Vintage Pride (3 page)

“Kim, this all sounds great. But you know we’re never really going to find any ghosts, don’t you? I mean, you said it yourself. We’ve been doing this for four years, and have we ever captured anything on camera that didn’t have a rational explanation?”

“Just because we haven’t yet doesn’t mean we won’t. All the places we’ve been, you can’t tell me there’s never been a moment when you’ve heard or seen something and thought, ‘I don’t know what the fuck that was’.”

Ethan shook his head, not wanting to admit to how scared he’d been in the operating theater at Silver Falls. To his mind, that wasn’t a bad place because of any lingering supernatural presences. All the evil there had been man-made, caused by the doctors who had carried out such ghoulish procedures on their unwitting patients. Kim had argued that all hauntings arose from the actions of the people who’d once inhabited a building, but he’d never been able to see eye to eye with her on that point.

“Anyway, I think Dan’s already got one of the locations for the new season in mind,” Kim went on. “He told me on the way to Vegas he saw a story in the in-flight magazine about this wine producer in the Champagne region of France, a guy called Jean-Luc LeBlanc. He’s a real recluse, by all accounts, and he owns this magnificent château just outside the town of Épernay that the locals reckon is haunted. There’s talk of odd noises in the middle of the night, like wild beasts roaring, and the staff say they’ve seen this shadowy figure on the property…”

“So far, so predictable,” Ethan murmured into his beer glass.

“Oh, be quiet,” she retorted, not unkindly. “Yeah, I know you think you’ve heard it all before, but this is France. The château is like five hundred years old and according to Dan, it’s owned by an honest-to-God aristocrat. Aren’t you at least a little bit intrigued?”

Ethan considered her words. Compared to their recent investigations, this sounded like a trip into the unknown. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Good boy.” Kim gestured to his glass. “Now drink up and I’ll get you another one of those. You are still far too sober for a man who’s just been dumped.”

Obediently, he swallowed the rest of his beer.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe that’s what I need. To get out of America for a while, expand my horizons, meet someone new…

Like that was going to happen. After the disappointment of things fizzling out with Boyd, it might do him good to be on his own for a while. Throw himself into his work. Who knew, after four years of fruitless searching maybe they would finally find some evidence that ghosts existed—but he doubted it.

Chapter Three

“You agreed to what?” Jean-Luc fought to keep the anger out of his voice. Over the seven years he and Marcus White had been business partners, Marcus had made some questionable decisions, but this had to rank among the worst.

“Jean-Luc, what was I supposed to do? I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for over a week now but you just haven’t been interested in listening. Though it shouldn’t come as a surprise to me. After all, you’re clearly not interested with anything to do with the business anymore.”

“That is not true.” He slammed his hand down on the table.

“Really? Then tell me how far along we are with the harvest and how the quality of the grapes compares to last year.”

“They’re a good month off being fully ripe and you know it.” Jean-Luc snorted, amazed Marcus would doubt his instincts. He was more alert to the passing of the seasons and the ripening of the vines than any man he knew. “But I’ve told you ever since you first came to work for me, back when you were just some snot-nosed chancer trying to get a job picking fruit, that I need to have my privacy respected. So what do you do? You invite a television crew to poke around the château, looking to expose secrets. And none of this would have happened if you hadn’t talked to that stupid journalist, the one who writes for that in-flight magazine.”

“That stupid journalist, as you put it, is an old friend of your sister’s. She and Thérèse shared a room when they were at university in Paris. But you’d have known that if you’d actually bothered to spend five minutes in her company.” Marcus flopped down in a chair, indicating he wasn’t intending to leave the room any time soon, however aggravating Jean-Luc might find his continued presence.

“Well, you could have just discussed business with her. You didn’t have to send her away with the impression the château is haunted.”

“How else would you explain everything that goes on here after dark? We’ve had two members of the kitchen staff quit on us in the last six months, saying they were afraid to be alone in the scullery. Jean-Luc, something isn’t right here, and you know it.”

