Wordless: new adult paranormal romance (Age of Blood Book 1) (4 page)

Jess met his icy stare, then broke into another grin.

Damn. She’d been messing with him.

“Got ya. Six months, boss. Probably less.”

She disappeared in the front cab of the car after winking at him.

William rolled his eyes and open his door. A glance down to the girl spread out on his seat had him break into an involuntary smile that might have made him consider Jess’s words more seriously, if she’d given a reasonable timescale. Six months was just ridiculous... but if he’d imagined his idea of a perfect consort physically, he would have seen someone exotic, with a darker complexion – a Latina or an African descendent perhaps. A small, slender frame. Come to bed dark eyes.

He would have seen Fay.

However, the bond between consorts had practically nothing to do with appearances. Obviously, attraction was a must, but a vampire’s mate needed to be so much more than beautiful. Strong. Independent. Inquisitive. Trusting. Everything little Fay wasn’t.

As far as he could see, in any case.

Recalling how little he knew of her, William took his phone and called the best hacker in the realm.

Sure, he could have directly asked her, but waking her up when she looked so peaceful right now wasn’t an option.

“My liege,” the asshole said on the other end of the phone.

They had exactly the same rank in their Coven: both of them were Knights. Yet Knox insisted in calling him by rubbish titles that shouldn’t mean anything in the twenty-first century…

They did, though. William tried to ignore that fact whenever he could, but they weren’t in the twenty-first century; they were in year 15 AGR – After the Great Reveal.

Every relevant title had been reinstated which meant that he
was
Knox’s liege.

Stupid politics.

“I need a favor.”

That got his attention; William had already paid every single favor he’d owed Knox and the hacker did love having some leverage.

“Pray tell?”

“Name: Fay. Location: Riverville. Age: between…” he glanced again, and grimaced.

He had unabashedly stared at her ass – amongst other things – assuming that she was an adult, but she did look pretty young.

Way to speedily kill a hard-on.

“Fifteen and twenty-five.”

Hopefully, closer to twenty-five.

“Got her. Only one option: Fay Turner, twenty-one.”

Thank fuck. His dick merrily went back to pushing against his zipper. 

“I need her last academic results. Has she graduated from High School?”

Knox laughed on the other end of the phone.

“She’s got a BA, man. Cum laude. Just started a master’s.”

And
that
was why he shouldn’t ever judge books by their covers. The pretty girl had brains. Damn.

“Thanks.”

“That’s it? I can’t exactly cash in on a favor for something you could have googled.”

William was about to acquiesce, when an idea popped in his mind.

“Actually, no, that’s not it. I need you to erase everything saved on her, save for her academic performance. Social media, official records – everything. Change the address, in particular.”

A few seconds later, Knox said an eloquent “Oh.”

He’d dug up her status, apparently.

“Yes,
oh
. Make sure no one can trace that shit.”

Four

She was confused at first; the bed she woke up in was unfamiliar. Her mattress had always been hard, with a few loose springs, yet today it was
so
comfortable; the back ache she’d sported for so long had considerably subsided, and there was no doubt that the soft pillow under her shoulders had something to do with it.

The best was the feather-light, yet deliciously warm cover. She didn’t think she’d ever felt something as heavenly.

Everything came back to her all at once. She wasn’t Vincent’s slave anymore. She belonged to an ancient she didn’t even know the name of.

Now she was over the fact that her life had taken a surprising U-turn, she was grinning. Sure, she wasn’t certain what would be in store for her yet… but she decided to be optimistic until something made her feel otherwise. He’d seemed considerably more civilized than the average bloodsucker. Perhaps he might even be one of those masters who asked whether it was ok to bite before going for it?

Her surroundings greatly contributed to her good humor. The room around her couldn’t have been more different to her previous home: where Vincent’s place had been dark, cluttered and gloomy, this one was modernized to the nth degree.

The bedroom was luxurious and gigantesque – almost the size of Vincent’s drawing room. Two walls were painted grey, another one, covered in blue and gold lush wallpaper, but it was the last she went to.

The entire façade was a floor to ceiling window, to which she was drawn to like moth to a flame. The view way,
way
down below was unparalleled; she’d seen pictures of New York City by the bucket load, but nothing had prepared her for this.

They used to call it the city that never slept. Now it did, during the day. Fay must have woken up just in time to catch twilight, and there was no car in sight, saved for a handful of wayward yellow cabs.

