Escaping Solitude Page 6

  Felipe glares up at me. “And I wasn’t invited?”

  It’s as if they’ve stepped out of a French Renaissance painting, covered in cascading fabrics that must weigh a ton. Michelle’s emerald corset nearly bares her pale breasts, and I could almost fit one hand around her waist. Felipe wears his characteristic lace cuffs and a high-necked, multicolored coat that probably belonged to a long-dead king. I watch Edmund’s eyes take them in, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to for me to know what he’s thinking. They look ridiculous to him because he is modern and minimalist. My darling doesn’t even wear the traditional breeches or cravat. The dark green suit he now dons is the most color I’ve ever seen on his body, so I’m sure their old school decadence amuses him.

  “Sit with me and tell me all about your day.” I’d forgotten how none of her phrases sound like mere suggestions.

  Edmund takes his place at Michelle’s side, and I watch them chat.

  Felipe stands and steps so close our arms touch. “I want to kill him.”

  I smirk. “No, you don’t.”

  “No, I don’t, but he makes me mad with jealousy. She hasn’t acted like a tittering school girl in centuries, and then, your pretty Englishman shows up.” He waves toward them but eyes the orgy behind us. “Will you fuck him in front of me? I want to see him dumb and melting with pleasure.”

  “I’m sure you would.”

  Felipe rolls his eyes. “You are no fun.” He spins and lands heavily beside Michelle, surely in an effort to get her attention.

  I smile when he fails and sit next to Edmund, whose hand goes to my knee and squeezes. I intertwine our fingers and reach for a passing glass of absinthe just as Edmund says, “It was a pleasure. I haven’t been to a proper bathhouse in ages.”

  “Surprising,” Felipe shouts, “considering you obviously come from money.”

  “Quite a lot of it actually,” Edmund says. “Let me guess, you didn’t come from money, so you hate me for my privilege.”

  “Oh, I could never hate you, Edmund.”

  He chuckles. “I somehow doubt that.”

  Felipe crosses his legs violently. “What was it, then? Some kind of luxury ship that washed up on Andrew’s island?”

  Edmund glances at me, amused. “No.”

  There’s a long pause between us, our silence filled with violin, joined by cello.

  “Well?” Felipe asks. “Do tell. How on earth did you end up shipwrecked? Ah, it has to do with your calluses, doesn’t it?”

  Edmund looks down at his hand and up at me. “How did he know I have calluses?”

  Michelle takes Edmund’s hand I’m not holding and turns it over, running her small fingers over his palms. “You have the hands of a working man. But you certainly don’t resemble one.”

  I sip at the herbaceous bouquet in my hand. “Edmund is a traveling scientist. A naturalist. He has spanned the globe discovering new species.”

  He nods. “But, to achieve that, I couldn’t just sit on my ass. I had to, um, well, do my part on board.” He shrugs. “I’ve spent most of my adult life on ships. God, the last ten years.” He squeezes my hand. “That is a long time.”

  “It won’t seem so long when you’re one of us,” Michelle says.

  Felipe snaps at a passing servant and grabs a glass from her tray. “I suppose you must have had a lover on this ship of yours.”

  Edmund clicks his tongue. “Do you practice saying the rudest things possible?”

  I snort into my drink, and even Michelle tries to hide a smile.

  Felipe huffs, stands, and walks away with his head held high, which allows me the freedom to break down laughing.

  Edmund watches him go. “He’s going to murder me, isn’t he?”

  Michelle reclines into the empty space Felipe left. She carefully pats at her white hair, piled high on her head and decorated with pearls. “He’s fond of you, actually.”

  “My God, why? That man brings out the worst in me.”

  “I think he likes your worst.” I kiss the side of his neck.

  “But you did have lovers over the course of your travels, didn’t you?”

  Edmund’s eyes move toward the writhing bodies around us. “Of course.”

  “Anyone special?”

  Based on the downturn of his lips, Edmund doesn’t like this question. His eyes flit about the room, and he squeezes my hand tightly. “No one like Andrew.”

