Chapter Eleven: Caldric

Caldric busied himself with organizing the wine glasses and decanter on a silver tray. Then busied himself reorganizing them again, adding two small crystal vases, each filled with a small red rosebud.

"Hmm." He picked up another blood-red rose from the table and plucked the petals from it one at a time, placing them carefully on the tray, attempting to go for a naturally scattered look.

He did not succeed, the petals all piled up atop one another.

He tensed his jaw as he leaned down so the tray was at eye level and blew softly.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath as the petals flew off the tray and landed on the kitchen floor.

It was such a simple thing, but it kept him busy. He normally had no trouble sitting still and waiting for time to pass, but he found himself unable to stop fidgeting.

As he picked the petals up, a quick glance at the clock told him she would be here soon.

She , being the vampire hunter, Aralyn Beaufort, of the long line of Beaufort vampire hunters.

If anyone had told him he would be consorting with a Beaufort hunter after all these years of aiding her in a dangerous mission to infiltrate the Tolioni family, he'd have thought they were blood drunk. Or simply plain drunk. But here he was.

He scooped up the rose petals and straightened up, examining the tray. And his feelings.

Why was it so important to get this right, to make it look as if he'd made an effort?

Aralyn was only interested in the customs and traditions of vampires, so she could fit in well enough at the ball to perform a heist. She did not care about the aesthetics of his presentation, nor did she care for the meticulousness that had always been his virtue and vice.

Yet, there was a part of him that hoped to impress her, even if she would never admit to noticing the details.

He took a deep breath, his mind straying for a moment to their first meeting—he'd been dead inside on so many levels. But meeting her…

Talking to her, dancing with her…

Something was stirring inside of him.

Better hope it's not a remnant of his old life, a life he had long forsaken.

Losing his sister had left him bereft, had left him… Yes, he admitted it…

Half insane.

He'd done things… Things he did not want to think about.

Things he did not want Aralyn to know about.

Ever!

But even if she knew… She must be able to see he was not that person anymore. He'd changed, perhaps evolved.

What a notion!

He glanced at the clock once more. It too had been still frozen like his heart. As the days, months and years passed by, time had become meaningless. But now, with Aralyn entering his life, he'd wound the clock, taking comfort in the sound of the ticking hands, and that they counted down the seconds until he could next see her.

Each swing of the pendulum was a visual reminder that time was moving once again. He was moving forward. One moment at a time.

It did not matter where he was moving to. If helping Aralyn caused him to meet his end at last, then so be it.

Yet the more time he spent around Aralyn, the more he wondered if he did care where he ended up after this entire ordeal was over…

Caldric scattered the rose petals on the tray, finally happy enough with the result, and then picked it up and carried it to the room where his beloved piano stood. It did not mock him quite so much this evening.

The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of an ornate chandelier, its crystals casting tiny rainbows across the walls. Caldric set the tray down gently on top of the piano.

It looked out of place. Casting his gaze around the room, he took in the faded grandeur that had once been his pride. The rich wood paneling, the velvet drapes now frayed at the edges, and the large fireplace that he seldom lit. Now it was all covered in dust and clutter.

What was the point when nothing could thaw his frozen heart?

"Perfect." He strode to the fireplace and reached down an ornate candlestick from the mantelpiece. He lit it carefully with a match, shielding the flame from the inevitable draft.

The small flame danced hesitantly before catching and burning steadily. He walked back to the piano, the light casting shadows that flickered along the walls.

Caldric hovered over the piano keys, his fingers ghosting above them.

But silence reigned. He did not want to play, he did not want to hear the haunting strains of an old melody, one that spoke of love and loss, butchered by his lack of emotion.

For how could the notes evoke what his heart could not feel?

He closed his hand, balling it into a fist as he stepped back, casting a critical eye over the scene before him.

"Very Gothic," he said wryly.

Caldric turned on his heel and strode from the room to check the clock once more. Was it running fast, or was Aralyn late?

She should have been here five, no, six minutes ago.

He snorted. Was he truly agonizing over six minutes? For a creature who had lost all sense of time, it was ridiculous. No, worse, it was pathetic.

He didn't need people in his life. He certainly didn't need a vampire hunter.

But being with her, being around her…

Seeing her in his sister's dress… Had reminded him of a time when he had been alive in more ways than one.

Of a time when he'd loved… A time when he had lost.

Her knock came out of the silence, and he hurried to the door, pausing a couple of steps away, not wanting to seem too eager.

"I know you are there," Aralyn's voice came from the other side of the stout wooden door. "Are you going to let me in?"

He would have cracked a smile, but there was something in her tone, a hint of unease. "Coming." He opened the door with a flourish and stood back, peering into the night, which was clear as day to him in the moonlight. He searched for some threat lurking in the darkness, but there was no one.

"Close the door," she said, as she stepped inside.

"Is there someone out there?" Caldric asked.

Her gaze flickered to his before she glanced over her shoulder. "Not here, I don't think, though I had a run-in on the way over."

"Who?" Caldric asked.

"They did not reveal themselves, though it was a vampire for sure."

Caldric took one last look before he firmly closed the door and then bolted it securely. "You are safe in here."

She arched an eyebrow. "What makes you think I was not safe out there?"

"I struggle to accurately tell emotions in others, with it being so long since I have felt any," he replied, his eyes locking onto hers. "And even then, I could tell that you were uneasy."

