Unbitten (33 page)

Henri smiled. He felt expansive. Now that he knew he was
going to be seeing Jo very soon, he didn’t feel in
such a hurry. He could savor his first trip to the seaside
in over two hundred years. He admired the pines, the huge
hotels along the beach, and the wide expanse of sand
bordering the sea. A few lone souls wandered along the
beach, braving the November cold off the Atlantic.

The stables were in state of hubbub, with horses being led
from one place to another, groomsmen scurrying about, too
many people with too much to say, and the air overall taut
with the anxiety that comes before any great competition.
Henri watched from afar for a good long while, to have an
accurate picture of how the horses behaved before sensing
him. He kept drifting back into memories of childhood, of
playing in the stables with David, of his brother’s
obsession with horses and watching him fly over fences, and
then bringing himself back to the present moment and the
job at hand. He walked a little closer, casually, just a
curious tourist.

“Well, hello!” said a voice at his elbow.

Henri glanced over and then down, at a short woman who was
looking up at him, beaming. “Are you speaking to me,
Mademoiselle?
” he asked.

“You bet I am!” she said, continuing to speak
English, with an American accent. She had a head of
platinum-dyed curls, gleaming white capped teeth, and an
appreciative look in her eye. “I’ve been here a
week, going to nightclubs every night, and events all day
long, and I don’t even know anything about
horses!”

Henri laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Just look
there,” he pointed at the stable, as an enormous
white gelding was being led out of his stall. “Now
there is some horseflesh,
Mademoiselle!
”

They shared a good-humored laugh, the laugh of people on
holiday, enjoying themselves, with some expectation of
something even better happening later on even if they did
not know what it was going to be.

“He’s a good-looking beast, no doubt about
it,” the woman said, looking at Henri with frank
interest. She winked.

Winking made Henri very uncomfortable. He smiled and
nodded, breaking away from her, and walked closer to the
stables. He had been shut in the lab for so long he was not
used to attention from women. He did not find it entirely
unappealing, but he felt a little ill at ease, since his
ability to flirt was so clearly underdeveloped. But instead
of taking the opportunity to practice, he concentrated on
the horses.

Henri had not loved riding the way David had. He had been
good enough at it, but horses were more of a scientific and
emotional interest than a physical one for him. So far, no
difference that he could see in their behavior. He checked
wind direction to see if his smell was being blown in the
opposite direction of the stable. The breeze seemed
variable. He wasn’t sure what conclusion to draw from
that. He walked a little closer. Just then, a gust swept
through. The white gelding tossed his head and neighed, and
Henri heard other horses in their stalls, kicking,
neighing, sounding afraid.

He turned and trotted back down the street, away from the
stables, until he could no longer hear them. Then he kept
walking, zigzagging through the crowd, before deciding to
risk going to the show anyway. He had not traveled all the
way to La Baule to miss seeing Jo perform. He would go to
the farthest back seat possible, and be ready to jump off
the back of the bleachers and run away if necessary.

The sound of the frightened horses was like a stab to
Henri’s heart, since of course he did not intend any
harm to them, but there was no way to convince them of
this. Centuries of hungry vampires feasting on horses meant
that their fear was old, passed down from horse to horse
over many generations, and no protestations of safety by
this one vampire would make any difference at all.

No matter how calm he was, how seemingly trustworthy, the
horses were not going to be convinced. And maybe, thought
Henri, that is how it should be. He should not get to be an
exception to his race, just because he knew a few
scientific tricks, or had more self-control than the
average vampire. And he should not be thinking of being
with a human woman, either. He should respect the old laws,
the old rules.

He said this to himself, nodding in agreement as though
that would help him to believe the words, as he walked
through the streets to get to the entrance of the stadium,
then through the gate and up to the farthest-away seat he
could find, at the top of the bleachers, where no one else
was sitting.

Flags from participating countries were flying around the
top of the stadium, flapping in the breeze, giving Henri an
easy way to keep an eye on wind direction. He walked around
the top arc of seats so that the wind was blowing straight
at him, and scientifically crossed his fingers that it
would stay constant.

The first event was about to start. Henri kept his eyes on
the gate the rider would come through into the ring. The
crowd became more focused, less noisy, and the seats were
filling quickly.

It was that same white gelding he had seen earlier, with a
young man mounted on him. The rider was wearing
cream-colored breeches and a navy blazer, dressed
impeccably, his clothes so perfect you would never imagine
they were used for something as sweaty and muddy and
manure-laden as riding a horse. The rider’s black
boots gleamed, the buckles polished just so. And the rider
himself was a very handsome man, with aristocratic bearing,
his ease in the saddle remarkable. Henri pulled out the
program he had stuffed in a pocket and tried to find out
who he was, and whether the family name was familiar.

It was barely believable that any horse could get over the
jumps, they were so very high–and some of them
ridiculously wide as well. Henri watched the rider move
with his horse through the course, over the water jump, the
fake bricks, the pole jumps. For the really high ones, the
horse would hesitate a moment, gathering himself, almost
balancing on his haunches before bursting up and over.
Henri wasn’t sure of the rules, but it seemed to be
going very well until suddenly the horse bucked and the
rider had to circle around to face one jump again.

He continually glanced at the flags to make sure the wind
was still keeping his presence a secret.

The horses appeared to enjoy the competition. It looked to
Henri as though one of the primary jobs of the riders was
to hold their mounts back, to slow them down, rather than
urge them on. The powerful animals wanted to surge over
those jumps and show what they could do. Henri wished David
could be here to see them.