  I catch Michelle’s gaze, and she stares at me as though pleased. She enjoys his discomfort, possibly because she’s never seen it before. I admit, Edmund uncomfortable is novel, a deviation from the norm when the relentless of day-to-day can be disastrous for an immortal—when boredom can be an ultimate cause of death.

  He stands suddenly, our hands still entwined, and pulls me to my feet. He slides his jacket from his shoulders and hands it to Michelle. “Don’t spill anything on it, love.” He winks at her and again takes my hand, dragging me forward.

  “Edmund, what—”

  “Finish your drink.” He turns to face me, smiling, and walks backward through pillows and beds.

  I shoot the last of the absinthe and drop my glass on the floor when his fingers start unbuttoning his vest. I wrap my hand around those fingers and squeeze. “No.”

  His tongue pokes out to wet his bottom lip. “Yes.”

  “No. Felipe, in particular, does not deserve to see you.”

  He shakes his head. “No sex. But you know how I feel about stains.”

  God, he wants me to feed. In front of so many monsters, he wants me to open his vein. Already, people have paused in their ministrations to watch as Edmund steps back and continues unbuttoning his vest. He turns away and wanders toward an empty bed, and I am quick to follow.

  I watch him tug the tails of his white shirt from his trousers as he moves. I can’t see his fingers, but they must move quickly, because a moment later, his bare shoulders are revealed, then his muscular back and the scar—that gorgeous scar. Humans and vampires alike sit up straighter to get a look at the thing, and I have never been thankful for the existence of electric eels until now. Edmund’s scar adds so much to his allure. He is a pretty thing with an ugly mark that is not ugly thanks to the pride with which he wears it. He once said he has a taste for the exotic, but I don’t think he’s ever realized he is more unusual than most.

  He sets his shirt and vest on a bed covered in red fabric and turns to face me, broad chest bared for all to see. He tugs me forward with his hands on my lapels and whispers, “Show them I belong to you.”

  My knees tremble a bit as I hold his hips in my grip. I see Felipe lingering a few beds over, blood on his chin. The human woman at his side dozes, forgotten, as my old friend has eyes for nobody and nothing but my sailor. Behind me, I can feel Michelle’s violet eyes on us. Half the room is waiting to see what I’ll do—me, the monster, sent away for murder. It’s hard to tell if they’re more curious about my beloved or me.

  He doesn’t wait for my permission before falling back onto the bed, and like that red vest he wears, the bed complements every inch of him, from his black curls to his pale chest to the thin trail of dark hair on his stomach that disappears ever so teasingly down the front of his trousers. He smirks as he backs up and rests, stretched out down the center of silk.

  Based on the hunger around us, if I don’t crawl on top of him, someone else will—and soon. I cage him in with my knees and elbows, fingertips caressing his face. “You are so beautiful.”

  He grins, his breath coming faster. “You are a giant beast of a man, and I adore you.”

  I laugh, my concern over “performing” forgotten. A crowd of people might surround us, but Edmund is all I see, especially when he’s like this, cheeks rosy and parted lips so wanting. I lean down and kiss him, and he moans beneath me. I roll one of his nipples between my thumb and forefinger and tug his hair back, licking up his exposed neck. There is a chorus of pleased sounds from beds close by, but I’m not even near finished. Edmund wante
d to prove my ownership over him. I’ll prove it and then some if it means no bloodsucker will even hazard to come near the wild creature between my legs.

  I unbutton the top of his pants, and this simple movement rouses him. He halts my hand. “I thought we said no sex.”

  I suck his bottom lip into my mouth. “I want to touch you. No one will see.”

  He lifts an eyebrow.

  “No one will see all of you.” When my fingers tease the tip of his cock, he relinquishes control and melts back onto the pillows.

  I reach my hand farther into his trousers and rub my palm up and down his shaft.

  He says, “Fuck,” on an exhale, and it comes out as three syllables. His hips roll up to meet me as I suck on his neck.

  Around us, the room is silent but for music. It seems everyone wants to watch Edmund fall apart. His chest heaves as I increase the pressure and pace. He nuzzles his face against mine, seeking my mouth, so I give it to him. Instead of clutching to the red blankets, his fingers wrap around my head and grip my hair. His tongue explores my mouth, and I’m now somehow palming him and rutting against him at the same time. I’m fairly certain my cock could tear through fabric at this point.

