Escaping Solitude Read online

  I do as requested, pinning his arms above his head and his body between my legs. He presses up against me, and I marvel at the muscle tension in his arms and chest.

  He falls limply back. “Shit. You’re made of stone.”

  I use my tongue to clean up the bit of spilled blood on his chest and neck. “I’m too full to toss you around right now, but believe me, I will.”

  He laughs silently, just a little tremor of his upper body. “Be a doll and get me off, would you?”

  It’s reminiscent of our first time—mindless rutting, chasing pleasure. Edmund doesn’t seem to mind as I wrap my fist around us both and thrust. He curls one of his legs around my lower back, bringing us ever closer.

  “I love you, I love you,” I mutter into his open mouth, one of his hands still pinned above us. I intertwine our fingers.

  Now familiar with what he likes, I remove my hand from our joined hot flesh and trail my fingers lower. He moans when I press a finger inside of him. My name comes out as a choke as I move my digits in and out. He sobs when he comes, and I follow immediately behind. There’s nothing more beautiful than the man’s face when he comes—nothing.

  I flop down on top of him, again, the way he likes. His arms wrap around me as I bury my face against his neck.

  “You’re learning my body quite well, aren’t you?” he whispers.

  “I will always have more to learn.”

  “True.” He sighs. “You haven’t even found my ticklish spot yet.”

  I try to lift my head, but he holds me tight.

  “I shall sleep well tonight,” he says.

  I always sleep well next to Edmund.

  Chapter Five

  WHEN I WAKE in the morning, the bed is empty and cold—which hasn’t been the case since Edmund first washed up on my little island. I sit up and call his name, but I can tell our room is void. I don’t sense him nearby, only remnants of him, a spot of blood on the pillowcase. I walk the room naked and find a note on the small table by the door. Heaven knows where he found paper or pen, but the words send a rush of panic through me.

  At the library. Love you.

  God, he has gone to the coven to begin his research, and this is exactly what I did not want: Edmund alone with other vampires.

  I hurry to dress.

  I shouldn’t be surprised by his immediate ambition to find an Elder. From what I’ve seen, Edmund is not a patient man. He’s a driven, curious man who does everything quickly. Well, except sex. On occasion, the sex between us has gone on for hours. But research, seeking out that which is unknown? Oh, how Edmund loves a puzzle.

  I thank the fates that a carriage waits in front of our hotel. The air is already warm and wet as I wave my hand to catch the driver’s attention. I give him the address, but for the entirety of our trip, I curse myself for not waking when Edmund left. We always wake together. I blame the blood consumption for my deep sleep. Sated, I drowned in dreamland. I fear even another of Edmund’s nightmares wouldn’t have woken me.

  When the carriage reaches our destination, I throw too much coin at the driver and race into the house. Everything is quiet, most of my vampire kin still asleep, undoubtedly worn out from the night’s revelries. I see no one as I hurry toward the library, but as soon as I step into the doorway—as soon as I see him—I pause.

  He’s all right. He’s safe. No hungry vampire lingers over his shoulder. He sits at a desk with books spread before him, a teacup near his elbow. He reads with his tongue between his teeth. Despite his age, he might as well be a schoolboy.

  “He spent thirty minutes teaching one of the servants how to make tea.”

  Felipe can be so quiet, like a little mouse in the house. He stands right next to me in one of his patterned waistcoats and lacey shirts. Fashion may have changed over the past hundred years, but Felipe has not.

  He looks into the library, looks at Edmund. “He’s very particular, isn’t he? You can tell by the cut of his suits. The way he smells like a clean shave every day and the way he takes his tea. I’d suspect him of being a spoiled little brat if not for his hands.” Felipe points to his own palm. “What kind of spoiled brat has calluses?”

  “You’ve been paying attention.”

  Felipe crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “Of course, I have. You return from exile with a pet that you not only appear to love but also hope to make one of our own. You’ve never kept pets for long, Andrew, so I intend to find what makes him different.”

  “Everything is different.”

