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The first impression I have when walking into the place I’ll be living for the next three months is that there aren’t any coffins. The next impression immediately on the heels of that one is that it’s rather light and airy compared to Noir, and I’m kind of in disbelief that the king of vampires calls this his palace.
“Where am I staying?” I ask, turning back towards the garage door to Ashe. Except the door is closed and I’m all alone.
“Okay,” I drag out, turning back around to the rest of the house, a bit creeped out. I clutch the strap of my duffle bag tighter and head deeper into the house.
The garage door opened to a pristine space of pale hardwood floors and cream-colored walls. Plush runners with geometric patterns keep the floors from being bare while the walls have art prints of evergreen forests and mountains backed with blue skies. Light comes from wall sconces, making the space inviting rather than intimidating.
The entryway passes through an arched doorway into a living space crowded with life. Plants seem to take up every surface, turning the room into one of those urban jungles. I close my eyes, breathing in the rich scent of healthy soil and thriving plants. My fear for my own plants is immediately lessened. If these plants are any indication, I can trust Ashe to see to my own babies. Or maybe I can request they be brought to me, since they’ll be in good company.
In the center of the indoor garden is a low round table surrounded by a pair of wingback armchairs in green velvet and a matching couch. Ashe’s words of how Ambrose balances performance and practicality come back to me and it seems applicable to his home as well.
I want to linger in the room and introduce myself to each plant, most I recognize and others I’ve never seen before. I force myself to move on, my curiosity about the rest of the house too strong. From the car, I’d glimpsed the southern manor exterior and three stories of windows before we’d disappeared down underground into the garage.
On the lower level, there are no hallways as one room opens into the next. Each one has quite a few indoor plants, especially near the large windows, but none have as many as that first room. There are at least two different living rooms and a large dining room with a long table that my last foster mother would be envious of. It has at least a dozen chairs pushed in, and the cherry oak gleams in the white light from the wall lights. Even the table has two golden pothos plants sprawling its yellow and green leaves across the tabletop.
I only poke my head into the kitchen, the first room I’ve seen behind a closed door. My eyebrows rise at the pure functionality of the place. For a vampire’s residence, I didn’t expect a full kitchen, considering they drank blood. Or maybe the massive stainless-steel fridge across the kitchen isn’t full of freezer meals, fruits, and veggies. For all I know, it could be filled with bags of blood, like the ones at blood drives.
Deciding against finding out, I make my way towards a set of stairs in a room lined with bookshelves. Not all the shelves held books. Things that looked better suited to a museum are scattered across the shelves as if set there years ago and long forgotten. They look expensive enough I’m too nervous to even get close.
Climbing the stairs, I’m struck by how big this house actually is as I look upwards. The stairs continue up to a third floor as I’d expected and there is no ornate chandelier as I half-expected. Isn’t that what the obscenely wealthy do with spaces like this?
When I make it to the second landing, a chill goes down my spine and the hair on my arms rise. I stop and spin slowly, searching for what—or more likely, who has made me feel like this.
“Hello?”
I’m pretty proud of myself that it didn’t come out as a squeak. Of course, there’s no response, which only creeps me out even more.
This floor surrounds the staircase, with doors leading off of the U-shaped landing. There’s a hallway to my right, dark with none of the lights on. But whoever is watching me isn’t there; I’m not sure how I know, but I’m certain.
Swallowing, I consider continuing on my exploration but I’ve used up all of my courage for the night. Not caring if someone is watching me, I turn and hurry back down the stairs, barely managing not to break into a run.
Clutching my bag, I hurry back to the first room filled with plants. I sit on the couch, and set my duffle beside me, my thighs pressed together and hands clutching my knees. I’m too aware of my heart racing, the sound pounding in my ears as I strain for any sign of movement in the house.
I’ve always hated haunted houses, but knowing a vampire—one who’s already bitten me, at that—lives here is setting my teeth on edge. The sensation of no longer being alone only intensifies the longer I sit. My hands are clammy and a scream is building up in my chest. I have no idea if it’s from fear or irritation. Grabbing hold of the anger, I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down.
Once I feel like I can talk normally, I shoot a glare towards the archway which leads to the stairs.
“Are you too scared to show yourself, Ambrose?” I say, almost achieving a nonchalant tone. It’s just a guess that my silent watcher is the vampire king, even knowing I’d left him at Noir. If I don’t get a handle on our interactions now, I won’t retain any semblance of control and I need that if I’m going to make it here for three months.
Deidre has to be alive; even if it means I get out of the deal earlier, she can’t be dead.
There’s no immediate answer but the air around me thins, as if I’m no longer being studied quite so intently. I’m about to say something else, maybe a goad to challenge the man, when a streak of movement ripples past me and makes the massive leaves of the Monsteras, Devil’s Ivy, and spider plants rustle. A yelp ekes out between my lips as one of the wingback chairs across the low table from me is suddenly occupied.
Ambrose d’Vil is a bastard.
I glare at the vampire, unamused even as my heart tries to make its way back into my chest from the afterlife. He’s sitting there, ankle across his knee, and golden honey hair in perfect place. He’s clearly changed clothes, since there’s no more blood speckled on his white shirt, and in place of a narrow black tie, he’s left the first few buttons undone. The tease of pale skin draws my attention no matter how much I fight it. There’s the smallest black curve, half-hidden in the shadow of his shirt collar. Does Ambrose have tattoos?
My mind goes crazy with thoughts of unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and sliding my hands over his chest to discover what secrets lie underneath. My core tightens as my body remembers exactly how it felt to be held up against his strong body.
No, nope. We aren’t going there. I will not be another human who falls at the feet of the sexy vampire. The really, really sexy vampire.
“Kasar has a lead on Deidre.”
I jump, my shoulders practically slamming into my ears, as Ambrose breaks the silence. He’s watching me with impassivity, but I swear I get the sense I amuse him.
“That’s good, right?” I ask after swallowing. I hesitate, but force myself to ask the next question. “Does he think she’s still...” My eyes fall closed as my throat tightens.
“Alive?” Ambrose’s voice is even, and when I open my eyes, his are trained on me as he shifts to rest his elbows casually on the rests of the chair. He waits until I get a jerky nod. “He believes that she is still alive, yes. As for if she will still be so when he catches up to her abductors, I cannot say.”
