Read Online Blood Wyne by Yasmine Galenorn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Yasmine Galenorn
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something close, for one of the rooms upstairs, and an inexpensive laptop. Use the store credit card. Erin might as well start working tonight—show her where to find the cleaning supplies and what to do. I’m going to be late. If there are any problems, call my cell phone.”
Standing, I summoned my daughter. All I had to do was reach out with my mind and call her, she was still so freshly turned—and she came running.
“Tavah’s taking you shopping, then back to the bar. She’s an older vampire, so she’ll be able to help you if something happens.” Tavah was at least one hundred years old, that much I knew. “I’ll see you there when I’m finished with my business.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Erin automatically bent to kiss my hand, and I reluctantly allowed it. I’d never aspired to sire another vampire; I’d never aspired to control others, only to have power over my own life. Now, it seemed the responsibilities were growing and there was no turning my back on them.
As Tavah led her down the path toward the driveway, I watched them go. My daughter. How odd it felt on my tongue, especially when my daughter had been in her late forties at her death. But I was her sire, and she was my responsibility, and we would be forever linked, no matter what happened in the future.
Roman lived in a fabulous house behind a gated drive, and his staff was scared shitless of him. The one time I’d been here before, the maid had warned me that few who entered the building ever left. I had thought then I’d never come back, but here I was, staring up at the four-story white elephant, the gleaming white columns that marched along the front porch shimmering like marble pillars of light. What would it be like to live in a house like this? Full of artifacts and antiques, luxuriant to the point of excess, with a stable of bloodwhores on the premises? The house reeked of decadence, and yet it was not overripe.
I slid out of my car and slowly approached the front door.
A maid answered—not the same one as I’d met before, but a vampire nonetheless. I didn’t ask about the other woman. I didn’t want to know.
“Menolly D’Artigo, here to meet Roman. I have an appointment at eight thirty.” As she stepped back, motioning me in, I was unaccountably glad I’d worn jeans and a turtleneck and my bad-ass black leather jacket. My stiletto boots tapped on the tile floor, which gleamed—polished to such a sheen that I could see my reflection in it.
She silently led me into the parlor—the one room into which I’d ventured before. An oppressive sense of time rested in knickknacks, in opulent upholstered furniture, in hangings woven by hand from centuries past.
Roman was a very wealthy vampire, and though he had exquisite taste, I felt claustrophobic around him. There was just too much . . . too many vases, and too many roses scenting the air, too many paintings covering the walls, too many throws covering the chairs and love seat and sofa.
“The Master will be with you in time,” the doe-eyed young woman whispered. She was a young vampire, of that I was certain, but old enough to pause, give me a long look, and then smile suggestively before she slipped out of the room.
I knew the drill. Roman would let me wait a little past my comfort zone, then suddenly appear at my side. He was so old that he made no noise, moving faster than any vampire I’d ever met. He was older than Dracula, and older than Dredge had been.
“Thinking of anything in particular?” A soft voice echoed from the corner of the room, and I whirled to find myself staring at two gleaming eyes in the darkness. As he emerged from the shadows, I froze, once again feeling like a deer in the headlights.
Roman was as he’d been in my dream. I hadn’t forgotten his looks, apparently. He was around five eleven, trim but muscled, and he wore a black smoking jacket and what looked like designer trousers. His hair was slicked back in a ponytail, a rich
Standing, I summoned my daughter. All I had to do was reach out with my mind and call her, she was still so freshly turned—and she came running.
“Tavah’s taking you shopping, then back to the bar. She’s an older vampire, so she’ll be able to help you if something happens.” Tavah was at least one hundred years old, that much I knew. “I’ll see you there when I’m finished with my business.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Erin automatically bent to kiss my hand, and I reluctantly allowed it. I’d never aspired to sire another vampire; I’d never aspired to control others, only to have power over my own life. Now, it seemed the responsibilities were growing and there was no turning my back on them.
As Tavah led her down the path toward the driveway, I watched them go. My daughter. How odd it felt on my tongue, especially when my daughter had been in her late forties at her death. But I was her sire, and she was my responsibility, and we would be forever linked, no matter what happened in the future.
Roman lived in a fabulous house behind a gated drive, and his staff was scared shitless of him. The one time I’d been here before, the maid had warned me that few who entered the building ever left. I had thought then I’d never come back, but here I was, staring up at the four-story white elephant, the gleaming white columns that marched along the front porch shimmering like marble pillars of light. What would it be like to live in a house like this? Full of artifacts and antiques, luxuriant to the point of excess, with a stable of bloodwhores on the premises? The house reeked of decadence, and yet it was not overripe.
I slid out of my car and slowly approached the front door.
A maid answered—not the same one as I’d met before, but a vampire nonetheless. I didn’t ask about the other woman. I didn’t want to know.
“Menolly D’Artigo, here to meet Roman. I have an appointment at eight thirty.” As she stepped back, motioning me in, I was unaccountably glad I’d worn jeans and a turtleneck and my bad-ass black leather jacket. My stiletto boots tapped on the tile floor, which gleamed—polished to such a sheen that I could see my reflection in it.
She silently led me into the parlor—the one room into which I’d ventured before. An oppressive sense of time rested in knickknacks, in opulent upholstered furniture, in hangings woven by hand from centuries past.
Roman was a very wealthy vampire, and though he had exquisite taste, I felt claustrophobic around him. There was just too much . . . too many vases, and too many roses scenting the air, too many paintings covering the walls, too many throws covering the chairs and love seat and sofa.
“The Master will be with you in time,” the doe-eyed young woman whispered. She was a young vampire, of that I was certain, but old enough to pause, give me a long look, and then smile suggestively before she slipped out of the room.
I knew the drill. Roman would let me wait a little past my comfort zone, then suddenly appear at my side. He was so old that he made no noise, moving faster than any vampire I’d ever met. He was older than Dracula, and older than Dredge had been.
“Thinking of anything in particular?” A soft voice echoed from the corner of the room, and I whirled to find myself staring at two gleaming eyes in the darkness. As he emerged from the shadows, I froze, once again feeling like a deer in the headlights.
Roman was as he’d been in my dream. I hadn’t forgotten his looks, apparently. He was around five eleven, trim but muscled, and he wore a black smoking jacket and what looked like designer trousers. His hair was slicked back in a ponytail, a rich
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