Then, finally, sixth in line came Jo. Henri felt a swelling
pride when he saw her, looking so beautiful and connected
with Drogo, reaching down to pat him and have a word in his
ear before they came through the gate and started the
course. Drogo seemed practically to be laughing at the
jumps, as though they were absolutely piddling, as he flew
over one and then another.

Henri saw her toned legs gripping the horse, saw her
perfect balance, her cheeks red in the chill air. She was
achingly lovely, doing what mattered to her most, her
expression intent, and deeply focused.

Henri was so captivated, watching Jo, that he failed to
watch the flags. The wind changed, not steadily, but in
unpredictable gusts, making the flags snap and bunch up and
snap again. Drogo tossed his head and put his nose in the
air. Jo rose up on the balls of her feet, squeezing him
with her thighs. Henri could see her mouth moving as she
murmured to him. The horse took the water jump, but just
after landing, he reared up on his back legs, neighing.

Henri startled when he heard the nearby flags
snapping–then he saw them, flying full out in the
wrong direction, the ones across the stadium facing away
from him, his scent going straight to the horse.

He hated to leave, but he did not hesitate. He swung under
the metal bars at the very top of the stadium, and looked
down. There was a small place he could land–a
concrete abutment about halfway down. He jumped. And then
jumped again, to the grass below, and quickly glanced
around to see if anyone needed to be brainwiped after
seeing him leap distances that would have broken a
human’s legs.

He would have to watch the rest of the show on his
computer, in his hotel room.

In November, night came early, which for vampires was a
pleasant extension to their waking hours. Roxanne was glad
for darkness because she could leave her cheap hotel room
and get on the train to Mourency, with the hope that things
there would turn out better than they had in Paris.

Number one, she thought, as she boarded and took a seat,
that fucking shithole of a hotel shouldn’t be allowed
to stay in business. The lumpy bed had been crawling with
bedbugs and lice. For fucks’ sake, vampires are
supposed to do the bloodsucking, not be the target of an
army of parasitic vermin. She shuddered at the idea of her
blood in the bellies of all those insects, and scratched
her head. Then her groin. Then her armpit.

Number two, this dude that Dominic is setting me up
with–using me like a fucking piece of meat, really,
is what he’s doing–this Pierre had better not
be a troll. And something had better be going on in
Mourency too. If it’s some fuck-ass dead town with
nobody and nothing happening, I am turning right around and
going back to New York, and fuck you, Dominic.

Even as she delivered this speech to herself, she knew she
wasn’t going to go through on any of her threats. It
wasn’t a question of bravery, it was a question, as
it often turns out to be, of money. Without Dominic, she
had no way to get a plane ticket to New York. And once in
New York, she had found no way to make it without her nanny
job, and if there was any way to leave that behind for
good, she was going to take it.

Even if Pierre
was
a troll.
Labrim
, they
didn’t have a lot of options.

It had already been two and half weeks since the last time
she sucked on her employer. She could feel her strength
beginning to ebb, the way it always did, slowly at first,
as she became more tired than usual, then wasn’t able
to think quite as clearly. Eventually, by about the six
week mark, if she did not find a male vampire to suck, she
would be too debilitated to move much. And not being able
to move, obviously, meant that she had no hope of finding
anyone to suck, and she would sink into unconsciousness and
die.

As many, many
labrim
had done before her.

Fucking men. They’ll bite anything in a skirt, but
ask them for a nibble and it’s no fucking way.
Selfish bastards.

Roxanne leaned back in her seat and looked out of the
window. She was on the slow train, to save money, and it
made many stops, but the advantage was that she got to see
all these small towns and villages, could have quick
glimpses of a different kind of life than she was used to.
Very often she saw a man get off the train, and walk into
the arms of a woman waiting for him. Or a woman get off,
and be mobbed by her children, with her husband smiling and
waiting his turn for a kiss. Before long, Roxanne was
having to brush tears away, and find something else to do
besides watch this endless parade of homecomings and
reunions.

She got up and walked down the aisle, grabbing onto the top
of seats as the train lurched, trying to find the
refreshment car. One thing she had quickly learned to love
about France was that the coffee tended to be excellent,
and the croissants were delectable. Practically like
sinking your teeth into flesh, they were so good. The
refreshment car was crowded. Couples had taken all the
tables and there was a line for buying snacks to go. She
stood waiting, swaying with the movement of the train, not
paying much attention to the other passengers.

Then she noticed a presence behind her. She felt it without
looking around. It was like a looming shadow of power, and
he didn’t have to make contact for her to feel his
intensity. On purpose, she did not turn around. The line
moved up but she did not step forward. The man behind
her–he came closer. She could feel him there, even
though he still had not touched her. The anticipation of
his touching her began to build.

The line moved up again, and still she did not move. The
man leaned in, close to her neck, her ear, and said, in
something between whisper and growl, “You waiting for
something?”

She turned then, to have just a quick glance. He was
smiling at her, his eyes roaming over her, taking her in.
He licked his lips, slowly, pointedly. She turned back
around, and took a few steps to catch up in line.

He followed, and this time, she could feel his touch from
behind. His face was close, right by hers, as though he
were looking over her shoulder to see the menu items, and
with one hand he was caressing her ass, faintly at first,
but when she didn’t pull away, more insistently. The
thin fabric of her skirt allowed her to feel his fingertips
and palm as he moved them over her. He squeezed, he
explored, he was doing things with that hand that usually
were reserved for someplace private.