Edmond
Edmond strode down the hallway of the north wing, Ludovic at his side. The donors had all settled in for the night; Belle Morte was still and quiet.
"Some of the new donors were, ah, interesting," Ludovic said. "Sometimes I forget that it's common for women to cut their hair so short these days."
"You're too old fashioned, my friend," Edmond said.
Ludovic gave him an amused look. "Didn't you recently dismiss the suggestion of installing CCTV because you don't understand how it works?"
"Touché."
Edmond glanced at the chandeliers overhead. Even now, so long after electricity had become part of everyday life, he still marveled at it sometimes, still half expected to wake up with only a flame holding off the shadows. So much of the modern world was absolutely beyond him.
"The girl with the auburn hair—that's Irene Mayfield, isn't it?" Ludovic said.
"She said on her application that she prefers Renie."
"But that is her, yes?"
Edmond nodded.
"Is Ysanne sure she should have brought her here?"
"Ysanne knows what she's doing."
"Does she?"
Edmond hesitated. Ysanne wasn't just Lady of the House, she was his oldest friend. Their bond had been forged over hundreds of years, and June Mayfield was a secret that Ysanne had trusted him with. He should trust her in return. But he loved Ludovic like a brother, and they'd been through too much together for Edmond to simply fob him off.
"I'm not sure that keeping the truth from Renie is the best course of action," he admitted, "but it's the one Ysanne has chosen and we must respect that."
Something about Renie intrigued Edmond, and it wasn't just her beauty—although she was beautiful, all soft curves and tumbling autumn hair. Maybe it was how she'd acted when she'd climbed out of the limousine. Most donors relished posing for the cameras and answering questions, but Renie had done neither. He suspected she was here to find the truth, but did she really not care about the fame? If so, she was the first donor Edmond had met who'd felt that way.
Ludovic pushed back a strand of hair escaping from the ponytail at the nape of his neck. "Are you sure you can't tell me what's really going on? We all know Ysanne is keeping something from us, and it's to do with those Mayfield girls."
"You know I can't say anything."
"The truth will out."
"I'm sure it will."
Ysanne had told Edmond what was really going on because she knew she could trust him with her life, but he hadn't anticipated the weight of the secret. He hadn't anticipated how it would feel to lie to almost everyone in the house, especially Ludovic. They'd always been honest with each other. Now he'd have to lie to Renie too. It shouldn't matter—he didn't even know her—but he couldn't stop thinking about the vulnerable way she'd held herself when she was confronted by all those cameras.
Edmond shook his head.
It didn't matter how lovely or how intriguing she was. She was here for a reason, and when that was done, she would leave Belle Morte and he would never see her again. He'd spent a very long time building a wall around his heart, and no one was getting past that, including Renie Mayfield.
***
Renie
Satin sheets were part of the vampires' glamorous world but I couldn't sleep in them. I missed my own comfy duvet and the pillows I'd had since I was a kid, decorated with yellow flowers that had faded to grayish smudges. This new bed was too big and cold, the sheets too slick. Coupled with my black silk pajamas, I slid around like a greased seal. I should have picked one of the lacy nightgowns instead, but they'd seemed so over the top.
June would've loved them.
Would she be happy to see me or would she feel like I was muscling in on her dream? Even if she was cross, she'd get over it once she realized I wasn't staying, and probably laugh at me for getting so worried about her not writing letters anymore. Right?
Mum had said June was having too much fun here to check in with us at home, but I couldn't accept that.
Only eighteen months older than me, June had always treated me like a friend rather than a little sister, and the only thing that had ever come between us was her vampire obsession. She'd stopped confiding in me as much as she used to, and when her application to Belle Morte had been accepted, I'd told her she was making a mistake—ironically, the same thing that Mum had told me two weeks ago when my application was accepted.
But all the letters that June had sent had made it clear that she'd put aside any bad feelings, and it was hard to stay annoyed when she was so happy in her favorite vampire mansion.
I couldn't accept that she'd just stop.
Had something happened to her?
Or was I being paranoid?
I sat up. Roux was fast asleep, one foot dangling over the edge of the bed. The carpet almost swallowed my feet as I climbed out of bed and crept out of the room.
Belle Morte was in darkness, shadows dimming the edges of the walls and making the carpet look almost black. Paintings of historical figures seemed to look disapprovingly at me as I crept down the hallway. Had any of the vampires living at Belle Morte known these people in real life?
As I drew near the main staircase, a dark figure emerged from the north wing. I tensed. Maybe donors weren't supposed to wander the mansion this late.
The figure drew closer, and my breath caught in my throat as I recognized the ink-black hair and cut-glass cheekbones.
Edmond stared down at me. "What are you doing out here?"
"I couldn't sleep."
Suddenly I was very glad that I'd chosen pajamas over a nightgown—they hid the flush creeping up my neck.
In the darkness Edmond looked otherworldly, his face a contrasting artwork of shadows and ivory, his eyes diamond hard. He didn't exactly intimidate me, but I couldn't help feeling a twinge of discomfort, like I was facing a panther in the jungle, frozen in place as this beautiful, unpredictable predator considered whether it would eat me.
Irritation cut through the discomfort. Even watching vampires on TV had taught me they could be still in a way humans couldn't, avoiding facial tics or hints of expression that might betray anything going through their minds. Edmond could have been thinking everything or nothing at all.
"Am I not allowed out here or something?" I asked. "Because I don't recall anyone telling us that."
The slight lift of an eyebrow was the only reaction to my sharp tone. Maybe riling him up wasn't smart, but the way he stood and stared made my skin prickle. Vampires weren't human and they didn't act like humans. I didn't know how to react to them, and anger was the best defense.
"Most donors prefer to explore during the day," Edmond said. "Perhaps you were too excited to wait?"
"Too nervous, more likely."
"What do you have to be nervous about?"
The softness in his voice brought that flush back to my neck. There was a quality to it that was almost intimate, a purring lilt that made me think of whispers in the dark, murmured voices beneath twisted sheets.
"I'm going to see my sister tomorrow and I haven't seen her in a long time."
"Your sister?"
"June Mayfield. You must know her?"
Thinking of him sinking his fangs into my sister's skin was enough to banish the butterflies in my stomach.
Edmond stared in silence for so long it was like he'd turned to stone. I was considering prodding him in the eye, just to get a reaction, when he spoke again.
"Go back to bed, Renie."
His French lilt made my name sound soft and exotic, like it was something he could roll across his tongue. My skin heated.
"You didn't answer my question," I said.
He said nothing and his blank expression didn't change, but I could have sworn I felt the air shift around us, as if he was surprised that I didn't immediately obey his command.
His pale hand settled on my shoulder. "Go back to bed," he repeated.
There was little point digging in my heels. Edmond could lift me off my feet with one finger, and as a donor, I was replaceable. Hundreds of starry-eyed wannabes would kill to take my place in Belle Morte.
So I let Edmond steer me back to my room. My feet made whispering noises on the carpet but Edmond was as silent as a ghost—if it wasn't for the weight of his hand on my shoulder, I'd have thought I was alone. It was unnerving to know that someone was walking behind me and I couldn't hear him breathing.
When we reached my bedroom, I turned to Edmond—to say what, I don't know—but he was already gone. The imprint of his hand tingled through my skin.