  “Yes.” He sighs. “Everything has been different since you left. Everything has been boring. Bore-bore-boring.”

  I smile. “Missed me then?”

  “Terribly. No one’s up for a good murder anymore, not since your exile. We’re all tiptoeing around like ballerinas because heaven forbid anyone upset her royal highness.”

  I’ve never heard him talk about Michelle with such disdain. Perhaps things are changing between them.

  He elbows me. “How about you? You must miss a good murder.”

  I consider all the cannibals I slaughtered on the island. “No.”

  “Oh, it’s only your dear Felipe. Be honest.”

  I glance back at Edmund. “I’m not like that anymore.”

  Felipe follows my gaze. “All it took was one handsome human, and you’ve changed completely? Doubtful. I know. We should have one of our contests. See which of us can seduce some pretty thing first and kill it.”

  I grind my teeth together. “If I get exiled again, you realize Edmund would demand to go with me. You would never have him to yourself.”

  Felipe laughs, which catches Edmund’s attention. His head springs up from where he sits. I lift my hand in a gesture that says wait a moment.

  “I don’t want your precious human. He seems like too much work. Fucking him must be like trying to fuck a wild horse. I’m saying I just get bored.” His lip curls. “We’re supposed to be so good. We’ve forgotten what it is to be bad.”

  “Maybe that’s a decent thing.”

  He sneers. “Go on. I’m tired of you already.”

  I chuckle at his obvious disgust, but I do go. I walk into the library and right up to Edmund. I kiss him on the top of the head and rest my hands on his shoulders. “I didn’t like waking up without you.”

  He looks up at me, the crown of his head pressed into my stomach. From where I stand, I can just see down the edge of his collar to my teeth marks, surrounded by bruises from when I bit hard. “I couldn’t sleep knowing this was here.”

  “You won’t come here without me.”

  His forehead wrinkles. “Why not?”

  I squeeze his shoulders. He leans his head forward and hums encouragement. “I don’t want you alone with other vampires. I don’t trust my kind.”

  “No one’s going to hurt me, Andrew. Michelle said so.”

  I stop squeezing his shoulders. “When did she say so?”

  “This morning. She helped me find the books that might be of most interest.” He sighs. “Stop worrying. According to Michelle, the entire coven knows who I am, thanks to us being seen together last night. No one’s going to fuck with the infamous Andrew’s paramour.”

  I try not to smile.

  “Hey.” He grabs my hand. “Sit down. Come on.”

  I droop into a seat.

  “I’ve barely begun to learn vampire history. From what I can tell, many of your stories go back over a thousand years. But…” He grabs for a book, pages thin as a spiderweb. “I think I found your Elder. You never told me his name, but—”

  “Selwyn.”

  Edmund grins. “Yes. He sired quite a few vampires in the British Isles before his death. In a way, you’re actually English.”

  Considering I died fighting the bastards, I scoff. “I am in no way English.”

  Edmund laughs. “You’re shtupping an Englishman. Don’t sound so affronted.”

  “Does it say what happened to Selwyn?”

  “Yes.” H
e points to the book. “His suicide is actually well documented. He requested a number of his immortal children tear him limb from limb and burn his body.” He pauses. “Shit, you weren’t there, were you?”

  “Uh, no.”

  He winces. “Horrible mess, I would imagine. As far as other Elders, some have definitely killed themselves. Others have, according to the Latin, ‘gone to sleep.’”

  “You know Latin?”

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  I stare at him.

  “Heathen,” he mutters. “The problem with all these Elders going to sleep is that the books don’t say where. I know I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ve only been here for three hours. There are hundreds of other books to go through, so I can’t make an educated conclusion yet, but perhaps an Elder has never been found because no one’s ever looked—not really. We have to hope that. Otherwise, you’ll have to watch me grow old.”

  When I notice his knee trembling beneath the table, I put my hand on it. “Are you all right?”

  He gazes at the floor. “You said something to me once. You said vampires never mate for life, so how do you know you want that with me? Going to all this trouble to find an Elder… Are you sure you desire this, Andrew?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.

