Symphony of Light and Winter (7 page)

I turned and the only thing I could see was Cyril’s outstretched hand sprinkling the white substance onto the body. He chanted in a language I didn’t understand. I hoped he didn’t plan to set the man aflame with us so close.

There was no fire, but rather a faint bubbling sound. With me still flung over his shoulder, he turned to leave the garden. For the first few seconds I kept my eyes closed, afraid to look, but soon let curiosity get the better of me and opened my eyes.

The man lay covered in the clear substance. His flesh rippled as the viscous liquid oozed from his pores and slid off his body into thick puddles on the ground. The features of the man’s face were obscured by the strange material. Thank God he was dead; it looked painful. Was it some kind of acid? It seemed to be changing his facial features. His muscles twitched and twisted as his body excreted more clear goo.

Cyril grabbed hold of my legs and adjusted my position on his shoulder. Watching the man transform into ooze made my already sick stomach worse. I wanted to ask Cyril what he did to the man, but was afraid to open my mouth.

A brisk wind blew, and I breathed deeply, trying to clear my nostrils of the smell of copper and sulfur. God, the man smelled as bad as he looked. A strong gust of air rushed past us and the clear residue on the blond man’s face slid to the ground, revealing his new features. I blinked. No fucking way! I blinked again. Not possible. The woozy feeling hit me again, harder. Just before blackness sucked me under, I gasped and my mind screamed,
Michael!

Chapter Four

Steam

I woke up disoriented. My head throbbed, eyes blurry, and flashes of what happened last night appeared in my head, but nothing made sense. Encased in silky, warm, snow-white linens, I stretched my aching muscles. The crimson throw at the foot of the bed added a splash of color.

Where was I? Sitting up, I beheld an elaborate tray ceiling, backlit with soft ambient lighting hung above. A chandelier accented with crystal, teardrop pendants stood out against the stark lines of the rest of the room. The espresso-colored flooring and the black bed provided contrast to the white platform that elevated the bed. Modern luxury at its finest.

I stretched again and a disturbing reality set in. These weren’t my clothes. The flowing white lace-up nightgown was not something I would have purchased. How in the hell did I end up in this?

Throwing back the covers, I slid out of the bed, planting my bare feet on the white platform. No socks—even worse, no bra!
Oh, this was
not
good.

I walked over to the wall of red silk drapes and slid them open. The glass walls provided a panorama of the city from atop Mount Washington. The night, and the view, were extraordinary. The rivers shimmered with the reflected light from the tall buildings that formed Pittsburgh’s skyline. I stood bewitched by the beauty for a few moments, and then tried to calculate my exact location based on the landmarks.

The city was familiar. Real. There would be time to relive the horror of recent events later. A sudden sensation of dread washed through me. How long had it been?
The last time I went unconscious, seven months had passed.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice said from behind.

“Holy shit!” I turned. Overton. “Oh my God. You scared me… I’m sorry. Mr. Overton.

I—”

“Stanton. Please, no need for formality.”

Overton stood with his arms crossed, stance casual. I knew he was a cultured man, but his sophistication could make him a contender for a role as James Bond. I could envision him saying
martini, shaken not stirred
. His soft and strongly accented voice conveyed elegance encased in warmth.

“Stanton…” His statement of no need for formality triggered a disturbing thought. I stood in front of Stanton Overton in a thin, laced-up, white cotton nightgown with
no bra
! I crossed my arms over my chest. The lacing, partially undone, would draw too much attention to fuss with it. “What am I doing here?”

“Cyril brought you home.”

“When?”

“Several hours ago.” Overton ran a hand through his neatly styled chestnut hair.

I let out a deep sigh of relief. It hadn’t been days, or months, just a couple of hours.

“Where is he?”

“I’m not sure. He usually has a lot to take care of after a night like tonight. Here, you look cold, why don’t you slip back into bed?”

He stepped on the platform and pulled back the covers for me in invitation. I realized they would cover my lack of bra, so I climbed in and he placed them over me.

“How are you feeling?” He sat at the foot of the bed, his steel-gray eyes soft and kind.