The city was dead and beautiful.

“Pretty impressive from up here, right?”

She turned to find a plump, smiling woman who must have been somewhere around her fifties. 

To Fay, she was an oddity. Older people had been rare in Riverville to start with; they’d all moved out as soon as they had been free to, and in her three years confined in Vincent’s home, she hadn’t seen anyone who looked one day past thirty-five.

Also, the woman didn’t have a collar. Not every human did – there were plenty of free ones – but if she wasn’t mistaken, she was in the ancient vampire’s home. Yet that human wasn’t a slave?

Fay bit her question back; asking outright would be rude. 

“It’s gorgeous. I would love to visit,” she admitted longingly, wondering whether she’d ever be allowed to, or if she’d be kept like a bird in a cage again.

At least, this cage was pretty.

“Of course, poppet. Just be sure to always take a few men with you; a pretty girl like you can never be too careful.”

What. The. Hell. She could go out, just like that?

Recovering from that bombshell took so long the older lady had moved on to another subject; she was now babbling about her wardrobe.

“So, you’ll only find essentials in there, for now,” she told her, gesturing to a chest of drawers artfully painted a dark blue brushed with gold, like her vibrant wall. “I bought you t-shirts and some yoga pants; sorry dear, I didn’t know your size, so they may not be the best fit, but Agnes is very much looking forward to taking you shopping in the best places tonight.”

Her head was hurting so bad right now, she didn’t even bother trying to understand. The world wasn’t going to make sense for a little while and she had to deal with that.

“What’s your name?” she asked, before the lady could throw another confusing tirade at her. “I’m Fay. Fay Turner.”

“Zeva, Poppet. I’m the housekeeper upstairs – I don’t mesh with the whole mess in the rest of the building, but if you need anything done up here in the penthouse, you come to me.”

Fay felt considerably better, now. From her experience, getting along with the housekeeper went a long way towards having a peaceful life.

The one at Vincent’s had taken a dislike to her, which had meant that the water in her bathroom was somehow always cold; she had to clean her own rooms – she hadn’t minded, honestly; it had been something to do. Other things had been more problematic; for example, if she missed the communal meals – which had happened often as Vincent generally called her around dinner time – no one was allowed to serve her anything. One of the servants, Xia, had sneaked in leftovers when she could.

Fay couldn’t imagine Zeva would let anyone go hungry for kicks.

Undeniably proving that, she was on her way to get some breakfast ready.

“You’re the first up, so far. The others generally emerge around seven or eight, so nothing is ready yet,” she told her apologetically.

Fay waved it off. That had been her normal time, too, but obviously, the long nap in the car, followed by some sleep in the wondrous bed, had screwed with her body clock.

It made her wonder; how had she ended up in the bedroom anyway? Who had carried her? It was a miracle that she’d slept through it.

“Breakfast won’t be for half an hour or so. Feel free to veg out in a nice warm bath, sweetie.”

Fay blushed, guessing the pointed suggestion was more than likely due to her stench.

She’d showered the previous night, when she’d gotten up, but since, she’d been caressed, fingered, and she’d also travelled for hours. She probably smelt absolutely fantastic.  

“Dear William said you had a rough time,” the woman smiled sadly.

She had a name to label the panty melting face – not that she’d worn any panties, but she was quite certain that if she had, they would have been soaked through at first glance. William. Fay approved; it was a common, yet classic name that somehow suited him.

“So, I popped some of my bubble bath and salts next to your tub, honey. You enjoy.” 

It was a good thing the woman left then, because Fay choked up a little.

In the bathroom, once she’d slipped into the delightfully warm, floral, bubbly piece of heaven, she felt her heart constrict thinking about Cece, who was at Vincent’s, certainly not unwinding in a giant tiger claw tub.

Well, actually, she doubtlessly was asleep: it was somewhere around two or three in the afternoon in Riverville right now. When she woke up in a few hours, she’d have to go get “ready” for the day. Vincent always left instructions – nipple clamps, butt plug, open mouth gag… the possibilities were endless for Cece. Fay had only been required to wear non-penetrative toys that had varied almost every day.

She cursed resentfully, at herself more than anything.

No one had left her a list, or asked her to perform any specific task yet her body was awake, craving touch.

Ignore it. You’re better than that. Better than them.

