

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead in entirely coincidental.

Copyright (C) 2014 Fanny Lee Savage

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover design by Fanny Lee Savage

Photo by Lilu13 Dreamstime.com

Version 4.0

4/29/2016
Note to Readers

This novel is recommended for a mature audience. (18+)

This novel contains depictions of violence, sexual abuse, sexual situations, and some strong language. There may be scenes that could pose as "triggers" for some readers. 

# Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Disclaimer

In the Shadow of Angels: The Guardian Series Book 1

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three | Aydin

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight | Charlotte

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six | Aydin

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight | Charlotte

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Other Books by Fanny Lee Savage

Acknowledgments

About the Author
for my big sisters,

for teaching me about friendship and love

# Prologue

Charlotte grips the brush and runs it through her mother's honey-colored strands. Light shines through the long windows catching golden highlights with each pass. Charlotte is small for her age and has to stand on her tiptoes to reach the top of her mother's head, straining to see.

"Tell us the story again, Mommy." Emily stands next to her sister, waiting her turn to brush their mother's long, flowing hair.

"Again?" their mother asks, her mouth turning up at the corner. She has told them this story every day, for ten years. "Will you never tire of hearing it?"

"No," Charlotte says, softly. She passes the brush to her sister and sits at their mother's feet. "It's a story of love and devotion."

Their mother smiles and settles back into her chair. "One day, I will make you tell me this story. When I am old and weary."

"You will never be old, Mommy," Emily says.

"Hush now," the girl's mother scolds. "Sit and listen, you have to make sure you can tell it right."

Emily settles down at her mother's feet, close to her sister. Their yellow saffron dresses fall around their legs. Long golden strands graze over each girl's small shoulders. Their blue eyes wide in anticipation.

"The first time the Moon God saw the human, she was standing in the apple orchard, picking fruit from the small trees," their mother begins. "The pale blue moon highlighted the gold threads in the hair that fell, in dark velvet waves, down the woman's bare back. Her eyes shone with the cunning of a lion--a bright amber. Her skin gleamed with life. Every movement was fluid, reminding him of the dancers who bathed in blossom-scented waters, preparing for the ceremony worshiping his name. She was of the Earth. A pure and perfect creation.

"The basket at her feet overflowed with ripe fruit, spilling onto the soft grass. Moonlight glistened through the branches, falling over her shoulders and the coarse robes she wore. The crisp scent of apples blew over her skin and carried to him in the night breeze, where the Moon God stood and watched the woman in wonder.

"When she turned his way, he held his breath. He was surprised the human didn't shake in fear, her hands didn't tremble, and she didn't fall to her knees in praise. He watched as she moved forward until she stood in front of the God. Dew shone in her hair and on the tips of her lashes. Dawn would arrive soon, brightening the dark satin of the sky and force him to retreat into the shadows.

"He told her his name, Yarikh, but she didn't understand his language. Her bright eyes found his and her lips spread into a sweet smile, one he swore she had saved just for him. Yarikh knew at that moment, he would give over his life, his power, for a glimpse of her smile. He wanted nothing more than to kiss the soft skin over her shoulders, touch her lips, and feel her breath fall over his chest. To run his fingers through her soft hair and forever see her face behind his eyes when he slept.

"Yarikh swore nothing but the purest of the Earth would ever touch her skin. Her dresses must be of the finest robes, and at her breast, the dark blue stone of the moon. She would be his, and he would give his heart to her.

"Yarikh held out his hand--an offering. The woman took it in hers and pressed the palms to her lips. A kiss of devotion."

"Why did she do that, Mommy?" Emily asks.

"The woman wanted Yarikh to know she would always be by his side."

"What does Yarikh do?" Charlotte urges their mother on.

"Yarikh stands now, in the same orchards, watching from the shadows as she walks, a basket in her hand," the girl's mother continues. "The fruit from the tree's spill out, falling to the bright new grass around her bare feet. She picks the delicate pink flowers, placing the blossoms in her hair. She wears blue stones around her neck, and gold threads weave through the plaits in her hair. Soft white robes flow around her legs. Yarikh smiles, she is his breath and his life.

"Behind her, two little girls walk, twins, bound together forever, sharing the same thoughts, the same hearts. These fragile girls are the proof of Yarikh's love for the captivating human woman that stole his heart.

"The girl's feet are wet from the moisture of the dew that sits on every leaf and blade of grass. They sing, with pretty voices, songs of love and of the night. The twin's hair shines like the sun, golden streaks of light. Eyes, just as their father's, crystal clear and as blue as the waters of the rivers near their home. The girl's skin is dark and warm, like their mother, sprinkled with a dusting of freckles, kisses of the sun. They are of the Heavens--powerful creatures that hold the secrets of the gods. They are of the Earth and carry the whispers of man's sins. Yarikh watches them, and in his heart knows, the Earth will never be the same."

# Chapter One

There are exactly three things to do in this beachside town I now call home. First, is obviously, the beach. One can lay all day in the heat, sweating like a pig, slathering on sunblock every hour so you don't burn like the tourists that flock to the shore. Sand will stick to every exposed surface no matter how hard you try to keep your limbs on the blanket that you've oh-so-carefully laid out. Small shells find their way into the bottoms of the bright red bikini you wear every time you dare to get in the flat salty water.

All this, only after the struggle to carry a beach blanket, bottles of water, and book from the too far away parking lot. The sand scalds, nearing blistering temperatures, slipping in between sensitive toes and the flip-flops that provide little protection. Once you're all settled and relatively comfortable, you look up to discover a balding man, with so much back hair, you swear he was the missing link, has positioned his ratty beach chair--just so. This offers him a perfect view of your overexposed legs every time you lay back to try to read that rumpled paperback you brought with you. The one you swore you'd finish that very day.

The second and my least favorite activity are all things involving water and sports. This includes anything with the words: boat, fish, sail or board attached to them. None of those appeal to me. I get seasick and am terrified of fish. There are hazy memories, buried deep in my subconscious, involving Daddy and a catfish. I shudder at the thought.

The third and the final option: bar-hopping. This is the past-time I favor and the only real entertainment my co-worker and one and only friend, Janice and I, find on Friday nights. Sometimes Saturdays but that depends on if we've actually walked out of the local bars and weren't carried or thrown.

The entire bar-hopping process involves a conversation between us girls about how this time we will find something that will keep us entertained and then maybe we won't drink so much. Then, after we've finished our first, quickly becoming a third round of shots at home, we head out, our bodies wrapped up in breath-restricting shirts and jeans we had to make a few deals with the devil to fit into.