  He pushes my face away and stares up at me, mouth wet, and I know what he wants. I nod and kiss behind his ear, across his jaw. My fangs spring free, and I bury my teeth in the soft skin where marks still linger from my last feeding. At the intrusion, Edmund’s chest surges up below me, and he makes a sound like a sadist who’s been punched. His blood pours down my throat, and it’s as I told him once before: feeding from humans is so much better than feeding from animals. I swallow bits of his passion, digest tiny tastes of the bright light inside him. He pants my name and claws at me. I pull back in time to see the round shape of his mouth as he comes. I wipe the blood from my mouth before kissing his trembling lips.

  In the moment it takes for Edmund to return to himself, I notice bodies have started moving around us, rutting and fucking now that our show is over. At some point, Michelle joined Felipe on his bed, but they do not move. They cling to each other and look not at me but at Edmund, limp and lovely beneath me, his stomach stained with his own seed. I use my tongue to lick him clean.

  When I glance up, he watches me. He pulls me on top of him as though hiding from prying eyes. I drink in the scent of him, the feel of his warm skin.

  “Did I do all right?” he mutters.

  I lick the wound on his neck. “You’re like Helen of Troy. You could start eternal wars over the right to touch your body.”

  He shakes with silent laughter. “I demand wine and warm, soft, female bodies all over me.”

  My startled guffaw breaks the tender moment. I lean back and rest my weight on his thighs. “Then, you shall have both.”

  He remains shirtless—no need to get a drop of blood on his white collar—as I walk the ballroom, seeking out willing young ladies to fulfill Edmund’s request. It takes all of thirty seconds. They rush to him and curl themselves around his body, plying him with champagne and shy giggles. I pace in an effort to cool my loins. I’ll have him later in our private quarters, but for now, I allow him anything he wants. I feel a new sense of ownership over my sailor, an ownership he bestowed upon me in front of my entire coven. I will cradle my prized possession with a benevolent hand.

  Back on her couch, Michelle fondles a buxom beauty in nothing but her undergarments. I feel Felipe’s approach, and although I expect some scathing remark, he says, simply, “I’ve never seen something so fuckable in my entire life,” and walks away.

  Chapter Nine

  I WAKE TO a large child jumping on me. Or, no, it’s Edmund, but the way he’s carrying on, he might as well be five years old. My head aches with all the booze and blood from the night before, and our bed reeks of sex. I mutter and bat at him. I try to burrow deeper into my pillow, but he pulls on my shoulder.

  “Have mercy, man,” I growl.

  “Wake up!” He shouts but doesn’t sound panicked. He’s not in danger, so I try to ignore him until he pulls my hair.

  Well, that does it. Still high on Edmund’s taste, I move faster than human eyes can see and immobilize him.

  He freezes. “Are you hard?”

  I nestle my nose behind his ear. “I have you pinned beneath me with my arm around your throat. Of course, I’m hard.”

  “Not now, Andrew!” He tries to push back against me, but it’s a losing battle. “You need to come to the library.”

  “Even God is still sleeping, Edmund. What on earth would get me out of bed at this evil hour?”

  “I think I found an Elder, you fucking idiot. Now, let me up!”

  He drags me from bed and drapes a dressing gown around my shoulders before latching onto my wrist and tugging me out the door and down the stairs. The house, as expected, is silent but for a few quiet sounds from below in the kitchen. The scent of several sleeping bodies wafts from the ballroom, along with the strong stench of stale alcohol and all manner of bodily fluids. It’s almost enough to make me retch.

  We make it to the library, and I am flabbergasted to find Michelle and Felipe already waiting, although they seem about as awake as me. They’re both in their nightclothes, artful hair askew.

  Felipe rubs his eyes. “You should keep him on a leash.”

  “I’m seriously considering it.”

