12. Barnaby
Chapter twelv e
Barnaby
I wish she would not push me so much, but at the same time, it’s something I enjoy about her. Maisie’s mind is endlessly curious, always searching for answers. This must be why she is so good at her job.
I just have to hope that she’ll reserve judgment—or if she does judge me, which she has every right to do, it will be merciful.
“After Eleanor drank from me, I died,” I begin.
Maisie blinks. “Fully died?”
I nod. “My body was left in an alleyway. Police found me, and I was given an anonymous burial in a plain, wood coffin. It was buried underground with me inside it.”
Her eyes grow huge and worried. I flap a hand at her.
“Don’t concern yourself. Once Eleanor’s blood worked its way through my system... it gave me life again.”
“But you were buried!” Her mouth is agape .
“Yes. It took me some time to dig my way out. But my transformation had given me new strength, and I was able to do it.”
“That must have been terrifying.”
All I can do is nod in agreement. At the time, I thought I would never emerge. I thought I would die again, buried by six feet of earth.
“When I finally got free, Eleanor was waiting for me.”
I remember vividly finding my murderer standing over my grave, a wicked smile on her ethereally beautiful face. She knew then that she was all I had, the only thing left in the world for me, and so I was already under her control.
I had been given a second life, and I owed it to Eleanor.
“She dragged me out of the dirt, and around us other vampires materialized, all to help me dig out my coffin.”
Maisie leans forward on the ottoman. “So vampires really do sleep in coffins?”
I shrug. “It’s tradition, I suppose.”
She lets out an ooh , then falls quiet to let me continue.
“I was brought back to the coven and introduced to all seven members. Only a few others had been turned by Eleanor, too, and immediately they treated me as competition for her affection.”
The worst part is that I understood it. The moment I looked upon Eleanor, I could feel her blood running through me, and it glued me to her side. I felt as if I would be nothing without her, and so I made myself her servant, begging and praying for an ounce of her attention.
I was so pathetic.
“What was the coven like?” Maisie asks.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I have to tell her. But if I really want to court her, I ought to be honest with her about who I am.
“Bloodthirsty,” I grind out. “They had just established themselves in Vienna and grown bold quickly. I was hungry—so hungry, back then—and so I... went along with everything they did.”
My memory slides back to those dark nights in alleyways, finding a drunk on his way home in the dark and sinking my teeth into his throat.
Maisie’s eyes are bright and innocent. “Like what? What did they do?”
Now is the moment. This is when she will get back into her futuristic car and leave the manse forever.
“I killed, Maisie.” I fix my gaze on her as her eyebrows rise. “I was starving, and so I fed. I did everything and anything to get my hands on fresh blood, as new as I was to my second life. The craving took over my whole body and mind. I drank and drank, taking many souls.”
She sits in place, staring at me with clear shock.
“Wow,” Maisie says at last, bracing her hands on her knees as she leans forward. “Just like a baby, I guess. All you knew how to do was eat.”
I blink. She has not gotten up to run. Not yet.
“I suppose so. An infant vampire. It took me some time to get past that stage of all-consuming thirst—many, many years. And under Eleanor’s thumb, it was encouraged. We ravaged Vienna.”
There is one thing I will not tell her, though. It is how we spent our days lying naked and covered in blood. I would be granted access to Eleanor, and then I’d slide my cock inside her while one of her other devotees slid inside me. That was often Jonathan, the vampire she turned after me. He would fuck me into Eleanor, faster and harder with every stroke, and I relished it. As none of us were capable of reproducing any longer, there was no need for hesitation or care. We reveled in our bodies, sinking our fangs into each other just as we did our victims and drinking until it was time to go on the hunt again.
“How did you escape?” Maisie asks, her voice quieter now. Still, she has not run.
This time is fuzzier for me. I was drunk on blood, fat and happy as a mosquito, when Eleanor found Penn.
“Penn,” I begin. “He was just out of his child years, but to me, he still was a youth. It was Eleanor’s decision to turn him that hardened me against her. She had stolen his entire life out from under him, and then brought him into our fold. He was innocent and young. He did not deserve it.”
Just the memory of it stirs rage in me again.
“And I was a part of it. I lived in this horrid nest of ingrates, and I was responsible for Penn’s fate as much as anyone’s. I couldn’t forgive Eleanor, and so I left. But I will always carry that guilt with me.”
A soft touch on my shoulder brings me back to the present.
“You didn’t make the choice to turn him,” Maisie says, and I open my eyes to find her leaning toward me. She draws her finger down my arm to my hand and then takes it in both of hers. “Eleanor was the one in a position of power. Not you.”
She’s right, but I tire of this subject. I want to return to the fold of peace we had as Maisie ate dinner, to that bubble of lightness. I want to hold her in my lap and read sweet words into her ear.
“What then?” Maisie asks. “You managed to leave, and Eleanor didn’t go after you?”