This is what I have done every weekend for the last five years. Ever since I packed up my Mustang and hit the open road. Like every runaway, I took only what I needed and left all my possessions and the memories they hold behind. My future open, all possibilities of a new life, lay out in front of me. I could go anywhere, become whomever I chose. Except for one thing, I am now living, sadly, only a two-hour drive from my childhood home.

I sit on the back porch of my house drinking my morning coffee. The sun is too bright, giving the world a stark, bleached-out look. I squeeze my eyes shut, still trying to adjust to the bright light. I have endured yet another restless night fighting the nightmares that snaked their way through my wine induced sleep.

The skin on my arms and legs is moist. I bathed thirty minutes before but sweat is already forming on my lower back and under the arms of my shirt. Every breath sucks in the humid air, coating my lungs and filling me with the rank smell of seaweed. It is just the beginning of summer and schools still have a month before letting out, but somehow we have gone from a mild winter, head-first into summer, passing over what is usually a wet and rainy spring.

Normally, the east coast of Florida waits until late summer before falling into the long stretch of hot, humid days. The afternoon heat broken by intense thunderstorms, lightning filling the skies, the rain in torrents, clogging up gutters and filling driveways. This year the sunshine state is in a hurry. It welcomes tourists to its beaches, burning their pale northern skin. They'll bring home not only cheaply made shell magnets painted in bold colors naming the towns they traveled through, but sand. They won't even know it. Weeks later, once they think they have finally washed all the clothes enough times and the bathing suits they wore, they'll find it in the bottom of their cars, hiding under the floor mats.

I despise Florida. This state is nothing but heat, rain, mosquitoes, and sand, but it is all I have ever known.

I hate the month of May as well. It's hot and sticky. It holds painful memories and pieces of my past I want to keep hidden. Not to mention it is only three and a half weeks until my thirtieth birthday. This, itself, is enough to make a woman turn to a bottle of wine.

I grip the mug, and I try again to focus on the beach. The coffee is hot, but I drink it anyway, hoping the caffeine will dull the pain in my head. I massage my temples, trying to calm the ache, from too much wine and too long of hours. I move from my temples to the long raised scar that runs over my collarbone, rubbing away the phantom pain.

The entire reason I had come to the small town was to escape the memories living at home holds. I can't walk into a room without flashing on one of the joyful times. The flood of emotions each memory brings is overwhelming. My father's empty stare is too much. The sorrow was unbearable. Running away had been my only option and finding this quiet, forgotten town saved my life. There are still days where the horror threatens to consume, but the ocean and its calm always rescue me from the vicious nightmares. The soothing waves keep the demons at bay, holding them hostage under the still waters.

The view from my porch is beautiful. A narrow stretch of road and rocks separate my house from the beach. The house is a two-story cottage resting on stilts, with worn cedar shingles bleached gray from years of sun, giving it a weathered, almost forgotten look. Large sliding glass doors lead to the porch where I sit, offering spectacular views of the Atlantic.

The times when I wake early, or more common, am still awake from a sleepless night, I love to watch the sunrise. Dramatic strokes of color by an overzealous painter. The deep royal blue breaking the dark night before giving way to the vivid peaches, bright oranges, and finally a golden yellow, announcing the sun's arrival and the beginning of the day. Though the rent is ridiculous, the cottage is my sanctuary.

My neighbors are summer vacationers, pasty white Yankee's, Sally, my boss, calls them. This year the homes are rented to quiet elderly couples that keep to themselves, for which I am grateful. I am not the neighborly type. No one here accuses me of being overly friendly.

The span of beach across from my rental home is mine; at least this is how I view it. Never mind that I have neighbors or, in fact, it belongs to the city. Today I am glad there are no tourists crowding my stretch of beach though the lack of people never fails to surprise me. The visitors that come through opt for the beach ramp or inlet. Not that I am complaining. Looking at the shore in front of my house, I soak in the view. The sand is pale and flat, the waves calm and serene.

I pick up my digital SLR and snap a few quick shots of the beach, capturing the small sandpipers scattering along the shoreline. In only two hours, I'm due at the motel where I work. Sally won't like me coming in again with a hangover. I'm sure she suspects I'm a blooming alcoholic, and I debate calling in, but Janice would strangle me.

I walk from the glass doors over to the kitchen and reach for a bottle of pain medication. The ache in my head is getting worse, no matter how much caffeine I drink. From the counter my cell phone makes its quiet beep, indicating I have a message. No doubt a reminder from Jan telling me I have agreed to fill in for her this morning. The other downside to living here--poor cell reception.

A loud rap on my front door startles me out of my fog. Who the hell is knocking? Janice is at Doc Spencer's getting her flu shot or more accurately, flirting with the good doctor. She knows better than to call instead of drop by. I hate visitors, especially the unexpected kind.

I hesitate, aware I'm wearing only a flimsy white t-shirt and jogging shorts, but walk to the front door. I open it just wide enough to stick my face in the opening. On my front porch is a man. At first glance, he is drop-dead, cheat-on-your-boyfriend, kind of gorgeous. That is until it hits me. This is not just any man. I know this man, and well.

He is tall and too handsome, with broad shoulders and golden skin, dark hair streaked with soft, warm highlights. He is stunning, and my breath catches. But, it's not his good looks that make my legs weak, it is his eyes. Dark brown with gold leaf flecks. Eyes that as a child I trusted more than anyone. Eyes that stare back at me now.

Growing up on the vast southern plantation, we had been inseparable. Fighting and conspiring like only best friends could. He had come to live in my family's home as a young boy. There are early memories of him arguing over toys and attention from my mother. Then, right before our eighteenth birthday, he was gone. He left a skinny tanned teenager carrying pieces of me with him. I had never seen him again. Not once did he call or try to visit. Until now.

My stomach drops, my heart threatens to pound out of my chest, as quiet dread washes over me. I have worked hard to forget him. Forget the promises and the way I felt when he was near. I locked up the memories of our youth, pushing them into the shadows, pretending they don't exist. The silly daring teenager that I loved is now a man, standing inches from me. The boy that I trusted and fell in love with, my best friend. The boy who tore my life in two.

Emily.

Her face flashes in my mind, laughing, eyes sparkling, hanging on his every word. Emily loved him too. Too much.

I blink, hoping when I open my eyes he will have disappeared. An apparition, the ghost that carries my heart. I have learned to live without him, walking around with pieces of me missing. When I open them, he is still there. My heart tears in my chest.

He stands on my porch, his hands shoved in the pockets of his crisp jeans, eyes wide and questioning. A small smile, that smile, the one that always made my heart pound, spreads over his full lips. "Hello, Charlotte."

# Chapter Two

He came into my life on a bright sunny morning, a small and quiet boy. I watched him climb from the car, holding my father's hand. Emily and I peeked out the window, hiding behind the curtains. He was nothing but large brown eyes and a scared face, and when he caught me staring, he smiled, this huge explosion of a grin, and I knew then my life would forever be changed.

