Killer Temptation (11 page)

What the hell, Room service?

"Did you stay up all night?" He sounded surprised.

So, it was daytime, not that she could tell, since the only glimmer of light shone from the hideous wall sconces. She spun away, folding her arms across her chest.

"I brought you some food." The harsh tenor of his voice indicated he disliked that her back was to him. The tap of his shoes sounded, drawing closer. The mattress dipped. Maybe he placed the tray down on the bed. A second later his black jacket landed beside her. What was he doing? Undressing? Why? He didn’t think they were going to…

"I'll be in the shower. I suggest you eat and get some rest."

Could that be concern in his tone? Brianna rolled her eyes. He abducted her, kept her in this underground hell… Did that sound like someone who cared?
Of course not
. His footsteps retreated, and she suspected he entered the bathroom when a soft click echoed in her ears. The sound was so simple, yet resembled a choir of angels singing halleluiah. She hadn’t heard him lock the exit door. Brianna swivelled and grinned. A chuckle rumbled in her throat, and she laughed out loud, shaking her head at the unbelievable miracle. Hurrying to the exit, she gripped the handle and swung the door back.

The grin that stretched her mouth withered. Two vampires stood outside. Both in similar gothic-clothes, arms over their chest and eyes slanted.

"What fool do you take our brother for?" The tall one with the darker hair said. A shiver ran through her at his glare. Gosh, how he must hate her. Even his fangs grew over his lip, as though ready to growl and attack her like some wild dog. Brianna stepped back and slammed the door in their faces.

Dammit.
Damn Tristan. Damn the vampires and their underground netherworld. She returned to the edge of the bed and slumped with her arms folded. The tight line of her lips and the firm muscles in her jaw made her face ache. Her raging anger only fuelled the irremovable scowl.

The silver tray atop the bed caught her attention. She lifted the lid. Mash potatoes and steak...or at least meat that looked like beef steak. God knew what they cooked down here. She wrinkled her nose, and put the lid back over the tray. The black jacket lay across the red silk sheets, its quality appearing new compared to its vintage style. Something shiny peeked out from the side pocket. Could that be…

Reaching inside, she withdrew the small device. A mobile phone. Oh my gosh! She punched in Amber’s number and listened for a ring. A funny tune danced down the line and she frowned.

Why won’t it work?
Oh, crap. How could she forget? She was in France. She needed to use a country code before dialling. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed a shut door with the distant sound of running water. Again she tried the number, this time using the correct digits.

A brief silence, then an actual calling tone. “Come on, Amber. Pickup. Please, pickup.”

“Hello,” a voice hesitated on the other line.

“Amber! The spell didn’t work. Tristan is alive and he’s taken me. I’m in
Désuet
. France!”

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Amber? Can you hear me?” She rushed to different corners of the room, hoping to find a spot that better connected them. “I’m in
Désuet
. France. Tristan didn’t die!”

A frustrated sigh sounded down the line. “If this is a prank caller, I’ll be pissed. I didn’t put up those missing posters of my cousin for punks like you to call and make fun of the situation! Now, start talking or I’ll hang up.”

“Don’t hang up. It’s me. I’m in Des—”

The phone was snatched from her hand. Brianna sucked in a breath and spun around.

Tristan held the phone in the air, out of reach. His wide eyes strayed from it, narrowed and fell on her. A shiver rode through her at the dark, foreboding swirl of his irises.

His grip on the phone tightened, knuckles turned stark white. The phone cracked in his fist. Plastic chunks slipped between his curled fingers and clattered to the floor.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Unable to answer, her tight jaw almost slackened and fell open. A brown towel wrapped around his hips. Broad shoulders and a trim waist dotted with water droplets displayed his male beauty. She hadn’t regarded his lack of clothing when he took the phone, too engrossed by the harshness of his face, and the rage in his eyes. But, now she was conscious of every detail. She tilted her chin, determined to ignore the warm tingle between her thighs.

“You bastard.” Her voice low and full of odium. Her only chance at freedom was now gone.

He stalked toward her, and she retreated, stepping back until her legs hit the bed, forcing her to sit.