“You’re talking nonsense.” Jean-Luc tried to dismiss his brother-in-law’s words, but his thoughts flew to the certainty he’d had on more than one occasion that eyes had been watching him as he’d walked the deserted passageways. Of those moments when he’d thought he’d heard a voice whisper his name. Benoît’s voice.

“Anyway, the interview was good publicity for us, and this will be, too.
Spirit Seekers
is the top-rated show of its kind on American television. It regularly pulls in audiences of just under three million viewers, and that doesn’t count the syndicated repeats and online streaming.” Marcus sounded like he was reading from a press release. “Don’t you see? This could be our chance to start exporting to a whole new market.”

“I just don’t want to bring a crowd of strangers into my home. You can understand that, can’t you? And these people will be looking for the unusual, the different. Just imagine how they’d react if they discovered what we truly are…”

“You’re getting worked up over nothing. How would they ever know? I mean, it’s not as though any of us is casually going to turn to the camera and announce that hey, we can turn into lions if we want to, is it?”

“You’re entirely too flippant about this.” Jean-Luc studied Marcus for a moment.

His brother-in-law had always had a much more relaxed attitude to existing among those who were different to him. Perhaps it had to do with the fact he’d been born and brought up in the English city of Bath, spending his whole life surrounded by humans who treated him as an equal. Whereas Jean-Luc had always lived in the château, his nearest neighbors a couple of miles down the road. His family employed human staff, of course, both as servants and employees of the vineyard, but he’d never fully been comfortable around them, not the way Marcus appeared to be.

“The truth is I’m worried about you.” Marcus ran a hand through his white-blond hair. “And so is Thérèse. Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you’re becoming a recluse. You barely leave this wing of the château unless you have to. When was the last time you actually went outside and examined the grapes?”

“Marcus, please…”

“You’ve always been more in tune with nature than anyone I’ve ever met. Your instinct for knowing the precise moment the harvest will begin… It’s uncanny. But this year, I don’t feel your heart is in any of it. And we have a reputation to maintain, after all. One poor bottling could harm us for years.”

Jean-Luc looked away, not wanting to meet his brother-in-law’s intense gaze. “What are you really trying to say?”

“I know it has to do with the fact you’re still grieving for Benoît.”

He bridled at the name. Why couldn’t Marcus see he didn’t want to talk about this? Not now, not ever. “And?”

“Hey, everyone gets over these things at their own pace. We’re all aware of that and we’re not asking you to simply forget about him. But you’re not the first person to lose a mate in difficult circumstances.”

Difficult?
Jean-Luc almost snorted with derision. What could Marcus possibly know about the manner of Benoît’s death?

It was close to two years now since that terrible night when his mate had been killed. Benoît had been driving back from having dinner with his parents at their home in
É
pernay, less than ten miles away from the château. The night had been stormy, the road dangerously wet, and he’d lost control of his car on a sharp bend. According to another driver who’d witnessed the accident and had stopped to call the emergency services, the vehicle had flipped over twice, coming to rest on its roof. Even though Benoît’s airbag had deployed, it hadn’t prevented him from breaking his neck in the crash. By the time help had reached him, it had been too late.

The kindly female
gendarme
who’d come to pass on the news had assured Jean-Luc that Benoît would have died almost instantly, without suffering. But how could she possibly have known? No one could have any idea what his mate had experienced in those final few, terrifying moments.

Guilt had gnawed at Jean-Luc ever since, sharp and exquisitely painful. Again and again he’d played the events of that night over in his mind. Benoît’s parents had asked him to come over to their house—they’d always been so welcoming, so accepting of the fact their youngest son was gay, rare as the trait was among shifters—but he’d cried off. Some of the vines were showing signs of bird’s-eye rot, with black, sunken lesions appearing on the leaves. If the disease spread to the grapes themselves, they would wither and die and the harvest would be ruined. Jean-Luc and his assistants had been working overtime to remove the damaged plants and prevent the rot affecting the neighboring healthy ones. Much as he loved spending an evening with Paul and Marie-France, he just hadn’t been able to spare the time to dine with them. There’d be plenty of other occasions, he’d assured them, not knowing how hollow those words would come to sound.