I was born Charlotte Elizabeth Duval to Stephan and Abigail Duval. My identical twin sister Emily arrived three minutes later. Abigail always told us we were in such a hurry to see the world, we barely gave her time to realize what was happening. One minute she was brushing her hair, the next she was screaming for the housekeepers to call an ambulance.

We never made it to the hospital. We were born in her room on a Sunday morning while Abigail was getting ready for church, arriving three weeks early, the sun high and shining through the window like we were angels, she said, sent directly from heaven.

Nineteen at our birth, Abigail treated us more like siblings than her children. Emily and I would sit and take turns brushing her hair as she told us stories of twins born in the light, there to change the world. We spent hours running through the woods fighting imaginary beasts, playing at saving the world, our golden hair marking us as its future Queens.

I have always loved the story of our birth. It made it sound as if Emily and I were destined for something grand, arriving in the glow of the sunlight. Growing up on an old southern plantation, the idea of adventure outside our small world was enticing.

We are from old money, growing up private school rich, sheltered behind a glass fence of wealth and privilege. Our family is the descendants of one of the original French families that came to Florida after Rene Goulaine de Laudonniere set up his colony in 1564. Later on, my ancestors built one of the oldest sugar plantations in the central part of the state. Our family had controlled the majority of the sugar industry and sale of cigars all the way down to Cuba.

Today, all that remains are just a few hundred acres now overgrown with tall pines, live oaks and low-lying palms. The tall crumpled ruins of the mill, a few slaves' quarters, and the old slave master house stand hidden in the dense woods.

The plantation lays an hour's drive outside a small rural town in the central part of the state. Rebuilt after a devastating fire, the main house stands in the center of a large plot, shaded by massive live oaks hung with Spanish moss. A vast yard creeping with St. Augustine grass sets it back from the dirt road, the only access from the old trucker routes. Built in the classic Antebellum Plantation style, it rests grand with tall white columns, large colonial windows, the circular drive lined with ancient oaks and magnolia trees.

Emily and I spent the first few years of our childhood as the only children in the family. We were spoiled, especially by our mother. Poor Nanny was our only disciplinarian and would chase us around yelling it seemed, just about every day. Nanny is beautiful, with dark skin and hair. I used to wonder why she had no husband or children of her own. The time I asked her, she told me that Emily and I were her only girls, and we were enough work for one woman.

Abigail, when she wasn't concerning herself over one of Daddy's dinner parties, trained us to be well-behaved, good mannered southern girls. And, we were good at it. Emily and I could sit for hours, hands folded in our laps, pretty smiles plastered to our faces, ankles crossed, backs straight, just as our mother told us. That is until we were unleashed.

We would run wild in the woods at dusk, playing in the abandoned shells of slave houses or in the gardens battling beasts. We were always dirty; our dresses would be torn after a few hours, our faces streaked with sweat. The neat and tight braids Nanny forced us to wear would carry pieces of dirt and twigs. Emily would stuff grass and roly-polies in her pockets. I drug around long sticks I declared were swords, to fight the dragons that slept in the woods. They hid in the mill ruins and ate the Spanish moss that wrapped itself around every oak tree.

When we were six years old, Henri Moreau came to live with us. We were told his father went to school with ours and had died before Henri was born. Henri's mother had passed after a long illness a few years later. Henri was left in the care of his father's adopted brother, Ashur Moreau, who ran the family winery in France. Busy with the business he oversaw, Ashur sent Henri to live with us so he could continue to grow in a more settled environment.

"Who is this?" Emily asked, eyeing the new addition.

"This is Henri. He will be living here with us. You and Charlotte are to treat him as family," Daddy had instructed.

"Henry," I sneered, "What a dull name."

"No, Henri." He pronounced the name ahn-ree, leaning on his French accent.

"Pourquoi avez-vous les memes yeux que moi?" Henri had asked. "Your eyes, why are they the same?"

We were taught phrases in several languages. Nanny said the two of us couldn't sit still long enough to listen, but I was determined to prove her wrong.

"Parce que nous voyons les memes choses," I responded, proud to have remembered the words. Emily laughed at my remark. We were good at teasing, and it was true, we did see the same things.

We were thrilled with our new playmate, quickly taking a liking to him. Days after his arrival, Henri was following us everywhere, finding mischief in the main house or scaring each other with ghost stories in the old slave quarters. For the better part of our childhood, the three of us were inseparable. At night, we would sneak into each other's rooms. In the mornings, Nanny found us sound asleep, huddled in one bed.

During the day, the plantation and the surrounding woods were serene. Emily and I ran through the forests, the sun twinkling through the laurel oaks and pines. The smell of dank wood and raw earth stinging our noses. The air tranquil and quiet.

At night, the woods became charged as if the very air I breathed was made of lightning. It left me almost feverish, and I rarely got a full night's sleep. I could feel the ghosts of the plantation walk, their feet following my path, their eyes always watching.

Daddy would sit at the piano and play at night. I could almost see his small hands working over the piano keys, his eyes dark and sad as the notes rang out. The songs were melancholy, the haunting echoes of Chopin and Beethoven filling the house, darkening the corners. It was hard to imagine what happened in his life that forced such pain into his heart.

Emily and I would lay in bed, Henri at our feet, tickling our toes. His fingers brushing over our ankles, his hair glowing with golden highlights, a halo in the dim light. Emily and I held up the charms around our neck, a gift from our mother for our thirteenth birthday. They were delicately cast angels, made of platinum, with long abstract bodies. My angel curved to the right, her graceful arm outstretched to one side, one wing swept out in the opposite direction. When Emily brought her angel next to mine, their arms embraced, their bodies interlocked, faces pressed together and turned into one whole woman, her wings open and soaring.

In those moments, my life was beautiful. Emily's face would shine, and her eyes would glimmer with happiness, despite the soft sadness that twinkled up to our room. Henri would lay and watch us; I saw he loved us. As sisters, as friends. More. We were all connected.

As children, anyone who didn't know Emily and I couldn't tell us apart. We both had light blond hair, streaked with gold; our eyes a crystal blue as bright and clear as the natural springs that dotted the state. Our skin as fair and smooth as a porcelain doll. As we grew older, the differences between us became apparent. Emily's hair began to turn, streaks of embers, bright fire highlights that shone red while mine took the deep honey color of our mother. My skin, like hers, started to show light traces of freckles, too many hours playing in the sun, Abigail would tell me. But with just a glance we were identical, we even carried the same birthmark--a small peach patch of skin on our inner thigh.