  Edmund shoves me into a high-backed chair, ignoring us both, and I finally get a look at him. He’s half-dressed in trousers and his crisp, white shirt. His hair is sleep-addled, and there’s a mouth-shaped bruise just below his jaw. I notice a smattering of teacups arranged between open books.

  “Edmund, how long have you been awake?”

  “A few hours.” He moves some of his research around, his gestures twitchy, agitated.

  I stand and put my hands on his shoulders. “Hey.”

  He looks up at me, eyes bright.

  “I practically broke furniture fucking you last night,” I whisper, “and probably drank more of your blood than I should have. You need to be resting.”

  “I know.” He taps the side of his head. “My brain, Andrew.” He leans closer in an effort to find a modicum of privacy with Michelle and Felipe staring. “It’s stagnating. Hasn’t had any proper challenge in weeks. It starts to move too fast, and I can’t sleep. Does that make sense?”

  I nod. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

  “It’s been suggested. Part of my so-called madness.” He says the word with disgust, and even I wince at the thought of the nasty things they may have said about him in London, back when he was too young to defend himself.

  “But, now, you’ve found something.”

  He grins and turns away from me. “Yes. Sit.”

  I do as told.

  He stands before us as though giving a performance. “I’ve read, I don’t know, three dozen books, and none of them gave me anything. Nothing made any sense. Then, this.” He points to a small, handwritten book on the desk. “It’s the journal of a sailor, which seems a bit apropos considering I’m a sailor, as well, or maybe just meant to be, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

  I love when he gets like this, hyperactively rambling and ridiculous.

  “The journal talks about a monster. Michelle, you knew this man wrote of an Elder, which is why this book is part of your library. You recognized what was really occurring in his narrative, but this sailor merely describes a live burial. He calls it barbaric, interring a living man, but he didn’t understand the Elder was merely hibernating. ‘Going to sleep,’ as other books have phrased it.”

  Felipe yawns loudly. “It’s a good thing I like his accent, or I would have knocked him out cold by now.”

  “Oy, fuck off.”

  “Fine. Bend over.”

  Michelle shouts, “Please, gentlemen…if either of you could be considered such this morning.”

  “I wouldn’t suggest it,” Edmund replies.

  “No,” Felipe agrees.

  I stifle
a giggle and consider whether or not I’m still drunk.

  She eyes the heavens for help. “Edmund. Continue.”

  “The sailor writes that the island where the burial happened is small. Very small. His ship came upon it accidentally on its way to the Gold Coast.” He turns around and points at the world map on the wall. “The ship was taking a roundabout way to get there, from Italy…” His finger points. “Around the west coast of Africa. I’ve done this route. I know this path. Now, the sailor, he mentions strange statues on the island. Tall figures, hewn from black stone. ‘Skeleton people,’ he calls them, although, um, anatomically correct skeleton people. Seems that the natives were very sensual beings, which was why, seven years ago, when a volcano sunk everything, those who escaped said it was a reckoning of the gods.”

  I lean forward in my seat. “Seven years ago?”

  He grins at me. “I was there, Andrew. I was there, on that bloody island, before its destruction, and I thought back to something you told me once: vampires don’t need to breathe. This Elder, he sleeps beneath the sea, waiting for us to find him.”

  I stand and approach the map. My knees feel unsteady, because this is it. Edmund has done what so many others have failed to do, simply because a dead sailor left clues only my dearest love would be able to follow.

  “My God,” Felipe mutters.

  I hear the creak of a chair as Michelle stands. “But how can we find a sunken island?”

  “I know the latitude and longitude.”

  I turn slowly to face him. “You remember such a thing?”

  The side of his mouth quirks up. “When I was sixteen, the gardener’s son sucked me off in the hedge maze. His birthday was January twelfth. I remember lots of things. That’s why my brain gets so loud.”

  I cup his face in my hands. “I swear you’re already a creature of myth.”

  He chuckles, and his breath smells of black tea. “We need a ship.”

  “We have one,” Michelle says, eyes on the hand-drawn continents behind us as if she might be able to see the Elder from where she stands. “It’s the same ship that brought you here, Edmund, but it’s not currently in port. I will inquire as to its return.”