Chapter Seven

Cassandra

Cass slammed the door behind him.

“Good riddance! Right, buddy?”

Whimpering, Zero raised his head from his crossed paws and stared longingly at the door.

“Ugh. You, too, huh?” She paced between the door and the bed. This bedroom, obviously his, was the only place she didn’t see a single red decal. “Maybe I was a bit harsh.”

Still, she was glad to have a reason to put distance between them. Part of her considered him an interesting specimen to be studied, while another part had grown to respect his accomplishments, and yet another was reacting to him in a way she didn’t care for. Cass could become attracted to anyone. Sometimes attraction came first, like occasional whirlwind encounters in college, full of lust and loneliness. But for the most part, attraction was a gradual thing that followed on the heels of stronger emotions.

She hated the idea of becoming attracted to this grouchy old vampire guy. Not because of who and what he claimed to be, but because she’d spent so long hiding pieces of herself. He was secluded here by choice. She wanted nothing to do with that level of hiding. Besides, how would she continue her work in DIY labs, so far removed from civilization? She didn’t spend much time at home anyway, let alone enough to keep another individual satisfied.

Vampire or not, he wasn’t human. If he ever had been, the experiments had changed that. She could’ve sworn she’d seen him preening a couple of times. Was his genuine nature due to seclusion? He was clearly used to being himself, with no one around for him to put it on for. Then again, his collections were tastefully displayed, like he wanted them to be admired. He was clearly a man who put careful consideration into his aesthetic.

Every room she’d seen so far had a smattering of materials, tools, books, knick-knacks, all thoughtfully arranged. With so much to work on at any moment, one would rarely be bored.

She would have to find an appropriate time to ask about the experiment that had made him this way. What awesome things could be accomplished with an extra set of hands? He must get so much more work done! His dexterity was fascinating. How else could he use those deft hands? What instruments could he play? What would it feel like to be that instrument?

Cass shook her head to refocus. She didn’t want to leave things the way they’d ended. She wasn’t usually prone to outbursts, and after the way he’d been so careful with Zero, he deserved better.

She stepped into the hallway. It stretched on either side. Right or left? She tried to recall which way he’d turned as she’d slammed the door. She took a guess and walked along the red carpeted path, peeking into open doors, trying doorknobs, knocking on locked ones.

“Qadaire?”

No response. It became obvious she’d gone beyond the living area. She passed rooms of junk, of books, of tools, of charred ashes. She took a flight of stairs and another turn. The air became muskier, her hands crossing to run up and down her arms, which were covered in little bumps.

Screw this. She could apologize in the morning.

She turned at the sound of wings. Was that him? She followed the sound into a dome-ceilinged room that housed an extra tall and wide pile of junk on top of primitive hospital beds. Judging by the charred remains she’d observed leading up to this room, it seemed like someone had planned to burn the whole stack.

She took a tentative step closer, glancing at her feet to keep from stepping on anything that might give her tetanus. When she reached a small pile on the floor in front of the beds, she saw intricately carved frames and detailed pictures. The running theme was blood, blood, sex, and blood. She squinted at a canvas that had a rip down the middle. She held the piece of drooping fabric, her insides heaving at what she saw.

A farm of humans being herded, naked, into gated stalls like milking cows, with three exit tunnels at the end. As they exited the tunnel, a crowned vampire sat on a throne with at least six men and women performing various sex acts on him and each other. Some of the humans seemed too limp to be alive, their bodies fodder.

Bile rose in the back of Cassandra’s throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting and staggered backward.

“You weren’t meant to see this.”

She turned, trembling, to see Qadaire frowning at her.

“What is all this?”

“Dracula VI was a cruel overlord.” There was a coldness to his tone that made her clutch her sides.

“Was this . . . I mean, this is the way he treated people?” She glanced from the busted, padless beds to the medieval supplies that certainly weren’t medical, nor humane.

With a curt nod, Qadaire held a piece of peeling canvas up against its frame. The painting showed rows of humans suspended from the ceiling, blood spilling down on a ballroom, where naked and half-naked vampires danced, their red footprints swallowed by puddles on the floor.

“What kind of experiments happened in here?” She almost didn’t want to know the answer, but her damned mouth was always running, asking any question that came to mind.

“The kind that don’t leave the patients with their lives. He thought humans were no more sentient than beetles. He assumed his scientists were all equally deranged. He never considered anyone in his court had an ounce of compassion.”

“Did he experiment on you?” She glanced at his extra appendages.

“No. His dying breath cursed me with these deformities. Had he not died halfway through, I would’ve become a crow.”

“Oh.” It was definitely a sore spot. She surveyed the mess of a room again. “Why haven’t you gotten rid of all this?”

He paused a moment, utterly still and quiet. When he spoke, the words came as though they pained him. “When I question my decision, I think of this room. I did what was necessary.”

If this was the reality he’d lived in, no wonder he wasn’t thinking about the patriarchy. If he’d truly lived through things like this, human problems were far from his mind.

Qadaire reached toward her and she accepted his hand. He curled it inside his elbow and led her back to the hallway.

“Hey, listen.” She paused their stride and fidgeted with the hem of her oversized nightshirt. “The reason I was wandering around your house. I’m sorry. I think I’m just worked up about all this, and it doesn’t help how unbelievable this situation is. I mean . . .” She accidentally glanced at his bare torso, the rippling muscles there, including an extra set of pecs for his extra set of arms. “You didn’t deserve that. Hell, you probably couldn’t have changed much anyway. The patriarchy has survived worse than a well-intended scientist.”

Qadaire’s expression didn’t shift from stony detachment. Once again, it was like she was talking to the offensive gargoyles out front. As the silence stretched on, her heart pounded a little harder. Was he angry? Would he suck her blood? Her lips tightened and sank toward her chin.

He grunted. His bottom pair of arms crossed over his torso, mirroring her stance. His upper right hand rose, hovered in the air, then dropped. His left raked over the feathers on the back of his neck. His frown returned in full force and he nodded, then proceeded down the hallway. It was the most expressive she’d seen him yet.

“We good?” she asked.

“Yes. Good.”

Okay then. She’d met some awkward folks, especially coming from her field. She’d always preferred animals to humans herself, the main reason she’d gone to vet school. When she went on for her pathology degree, she was isolated further, from bustling vet clinics to a quiet lab. But this hermit took the cake. He had all the social skills of a cactus. It made her want to smile.

When they reached the bedroom, she paused with the door ajar. “You really killed him? The descendant of Dracula?”

Qadaire nodded.

“You must be pretty powerful, then.”

“I am far from who I once was.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” She stepped into the room and started to close the door, peering around it to say, “See you in the lab tomorrow?”

Another curt nod. She closed the door and rolled onto her back. She was now convinced he was what he said he was. Despite that he was more gentle than the powerful vampire he might’ve once been, she couldn’t forget that he was dangerous.

And yet. . .

He was not afraid to stand up for what was right. To fight for those who couldn’t. Even those he’d never seen or spoken to. That level of compassion, it couldn’t be wielded by someone evil. Right?

She was nauseous. Lingering disgust over the awful paintings and the wicked science experiments. Fear to be in the presence of a life-consuming being. Respect for a man—vampire—who refused to be a bystander. And something else, in the periphery. It all congregated in her gurgling belly.

“Scoot over.” Cass nudged Zero, who was fast asleep regardless that she’d skipped their nightly reading.

The smell of Qadaire’s pillow was rich, like budding maple trees. She fell into sleep, with dreams of roaming hands and falling leaves.