Unbitten (35 page)

Pierre’s fangs were throbbing. He grinned and walked
over to the girl, who was disheveled, dressed all in black
with numerous extraneous buckles and chains that clattered
when she moved. Her eyes were heavily made-up, dark, so
that to Pierre they looked like deep bottomless pools with
flashes of light deep within. Her dyed-black hair was not
anything the French girls in Mourency went in for, but he
loved it immediately, wanting to touch the spikes, run his
fingers through the green streaks, and rub his face on the
buzz-cut side.

He got close to her, his nostrils dilating, cock beginning
to harden, fangs pulsing painfully. He growled a low growl.

Roxanne looked up into Pierre’s face. “Oh my
fucking God,” she said, sarcastically.
“It’s a French bloodsucker.”

Pierre laughed. Now he understood what the tingle had been
about. This black-haired vixen was that rarest of creatures
(in Mourency at least)–a
labri
. He could not
believe his luck.

“
Mademoiselle
,” he said, making a
small bow, playing a role for her. “Allow me to
welcome you to our small village.”

Roxanne threw her bag upside down and began studying the
wheel mechanism, ignoring Pierre completely, which made his
fangs throb even more.

“Let me help you,” he said, dropping his
role-playing voice. He put his hands on her waist and
lifted her up and placed her to one side as though she were
a small package slightly in the way. He pulled a crumpled
bit of paper out from under the wheel and shoved it in his
pocket.

“It will work now,” he said, flipped the bag
back over and testing it.

Roxanne stood with her arms crossed, considering Pierre. He
was big, and he was strong, and she did like that French
accent.

He smiled at her, letting her see his fangs.
“Let’s go have a drink, shall we?” he
said. “You must be thirsty after all your traveling,
yes?”

She did a double take. Was this vampire she had just met
offering to let her suck from him? That had never, ever
happened to Roxanne before. Not in the small city she had
grown up in, not in New York once she moved there. It was a
constant struggle to find any drinking security at all
exactly because offers like this were so very rare.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“What’s in it for you, Froggie?”

Pierre hesitated. “I’ve never done it before. I
mean, let a
labri
…” he said, feeling
shy. “I don’t know, I’ve never done it,
as I just said, but I like the idea of it. If you want
to,” he added.

“Where can we go?” asked Roxanne, her thirst
doubling now that she had a prospect for slaking it.

“My place,” said Pierre, and dragged
Roxanne’s bag behind him as he started on the way to
his hayloft.

Jo rode with Thierry in the truck, which was pulling the
very swank trailer that Drogo traveled in. Thierry was, of
course, very understanding and supportive of her
performance, which made her feel even worse.

“Just yell at me!” she said. “Really!
Just yell and scream and tell me how much I sucked and how
I don’t deserve to walk into a barn where Drogo lives
and how I should go back to shoveling manure so I can have
some lessons and learn how to ride!”

“What are you babbling on about,” Thierry said
mildly. “Check the map, please, the
GPS
seems to be cockamamie again.”

She checked the map and directed him onto the proper
autoroute to get them back to Mourency in about four hours.

They stopped at the French version of a truck stop diner
and ate a three course meal, wine included. Midway through,
Jo could not contain herself a second longer, and excused
herself to go outside and try to phone Marianne.

No answer. Jo almost texted her about the disqualification,
and about the kiss with Henri, but decided to wait until
she could hear Marianne’s voice. As much as she loved
France, and living at the Château, sometimes her
loneliness for Marianne was acute.

She went back in to finish the meal.

“This stew is maybe the best thing I’ve ever
eaten,” she said to Thierry, dipping her spoon in for
another mouthful of soft, flavorful meat and glossy
carrots.

“Do not say this to Marcel,” Thierry answered
with a grin.

“Never!” agreed Jo. She had become so fond of
Thierry, and he seemed like the sort of man to have many
children who all adored him; she had been wondering for
awhile why that was not so. Before she could stop herself,
she said, “So, Thierry, you’ve never mentioned
a wife. If it’s not too nosy, or, well, it
is
too nosy, but tell me anyway! Why aren’t
you married?”

Thierry crinkled his eyes at her. "I would like to tell you
it’s a long story, and then we could push our chairs
back and have some more wine and I could relate it to you.
But the truth is, Jo, that I am not married simply because
I never found anyone I wanted to marry. It’s that
simple.

“The village is small, as you know. And I am quite
self-sufficient. I suppose there are times…”
he looked off, through the window, at the traffic whooshing
by on the autoroute. “…there are times when I
wish it were otherwise. But overall, my life with the
horses is a good one, and I do not spend time on
regrets.”

Jo nodded. The marvel is that anyone ever finds anyone and
it works out, she thought.

The next day, Jo spent time at the stable with Thierry,
keeping equipment in good order and cleaning up. They joked
and laughed while they did the mindless work of polishing
and sweeping and saddle-soaping leather, which helped keep
Jo’s mind off of Henri.