Aralyn's face softened for a moment before her usual guarded expression returned. "Well, your instincts were right," she conceded. "But that doesn't mean I was in danger. I can handle myself."

"I am sure you can," Caldric replied. "But a vampire hunter must attract those who seek revenge."

Aralyn glanced toward the bolted front door. "Oh, yeah." Then she looked at him. "Does that bother you?"

"That sometimes the hunter becomes the hunted?" Caldric asked.

"That they are seeking revenge because of those I have staked," she replied.

He shrugged. "How can it bother me when I do not feel?"

She stood before him, studying his face before she stepped away and said, "So, what torture do you have planned for me today? A corset? Or maybe an underskirt to go beneath my ball gown with endless layers?" She attempted to inject some levity into her words, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her unease.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Not today," he said as he followed her across the hallway. "Today, you get to try Sanguignon Rouge."

"Sanguignon Rouge." Aralyn spun around and walked backward in a perfectly straight line as if she had eyes in the back of her head, easily avoiding the stacks of old books and boxes.

"Yes. Sanguignon Rouge," Caldric said. "It is a custom at the Tolioni Ball, to drink blood from…"

"Blood!" She stopped walking, and he nearly collided with her. But she did not take a step back, instead, she stood her ground, her eyes narrowing. "You can't be serious."

"Deadly."

"You honestly expect me to drink blood," she said with as much disgust as a person could muster.

"It is a custom," Caldric told her, his face serious. "I'm sure it can't be such a surprise to you that an important part of a vampire gathering is drinking blood."

"I don't care if it is a custom," she began.

"Really, because I thought you were willing to do anything to steal…"

"Retrieve," she corrected.

"To retrieve the Myasma Stone." He arched an eyebrow at her. "Was that a lie?"

Her shoulders slumped, but the repulsion did not leave her mouth as she replied, "I will do whatever is necessary."

"Then let us drink." He brushed past her, his shoulder touching hers. A shock of recognition seemed to pass through him. Why did she evoke such sensations in him?

Because they were opposites. A vampire and a vampire hunter. Cold against heat. Death against life.

She trailed behind him, the clunk of her boots echoing on his wooden floor betraying her mood. And it wasn't a good one, to say the least.

He did not need eyes in the back of his head to picture her face. Her full lips curled in distaste, her chin stuck out with defiance. And her eyes were ablaze with a determination to see this through no matter what it took.

The Myasma Stone must have been important to her, more so than it just being a family heirloom. Retrieving it had some greater significance for Aralyn if she was willing to go this far.

Caldric led her across the room to where the silver tray stood on the piano next to the candlestick, its cheery flame deepening the color of the ruby-red liquid inside the bottle.

"You made an effort," Aralyn said as she appraised the scene before her.

"I'm glad you noticed," he replied as he picked up the bottle. "I opened it earlier to let it breathe."

"How ironic," she said with disdain.

Caldric smothered a smile as he poured the wine into the glasses. "As you can see, it is full-bodied with a rich color."

Aralyn paled slightly as he handed her a glass. "If I did not know better, I would say you were enjoying this."

"If I could, I probably would be." He raised his glass to hers. "Now, Bertram, the head of the Tolioni family, will make a speech. It's usually long, rambly, and filled with tales of his family's exploits. Any regular to the ball will have heard all of this before, but they insist on it, anyway."

"Sounds riveting."

"And after the speech, all assembled raise their glasses and say, ‘And may life be eternal, and blood be warm!'"

"I think I'm going to puke." She covered her mouth with her hand as she looked at the wine in her glass.

"Now that will not go down well with the Tolioni family," Caldric warned her.

"Well, this blood wine will not go down well with me," Aralyn countered.

"Remember why you are doing this," Caldric murmured as he arched an eyebrow and began, "Here's…" He waited for her to join in, fearing for a moment she would not. "To."

"To," she began with a roll of her eyes. "Life that's eternal and to blood that's always warm."

Then her locked eyes with his as he lifted his glass and drank.

Aralyn hesitated for a moment before she raised her glass to her lips and took a sip. As the liquid filled her mouth, she nearly sprayed it across the room as her eyes widened and she punched him in the shoulder with her free hand. "You liar!"

Caldric feigned mock surprise. "What? I never said this was blood."

"It was implied," she countered as she lifted the glass to her nose and inhaled the aroma of rich, dark fruit mingling with subtle notes of oak and spice, though there was certainly a tang of metal in there that made it more palatable to the vampiric kind. "It's just wine," she declared, her voice filled with a mixture of relief and exasperation.

" Just wine! That is an insult to Horatio, who carefully crafts this wine for the Tolioni family. He has spent years perfecting the recipe so that those of a non-vampiric nature can partake in their traditions," Caldric said, his tone straddling the line between sincerity and jest.

Aralyn rolled her eyes again, though this time there was a hint of amusement. "Bravo, Caldric, you fooled me."

"Glad you think so." He gave a small bow. "I just wanted you to be prepared for anything."

"And there I was thinking it was revenge for me being five minutes late," she replied.

"Seven minutes," he corrected.

"Seven minutes." A small size crossed her lips. "Now, to make it up to me, will you play?"

"I…" He glanced between Aralyn and the piano. His finger began tapping on his glass, and he could hear the echoes of music faintly. "Of course."

Aralyn was the only person, the only thing for that matter, who had stirred any emotion in him since his curse.

If he were ever going to connect with music again, perhaps it was with her by his side.