If he’d only accepted that invitation, things would have turned out so differently. Benoît had always insisted on driving fast, recklessly, confident in his ability to handle the sporty red Alfa Romeo, no matter what the conditions. With the bad weather setting in, Jean-Luc would have urged him to show more caution. There wouldn’t have been a crash, and he and his beautiful Benoît would be sitting here now, laughing and joking over a couple of glasses of good Blanc de Noirs.

In his darker moments, he contemplated a more chilling scenario.
What if I was meant to die in that accident alongside Benoît?
Every shifter believed in the immutable nature of destiny. They had no choice in the matter when it came to finding a mate, knowing the decision had already been made for them. Unconsciously or not, all their actions were shaped by that knowledge. Jean-Luc had more belief in the power of fate than most. Even when he’d realized, some time in his early teens, that boys interested him far more than girls did, he’d accepted this as part of the grand plan. He might have to search a little harder for the one who was meant to be his, but so be it. Now he couldn’t help thinking he’d somehow cheated the rules. And he didn’t know what caused him to feel the most guilt—that Benoît had died or that he still lived.

“Jean-Luc, are you even listening to me?” Marcus’ voice cut into his musings.

“I miss Benoît. That’s all.”

“This isn’t just about missing him, and you know it. Frankly, you’re becoming obsessed with his memory, and it’s not healthy—not just for you, but for the business. We’re coming up to the busiest time of the year and I can’t continue to carry everything on my shoulders. In three months’ time I’m going to be a father. That’s when Thérèse is really going to need me. And I’m sure she’d appreciate more help from you than she’s currently getting.”

The barbs hit home but Jean-Luc still found it hard to rouse himself from his despair. “You know I’m delighted about the baby, for both of you. And if you need to take on extra members of staff so you’re not spreading yourself too thin, I’ll be happy to sanction that. But don’t expect me to have anything to do with this television documentary. You’ve made some stupid, wrong-headed decisions in your time—”

“Most of which have ultimately proved successful for the business,” Marcus interjected.

He shrugged, weary of the conversation. “Please, Marcus, I’m very tired and I’d like to be alone.”

His brother-in-law bore the expression of a man who clearly had more thoughts on the matter but he didn’t voice them. He strode from the room before slamming the door shut behind him.

The air was charged with emotion even after Marcus left. Jean-Luc’s hackles rose as he recalled the accusations that had been thrown at him. ‘
You’re not interested in the business any more. You’re obsessed with Benoît’s memory.’
He fought against the urge to shift, which always came on him at moments of intense stress. It was a warm September night, the moon high and unobscured by clouds. The kind of night when he and Benoît had loved to roam the château’s grounds and the wider countryside beyond in lion form. So many times they’d made love beneath the stars, their naked, sweating bodies human once more. He could still recall those moments but every time it was a little harder to bring to mind the exact shade of Benoît’s eyes, the pitch of his laughter, the feel of being buried deep in his hot, receptive arse…

Almost of its own volition, his cock stirred at the image he’d conjured up. He’d all but lost interest in masturbating since Benoît had died but now the need to touch himself struck him with a vengeance. Maybe all the kinetic energy his body would have used in shifting was seeking to find some other outlet. He didn’t know. The animal part of his brain, the part that craved simple pleasure and immediate satisfaction, had taken over, and Jean-Luc was in thrall to it. He unzipped the fly of his trousers, then reached in to bring out his cock. As he stroked it, he closed his eyes and thought back to one of his happiest memories.

Jean-Luc stared out of the bedroom window, transfixed by the blue-white light of the full moon. Behind him, Benoît lounged on the bed, reading a dog-eared paperback detective thriller. Even though Jean-Luc had treated him to an e-reader for his birthday and loaded it up with the latest works by his favorite authors, Benoît claimed he still preferred the feel of holding a book in his hands. Typical of him to be so contrary, but Jean-Luc wouldn’t have his mate any other way. If they agreed on everything, life together would have been so dull.