“You will never try something like that again. Understand?”

The familiar scent of him drifted beneath her nose, driving her fury higher, enveloping and overpowering. She stared at her clenched fists, vision blurred. Her thoughts chagrined.

"You haven't eaten your meal?" he said from across the room. When had he moved? So overwhelmed with powerful emotions she failed to grasp what happened around her.

"I'm not hungry," she said, tone clipped. She dared a glance at him.

Damn my treacherous body
. According to her cousin, tan was just another word for sexy. Gosh, was Amber wrong! Tristan’s pale skin made the Statue of David jealous. She wanted to run her hands up the expanse of his wide chest, glide her fingers over every rope of muscle on his abdomen. She shook her head.

What am I thinking? No, I don’t want to do that.
Without passing her a glance, he took some clean clothes from the large armoire, stormed into the office room, and shut the door. Minutes later, he stepped out wearing a black shirt and pants.

He held a dark coat in one hand, and threw the trench over the wingback chair. His gaze once again ran over the untouched tray beside her. "You must eat something."

She looked away. He didn't deserve an answer.

In three quick strides he stood over her, bent down with his arms on either side of the bed, trapping her. "Eat," he grated out. "Before I force it down your throat."

She gave him what she hoped was a levelled stare. "No."

He straightened, throwing his hands in the air. "Fine, then we shall both starve." With an abrupt shake of his head, he snatched the long, black, double-breasted coat from the chair and stormed toward the door.

What did he mean by them both starving?

The vampire goons standing guard outside didn’t blink at the harsh expression on Tristan’s face as he barged past and slammed the door shut.

Brianna sighed. Fire fuelled her blood, ran through her veins and made her face grow hot. The pumped up anger threatened to explode. She bellowed, taking hold of the silver tray and throwing it across the room. Like a drum cymbal it clattered against the wall. Chunks of mash potato plopped to the floor, gravy dribbled down the rough-edged rock, and the steak lay near the silver dome lid.

Throwing herself on the bed, she hid her face in a plump pillow. Why didn’t he let her go? Could he be so stupid to believe she changed her mind and wanted to stay? If she wanted out of this place, she had to plan an escape. Whatever it took, she’d breakout. That was a promise.

The door clicked in its frame. She raised her head. How long had she lay there, face down in the pillow? Hours? She didn’t dare turn and confront the livid look of Tristan. No doubt he noticed the mess she made. “I’m not cleaning it,” she grated out, pumped-up anger still thrumming through her system.

“Oh, you are one tough cookie,” a female voice teased.

Brianna sat up and turned, her rage dimming a fraction. “Cynthia?”

“You.” The dark-haired beauty strolled toward her. “When Tristan mentioned you, I didn’t think you’d be the same Brianna I’d met.” One shoulder-strap of crumpled organza ran over the front of the dress down to her hips before the full skirt arched out to the floor. The gown, even though beautiful, made her look like a gothic debutante. So different from the sexy red dress she wore at the Annual Armistice Celebration. Cynthia seemed like the type to pull through for a friend in need. After all, at the Armistice Celebration she had helped fix her dress.

“I need your help. Please, help me escape.”

Cynthia bit her lower lip, shaking her head. True pity infused her features. “I can’t do that.”

“Can you at least give me a phone so I can call my cousin?” If only Amber had heard her earlier. Maybe she would put two and two together, but if she couldn’t, then Cynthia was her last hope.

Cynthia shook her head again and pointed toward the door. “The men who were outside are Tristan’s brothers. After being summoned for the conference with the council, they told me to guard the door. If anything, I should stop you from attempting escape.” Her face twisted with regret. “I like you, Brianna. And I wish I could help you, but I’d lose my head if I did what you ask. I’m so sorry, but here, this is for you.” She held out a brown paper bag and bottled water.

Brianna frowned at the bag.

“Tristan says you haven’t eaten. Thought you might be hungry, so I brought you a baguette.”

Her gaze strayed from the food to the woman. “Where is he?” Stupid question, why should she care?

“Tristan? He’s also at the council conference with his brothers.”

