Unbitten (28 page)

Because he was drunk, and because he was David, he did not
give up easily. He stood in the hallway, beating on her
door and bellowing. When that didn’t work, he tried
knocking gently and murmuring. He piled on heaps of
flattery that would make the stoniest heart blush and
smile.

But Jo was in the tub, the bathroom door closed, water
running. She didn’t hear a single word.

The bath was not as relaxing as she had hoped, and Jo still
felt jangly and unsettled, so instead of going to bed, she
put on some jeans and a warm jacket, and went out for a
quick walk to clear her head.

Vampire
.

Really?

That man is not going to turn me into a scared little
bunny, she thought. These ridiculous games he’s
playing? Showing up
drunk?
Pfft.

On some nights, Angélique had the Château lit
up extravagantly, but not tonight. Perhaps she figured
it’s too cold for anyone to be outside to see it,
thought Jo, turning up her collar and pulling her hat down
over her ears. Once she had gotten a ways down the path,
the darkness felt almost complete. She could see the
outline of the gravel path because the stones were
light-colored, she could see vague shapes of shrubbery, but
mostly she was aware of what she couldn’t see, and of
the deep forest in front of her.

The grounds did not have the lovely and even joyful feeling
they did during the day, but instead were tenebrous, even
forlorn. The wind was high and biting on her face. Jo kept
walking out of doggedness rather than enjoyment.

She did not hear the crunching on the gravel, the footsteps
behind her. She was busy listening to the clattering of her
own thoughts, dipping and swooping from one thing to
another, unsettled, so that when Pierre, having spotted her
on his way home, veered in her direction with the idea of a
quick breakfast, she was unprepared.

Completely taken by surprise.

“I remember you,” Pierre said into her ear,
after wrapping one arm over her chest from behind, holding
her still, his grip like iron. “We got interrupted
the night we met,” he said.

“Let me go,” said Jo, her voice confident and
strong, no matter her circumstances at the moment.

Even though she had been totally surprised, and Pierre had
the upper hand–to put it mildly–Jo was not
scared. Well, no, she was scared, terrifically scared. But
she did not panic.

Pierre pulled her in to him, so that her backside was
pressed against his crotch and her back against his trunk.
She struggled to get out from under his arm, but quickly
realized that she was totally overpowered.

She would have to think of something else.

“So Pierre,” she said, forcing her voice to
sound friendly, even just at the edge of sultry, but not so
far that he would know she was faking, “tell me,
you’re a vampire, is that right?”

He squeezed her tighter in response, and bent his head to
lick her neck, but her coat was in the way.

“How did you figure that out?” he asked, his
voice hoarse. He grabbed her hip with his other hand, and
spun her around to face him, his hands digging into her
flesh, his fingernails breaking the skin.

“I’m interested in vampires,” said Jo.
“Why do you think I came to the Château?”

He rocked her up against his erection, then pulled away and
looked down at himself. He growled. His fangs shot down and
he bared his teeth so she could see them.

OK, I’m a believer now, Jo said to herself.
I get
it.

“What I’m really interested in,” she
said, making her voice low, “is vampire
manliness,” she said, and put her hand right on his
boner.

Pierre drew his head back in surprise. He looked at Jo
carefully, but as she began slowly to stroke his cock
through his pants, his guard dropped, just a little. He
could not remember the last time anyone had touched him,
willingly.

“What I’d like,” she said, whispering
now, her mouth next to his ear, “is to see it,
Pierre. Will you show it to me?”

Pierre cleared his throat, which felt like it was closing
up. The feel of her hand was like a sensational burning
happiness, like her touch was spreading pleasure all up and
down his penis and then to his whole body.

“Show me your stuff, Pierre,” Jo said, a little
more forcefully, managing to make her voice break a little.
I’m
good
, she thought, all fear gone now.

He took one hand off her, as a test. She did not move. He
gripped her forearm with one hand, and with the other undid
his trousers. With a little moan, he reached in and pulled
out a hard cock big enough to make her gasp for real.

Pierre grinned at her reaction. This is so much better than
forcing it, he thought.

“You smell so good,” she said, inhaling his
scent, which was sort of cinnamony with a hint of
lily-of-the-valley, a sort of confused combination.

“Can I put my hands on you?” she asked.

Pierre nodded, unable to get words out.

First Jo squeezed him and ran her hand up and down, until
she felt Pierre give in to it, felt him relax somewhere
down deep, allowing himself to enjoy what she was doing.

“You like to fuck humans?” she asked.

“Yes,” Pierre managed to croak. “I
don’t know any
labrim
,” he added.
“Females of my own kind, I mean.”

“That’s too bad,” crooned Jo. “Look
at what they’re missing. I’m sure they would
really appreciate you,” she said, slowly squatting
down, and Pierre released his hand from her arm to let her
go, to let her face, her mouth, get closer to where he
desperately wanted it to be.

And then Jo had to decide how far she could go. And she
decided–far. As far as she had to, to get free, to
stay unbitten. She took the head of his cock into her
mouth, and with her other hand gently cupped his balls.

