Cara MIA - By Book One of the Immortyl Revolution - By Denise Verrico Page 0,57
Beautiful warm golden woods were laid in geometric patterns on the floor with hand loomed woolen rugs strewn about. The furniture combined modern and antique, smooth planes juxtaposed with rustic carving. Niches in the walls held museum quality artifacts— no— better than museum quality. Circlets of gold and drinking vessels of horn, folk art, carvings with ancient runes, beside contemporary works from all over the globe. The centerpiece of the room, however, was a sleek grand piano. That would be Kurt’s. How amazing it would be to hear him play it.
Ethan followed behind us silently to the large fireplace along the opposite wall. Did our host plan to throw me in and dispose of me to appease the gods?
“You’re young and feel the cold,” he explained, as if reading my thoughts. “Kurt stacked enough wood in your room to make a good fire, so you’ll be warm.”
He seemed to expect an answer. I was shivering with fear, but I had to answer. Casting down my eyes, I whispered, “Thank you my lord, I’m quite comfortable.”
He half-smiled as if something amused him, and turned his attention to Ethan. He didn’t move to embrace him, standing quiet and reserved, observing us both. “How good to see you, Ethan. Was your journey pleasant?”
Remembering Ethan’s agony on the plane, an imp possessed me to giggle. The look Ethan threw wasn’t pleased.
Brovik chuckled. “Ethan hates airplanes. In spite of all the science and mathematics he studies, he feels the laws of physics and averages are against him.”
Ethan drew himself taller. “I did not come to be made fun of.”
“No, it has been a long time.” Brovik turned back to me with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Mia, does he lock you away and beat you like Dracula’s brides?”
“Brovik!” Ethan protested.
I replied wryly, “Only when the moon is full.”
Brovik laughed out loud. “You need a sense of humor with Ethan. He takes everything far too seriously. Kurt speaks highly of you. Unfortunately, urgent business called him to London.”
I ventured another look around. The number of windows surprised me. The place was half glass. Sunlight isn’t a luxury we can afford. I could see if mortals lived in this house why they would want sunlight in a place where it was almost non-existent in winter.
“You find my house interesting?”
“I didn’t expect it to be so modern, my lord.”
“Brovik. I don’t go in for silly titles. I prefer modernist architecture. Not a lot of fuss, don’t you agree? You’ll see the rest tomorrow night. I promise to give the full tour but you’ve had a long trip.” He turned to Ethan. “Kurt took great pains to make her comfortable. Let her rest. We must talk.” He embraced me, kissing my forehead. Again he raised my face to his, running his hand over my cheek. His fingertips were smooth and cool on my skin, but I melted in the heat of his eyes. “You’re my blood, as Ethan is my blood. What’s his is mine. Sleep well little one.” He turned to leave. “Ethan, don’t be long.”
Ethan lifted our bags, and started off up a small flight of stairs to a gallery above the main room. I followed. The house had many levels. One staircase led to a room at the top of the house, to which Brovik ascended fluidly. He turned. Our eyes met and we appraised each other in that millisecond. Jesus, he was as Ethan said, with the most serene of smiles on that beautiful countenance, one that could seduce the soul out of you.
Ethan scolded, “Don’t gawk, for heaven’s sake.”
“He’s like one of the old saints.”
“Lucifer is the god of light,” he growled.
“Kind words for the one who gave you eternal life.”
“A gift that should have been given with a caveat. I’m sure you will be enlightened,” he replied, as he opened a door to a spacious comfortable room, one prepared with great care, by loving hands. Pale furniture and a blond wood floor were polished to a high gloss. Sheepskin rugs lay all over, soft and warm for bare feet. Thick down comforters and woven wools covered the large, somewhat low bed. The linens and rugs were all white, blue and pale yellow, just like Brovik.
“Peachy,” I commented.
“He cannot be faulted as a host. I will say that for him. It’s nearly noon. It may still be dark, but you should sleep. Don’t wait for me. “
He brushed by me, without so much as a kiss, out of the door. A key turned