I wish it had been that simple. “I left the group when we went hunting one night. I had achieved greater control over my urges by then, so when I made the decision, I made it quickly. While the others were occupied with their meals, I returned to the house of an old friend, who had grown much older by then.”
I think of the letter Maisie found in the desk drawer.
“He gave me Beatrice’s letter. I made him promise never to tell her that he had seen me. He knew something was wrong, as he had aged while I hadn’t.”
She taps her chin. “And you’ve held onto it ever since.”
“I left Vienna immediately and came to this country in hopes of hiding from her.” Eleanor may still be out there now—she likely is. But I ran far enough away that I wasn’t worth chasing.
“Now that I have answered your questions,” I say, “may I show you the book?”
Maisie laughs and then, without prompting, picks herself up off the ottoman and settles in my lap. She feels marvelous there, her warm buttocks resting on my thighs. I hold the novel out in front of her and crack open the cover, releasing a puff of dust. Maisie sneezes, which has the lovely effect of pushing her body back against mine.
Almost immediately, my cock is alert, excited for this development. But I keep it at bay as Maisie settles into my shoulder and I begin reading the first page of the book.
Maisie
I could fall asleep listening to Barnaby’s surprisingly soft voice as he reads to me. But I don’t, because I’m interested in other things.
At the end of chapter one, as the hero and heroine have just met, I lean my head back and gently press my lips to his cheek. Barnaby’s narration stutters for a moment, but then he continues.
I know what he’s afraid of. He doesn’t want to drink from me. His reluctance shouldn’t hurt, but oddly, it does.
What if I wanted him to? Would he find me repulsive if I offered? Would he consider it a betrayal of all his values, everything he’s worked for since leaving the coven, if I gave him the opportunity?
I take my kiss lower, down to the side of his throat, and this time he loses a whole word from the sentence he’s reading. He goes back and rereads it, but I’m not listening anymore. There’s a lump under his pants, right between my legs, and it’s making me increasingly warm there .
“Barnaby,” I murmur into his ear, and he pauses his reading. “Is this really what you want to be doing? Here, at your home, alone? Not that I mind it, but I think we could try some other things, too.”
It’s nearly imperceptible when his fangs lengthen, protruding from his lips.
“What sort of things?” he asks, voice low and husky.
To make my meaning clearer than words ever could, I roll my hips, grinding my ass against that bulge between his thighs. Barnaby gasps into my ear.
“I see.” He drops his hands to my waist, bringing me down even more roughly against his lap. “Maisie. We must have a conversation.”
“About what? I did, um, bring a condom. If you’re, you know, worried about that.”
A laugh escapes him, and I blush, shrinking into his arms.
“That is not an issue,” Barnaby says, nuzzling my head with his nose. “My seed is, erm, no longer potent since my death. It is... my other desires that may get in the way. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Why not?” I ask. “What if I was willing?”
Barnaby’s hands on my waist fall perfectly still. “Please clarify.”
I lean back, kissing his cheek again. “What if I wanted you to do it? What if...” I almost choke on the words because they’re so embarrassing. “ What if I wanted to feed you?”
There is no response, and I don’t think Barnaby is even breathing. Then, his head lowers, and his breath whispers across my neck.
“What are you saying?” he asks hoarsely. “You want me to bite you? To hurt you?”
“I want you to feel good.” To emphasize the point, I wiggle my ass, and his cock jumps under me. “If you’re hungry and I can help, then I want to.”
A shudder travels through Barnaby’s body, and his arms wrap tight around me, like iron.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” His lips pass over my throat, and my blood rushes faster through my veins.
“Yes, I do. I’m a grown woman.” I lower my voice. “I trust you to stop before you drain me.”
He breathes in sharply, and his cock grows thicker underneath me. Two cool incisors press to my neck, twin pinpricks of suggestion.
“Maisie,” Barnaby rumbles. “I will be happy merely with a taste.”
I rub my ass against his crotch, making him groan. “Then taste me.”
“If that is truly what you want,” he says in a low voice over my shoulder, “ truly , then I would very much like to take you to bed with me.”
Oh, fuck yes .
I nod vigorously. “Please.”
He slips one arm under my knees, the other cradling my back, and swings me up into his arms as he rises to his feet. On instinct, I cling to his neck and squeak .
He lets out a huff of laughter. “I will not drop you,” Barnaby says as he carries me out of the room, to the stairs.
“Wow. You’re strong.” I glance down at the floor beneath me. He’s not a broad or a muscular man, but that clearly isn’t stopping him.
His lip quirks. “One of the very few benefits of my second life.”
He ascends the steps two at a time because his legs are so long, and veers down a hallway lined by a banister. He chooses a door, then uses his knee to push it open.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask. “You sleep up here?”
He chuckles. “Oh, no. My coffin is in the basement. But I’m not going to enjoy you in such a small space.”
The way he says enjoy , like I’m a prime dessert, makes me shiver. I can’t wait.