drink
,” Bruce insisted. “You must keep up, for the night ahead will be busy and you will be tested.”

“Tested? What now?
I thought this was a done deal.” Nia drank and enjoyed the sweeter flavor, tinted with a hint of mint. “Refreshing.”

“I stay here
. You go up with Florence; she’ll introduce you to your coffin room.”

The stairs
spiraled up; Nia followed the blonde bombshell, realizing she hadn’t uttered a single word.

“Are we in one of the towers?” Nia asked
, gripping the ring box in one hand and the chalice in the other.

Florence opened the
heavy, red door with a single white calla lily carved dead center. It looked real. Nia stroked the smooth curves then entered to find the room filled with real calla lilies. She gasped. “How does Johnny know I love these?” She looked to Florence, who had disappeared off into a walk-in closet on the right. Nia flopped onto the silkiness of the bedding on the cherry-wood, four-poster bed. It was obviously centuries old; she could feel it speak. Memories of something flashed in her mind, something bad—pain. She jumped back up.”Where’s the coffin?”

Florence pointed to the large mirror that hung on the left side of the room
.

“What
, you don’t speak? What is it?” Nia asked, leery of the silence.

Florence shook her head no
.

“Why not
? Wait staff banned from talking?”

Florence shook her head no and looked down as if ashamed
.

“I’m sorry
. I don’t mean to pry. I guess I never thought that you were mute. I’m sorry if I offended you in any way.”

Florence nodded then signed something with her hands
.

“Oh
, I . . . I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know ASL.” Nia shrugged palms open as they both stood in front of the large, silver, antique mirror. “I guess I’ll have to learn.”

Florence reached a hand out to her
, took Nia’s hand and held it, then opened her mouth. Nia backed up in shock. “You have no tongue?”

Florence nodded and smiled sadly
.

“Should I ask how that happened? I mean, you could write for me
.”

Florence nodded no
, then took Nia’s hand again this time cupping it in her own. Florence nodded and closed her eyes, then motioned for Nia to do the same.

A s
cene unraveled in Nia’s conscious, like she’d flashed back fifteen years. She saw a young, ethereal woman framed in long, sleek, white-blonde hair that just barely touched the white marble floor. The woman held a pair of scissors, inching slowly but surely toward her. Nia felt her arms tied, all the while drowning in an awful sense of fear and hatred.

Nia let go in shock
and covered her face. “She cut out your tongue?”

Florence nodded again
, the hurt in her hazel eyes.

“Because you broke her favorite vase? I just don’t get that
. Who is this woman? That is so awful— You don’t ever need to worry about me doing something like that, okay?” Nia gave Florence a hug, feeling the middle-aged woman’s anguish and mortality. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Nia
deeply felt Florence’s pain. This new ability to connect with others was strange, to say the least. In their embrace, Nia also knew that Florence hadn’t touched another person in many years. Why she had touched Nia just now, Nia wasn’t sure. They had instantly bonded.

Nia
pointed back at the mirror. “Am I missing something?”

Florence smiled and pressed
on the left side of the mirror. It swung open and another set of stairs led up into the top spire itself. The room was very small, and a coffin lay upon the floor—a single lily carved upon the silver lid. On the other side of the coffin, another set of stairs went straight down.

“Wow,” said Nia, bending for a closer look
. “I don’t know about this . . . I don’t think I can sleep in there. I mean I know the routine. I’ve seen the movies. It’s just not me really, but that bed . . . can I sleep there?”

Florence gave her a serious look
, nodding towards the shining casket.

“Seriously
.”

Nodding
yes and gesturing for Nia to follow, as she moved, Florence hurried back down the stairs into the walk-in closet. She could hear rustling and then Florence emerged with a massive, emerald-green, basque-styled gown with an emerald-beaded corset. The skirt flounced out in many layers of tulle.

It was enough t
o send Nia begging for a hot shower.

What am I doing? What am I doing? This isn’t real. I’m not a slave to the night. I’m just not. I’m not one of them. I don’t even know this Johnny, and I’m married to him just because I said yes, in a club, drunk out of my wits? We’re not married—not really. This whole thing is farce. I’m deranged. Of all the things I have done in my life . . . What’s wrong with me? This dress, this ring, everything. Oh my God—Johnny. What have you done to me? What are you doing to me?

“A bit of the wedding jitters?”

“I guess,” said Nia, watching the only constant in her world—the moon—and even it changed night to night.
Maybe nothing was constant.

“It’s normal
. Don’t fret.”

“I am fretting
, if that’s what you want to call it, Bruce. You have me locked in this room in this unknown location with nothing, but what?—this odd circular window to glare out, and I just don’t really get what in the exact heavens in going on. I have to just walk down the aisle in front of a bunch of bloodsucking strangers?”

“
Yes,” said Bruce. He had redressed in an all-black, Dupioni silk tux.

“Y
ou are one of them too. I didn’t notice before, but I do now in this awful, quiet room. You just fed too . . . while I was getting ready, right? Who was it? Some innocent?”

Bruce raised one serious
-bushy, silver brow. “You are going to walk down that aisle. You know you want to.” He winked. “You’ve always known. You just don’t remember.”

“See
, now you are playing games, messing with my mind. None of this is happening.” Nia closed her surly eyes, folded her arms, and leaned her head on the window glass. Her mind felt just as tight as her gothic hairdo—just one black strand left to escape over her ivory cheek. Still holding the emerald ring, she exhaled over the prison of the laced-up corset.

The iron door swung open
.

“It’s time
. Bring her.”

Surprised, Nia stared
at the
woman standing in the doorway. She had long, sleek, white-blonde hair that just barely touched the black-marble floor and wore a tight, black-crystal gown that hid all of her skin except her bursting décolletage. Nia’s dark heart sank at the sight of this stunning creature, remembering what she had done to Florence . . . and God knows what else.

The woman smiled at her warmly like she already knew Nia’s thoug
hts. “I am Emelle. I am your maid of honor. Bruce is the best man, if you hadn’t already figured that out.”

“I am Nia
, if you haven’t already figured that out.” Nia dropped her hands on her hips

“Ah ah ah
hhh . . .” Emelle chastised Nia, waving a long, black nail at her, then she snuck up behind Bruce and pressed her chest into his back. “We have a biter here. She’ll fit right in, won’t she, Bruce?” He took a step forward and away from Emelle, whose arms dropped to match the melancholy of her pouted, purple lips and sad, purple eyes. “He’s waiting. They are all waiting. We can make bosom acquaintances later, yes?”

Nia di
dn’t answer, but felt a sense of urgency which stuck her straight in the chest. “Let’s do this.”

The three stood in the doorway, Nia in t
he center, the other two holding her arms. The room ahead was long, narrow, and dark. Green swirls of light danced along the walls like the aurora borealis, and the original Pachelbel’s Canon D sang through theirs, into their hearts, pulling at all the empty, black souls who packed the rows. If it was only for a minute the crowd felt what it was to be human again, touched by violin and harpsichord kisses.

A single tear ran down Nia’s cheek
when she saw Johnny in his all-emerald tux, standing front and center before the ebony, happy cherubs and calla-lilied alter. She knew right there and then in that single moment that she knew Johnny; she’d always known him. She still didn’t know why . . . just that this was the right thing to do—to walk down that aisle into the arms of the only man she’d ever loved.

My Nia
.

His eyes flashed her that passionate green
, and the ring warmed in her hand as if it had a mind of its own.