When Nanny caught us comparing our marks as little girls, she screamed at us, saying that only our husbands were meant to see so high on our thighs. I remember we giggled, sharing the same thought, no man would ever know us the way we knew each other. Our minds were linked, we could finish each other's sentences, and held secrets that only two who shared the womb would have. Secrets we never shared, not even with our mother, though I believe she knew. Abigail never uttered a word, always brushing off our uncanny ability to read a person, like we could feel their thoughts and see into their souls.

"He's bad inside, Mommy," I told her once. Emily nodded in agreement. We were outside with our mother, playing with dolls. I pointed to the young man who tended the rose gardens behind the main house. He was new and kept to himself. But I hated the way he watched my sister and me, his eyes gleaming with something I didn't understand. Abigail had grown angry at my words, slapping me, her hand hard and unexpected. Abigail's actions were so uncharacteristic that we dared never to speak again of our ability to read people. The gardener, though, didn't return after that day.

By the time we were fifteen, the differences between Emily and I were stark. Emily was vibrant, and outspoken, the center of attention. I was sullen and quiet, preferring to stay on the outskirts. She lived in the limelight, always craving attention while I kept in the shadows, watching everyone as they fumbled over themselves to catch a glimpse of my twin. Emily was stunning. Even though we were identical, she was called the vibrant one, the beautiful one. She glowed to the point even in my head I referred to her as so.

We knew we were beautiful. Everyone had told us so from as far back as we could remember. Emily was that mean girl, chased by the football quarterback. I was the girl that got pushed around, hiding in books and avoiding others. We grew up in our very own cliche and never even knew it.

None of the boys in school held my attention. It was Henri who had captured my heart. One day Emily had been ill, lying in bed alone, her stomach in knots. Nanny had sent Henri and I away so as not to catch the dreadful bug. We had walked to the ruin of the sugar mill, our old hideout. Tall pillars stood, marking what was once the entrance. Massive coquina storage houses surrounded it, the wooden doors melted away by time, leaving iron hinges hanging in the dark openings. Black mouths open in silent screams.

It was there, in our childhood playhouse, Henri had made his move. It was sweet and innocent, my first kiss. Henri had leaned in as we sat contemplating what we were to do with our afternoon. Emily had always been the one to plan the long summer days, me checking off the list as we went.

"Why did you do that?" I asked, pressing my fingers to my lips.

"I wanted to."

We managed to sneak away, taking advantage of Emily's distraction with friends in school. We spent anywhere from a few minutes to hours, holding hands, and talking. As time went on Henri's kisses turned heated, though he never got far. Henri always pushed for more, but I got nervous and brushed his frenzied hands away, secretly loving the attention and the crazy energy that flowed from him. For once, I was the desired one, the center of Henri's world, his eyes always on me, smiling slyly at our secret.

A week before our eighteenth birthday, I was helping Abigail plan for the large party to be thrown in our honor. Henri was to be included in the party as he always had since his birthday was three days after ours. Emily had run off avoiding work, as was her specialty, and Henri was nowhere to be found. The two had a knack for avoiding work, usually leaving me with the chores.

I followed the thin trail we had cut through the dense woods over the years. By the time the mill came into view, I was fuming. A light giggle, barely audible over the small chirping of birds came from the storage building. The room where we had smuggled blankets and books, pillows, and flashlights, stolen from the main house over years of play. The same storage house Henri took me to whisper in my ear and cover me with kisses.

The sound of Emily's soft giggle infuriated me. Hours I had spent, planning in what would turn into a celebration for Emily to shine, stealing the attention away from everyone else. I crept slowly towards the doorway, intending to scare the daylights out of them. An evil grin of delight spread over my face, thinking of their screams when I barged into the room.

As children, Henri had tried to scare us, talking about the beast that roamed our woods, feasting on the flesh and bones of children. In the entrance, I lowered myself, peering around the corner so I could look into the room, preparing to rush through the doorway.

Emily lay in the makeshift bed we had made as children, her face turned toward Henri, who lay on top of her. I couldn't see his face, but I knew what he was doing. He had done the very same with me, just a day prior. I knew he was kissing her, his need making him rushed and sloppy.

The times Henri had brought me to the storehouse, he had placed me on the piles of blankets, cupping my head in his hand. He pushed himself between my legs, his kisses hungry and possessive. I kept his advances for more at bay, telling him I wasn't ready. Henri waited for me, his frustration growing, pressing himself to me. I loved his desperation, but knew he would never push too far, whispering I was his and his alone, and he would wait, forever if need be. One day I'd be his. I felt safe, protected, and loved like I had never been before, soaking in his warmth and desire.

My throat swelled, pain filling it, leaving me unable to breathe. My stomach lurched, my eyes glazed over, the running hot down my face. I stepped back, snapping a stick under my heel, and I turn and ran.

"What was that?" I heard Emily ask.

The thought of Henri touching Emily made me sick. Of Emily's hands moving over him, tracing the places where mine had been. I gasped as loud sobs racked my body and stood hysterical in the center of our elaborate garden. Abigail had come running out asking what was wrong, her eyes fearful and searching. Once she saw my face, she knew the truth. We were no longer little girls that played house. She had seen us change, watched us grow.

That night my mother was yelling at someone over the phone, pleading, her voice like I had never heard. Abigail was demure, the perfect example of a wealthy southern housewife. Desperation rang out as she spoke. In between my cries, I heard her talking to Daddy, their voices got louder as the argument grew heated and things started breaking. I stayed in my room, feeling guilty that I had caused this. My stupidity, my trust and belief that I was somehow special. That Henri was mine, and he loved only me.

The next evening, Henri was gone and so was my mother. She had gathered us in the parlor, sitting us on the floral love seat. Emily, Henri, and I had our heads hanging ashamed, as we waited for what was sure to be a long and embarrassing talk.

"I am leaving this evening for France to stay with Henri and his uncle. I will be there for some time." Her lovely face was stone. My head snapped up, and I stared in disbelief. So shocked by her words I sat mute, looking at this hard, cold woman, her sweet and loving demeanor nowhere to be found. My mother was thirty-seven years old, her eyes that used to glow with youth and kindness only held pain and anger.

With that, she had grabbed her bags and walked Henri out the door, not once looking back. Henri hesitated, his face pained, "I'm so sorry, Char," he whispered before following behind my mother.

Anger swelled inside me. How could she leave? Leave us? How could she leave to go across the world when her daughters, her angels she called us, needed her?

How could she take him?

I looked at Emily, enraged. "You whore!" I screamed, slapping her face so hard she stumbled back. Nanny came to my side trying to calm me, to wrap me in her loving arms as she had done my entire life, but I was gone, lost in a sea of betrayal and pain.

# Chapter Three

A loud crack of thunder thrusts me from my memories. Henri jumps slightly at the noise, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Sounds like rain," he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His holds a hint of his childhood accent, soft and smooth. "I called, but I guess you didn't get the message."