Pierre moaned and let his head drop back, hardly believing
his luck.

Jo gave a hard suck, and in the next instant, she squeezed
his balls harder than she had ever squeezed anything in her
life.

Pierre screamed, and Jo sprang to her feet and leapt back,
out of reach, and then tore down the path, back towards the
Château, not daring to look to see how close he was
behind her.

He was not close. Hapless Pierre was curled up on the
gravel path, holding his balls and whimpering, furious with
himself for letting that human trick him, and furious that
he had been
this close
to a blow job, a real one!
and ended up practically castrated instead.

Tristan and Roland were at the
Lion D’Or,
the best restaurant in the village, lingering over small
plates of flan, having just eaten four courses of
exceedingly good food.

“The problem is,” Tristan was saying,
“that I so dearly love the way they grill a steak
here, that I feel compelled to order it, and never have the
chance to taste anything else. That little pile of
caramelized shallots does me in every time.”

Roland nodded. “It
is
a problem,” he
said. “It is the same for me with the duck
confit
. In fact, whenever I go out, which is
fairly often since as you know I am a bachelor, I order the
duck
confit
. I cannot pass it by. So I am doomed
never to know what other glories I am missing.”

“Exactly,” said Tristan. They had finished the
flan and took sips of their digestifs:
Cointreau
for Roland, and
eau-de-vie
for Tristan.
“So,” he continued. "Shall we have a few words
about our visit to the Château? I admit I feel a bit
torn, Roland. With those stakes in my briefcase, I sort of
yearned for a show-down, a face-off. But perhaps that is
simply the effect of watching too many action movies.

“I would like to know your thoughts,” he said,
taking another sip of his drink and leaning back in his
chair.

Roland furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. He kept
moving the parts of his face around as he thought, which
looked quite comical to Tristan but not so comical that he
couldn’t hide his amusement.

“Well,” said Roland finally. “The
difficulty is that there is no evidence. No evidence of any
outcome, good or bad. We don’t know if Callie
Armstrong went off, continuing her holiday somewhere else,
safe and sound, or whether she…did not. It is
curious that her bags appeared to have been taken after she
was gone, but perhaps there is an explanation for that. It
is possible that she herself returned for them the next
day, and no one happened to see her. It’s not as
though the Château has such tight security as to make
that impossible.”

“True enough.” said Tristan.
“Angélique, you know, is an old school mate of
mine.”

“Yes,” said Roland, grinning. Or possibly
smirking. “You were both some years ahead of me, but
I remember Angélique, absolutely.”

“Yes. Well, so I have known her for years, since we
were children. I cannot believe that if David de la Motte
were routinely drinking out guests and disposing of their
bodies somewhere on the estate, that she would cover for
him. I just cannot believe that of her.”

“But she may not know what he is or is not
doing.”

“Very true.”

The men sipped their drinks. They listened to the few
remaining diners gather up their coats and say their
goodbyes to the daughters of the chef, who did the serving.

“Excuse me for one moment, there is a call I should
have made before now,” said Tristan. He moved quickly
to the door as he pulled out his cell, looking for some
privacy outside in the chilly night air.

Jessica’s number only managed a half-ring before she
was on the line.

“Tristan! I have been so anxious to hear from you!
Tell me what is happening.”

“Not very much, not yet. I am very sorry not to have
called sooner. It was something of a letdown, frankly.
Roland and I spoke to the housemaid and a few guests,we
poked around the cottage where the girl stayed, but we
didn’t find anything.”

“Did David show up?”

“No, no sign of him. But it was daylight, after all.
Besides the housemaid, no one else appeared worried or
bothered,” he said, thinking of Angélique.

“Well, please Tristan, next time don’t keep me
waiting. I was picturing an all-out battle!”

“Oh,
chérie
.”

“If you do have a battle, I want to fight with
you,” she said, her voice husky.

“Yes,” said Tristan. In his voice, his tone, he
said a lot with just that one word. How much he missed her,
how much he wanted her, how much he wanted to be doing all
manner of exciting things with her. And she heard
everything he said with that one
yes
.

“I’m at work, love, and I’m afraid I have
to go back to the meeting I just ran out of with no
explanation,” she said.

“
Je t’aime
,” he said softly.

They stayed on the phone for a few more minutes, not
talking about work or vampires, unable to break the
connection but frustrated, until at last someone came to
find Jessica and she had to hang up.

Long distance love, thought Tristan,
sucks
.

He came back in and settled himself back at the table,
finishing his drink and sighing.

“I’ll tell, you Roland,” said Tristan,
his voice low. "We have no proof that anything at all
happened to Callie Armstrong at the Château. I think
Marie-Louise, the housemaid, is not telling us everything
about her motives for speaking up–I distinctly got
the feeling that she had some sort of crush on David de la
Motte and that he had spurned her advances.

“Or something like that, at any rate. But
nonetheless, I have a persistent feeling that
something
has happened. I have no evidence for
what that might be, and no feeling about it either, only
that we are not talking about a mix-up of schedule and
communication. I am not going to be satisfied until we have
heard from Ms. Armstrong, and she has told us she is all
right.”