Brianna hesitated, taking the paper bag and water. “Thanks.” Hunger made her stomach growl, but refusing to eat angered Tristan. He brought her here against her will and had no intention of letting her leave, so she was more than happy to antagonise him. Since he did not offer the food, resisting was unreasonable. “Where’d you get the sandwich?” she removed the bread roll from the bag, taking a bite. A blend of swiss cheese, smoked ham, tomatoes, lettuce and mayo infused her taste buds.

Oh, so good
. She took a bigger bite, not bothering to savour the sandwich, but satisfying her grumbling stomach.

“Slow down or you’ll choke,” Cynthia warned, reaching for the bottle of water beside the bed. She twisted the cap and handed it over.

Brianna downed a few swigs before devouring the sandwich.

“As for your question, I didn’t know what to get you, but my human friend says the sandwich bar is the best.”

“Wait,” Brianna mumbled between mouthfuls. “Humans live down here? And did you say sandwich bar?”

Cynthia’s long dark hair bounced as she nodded. “Yes, hundreds of humans have done so for centuries. Not even the humans can bear being away from their
moitiés
, and of course vampires cannot go into the light of day, so the humans remain with their loved ones in
Désuet
, and yes,” she laughed, folding her arms over her chest. “I did say a sandwich bar.”

“And these humans survive off sandwiches?”

Cynthia chuckled. “We have a few restaurants down here. Besides, those with a human
moitié
have kitchens in their homes. Every week, a group of humans travel to the local town for fresh groceries.”

Who knew vampires lived so civilised. Amber had said she wanted to visit
Désuet
one day. If under different circumstances, maybe she would have wanted to explore this cave, too.

“Everyone is talking about you. You’re the main gossip.”

“Me?” Brianna asked between mouthfuls. “Why?”

“You’re the first ever unwilling
moitié
. And the fact you tried to kill your other half is absolutely scandalous. The vampires are having a field day with this.”

Incredible. They thought her a damn celebrity. “Look, I don’t know how this whole bonding thing works. But believe me when I say I can’t be Tristan’s
moitié
.”

“This does surprise me. So many women would be honoured to be the
moitié
of a Pure like Tristan.”

Brianna recalled Cynthia mentioning something about Pure and Impure vampires when they met. “A Pure? So that means Tristan would blister in sunlight, right? Or is that the Impure vampires?”

The gleam in Cynthia’s eyes displayed her amusement. “How much do you know about the history of vampires?”

“Nil. My cousin, Amber, is into that stuff, but it’s never interested me.”

“Well, to answer your question, you are right. A Pure, like Tristan, and the majority of the vampire nation do blister in sunlight. There are more Pure vampires than Impures.”

“Why’s that?”

Cynthia sat beside her on the bed. “Over a thousand years ago, a young man named Sylvestre Marcel lost his entire family to an army of Vikings. He sought to protect his village. With the help of witches, he held blood rituals and had his people drink each other’s blood on full moons. He did this to make them powerful and defend themselves against the enemy. Months had passed before the transition, but eventually their strength and speed doubled. After that, they only needed a handful to defeat an entire army. But then the people grew aware of other changes.”

Cynthia tucked a strand of dark silky hair behind her ear. “Half the townsfolk became liable on blood, the other found the urge to run with the moon; these were the first natural vampires and werewolves. The vampires asked the family of witches to correct their mistake with the werewolves, but they were unable, and this angered each of the species. And so began the first feud between werewolves, witches and vampires. The first generation of vampires is what we call Impure, because before the turn, they were human.

Brianna sighed. To think one man’s vengeance started the creation of these beings. For years she knew about the supernatural species and accepted their existence, but she never sought to learn the history or the reason behind what they were and how they came to be.

“As for the Pures,” Cynthia continued. “They are the progenies of two Impures, known as born vampires. Some countries learned of the blood rituals and also participated in the creation of vampires and werewolves. My grandparents are Impures, same as Tristan’s parents. One thing they all have in common was their struggle with the transition, which they have no problem bragging about.” She shook her index finger in the air. “You see, they remind us Pures how lucky we are to not have suffered like them.”