Kill Me/Kiss Me- An Alex Rider Fanfic

Paradise

No one was around, which was surprising; this place looked like an old museum where at least thirty people were required to keep it upright and clean. A floorboard creaked on the floor below him and the sound seemed to echo through the hall with the same jarring sound as a gong being struck. Gently, Alex crept toward the banister in the hopes of seeing someone emerge from one of the rooms below.

"You can come down for dinner now." A voice called up to Alex. The ex-spy jumped as the voice came from below but he could only make out a shadow on the floor in the hall. Realising he had absolutely no plan to escape, Alex decided it was better to greet his host. He descended the staircase, still marvelling at the magnificence of the house. It had an odd feel to it; it wasn't English, Alex could tell from the regal staircases and pastel colours that it was more like a chateaux. Was he in France? How much time had passed since dinner at his uncle's house?

The blonde took a light step off the final stair and jumped as he finally noticed a man in a suit, coat-tails and all, looking distinctly like a butler, watching him from a passageway to his right.

"This way, Mr Rider." The man said in an accent Alex couldn't quite place; it was European but with a twinge of something American. He was not the person who had called up to Alex. The man, who had greying hair and wrinkles which indicated he was in his late fifties, moved off in the kind of manner that told Alex to follow him. The ex-spy obliged and followed the man through an archway and passage with a low-ceiling and that same floral-woody scent. Alex tried to gain some sort of understanding of where he was but this place was difficult to categorise; it had the structure and elegance of a French chateaux, but the furnishings and decor that reminded him of Italy. It gave nothing away about the outside world for all windows showed such perfect pitch darkness that Alex was convinced they must be boarded up, or else the mansion was sitting amidst nothingness.

The sound of a crackling fire caught Alex's attention and he peered around the butler, to see the back of another man, stood in a sharp, navy blue suit. The man was staring into the fire, his back to Alex, holding a bell-bottomed snifter, swirling the contents of his glass idly. He turned as the shadow of the butler fell upon the floor beside him, alerting him to his guest's arrival. As he turned, Alex recognised him instantly; Sabina would point him out in newspapers and magazines, the 'Biotech Billionaire'. With dark shaggy hair and equally dark eyes, the handsome man approached Alex in an almost cheery manner.

"Alex!" He exclaimed, "Daniel Goodchild." The well-dressed man held out his hand but was disappointed to find that Alex merely stared at him in response. "Yes," Daniel retracted his hand; he had the awkward air about him that posh English people have when they realise they're a little too posh for the company they're keeping. "I suppose," the billionaire muttered, "given the circumstances, pleasantries are bygones at this point." All the while his eyes never left Alex's until he had the same realisation that everyone else does: those cold blue eyes were shared only with one other person in this world.

"Where am I?" Alex asked, ignoring everything Goodchild was saying.

"I will hide nothing from you." The man, who Alex guessed was a few years older than him, spoke sincerely and put a hand on his heart. "You are in Saint-Èmilion," he spoke with a perfect accent, "south of France," the tone of is voice unnerved Alex; Goodchild almost spoke as though Alex would be happy to hear he had been abducted and taken to a nice place. This thought seemed to manifest itself as an expression of suspicion on Alex's face. "She told me you liked this part of France." The look on Goodchild's face told Alex he knew exactly what he was doing. Alex knew Goodchild had used the pronoun 'she' to peak Alex's interest, to latch on to something Alex would want to know more about. Who else could 'she' refer to?

"I know." The two men made direct eye contact as Goodchild spoke. "About your past. I know about her." Goodchild walked towards the centre of the room where there was a beautiful wooden table, which could seat at least sixteen, but was set for three. He went to take a seat at the head of the table and gestured for Alex took do the same. After a moments hesitation, Alex took a seat to the right of the enemy. "Hera," he said her name softly, with a slight sigh, "I know her well, actually." He smiled a little, showing perfect, dazzling teeth, "she goes to your head like wine." Alex almost scoffed; Hera had clearly perfected her 'damsel in distress' technique with this guy. "She has this way about her; you don't even realise you're in love until she tells you she's not." Alex lowered his gaze. No, it wasn't the usual routine. It meant it was real; Goodchild had fallen for her. Alex knew all too well because- "Same thing happened to you," Goodchild, keeping a hand on his glass, lifted a finger to point at Alex, a small grin on his face. Alex simply looked up at him darkly. "I don't know why I was so," He searched for the right word, "interested in meeting you. Only guy Hera couldn't get out of her head." He muttered as though that was an explanation. Alex tried to stop his eyes widening with surprise.