“Physically, I’m fine, but I’m not sure how to process what happened.” Sitting up, I folded my hands in my lap and stared at them, waiting to see what he would offer.

“I can see how that would be bloody disturbing. No pun intended.” He chuckled softly. “Cyril’s a beast when it comes to fighting, and I’m sure he didn’t think much about your sensibilities. Knowing him, he was singularly focused on ensuring your safety. He was very upset you had to witness what happened.”

Obviously Overton and Cyril had a little more in common than business transactions. “I’m sure he was.” I tried to remove the edge from my voice, but failed. Something else flashed through my mind. “Did I really throw up on him?”

“Yes, you did, my dear, and gave me the best laugh I have had in a long time. Cyril was completely beside himself. If you knew how old Cyril is, you’d be honored. You’re the first person to hurl on him. Well, at least you’re the only one he let live. Bravo.”

Now there was a silver lining. Served the bastard right. But Overton had piqued my curiosity. “How old is Cyril?”

“As much as I’d love to tell you all of Cyril’s secrets, he’d have my head for it.”

I cringed, knowing Stanton might not be exaggerating.

“My sweet Linden, you needn’t worry for either of us. Cyril will never let any harm come to you.”

I laughed. “He threatened to kill me two nights ago. It’s just a matter of time. I’m not sure why he didn’t do it tonight. It would have made for easy cleanup.”

Stanton laughed again. “You are a funny one. No wonder he’s so fond of you. Cyril doesn’t threaten. He warns and delivers. If he truly meant it, you would already be dead. He probably wanted to scare you. He’s still unclear how you were able to deceive him.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Deceive him? I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

Stanton’s brow furrowed. “Are you serious? You don’t know?”

I shook my head.

“You didn’t steal his blood?”

“What? No!”

“He said he never shared it with anyone, but I sensed his essence in you the first time we met at the gala. I would have told Cyril sooner, but he was indisposed. Friday was my first opportunity to get him to check it out for himself.”

“Why would I steal his blood? Disgusting!”

“Some people think it gives them abilities. What they don’t know is it is only temporary unless Cyril takes measures to will it otherwise. He has taken many precautions against blood thieves, and those who think they need his essence to destroy him.”

I had to ask. “Is he a vampire?”

Stanton all but giggled. “No. They don’t exist, but Cyril is probably the reason people think they do. There are some common characteristics, but he is so much more.

Stanton’s admiration served to whet my appetite. “Is he undead? Does he drink blood? How can he move like that?”

Stanton shook his head, amusement crossing his features. “He’s very much alive, eats food like you and me.” He paused. “I’m afraid I have officially said too much. We have a housekeeper on site. Her name is Mary. I’ll send her up with refreshments. When Cyril is home, I’ll let him know you need to talk.”

“Thank you, Stanton. Before you go, just two more things, please?” I gave my best pleading, damsel-in-distress look.

“Go ahead, but I won’t guarantee I will answer.”

“So you’re obviously not the butler. Are you and Cyril…ah…I mean… Do you live together? He never mentioned having family.” He raised an eyebrow, but before he responded I interjected. “And who helped me into these clothes?”

He smiled and laughed again, a seemingly common response of his when dealing with me. “Are you asking if we are a couple?”

I nodded.

“No.” He shifted his weight for one foot to the other and sighed. “Anyway, as for your clothes, Cyril tossed me out of the room. No one was to see you but him.”

I was elated to know Cyril was not involved with Overton, but still pissed off he undressed me. “All right…thank you.”

He paused before leaving. “I have a question for you. Do you really not know how you got his blood?”

“Of course I know, but I certainly didn’t steal it. It was an accident, but I think I’ll leave that explanation for him if you don’t mind.” Two could play this game.

“Fair enough. Rest well, Miss Hill.”

* * *

Later, Mary, the housekeeper, brought in a cart. Strange. She didn’t look me in the eye or make a sound. She nodded at my questions, but never answered out loud. Perhaps she couldn’t speak English or was unable to talk. Whatever the reason, I doubted she’d be a good source of information.

The cart contained food, beverages, and toiletries. The tray of fresh fruit was a welcome sight. The deodorant almost made me giddy.