She refused to be nothing more than the sexual object Vincent had attempted to turn her into.

But as Oscar Wilde had written…

“I want him behind bars, Mike.”

“Done,” his brother growled. “He’s on the list.”

William, generally, was the passionate guy in the family, but Michael had one sensitive chord no one should ever attempt to fiddle.

After the Great Reveal, Michael had practically unanimously been nominated as the best option to fill the position of King of the North American Coven for three reasons: the first was the legacy he carried, the second was his meticulous, cautious nature – a valuable trait he didn’t share with many vampires – and finally, because he was one of the strongest amongst them.

All that being said, everything that defined Michael – his polite, politically correct façade, his pleasantness – disappeared whenever an idiot broke his one rule.

The first and only law the King had passed, without even seeking the opinion or the approbation of anyone amongst the patriarchs, had been the law of consent.

It was pretty simple: no one, human or vampire, lord, servant, or slave, could be sexually touched without granting their partner a clear, enunciated expression of consent. Blood slaves were a grey area that wasn’t actually outlawed, but even the human who legally belonged to their masters couldn’t be forced into sex.

It was clear that Vincent had completely ignored that law. Fay didn’t even seem to know what consent meant.

“Anything on Adrian?”

“Don’t pretend to care, brother. I know your opinion.”

Mike was probably shrugging on the other end.

“When you find him, you’ll tell him off, then you’ll get drunk together, kiss and make up. That’s a fact, not an opinion.”

William sighed. He’d forgiven Adrian on too many occasions for his brother to believe anything he might say.

But this time, it wasn’t only hearsay Adrian could brush off as exaggerated tales sprinkled with little fact, and the victim hadn’t been a stranger William could consider as an unfortunate but inconsequential bystander.

It was a child he knew. He’d been there when he’d taken his first step, learnt to read. When he’d been accepted to the Academy, William had proudly paid for his tuition, refusing to acknowledge any protest from his employee. He’d been family – or something close to it. There was no doubt that William would have been considerably more enraged if something had happened to his siblings, but that was because Michael and Charlotte were
supposed
to live forever, while he’d accepted long ago that his employees had an expiry date. He had them for nine decades, at most.

Not
nineteen
years.

There would be no excuse, no forgiveness. There was only one thing awaiting Adrian now: eternal death. It had taken a while but his eyes were open and he saw that Adrian was a menace to their way of life.

The phone call had put him in a bad mood, and William needed coffee like a starving sucker needed blood.

His penthouse, at the top of the newest and highest skyscraper in Manhattan, had two floors; upstairs, above a modern curved staircase without banister, was his space – Charlotte might have intruded a few times, but no one else ever dared, not even the cleaners, which explained why it was so dusty up here.

He needed to tidy up, or give in and let his staff take care of his room. The bathroom – it might be more accurate to call it a sauna – definitely needed some attention. He was pretty sure some new kind of bacteria might be growing in the tub he hadn’t used since the previous year.

William sighed, stretching before heading into his seven-meter square shower – the dozen powerful jets fitted in his ceiling managed to wake him up eventually, so he got out, throwing a pair of slacks and a shirt on.

Zeva always left his laundry on hangers, in front of his door, and it was exactly where the latest lot of clothing still hung.

By now his brain was focused on one vital point.

Coffee. Coffee, now.

He was heading towards the kitchen when his sense of smell called him to the dining room instead; there, he made a bee-line for the pot of freshly brewed nectar of the gods – if there really was an Ambrosia, he was pretty sure it tasted exactly like the first espresso of the day.

After downing it in one go, his eyes finally cleared up, and he noticed he wasn’t alone in the room.

“Good evening,” he said, dropping a kiss on each of Zeva’s cheeks; a habit he’d picked up in France, somewhere in the eighteenth century.

The housekeeper had blushed when she’d been a schoolgirl, and four decades later, she still turned bright red every time. 

“What’s the occasion?”

As the head of the dozen servants who catered to Charlotte and William – as well as Fay, now – Zeva had plenty to do, so she was only too happy to leave the cooking to the chef he’d hired, but from time to time, she got her hands dirty. He could always tell right away; his chef was fancy, and pretty damn good, but Zeva’s food was
real
.

William didn’t need to eat that much – the diet of an anorexic model on crack was perfectly adequate for a vampire of his age – but he helped himself to everything within reach, today. Those fluffy pancakes always made him hard.