She would be alone with him. She hadn’t thought of that—or had she thought of that? Shawna blinked the answer away. She didn’t want to know what her libido was thinking. She already knew what her body was feeling, and it was too dangerous to contemplate. If libido and body got together, it was all over…
She cleared her throat and asked, “You mean she manages this whole place herself?”
He laughed. “She manages the rules and regulations at Darby, and has a team at her disposal at all times, but she won’t allow anyone but herself to prepare my meals. She always leaves me something, and it is enough for an army.”
“So…none of your help…live here...on the premises?”
He grinned wickedly. “That’s right, lass. At the ding dong of six, we will be here all alone…”
As though on cue, the library mantle clock
ding donged
that it was the hour in question. They both looked at the clock and then brought their heads around when Chad’s lively housekeeper knocked at the open library door.
“Mrs. Wunkly…come in—meet my guest, Ms. Shawna MacBay,” Chad said at once, his hand outstretched and his smile affectionate for his small, plump housekeeper.
~ Eleven ~
PENTIM RAWLEY SURVEYED his new surroundings with satisfaction. He enjoyed opulence, but more than that, the old mansion reminded him of his early days, before he had become a vampire. He had been a pauper with very little to recommend him, but now…all that was changed.
He liked the Old Italian gothic-styled structure to which he and his clan had recently relocated, and he was openly proud of all that he was—all that he owned.
Everything in the mansion appeared to be infused with gold gilt. The mirrors, the lighting fixtures on the wall, and the frames of many of the classical artworks—all gold trimmed.
The furniture for the most part was a series of reproductions from the seventeenth century. He liked the rich brocades of the bright upholstery. Indeed, his new estate in the northern mountains of Italy would do very well. So would an occasional tourist…
In fact, he could still taste the ones they had enjoyed last night. However, now he had to interview his little Clara, for she had sent a message that she was in his parlor awaiting him.
He knew that she thought a great deal of herself, but he was, in his way, growing slightly fond of her. Of all his gifted vampires, she alone had come up with some viable information on the half-human daughter he sought. He knew now three things he had not known before.
His daughter was no longer in Washington State. He also was now certain that she knew he was looking for her. And she was going to a great deal of trouble to hide herself from him.
Clara had tracked his half-human daughter by her scent. That was Clara’s special ability. She could, after weeks, even a month, pick up on the scent of the thing/or person she was tracking. However, it was a great big world, and finding his daughter on her scent alone was next to impossible. They needed more information.
He had given it all a great deal of thought. The girl’s mother could have been the pretty Rachel, the one human that had gotten away from him, the one whose name he had learned after she ran from him. He was sure that the pretty Rachel would have needed help. His lair had access to many avenues of escape: the city, or perhaps Long Island, could have been her immediate destination when she fled.
Rachel would have been weak—she would have needed someone to care for her. Would she have called her parents? Who of his own clan had been at the club that final night when he had taken her to his place?
He would interview some of his clan regarding that night. Perhaps one of them might remember something.
He straightened his dark gray sweater over his black T-shirt, smoothed his black silk pants, and walked over to the fireplace, where low-burning embers warmed his white cold skin.
He had enjoyed the pretty Clara on a few occasions, but he always wondered if she were capable of real loyalty to him. He knew that she felt very little, if anything, for him. With Clara, it was all pretense. He knew she wasn’t really taken with him.
So few of his clan were sincerely loyal—perhaps only one, his lieutenant, WB, was loyal to him. They all served him because he made them stronger as a unit. They served him because it served them to do so…and they were afraid of the consequences of betraying him. None knew who would forfeit the other for a better position in the clan.
The door opened and Clara glided inside. She had a knack for the darkly gothic flare. Her hair was presently the color of red-hot flames, cut short and spiked. She wore a black halter made of silk, and it was very revealing. Black leather shorts adorned her pretty bottom. Black sandaled feet walked right smack up to him with more self-assurance than he knew she really felt. Her hand went to Pentim’s hip and slid down over his thigh. Her darkly painted lips nibbled at his neck. He allowed her the moment.
He took off her halter in one movement and fondled her.
One of his male clan members happened in at that moment and stopped short, but before the white-haired, odd-looking vamp started to back out, Pentim stopped him. “Wrecker…what do you think of these?” He massaged Clara’s full breasts as he pointed them at the surprised vamp.
His name was Wrecker for an ugly reason. He had the reputation of choosing families, going in and slaughtering them more for fun than for blood. He went towards Clara, sensing Pentim’s mood.
Pentim sneered at him. Both Clara and Wrecker were watching him, waiting to see what he would do. “Exquisite, sire.” Wrecker inclined his head and decided to play it safe.
“They are, aren’t they?” He held her breast and squeezed…hard, smiling when she flinched. He saw the streak of worry cross her face. “What have you to report, darling?”
“I think I might have someone…a newbie vamp in New York…that remembered her because of her scent.”
“And how did he know what scent it was you were looking for?”
“I—I…” Clara eyed him tentatively. “…had your…sweater with me.”
“Did I give you permission to take my sweater and allow anyone to…er…sniff at it?” He displayed his fangs, exhibiting his displeasure.
“No, sire, but…”
He bent his head, and without warning bit her harshly. He knew his bite was much more painful than she allowed him to see, because he bit her breast, just above her pretty dark nipple. Clara’s body convulsed, but she made no sound. She knew if she weren’t careful, he would kill her now.
Suddenly Pentim’s head came up. He glared at Wrecker, who was smiling and licking his thin lips. “You may go now.”
Wrecker backed out of the room and kept his head lowered until the door was safely closed between them.