Another loud crack, closer this time, stunning us both. Henri turns to look up at the darkening sky. "I did not miss the afternoon storms."

The rush of unwanted memories returns stealing my voice. Henri whispering in my ear, his breath warm, plotting a devious prank on Emily. He had always radiated warmth. Emily and I had agreed he was good inside. It comes out of him in waves, melted over him like a blanket. Goodness and love wrapped in a small tanned boy.

"So may I come in? Preferably before I'm struck by lightning?"

Too many words are frozen in my throat. What do I say to the boy that tore my life apart? I stand back, allowing him to enter. Henri walks into my living room, his eyes scanning the space. I gesture for him to sit on the loud floral sofa that comes with the rental. For the first time, I regret not redecorating. I sit down across from him, still not speaking.

"How are you?" Henri asks. His hands rub together in his lap. The cuticles are neat, manicured, like someone who works inside. His dark brown eyes land on mine. I blink.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. Good. Straight to the point. My brain seems to have lost the years of training in social etiquette though my voice has returned. I start to fidget under his stare. There is too much history, he knows too much about me.

That is the thing about first loves. They know your inner workings like no other. Before you had even figured it out for yourself. Before you could put up armor to keep people out. Henri knows me. The eighteen-year-old version, before she became jaded. Before she was scared.

Henri purses his lips, making a small grimace like he is testing the words in his head before he speaks. "Abigail sent me."

My mother sent the last person I ever wanted to see, regardless of how many times I had envisioned reuniting with him.

"Seems like a poor choice sending you," I say.

He looks away. I hit the right spot--he still feels guilt.

Good.

"How have you been?" He tries again, brushing off my statement.

"Fabulous." Small talk? Really?

"You look well. Amazing really. It's been so long." His voice has a melancholy ring to it. "I've missed you."

Remaining silent is my best option. I don't think I can avoid being sarcastic. If I open my mouth, something sly will come out, giving me away. Even after twelve years, Henri will be able to see through it. I rub my hands over my face, trying to scrub away the sudden rush of anger.

"Henri?" He looks up at me. Henri always made direct eye contact. As if he has nothing to hide, and somehow knows everything about you. I try not to squirm. "Can we just cut the BS? Why are you here?"

He rubs his hands down his thighs, sighing as he does. "It is your mother. She's ill."

Abigail was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. Healthy and vibrant just like Emily. Women like my mother don't get sick.

"Sick how?"

"Cancer."

"What?"

"The doctors found a mass in her brain."

I blink.

"She wants to see you."

For the last twelve years, I have tried to figure out the answer to why my mother left. I have thought of everything from my father being a secret abusive drunk to a cheating letch. Or that my mother is simply a cruel, selfish woman. That is the one I settled on, the lie to this day I try to convince myself.

"Oh, now she wants to see me," I say.

"She doesn't have a lot of time," he says, ignoring my anger. "She's been seeing a specialist in France. Ashur is doing everything he can."

"And now, because she is knocking at death's door, she wants to see me." My voice drips with anger. I hate being such an open book.

"There is more to it than that. She wants to talk to you. To explain why she left."

"I don't want to see her, Henri."

He nods like he understands. Instead of standing to leave, he continues to sit on my hideous sofa and stare at me. The cologne he wears wafts across the room, reminding me of our childhood woods and dry soil. I take a deep breath.

"I have to go to work." Liar that I am knows I have almost two hours before I am due to work, but I need to get away from him.

"Okay." He nods and stands. "Can I see you later?"

Now, I'm the one who nods.

"Good. I'll pick you up."

"Okay," I say before I can think too much further. I walk him to the door and open it for him. The air I breathe in is thick and awkward. I hope it isn't obvious how I have started sweating, how my heart has begun to beat rapidly.

"Then I'll see you later."

"Sure," I say, amazed the word has come out.

Henri nods and turns to walk down the stairs. I watch him get in his shiny SUV and drive away. I shut the door. My legs grow weak, my throat clogs. Abigail wants to see me. My dying mother. And she has sent Henri to tell me. My Henri, who had betrayed me.

# Chapter Four

The clouds are still gathering, threatening a dangerous lightning storm, but it's all just a big show never finishing the act. The rain refuses to spill over as I walk the three blocks to the Sandpiper Motel. It sits along the main highway through town, an old, low concrete building with a small weathered sign announcing it has vacancies.

The idea of working today doesn't exactly thrill me. Not after Henri. Seeing him is proving to be a dangerous distraction, leaving me foggy and in a foul mood. Everything he said plays like a record in my head, his words jumping and repeating. The slight hangover probably isn't helping.

Usually, I love people and find them fascinating. They hold secrets, carry around hope and happiness packed neatly into small bags. Some are sad so I avoid them. Some glow with possibility and I bathe in the energy they radiate. But, as much as I enjoy them, I can only handle short bursts. Emily used to tell me that I could only handle being nice for so long. Maybe it is true. The fake smiles and small talk soon wear on me. The pleasantries we use on strangers becomes irritating. I was too straight forward, Emily would tease. Couldn't handle the bullshit that is life. She was right, I can't. It is exhausting.

When I walk in the lobby the door chimes announcing my arrival. The cool blast of the stale AC mixed with pine air freshener hits my nose. Sally repainted and put new carpeting in last month, but the Formica guest counter and pastel beach paintings that hang on the walls, tell the tale of what the place really is: a cheap, seedy motel.

Janice and I have the ever engrossing challenge of being the Sandpiper Motel's only housekeepers. Sally swears she is looking for more help, but no one has yet to apply. Not that I am surprised. From the outside, the motel reeks of bad choices. Layers of paint fail to conceal the regret that bleeds through the guest room walls.

"Whalan called," Sally yells from the private office. Her door rests slightly ajar, and she sits at her desk, twirling her over-dyed, dried out blond hair around her finger. She is busting out of her tight t-shirt and blue jeans that look and fit like she's had them since high school. It's way too hot for jeans, but then her sweaty, pale forehead remind me she rarely goes outside long enough to be bothered by it.

"There's a tourist bus com'n through." Sally's voice has the slight southern accent most Floridians have. Not the deep southern drawl people native to Georgia or Alabama have, but a distinct hint of an accent. It is unique to Florida natives though we have been known to say, "ya'll", "ain't", and "git" in real heated conversations.

The thought of a bunch of elderly tourists doesn't exactly excite me. The men are more handsy than a teenage boy, the women constantly complain, expecting five-star treatment. But, thinking about my upcoming meeting with Henri, it will probably be a welcome distraction helping Sally get everyone situated in their rooms. In the very least, it will force the hours to move faster. Better than thinking of Abigail.

