Read Online Vintage Soul by David Niall Wilson - Free Book Online Page A

nothing broke the stark emptiness of the cell.   That was what it was.   For all its size – the walls stretched what must have been twenty feet to an arched ceiling.   Was she in a tower?   It seemed so, but she hadn’t seen such a tower since castles had been in vogue.
    As she sat, taking in her surroundings, the last of the cobwebs cleared from her mind.   Whatever had happened, it wasn’t because of the effect of a mixture of blood and wine.   She vaguely remembered having stepped into the kitchen.    There had been a younger guest, perhaps a century, though for some reason it had been difficult to be certain.   He had asked to see more of the house, and though she knew he was only flirting, and that she would have to extricate herself fairly quickly, the urge to tease him had been impossible to ignore.   She’d stepped through the kitchen and into the hall.   Kline was there, standing beside the elevator, and she’d been about to speak to him when something hit her from behind.
    The blow wasn’t a physical one.   Her mind had simply blanked.   She had no idea what had happened to Kline.   She vaguely recalled the face of the young one she’d been with, but she couldn’t remember who he was, or why he’d been invited.   She knew that she’d never seen this tower before.
    The chains clinked again, and Vanessa stared down at them contemptuously.   Whoever had put her in this room was a fool.   She rose, gripped the chain where it snapped onto a ring on one manacle, and yanked at it with incredible strength.   The metal, rather than snapping, gave slightly under the pressure.   Vanessa frowned.   She tried again, twisting this time to break the link closest to her wrist, but again the chain proved flexible.   It spun with her twist, and when it snapped back into place the jolt threw her across the cot and into the stone wall.
    Real fear stole through her for the first time.   She tore frantically at the chains, pressed her feet into the wall and dragged at them, but they did nothing more than flex slightly.    They were enchanted, and whatever effort she made to remove or snap them reversed painfully, until she was crying out with rage and pain.
    The door opened and a man stepped into the room.   He stayed carefully out of reach near the door, and smiled at her.   Vanessa stopped struggling, slid off the cot in a single fluid motion and stood.   She returned his gaze evenly.   She was frightened, but she wasn’t going to give her captor the satisfaction of seeing it in her expression.
    She still wore the evening gown she’d turned heads with at Preston ’s party, and the seemingly impossibly high heels were still strapped around her slender ankles.    She stood very still and gauged the distance between them against the length of her chains.
    He was not undead.   She knew this the second he entered the room.   His blood pumped hot and inviting through veins very much alive.   It was rich blood, and old.   She scented power and tasted strength.
    Vanessa took advantage of the silence to study him.   He was at least six feet tall, had long, silver blonde hair and gray eyes.   He was slender and moved with casual grace.   She thought he was used to giving orders and being obeyed.   She’d seen the same haughty arrogance in others.   Most of them were dead.   She saw just the hint of the guise he’d worn when he tricked her into the hallway.   Whoever he was, he’d slipped past Kline’s defenses and spirited her right out of Johndrow’s supposedly secure penthouse.
    â€œSo,” he said at last, stepping a bit closer, “you are awake at last.   It’s a pity we have to meet under such circumstances.   I’ve heard stories for years of your beauty, but never had the opportunity to verify it for myself.   The rumors did