Because…
that kiss
. As intense as the
chemistry had been between her and David, the kiss with
Henri was in an entirely different category. There was
chemistry, oh yes. But it was chemistry on top of
friendship–a whole new thing for Jo. She found
herself thinking dreamily about him, and then stopping
short, and telling herself no. way. was she going to allow
herself to get involved with the other brother. It was time
she admitted her man-radar was seriously damaged. Maybe
after a few years of therapy, she could try again. Or, you
know, just forget the whole thing.

She shivered to remember how it had felt after David bit
her, how she had felt practically lifeless, drained of her
spark. It’s always been that way with me and men, she
thought. My father, Hugo, David–vampire or no
vampire, I let them suck me dry.

Back at the Château, she spent a long time in the
bath, after filling the tub all the way up so she could lie
on her back and float, the scent of Albert’s special
bath salts soothing her overexcited body. She dressed
quickly for dinner, looking forward as always to whatever
Marcel had concocted for the evening. She noticed that the
idea of running into David, or even having dinner at the
same table with him, didn’t bother her in the least.

It was like she had been under a spell, and the spell had
broken.

Thierry had already discussed the disqualification with
David, so she didn’t have to be the one to tell him.
But even that no longer mattered. Jo had finished feeling
sorry for herself and was already thinking about the next
show. David didn’t worry her.

Once in the dining room, she looked for Henri, but he was
not there. He never seems to eat, thought Jo, digging into
her dinner with gusto. Lamb stew, the most delicate of
dishes in Marcel’s hands, and she closed her eyes to
concentrate on the perfect melding of flavors. She could
practically feel her belly singing with happiness.

Towards the end of the meal, as Jo was still sitting alone
and waiting to see what the dessert course would bring,
Henri appeared in the doorway. He stood still, meeting her
eyes, with a questioning expression on his handsome face.
She felt herself tense up and relax at the very same time.
She wanted to run to him and away from him, in equal
measure.

He glided through the other tables and sat down next to
her.

“So….” he said.

“So….” she said.

They both laughed. Henri thought that the music of her
laughter was absolutely the best thing in the world. It
made him feel like anything was possible.

“I hope you are not still worrying over the horse
show,” he said, in the back of his mind wondering
when or how he was going to tell her that the
disqualification was his fault, not hers.

“Not at all,” she said. “Next
time!”

He nodded. “I am happy to hear it. Now, I have a
favor to ask,” he said, seriously.

“Yes, Henri?”

“Will you come with me, to meet my parents? I will
explain along the way,” he said.

“Of course I will,” said Jo, giving a longing
glance to the kitchen, and her abandoned dessert, on the
way out of the dining room.

Henri led her outside to the entrance to the dungeon, and
explained some of what Jo would find once they got there.

“They are very old,” he said. “And they
must live where they do because light and sound are quite
painful for them. Their lives are pathetic, really. I try
to visit at least once a week, but I think you’ll
understand once we get there–I hate it. I’m
asking you to come not for them, but for me. Your being
there will make it less…dark.”

Jo was game. But she had no idea what she was in for. After
she and Henri had gone down and down the multiple
staircases, and then the long pitch-black corridor, with
Henri talking the whole time about his parents and their
unpredictable states of mind, she thought she was prepared.
But what can prepare you for the sight of two wizened old
people, who looked every bit of their 400 plus years, one
of whom was crying for help and the other…well, that
one? His eyes were glowing in the darkness like something
out of a horror movie.

“Good evening, Henri,” his father had said, his
voice chilly and agitated. “What have you brought me?
She looks delicious.” And
le Seigneur
had
reached towards Jo as though she were a chocolate being
offered to him on a plate.

“I present to you my friend, Jo,” said Henri.
“Is it Joanna?” he asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” Jo whispered back. She was holding on to
Henri’s hand for dear life.
Le Seigneur
was
looking at her with such…appetite. She had never
been looked at like that in her life, and it was seriously
creepy. And frightening.

His mother was curled up in her armchair, silent, and then
bursting out with a horribly mournful cry, “I
couldn’t help it!” she would say, dragging out
the syllables, and then fall silent again, not moving.

The smell in the room was wrong. It was not the smell of a
nursing home, which Jo remembered from visiting her
grandmother when she was a child. She couldn’t say
what it was. Probably some weird French air freshener, she
thought hopefully.

Le Seigneur
never took his eyes off Jo. She saw
him touching his tongue to the tips of his teeth, running
it back and forth. His eyes kept flaming up, a ring around
his irises seeming to catch fire.

She had no doubt, none at all, that he was a vampire. The
mother, she was not so sure. And Henri? Did he have
something important to tell her?

Jo felt certain that Henri would not have brought her here
if she were in danger, so she did her very best to get
control of her fear. Henri needed her
strength–imagine having parents like this? They made
her own look like paragons of normalcy!–and her
strength was what she was going to give him.

Henri spent the visit talking calmly with his parents, as
he always did, first holding Jo’s hand, then snaking
an arm around her waist. It made being there much, much
less of a horror, for both of them. Jo began to talk to
Antoinette, using the same voice she used when gentling a
young horse, realizing that the words she said didn’t
matter, it was what she communicated in her tone that the
old woman would respond to. Henri once again admired
Jo’s courage–nothing seemed to faze her.