From the storage room, I push the cleaning cart towards the end of the building. The polyester uniform Sally insists we wear sticks to my skin, and beads of sweat drip down my back, turning my mood even darker. I've only been working thirty minutes, and I am already covered in the faint scent of cigarettes and cheap perfume that cling to the tacky floral bedspreads.

The motel isn't big, only thirty-eight rooms to clean. Norm, the motel's only and long-standing full-time resident, never wants to be bothered. I learned from the beginning just to leave the towels and bedding for him at his door. Jake, Russian we call him, works as a maintenance man and occupies the other efficiency.

I spot Russian standing, cigarette in hand, out back in the shade of a sad, drooping palm tree. A bucket of mean looking tools, I hope are saved only for fixing things and not breaking knee caps, lay at his feet. We call him Russian for a reason. His thick hairy arms and equally hairy chest are covered with a faded lime green jacket. He completes the look with matching jogging pants and bright running shoes. His big head sits on top of a squat neck that carries several gold chains. Jake, though I'm pretty sure that isn't his name, waves with his meaty hand and winks with a beady flat eye, calling out a greeting. His accent is so thick, half the time I doubt Putin himself would know what he is saying. For whatever reason, I like him.

I wave back and continue pushing the cart down the open walkway. I plod and knock at each door, waiting for sounds, before taking a very cautious peek inside.

My first week at the motel proved to be very educational. I learned quickly people tend not to answer doors if they are sleeping, in my unfortunate case, sleeping naked, or if the guests were otherwise occupied. The otherwise occupied, I'm pretty sure, has scarred me for life. The entire horror scene involved a heavyset man in his fifties and a young woman with protruding hip bones in a very compromising position. Like I said, the place stinks of regret.

Norm sits in a rusted metal chair outside his door. A cigarette hangs loosely from his lips hidden under a thick mustache, the ash so long it threatens to fall into his lap. A large plastic cup from the convenience store across the street rests on his knee. Norm once told me, in one of his rare talkative moments, that he had served in Afghanistan for six years before he was injured. He has this corrosive look about him. I can tell he is damaged. His mind at times overpowered reality and he will sit and talk to himself. Light mumbles about the devil sleeping in broad daylight. I'm not sure I want to know what he means. His blue eyes are dark, and hold pictures that no man should have to see.

Norm doesn't wear any other clothes than faded green fatigues and a ripped white t-shirt. He keeps his hair long and pulled back in a loose ponytail. The mustache that hides his face is turning gray, dusted with white, like the hair on his head. He pushes his hair back from his face and waves. The movement breaks the ash on the tip of his cigarette and it falls into his lap. He doesn't seem to notice, or perhaps care.

After I have cleaned the only occupied rooms, I shove the cart back into the storage room and head to the front desk. Sally is still in her office yelling into her phone at some poor soul. Outside, the tour bus pulls into the sandy parking lot. Small men with canes and women with blue hair come spilling out.

"Damn, I was hope'n they wouldn't show up." I jump, not realizing Janice has come in the back way. "Good Lord, girl, you're jumpier than a frog on a hot skillet."

She says Lord as "lawd", Janice's southern accent is similar to our northern neighbors though I swear it gets thicker and sweeter when a good-looking man is present. Janice is beautiful in the way only homegrown southern girls are, with light sepia hair, large open sage green eyes and a smile that tells you she knows her way around a man and his truck.

The only thing that mars her lovely face is a deep scar she hides under her bangs. A hint of her past, thanks to her ex-husband. A dirty cop, full of rage and Jim Beam. One night, with the help of a bottle of whiskey, he had beaten her within an inch of her life while she was cooking him dinner. The ex-husband was shut away in jail for only a few months thanks to his connections. He's now free to roam the state with an updated injunction.

Janice's peach stained lips smile at me, the incandescent light catching the heavy gloss. Curls fall around her face, breaking out of the carefully constructed bun piled on the top of her head. She's taken extra care today, her uniform pressed to perfection and a sweet floral perfume comes off of her curvy frame. She pulls at the tight clothing and fans herself. "Damn, girl, it's hotter than a goat's butt in a pepper patch!"

I'm pretty sure she is the only person I have cared for since Henri left. Colorful and loud-mouthed, Jan always says exactly what is on her mind. She's has been trying to win over the sweet doctor for as long as I have lived here.

"Did you finally charm Doc Spence?" I ask, chuckling.

She glances at me sideways, a frown curving her mouth, "Not yet," she says walking toward the door to open it for an elderly man with a walker.

***

Five o'clock can't come fast enough. After we help Sally check in what was probably the loudest and most intoxicated bunch of grandparents I'd ever seen, Janice and I stand around the front desk gossiping with Russian.

"Jan, I'm going to head out," I say. The clock hands hang close to the end of my workday, making me antsy. Janice leans in, listening intently to whatever Russian grumbles on about. I have no idea how she deciphers his words. Most of the time, it comes out in rough garbled sounds that make me pray I'm not agreeing to marry him down the road.

"You got a hot date you're not telling me about?" she teases. My romantic life, or lack thereof, is a constant joke between us, or rather for Janice. In college, I had dated some. There was a long relationship with my boss after I graduated where I was working as an intern. Turned out the creep never actually did leave his wife. But, no one ever lasted. I never brought anyone home. Since escaping to this sleepy town, I have not had a single relationship. There have been offers, a few prospects for a night of physical comfort, no strings attached, but the idea of anyone touching me holds little appeal. Especially stranger hands. Eww.

With Janice, every single man that walks through the doors is a potential suitor. For me, anyways. Janice tells me she is done with men and is waiting for me to convert to women. I know she jokes. I don't blame her. I'd be put off men the rest of my life if my husband had tried to kill me.

The best part of having Janice's friendship, she doesn't ask questions. She respects the fact that I don't talk about my past. She doesn't expect stories of my childhood or asks what my mother's name is. She takes me for who I am, not where I come from.

The door chimes, grabbing everyone's attention, and we turn to see Henri walking into the lobby.

"Jesus, Almighty," Jan breathes.

Janice's exclamation is dead on. Henri is undeniably the best-looking man I have ever seen, in movies or in life. Finding him standing on my porch had been such a shock that I had barely noticed after it registered in my head who he was. Sure, he is really good looking, my brain had enough sense to see that, but to the extent hadn't quite seeped in.

Watching him walk toward me, I am in awe. At seventeen, he had been the best-looking boy in school. Girls fell over themselves to be near him. He was the kind of boyish beautiful small town stay-at-home moms swooned over in the supermarket, all floppy hair and exotic skin. Movie star pretty-boy looks other boys hated.