Pentim returned his attention to Clara. “You will not ever
think
for yourself again. If some notion strikes you, you will always present it to me.” He released her for a moment, but as she tried to cover up, he stayed her with his hand, swiping at the blood from her open wound with his long, black-painted nail. He put his blood-covered finger to his mouth and sucked hard. Then with a flick of his wrist he allowed her to cover herself. “Do you understand me, Clara?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Now—what did this sniffing idiot have to say?”
“He told me that there had been a young, delectable woman walking towards the check-in at the airport. It was a gray day and he had ventured out early for a meal. He noticed her because she didn’t seem quite human, and his first reaction was to hide. It is what he did. However, she knew he was there and looked right at him. He took off and hid from her, but he had picked up her unusual scent.”
“Where had they been—what airport?”
“Kennedy International—approximately ten days ago.”
“You have done well, Clara.” He took her hand. “Now come and find a way to make up for your presumption.”
“Yes, sire.”
He saw her anger but had no concern for it. He couldn’t see past his own needs. He couldn’t feel compassion, or empathy. He hadn’t felt those things even before he was turned.
He watched her, and he knew she had retreated into her dark mind…but he didn’t care.
* * *
Chad’s robust housekeeper bustled about Shawna and fussed over her as though she were a family member. Chad watched his plump housekeeper with a warm smile. He could tell that she saw something different in Shawna and that the ‘all-too-knowing’ Mrs. Wunkly had realized at once that his guest wasn’t just another one of ‘his revolving-door women’.
When he’d explained to Mrs. Wunkly that Shawna was staying in the MacDunn cottage, it brought the mature woman’s faded brown eyes around sharply to her employer’s face. She had not commented on this but had frowned gravely over the information.
Chad had seen that she required further explanation and had gone on to add, “Apparently, there is a problem with one of the windows. It won’t lock, and when calling on Ms. MacBay in the late afternoon, I realized that she was a bit nervous about the situation. So I suggested we put her up for the night…or at least until the problem is solved.”
“Right ye are,” pronounced Mrs. Wunkly approvingly, and then she arched a brow at him. “She will be safe—very safe here at Darby Gray, won’t she, milord?” There was a twinkle in her eyes, but the tone of her voice was commanding.
Oh-oh
, he thought, she only gave him one of her
milord
’s when she was playing mother. He nodded at her. “I am sure of it.”
“Aye,” she agreed and then added, “Strange goings-on there have been lately in Stockton, and a young thing like this shouldn’t be left on her own—or taken advantage of. I know, milord, you will look out for our Miss Shawna.”
“Strange goings-on?” Shawna asked.
“Aye…didn’t ye hear about it then—whist aye, I don’t want to scare you needlessly, child, but ye should be warned all the same.” She shook her head. “Thought you must know, seeing as ye were so nervous about staying in yer own place.” She cast Chad a questioning glance.
“We haven’t heard, Mrs. Wunkly, so do please tell us what has upset you.”
She eyed him as though looking for the tease, but his expression remained serious. “Aye then…poor Mrs. Carver it was—almost killed herself earlier today. They say something, or someone, must have been playing a prank. Somehow someone managed to shoot off a blue streak of electricity across the road, just as she driving along.” She shook her head. “Prank, indeed. It caused the poor woman to lose control, and she sent her vehicle plummeting into the road ditch with so much force she was knocked unconscious. Lucky for her, old farmer Daniel was driving to town and saw her. He stopped and called for an ambulance.”
“Oh my gosh—was she badly hurt?” Shawna’s voice was filled with distress, and Chad touched her shoulder.
Mrs. Wunkly frowned and shook her head. “God love her, she says she is just fine and doesn’t want any fussing, so I’m told. I expect she will snap right back into herself, but she did receive a mild concussion, some bruises and scratches, but no serious injuries. She was badly shaken though and said any number of very odd things.”
“Like what?”
Mrs. Wunkly lowered her voice as though concerned that some outside force might be eavesdropping on her. “Mrs. Carver thought she was attacked by some electric force—by something…not of this world.” She sighed. “Mr. Carver said she was just mildly delirious and no doubt was shaken by such an awful, thoughtless prank. But everyone is talking you see, because there was something there. Farmer Daniel, he thought he saw something blue, and the road was singed. He won’t say more than that it was definitely electricity of some sort.” She studied both Shawna and Chad, who were quiet with their thoughts, and added, “Aye then, ’tis more there than meets the eye—I thought as much.”
“And how did you find all of this out?” Shawna’s voice was filled with astonishment.
“Word gets round quickly in these parts…deliveries are made…I’ll bet the phone lines were buzzing,” Chad offered with a rueful smile.
“Glad I am that the wee bonnie lass is staying here with us.” Mrs. Wunkly nodded vigorously as she made her way to the door. “My Henry is picking me up tonight. He told me to leave m’car as he didn’t think I should be coming home on m’own. Think of that, and me only five minute drive down the road.” She shook her head, but it was obvious that she was well pleased with her husband. Again she eyed the two as she said gravely, “I’ll go watch for him on the screen in the kitchen—he has the gate code, but my Henry…well, not much of a memory, so if he forgets, then I’ll buzz him in. I’ll be saying good night, young lord and Miss Shawna, ’tis that glad I am that his lordship brought you here.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wunkly.” Chad smiled fondly at her as he walked with her to the library door and started to wave her off. She turned however and announced, “I made a lovely chicken pot pie—more than enough for two.”
He had smiled to see that Shawna had taken to the older woman almost at once and that she was rubbing her tummy and declaring her love of chicken pot pie.
She waited till she heard the front door close, then turned to Chad and asked, “Why was it after Mrs. Carver?”
“Good question. It meant to scare her, of that I am certain.”