  “I’m awful when I want to be. Cruel even. I pout and throw tantrums. I have dark moods. I can never stay still for long. You look favorably upon me now because you haven’t seen that side of me yet, but if you’re with me for any amount of time, you will. You might not like it.”

  I take his hand and kiss it. “I’ll love every part of you.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s easy to say now.”

  “Yes. It is.”

  He smiles. “Fine, you lovesick sod, but I warned you.”

  “I should warn you: I used to be very fond of killing people.”

  “Me too,” he whispers and says quickly, as if to erase his words, “I think I need more tea.”

  It’s hard to imagine him with blood on his hands, my beautiful sailor, especially looking the way he does here in New Orleans with his clean shave, oiled hair, and tailored suit. He is the very picture of a proper gentleman, but I think I’ve glimpsed the killer. Once, on the island, he attacked me. He has fists that feel like stone, and when on the defensive, I swear his storm-gray eyes turn the color of moonless midnight. He is a man who would kill to survive, and I know he has. He’s told me as much. But I didn’t know he enjoyed it.

  In a clumsy effort to change the subject, he says, “Michelle suggested we move in here.”

  “I figured she might.”

  He stretches his arms above his head and yawns. “She said your old room isn’t big enough for the two of us, but there’s an empty space on the third floor. What do you think? It would be helpful for me to be closer to the library.”

  “All right.”

  He eyes me. “You’re not going against me on this? I expected an argument.”

  I shrug. “It makes sense to be closer, and I’d rather not pay for room and board anymore.”

  “In my letter to my mother, I asked her to send money.”

  “Money is no issue. The coven has more than we’ll ever spend. It would just be nice to make a home with you.”

  He leans forward and brushes his nose against mine. He smells of shaving cream and bergamot. “Being near you makes me very happy.”

  I tangle my fingers in the back of his hair. “I hope to always make you happy.”

  He tilts his head and kisses me, his face soft against mine. Then, he leans back and stares forlornly at his empty teacup. “All right. Be gone with you. You’re a terrible distraction.”

  I ruffle his hair as I walk past. He squawks and bats at my hands before turning back to his work.

  Chapter Six

  AFTER DAYS SPENT with Edmund barely speaking, only reading, he demands we go back to Gallatin Street to the famed brothel with the red door. On the walk there, he announces he’s going to get drunk, and he does deserve it. He’s been working so hard, combing through Michelle’s texts. He comes to bed at night exhausted. He’s impatient, too, already scared he’ll never find what we seek—never find evidence of an Elder. His impatience is that of a child, and even though he’s irritable, I find some satisfaction in wrapping my pouting darling in my arms until he smiles.

  He smiles now as we walk down stinking side streets and past flickering gas lamps. An over-rouged woman calls to us from the shadows. I tip my hat but keep moving. Down the next alley, we hear the coarse sound of grunting as a man apparently achieves release with a whore.

  Edmund sidesteps a pile of horseshit. “I do love your city,” he says without a hint of irony.

  “I am glad.”

  Up ahead, the red door beckons us ever closer. I perform the secret knock, and the door opens wide. As soon as we step into the entrance, I hear May’s Irish brogue. She shouts at a tall man in a bowler hat—and he shouts back. Something about services not rendered.

  “I wouldn’t raise your voice to such a fine lady, sir,” Edmund says. Even I’m taken aback by the simmering menace in his tone.

  The tall man takes in the appearance of my lover—the pretty face and bespoke suit—and apparently finds him lacking. “I won’t be taking advice from a limey prick such as you.”

  Edmund hums, a sound barely heard over the music from the bar. “I’d leave if it were me.” He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and chews while staring the man down.

  “You heard him,” May says.

  I swear the room gets colder, due to nothing more than Edmund’s glare. He’s not a small man when in a good mood, but in this unfamiliar defensive posture, I swear he’s grown four inches. It’s his calm stillness that rattles my spine. His posture is that of a coiled snake.