Now, he is just as beautiful, but this is no boy. His face has changed, matured. Chiseled jawline, a perfect length of stubble covering it. A long and almost delicate nose looks as if it has been crafted by a sculptor. Sultry lips and high cheekbones. Henri's shirt clings to a body that is now filled out with thick muscles moving with him like it has been poured on.

Janice moves toward him, but I grab her arm, forcing her to stop dead in her tracks. I can practically hear her gathering up the southern "here comes a good looking man" drawl.

"Am I too early?" Henri asks, stopping near us.

Standing in my too tight and sweaty uniform, I shift my feet and tug and the too low neckline, uncomfortable. He had said he'd pick me up, but I had thought from my house. I clear my throat, suddenly dry.

"No. I didn't realize you were picking me up at work," I say, fighting a sudden urge to weep. To run to him and force him to hold me. To make the years of hurt go away. To slap him. To curse him. "I'm just getting off."

Henri reaches over the counter to offer his hand to Janice. "Bonjour, I am Henri, an old friend of Charlotte's." Janice practically faints as he leans on his French accent. He is laying it on thick. He smiles at Russian. I can only imagine what Russian must think of him.

"I can't imagine why she would have never mentioned you." Janice's eyelashes bat.

I turn to Janice, whose expression says it all. We are going to talk later after she strangles me. "See you later." I wave and smile sheepishly at her.

For once, she seems without words, only waving and nodding as we walk out of the lobby. She is going to kill me, I can see it now. It will take a lot of coaxing and even a few spilled secrets before she forgives me for this omission.

"Is there a place we can talk? Privately?" Henri's eyes move over my uniform and land on the white plastic nametag. No doubt he is wondering why I have given up old money to clean rooms at a cheap motel in a podunk town. Though, if he has half a brain, which I know he does, he understands why.

My chest tightens and I have to fight the urge to escape. The sensation is so intense, it is an almost physical battle. I know Janice watches us from inside with Russian, likely spinning up wild theories about Henri. I look around the parking lot, a little too desperately and my eyes land on the small bar that sits catty-corner to us. "We can go there."

Henri nods and leads the way, grabbing my hand as we cross the street. The bar is beyond tacky. Cheap parquet tiles decorate the floor, and the bar itself is a mustard yellow laminate counter. Thin wood paneling covers every inch of wall. It was like the decorator teleported the space from 1977. Or maybe, it hasn't been touched since then. The layers of dirt hint, this may be the case.

We settle into a small booth in the back. The air swirls thick with cigarette smoke. I've got the familiar itch in the tips of my fingers. I could seriously use a cigarette, but I quit. Three short months ago.

A middle-aged woman wearing heavy makeup, dressed in too-tight jeans and a too-tight shirt, saunters over eyeing Henri, her belly peeking out as she pushes her large breasts out.

"Whatcha havin' handsome?" she asks, her false eyelashes almost touching her penciled in brows.

We place our orders and within a few minutes, she brings our drinks, placing mine heavily on the table. I pick up my glass, grateful for the distraction. Taking a long pull from the straw, I cough on the cheap, sweet flavor. Damn woman must have poured in the entire bottle of bottom-shelf.

I glance around at the other patrons. A surprising number of people sit in the booths, considering it is barely clock-out time. My eyes land on Norm sitting in the back, his eyes darting around the room when I see him. I didn't even know Norm came here. His presence is a bit unnerving. Like running into your boss outside of work. They just don't belong here, in life, where you live.

"You seem to like it here. It's quiet." Henri's voice a bit too loud, breaking the silence that has started to settle. He glances around the bar as if to emphasize his statement, a poor choice considering our location. Henri is stalling, no doubt trying to figure out how to broach the subject of my mother. He tears off small pieces of the cocktail napkin under his drink, rolling them into little balls and stacking them on the table. For some reason, I find this nervous movement fascinating. Probably because it was what he had done when we were younger, and my father took us to the BBQ restaurant in the small town near where we grew up.

"The beach is beautiful," he says, clarifying he meant the actual town, not the dive bar where we sit. Henri's unease flows off him in torrents. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

After Henri had left, I had what Daddy called, a mini-mental meltdown. Food no longer was of any interest. I couldn't sleep or concentrate. I lost weight rapidly until I looked almost anorexic. But the part that had everyone concerned was I refused to speak. Especially not to Emily. It was as if their betrayal had burned my tongue and left me mute. I couldn't put a voice to the depth of pain that they had inflicted, so I chose not to talk at all.

This lasted for almost six months. Thankfully, no one pushed me. Daddy sent me to see a few different psychiatrists. Dr. Gregory helped the most. We would sit in his office, and he would tell me stories he read in magazines. Gossip column stuff, what movie star married what musician, and so on. I wonder if my father knows he was paying all that money for my weekly lessons in pop culture, 2001 edition.

What had ended up helping the most was the camera Daddy gave me. I could capture life around me and tell the stories that way. I spent most of my time in the old mill, where I had set up my darkroom. Daddy didn't say a word when I came home with bright orange extension cords and ran them out to the mill, converting my childhood playhouse. Between the bad wiring and chemicals, it's amazing the place didn't go up in smoke.

I shake my head and return my thoughts to Henri. "What does Abigail want from me?"

"She wants to see you." Henri is everything I knew he would be, and he sits inches away. So close I can touch his warm skin. I hope no one can hear the sound of my heart breaking, all over again. The glass cracks, shattering, as the pieces I had taped together fall.

"We have covered this. I don't want to see her," I say, my throat closing. This hurt has become a living, breathing monster sitting next to me, clawing at my chest.

"I know Char, but, well, there isn't really much time."

I grip the bottom of my uniform to keep from reaching across the table and slapping him. He doesn't get to call me that, not ever. It is reserved solely for people who care for me. People who don't leave.

Emily flashes in my mind.

It is his fault. It is my fault.

"Why didn't she come here? Since she feels it's necessary to see me after all these years." My anger breaks through. I want to cage it back up, not wanting to show how it still hurts, but it is growing.

"Abigail asked me to come here, to convince you to come for a visit. She can't travel here, she's too sick. She desperately wants to see you."

"She sure didn't think it was vital to visit me when I was in the hospital. So why now? Because she's dying?"

"No Char, she wants to see you to explain. She..." He presses his fingers to his eyes. "I tried to visit you in the hospital. I attempted to call you. No one would let me talk to you."

Pain rings in his voice, crashing through my anger. He has suffered as much as I have. He wears it like a cloak and if anything, it makes everything so much worse. I don't want him to hurt. Not really. I don't want to witness it either. No matter how many times I have cursed his name.

"I tried calling you after I left, for months. Stephan would never let me talk to you. I begged Nanny. She wouldn't cave." Henri reaches his hand out to grab mine. I pull away, like the jerk I am. He sighs and puts his hands back in his lap. "Ashur found out and told me to never call again. Even Abigail wouldn't allow me. It was like my life there never existed."