Exhausted, I still found it impossible to fall asleep. The awful scene earlier, combined with being in a strange place and all my unanswered questions, left me weary. I was confident Cyril was not planning on making good on his promise to kill me, but the fraction of doubt that lingered made it hard to close my eyes.

I couldn’t quite piece everything together. Was Michael like Cyril? Too bad for Michael; my days of grieving were over. Didn’t anyone stay dead anymore? What was I in the middle of?

Beginning to think I might wake up in a straitjacket, I turned my focus to more productive feelings, like anger. If it was a game to them, they’d find out I had enough suppressed rage to do serious damage. I grabbed the bottle of chardonnay and a glass. Not a drop would survive to see tomorrow. I decided to consider my vengeance against those undead bastards when I had more energy.

With the wine bottle empty and the glass sitting on the side table, I drifted off to sleep sprawled in the gray chair with the crimson throw wrapped around me.

The sound of running water woke me. I got up to investigate.

I walked through the archway, leading to the bathroom and gaped at the size of the room. The small doorway was deceptive. Light gray slate covered the floor and walls, and was interspersed with randomly placed decorative tiles. A large cauldron-like tub took up most of the far corner. A small seating area, consisting of two oversize chairs and a stand, contained books. Candles accented a large modern sink and vanity to my right and above it hung an ornate, red-framed mirror.

Movement in the far corner of the room, beyond a three-quarter wall blocking most but not all of my view, caught my eye. I shifted until a large glass-enclosed shower—big enough to hold six people—came into sight. More impressive than the shower was the man about to get into it.

Cyril had already removed his sword and clothes, except for his pants. The markings on his back were barely visible from the short distance, but the planes of muscle? Clear. His arms moved, tending something in front of him, but with only a view from behind his task was obscured. It dawned on me he must be unlacing his pants.

Confronting a moral dilemma, I paused. Should I stay and watch, or leave and respect his privacy? My hormones voted for watch. Hell, no part of me wanted to leave. Earlier he undressed me, washed me, and then re-dressed me. It was only fair.

He moved his hands to slip his thumbs beneath the waist of his pants and started the laborious task of removing tight leather from moist skin. His actions slowed when he bent forward at the waist and wiggled the garment over his firm sculpted ass. I bit my lip, trying not to groan. Commando. Dear God.

His ivory skin flushed. The leather lingered over each peak of muscle as he lowered the pants to the floor. The knot in my stomach grew tighter. He pulled his feet free from each of the pant legs and leaned forward. I caught a glimpse of the manliness hanging low between his legs. The temperature in the room rose ten degrees.

He opened the shower door and reached in to adjust the water. I shouldn’t watch. It wasn’t right, but walking away wasn’t an option. I was entranced. The water cascaded over his body like a mountain stream over weathered river stone. He tossed his head back and soaked his dark hair in the flowing water while mumbling to himself. I couldn’t make out his words, but I admired how truly beautiful he was. Flawless. Not a scar or blemish beyond the branches of raised flesh.

“Mrs. Green, how nice of you to keep me company.” He turned to make eye contact.

My blood heated, and when I looked upon his face, it boiled. I could see all his glory. No longer hanging low between his legs, his cock stood tall and thick. Hiding my eyes, I pretended not to hear him.

“Mrs. Green, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your response. The water makes it
hard
…to hear.” He paused. “Did you say you were going to join me?”

My heart hammered; embarrassment flooded my cheeks. Knowing he could see me in the mirror, I looked up and saw him sliding his palm along his erection with slow, languid strokes.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I sounded like a petulant child. I tried not to watch his actions, but couldn’t resist the urge.

“What would you like to be called? Let me guess, a ridiculous pet name to make you think you are of some great importance to me? Something like baby or sweetheart, as an attempt to condition me,” he scoffed and continued his ministrations, never looking away.

I wouldn’t let him see his effect on me. Gathering my courage, I turned and stared directly at him. The only way to win was to take away his power. I’d never do it entirely, but I could be a decent actress. The situation needed an Academy Award-winning performance. Deep breath.