“home.” Upon opening the door, she yelped and jumped as there was a man standing on the other side. He was leaning an arm up on the jamb, grinning at her.
A vampire, at any rate.
“Good evening.”
Zadok.
She was growing to loathe him. She glared at him accordingly. “Please get out of my way.”
“I was told to see to your every need. And as my Master commands”—he placed a hand against his chest, fingers splayed wide—“so I must obey.” The wicked smile on his face displayed that he had a great many ideas on what might constitute her needs.
“I think I rather dislike you.”
He gasped in mock hurt and clutched his heart with both hands. “Oh, how tragic. And here I had hoped to don some leather gloves and take you to bed. Even with a layer between us, I know I could show you great joy.” He grinned. “What do you say?”
She blanched and shook her head. “You are rude.”
“That I am. C’est la vie, my love. Come. You must be hungry.” He stepped from the door and walked down the hallway. “I have prepared you a small meal before you attend the opera with our beloved Master.”
“He is not my Master.”
“Mmhm.” He shot her a playful wink over his shoulder. “Of course not. Come, come, the hour grows late.”
Letting out a beleaguered grunt, she followed him. She had little else to do, and she was indeed starving. She touched the mark on her throat. She had found a silk scarf to wear to hide it, but it was tender.
The building was beautiful, if dimly lit. Vampires likely have little need for bright gas lamps, she realized. It occurred to her how little she knew about them.
Despite his showboating, there was something about Zadok that intrigued her. One thing only. “For someone who is so utterly brash and irritating, you are quite lonely, aren’t you?” She would enjoy cutting him to the quick. Men like him deserved to be lowered a peg or two.
He paused in his steps and turned to look back at her. “I never sleep alone.”
“You may sleep with flesh against yours, but you still sleep alone.”
“And how do you know this?”
“I can hear all your emotions, Monsieur Lafitte. Your sadness, your loneliness, your wish for a family. Perhaps if you did not drive everyone away with your callous behavior, you would have one already.”
“Uncanny…” Zadok breathed. His eyes were flashing in excitement. “Truly uncanny. You are a marvel.”
She didn’t like how he was watching her, and she gestured for him to continue to lead her away. With a flourish of a bow, they continued their trek. “How old are you, Zadok?”
“The lady takes interest in me!” He gasped in playful dramatism. “I thought perhaps you could not see me.”
“You will quickly make me regret asking you anything at all.”
“Touché, my lovely. I was born in the year 1442, in the north of France. I died twenty-five years later to the fangs of my sire.”
“And what became of him?”
“He grew tired of his state of being and sought to greet the dawn.” Zadok glanced at her again. “We are not all suited for immortality. Our gift is not a blessing to all. With him died the family you clearly know I desire. I serve our Master to fill that gap you so plainly see.” He brought her to what looked like the kitchens. A plate of fruit, of meats and cheeses, and several slices of bread sat on the counter next to what looked like juice. “Please, eat.”
She was happy to change the subject. “Are you well-versed in nursing your victims back to health?”
“Hm?”
She gestured at the plate of food.
He chuckled. “Oh. Yes. I fear I am. I tend to enjoy the spark a living companion brings to me. Your kind experience love with such brevity that you do so like wildfire. Our kind grow cold as the years climb on. When I find someone—”
“Like the poor aristocrat you’ve likely murdered by now?”
“Like Arthur,” he continued with a sly smile. She sat on the stool in front of the food and began to eat as he talked. “I tend to ensure I do not end them too soon. He lives.”
“And will you end him?”
“I will turn him if he wishes it. I will not kill him. He is a playful, morbid thing. I enjoy him too much to kill him for the fun of it. Why do you care?”