Changeling (Book 1) Rated R

Chapter 24

It was a little cobble-stoned path that led up to the mansion on the hill.

Malthus kept the gun pressed against the small of my back as we neared the mansion which was dark and imposing up close.

A great deal of detail had gone into the wood trimmings and arched windows, I could see. Most held intricate patterns, including the door which was covered in foreign runes. Up close I could see that the concrete was actually stamped with Aztec suns.

The fountain continued to splutter happily at the center of the driveway.
If only everything was as simple as the way water flowed.

My feet sank into grass made to glitter beneath the light of the stars by beads of water.

Massive oak doors loomed up before me, looking to be centuries old with knickers in the shape of dragons.

I wondered how long vampires could live; was it forever? A couple hundred years? A regular human life-time?

I sort of regretted now, never asking that traitor Christian what his age was.

The two other men pushed the door aside and it slid open effortlessly, making little to no sound as we stepped through. It shut behind us, bolts snapping into place with finality.

The sound of those locks echoed through the marvelous room like nails in a coffin.

An open foyer greeted us with bone white marble flooring stretching in every direction.

As if Carlos had built this home on the skeletal remains of his experiments in his deranged quest to heal his dying wife.

Above the mantel of an ornate fireplace, there was a gilded-frame portrait of a woman.

She had a grace about her I couldn't quite place in this era, a grace that was undoubtedly not human as well it should have been.

The woman in the picture had skin the color of milk, eyes as red and sparkling as rubies.

She was dressed in a long, Victorian gown with a pearl embroidered corset that accentuated her slender waist. Her hair, as white as the snow that fell in Oregon was piled high above her head, beautifully styled into a perfect crown of ringlets.

I found myself feeling jealous of her. Not only did she have all that beauty but soon she'd have all of my power too.

"This way." Carlos announced, leading the way up a staircase.

We took a left on the first floor and went straight down a hallway that was lined with candelabras and hand woven rugs.

Carlos opened the door to the bedroom and promptly reached for my elbow, hauling me inside behind him.

The woman from the portrait was sitting there, though after seeing her, my jealousy immediately evaporate.

She was but a ghost of the woman in the picture.

She was a breathing skeleton.

The decorative pillows on her bed had been shoved aside to make room for her frail body.

Beside her, a teenage boy sat in a chair, tracing small circles onto the skin of her hand hand.

He looked up upon our entrance, his eyes automatically fixing on me, the uncanny resemblance to Carlos pinning him as his son.

His red eyes followed me, studied me, until his father spoke.

"My love." Carlos said softly, reaching for his wife's limp hand. He knelt down beside her bed as the boy moved out of the way to give him room.