  Apparently, the tall man isn’t fixing for a brawl, or worse, because he waves his hand and stomps out the door. Over his shoulder, he yells, “To hell with you!”

  May rests a hand on Edmund’s chest. “That was impressive. Need a job?”

  He laughs. “I only fight for fun, not money.”

  “Shame.” She extends a gloved hand to me. “Andrew, tell him he should be my bodyguard.”

  “Absolutely not. Imagine all the trouble he’d get into without me.” I smile and shove him toward the bar.

  May lingers in the doorway to talk to her doorman—probably forbidding the tall man from reentry. As always, the whites of her eyes seem to glow in contrast to the abundance of kohl. Her skirts are made of layer upon layer of black lace.

  I order us a bottle of whiskey at the bar. Patrons of all sexes, ages, and shapes float among us. A half-naked man is being fellated on a dark-red couch. We toast, and whereas I sip mine, Edmund shoots his with a wince.

  “You can be terrifying when you want to be.”

  “Who, me?” His gaze flies around the bar from one decadent thing to another. “I was just playing.”

  I see Danys before Edmund does. The handsome Haitian holds his finger to his mouth, begging me to stay silent, as he creeps up behind my sailor, puts his arm around his shoulder, and kisses the side of his neck. Edmund freezes for but a moment before recognizing the shaved head and dark skin.

  Edmund frowns. “Why are you wearing so many clothes?”

  Danys laughs his wide-mouthed guffaw. “I’m not working tonight, dous mwen. I came down for a drink, and then, I go to a card game.”

  “Card game?” He glances at me. “What kind of card game?”

  Danys pours himself some of our whiskey and drinks. “Vingt-et-un. You play?”

  “Fuck, yes.” He grabs onto Danys’s jacket and gives him a shake. “Andrew, can we?”

  His fervor lights a spark in my chest. “I don’t play, but I will gladly watch you.”

  May is, as expected, disappointed to see us go and spend our money elsewhere, but I promise her we’ll be back another time. By the time I say my goodbyes to the madam, Edmund and Danys already walk d
own the alley. Their conversation is animated and loud. I marvel at their comfortable familiarity and spare a thought for Edmund’s lost African lover, Samuel, dead in the shipwreck. Perhaps Danys is a welcome reminder of things gone.

  As expected, we do not go to some fancy gaming hall with women in fine dresses and men sipping champagne. If the Gallatin brothel was a bit of dimness, we now wander into full dark. I’m glad Edmund chose to dress down this evening. He left the fancy silk vests at the coven and wore, instead, simple black. He won’t stand out—as much—but with his rose petal mouth, he’s sure to be labeled a mark.

  The bar is long and thin and filled with smoke. Edmund walks on ahead as Danys puts his hand on my shoulder, brown eyes shining in the light of a passing match. We move through a boisterous crowd, singing some song in Italian, and head into a room where everything is quieter but just as smoky.

  I spot the round table in the very back where large men, hats down low, watch cards flipped on a beer-soaked tabletop. Edmund is ready to join them, but both Danys and I take hold of his upper arms and tug him back.

  “Wait,” Danys hisses.

  “Why? I came here to play cards.”

  It’s obvious Danys is looking at the card table and trying to appear as though he’s not looking at the card table. “That’s Jimmy Fitz. Didn’t even know he was back in town. You aren’t playing against him.”

  Danys tries to shove Edmund onto a bar stool, but Edmund resists. “And why not?”

  “He’s a dirty card player. He’ll kill you if you win.”

  “Then, I won’t win.”

  “Edmund,” I mutter.

  “I’ll be nice, I promise.” He smiles at me, and his eyes have that bright, burning quality they get when he talks about poisonous tree frogs.

  I sigh. “Go ahead.”

  I can tell he wants to kiss me, but thank Christ he doesn’t. In this crowd, we’d be murdered on site. Instead, he punches me lightly in the chest before spinning around and sauntering up to that card table as though he owns it. It takes about ten seconds of small talk before they welcome him to a chair, probably because he resembles an overgrown child with daddy’s billfold.