This is the last thing I expected to hear. I imagined him stealing my mother and riding off into the sunset, living in a winery, getting the hugs that were meant for me.

"No one ever told me, Henri." I hate the pain in his voice. "I knew my mother called, but no one said you did."

"After Emily..."

"I don't want to talk about, Emily," I say, cutting him off.

He sighs loudly. "I'm sorry." Henri grabs his drink, emptying it in one long pull. If it is anything like mine, this is probably a bad idea. His mouth turns down, showing a twinge of disgust. His eyes scan the room and land on the bartender. No doubt placing the blame on him.

"Your mother ..." he begins again.

"I don't want to talk about her either, Henri."

"Well, that's why I'm here, Char. To talk about your mother."

"So what does Abigail expect me to do? Go to France?" I look at him with my best 'you've got to be kidding me' face. He chooses to ignore it.

"Yes."

"Well, that's not happening." I stand to leave. Henri's hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. Then I feel it. His pain. It grabs at me, thick and deep. Not only does he wear his agony, it has absorbed into his skin, gotten under it, and welded to his bones. I sit back down and yank my wrist away.

"I'm sorry Henri. I can't." A small part of me wants to help. Abigail has sent him to fetch me and I am not cooperating. There is still the younger version of me that wants my mother. But I can't see her. Not now, not after all this time and all this hurt. Her time has passed.

"There are things that you don't understand," Henri says, still watching me. "Abigail has concerns. She wants to explain some things."

"Some things?"

"There are circumstances around why she left. Why she had to leave. Why I had to leave." He sits forward again and puts his arms on the Formica table.

"Why couldn't she just tell me when she left, Henri?"

"It is difficult to explain, Charlotte. Then, when it was time to tell you, Emily..." He can't say it. Her name hangs in the air, thick in the space between us.

I focus back on my drink. The small square ice clinks in the glass as I stir the straw around. "Why don't you just tell me, Henri? You seem to know already."

"I can't, Char. It's not my place."

What I really want to do is stand up and leave. Tell him to leave me alone and let it all go. But, me being who I am, know that I can't. I have asked myself for almost half my life why she left us. I already figured Henri had been sent away because of our little romance. Even though I had chalked up my mother's leaving to her being a terrible person, it always rang out false.

"How long does she have, Henri?"

"Three, maybe four months." He refuses to meet my eyes. He always met my eyes.

I nod. None of what he's saying feels real. My mother was a strong and healthy woman. Other people get sick. This happens to other families. We have already suffered enough.

"Will you see her, Charlotte?"

"Let me think about it," is all I will give him. Part of me already knows I will go.

"Okay." He nods, "I'll stay in town for a few days."

We stare at each other in silence, the tinny music from the jukebox drilling a hole in my head. He has come and delivered his message as asked. I stand to leave, ready to be alone and process what he said. Not that he has said anything new, only that if I want answers, I will have to go with him.

"Can I see you tomorrow? Dinner?" His request surprises me though it shouldn't have. We have a history. Put aside our puppy love, we had been friends. Best friends sounds juvenile, like as an adult, we would have a more grown up term for such a close relationship, but that is what we had been since the day he had stepped into my life.

"Sure, Henri."

# Chapter Five

Janice clenches her fists, her eyes narrowing, like she's going to throttle me the second I walk through the lobby doors. I didn't call her last night like I should have. Instead, I went home and spent the night on my couch, eating take-out, and watching old reruns. I still can't grasp everything Henri has told me like I read it somewhere and none of it is real.

"Girl, I was going to call you last night. You're lucky I didn't drive over there." Jan drops her voice a few octaves, her eyes growing large with annoyance. "Well, go on, who is that gorgeous hunk of a man named Henri?" She says his name in an exaggerated tone and fake French accent.

Who is Henri?

My childhood sweetheart, my family.

"He is an old friend," I say. Not an outright lie.

"There is no way a girl that looks like you were just friends with a man that looks like that," she says, incredulously. "I can tell by the way he was looking at you, he was more than a friend."

"Okay, yeah, we had a thing, but it was twelve years ago."

"I knew it. So why is he here? What bad news did he give you?" Jan asks. Freshly painted nails tap in a rhythmic pattern on the counter--pale peach, like her lip-gloss. I cringe every time her nails hit the Formica.

"How do you know he had bad news?" I rub my face. How had I missed how easy Janice figured people out?

"Charlotte, you showed up here a mess five years ago, all secrets and no past. You were leaving something behind you didn't want to mess with." Janice is way more perceptive than I give her credit for. "Besides, men don't show up after--what'd you say? twelve years?--just to say hello. Especially ones who you used to be in a relationship with. So taking all that into account, it's obvious that you were close enough that he knew your family and that somethin' is wrong."

I am at a loss for words. She had me pegged from the beginning. After contemplating a few lies, I decide the truth is best. She will apparently see right through anything else. "My mother is sick. Cancer. She only has a few months left."

"Oh my lord, you poor girl. I'm taking a guess you haven't seen her in a long time, at least since you came here."

"Longer." I suddenly want to tell Janice everything. To unload the years of hurt, but instead, keep it simple. "I haven't seen her in twelve years. She's in France for treatment. She's asking that I go there to see her."

"And you're not sure if you want to go," Janice says. "I'm going to tell you from experience, if you don't go see your momma, and she passes, you will spend the rest of your life regretting it. However bad she was, she's still your momma."

"I'm just scared." My honesty shocks even me.

Janice remains silent for a moment. "Life is scary and horribly tragic. Go to your momma, spend the time she has left with her. Whatever happened, it doesn't matter anymore, sweetie."

Janice stops her agitated strumming and walks around the counter. Her embrace is warm. I hadn't realized how badly I needed it. I sink into her and press my eyes closed.

She is right of course. None of what happened all those years ago matters. It's done. My mother is sick and dying and wants to make amends. Granted it's too many years late, but the gesture is still being offered. I would be cruel and selfish to refuse her.

"Just remember to pack your razor, that man is gorgeous!"

***

After I tell Sally I will be leaving for a few weeks, I head out to help Janice make beds and hand out fresh towels to the tourists that stayed the night. Most are already packing things up and making their way to the beach. Bright sun hats, sarongs, and walkers--a strange combination. I stop to help a woman with her beach bag and guide her down the ramp behind the hotel. Poor thing will be finding sand in her walker for weeks.

Even though it's not even ten in the morning, the heat is already near blistering temperatures. I walk back to the motel, wiping sweat from my forehead and find Janice in conversation with Norm. He looks wild-eyed and frazzled even for him. He sees me walking towards them and starts my way.

"Charlotte, who was that man yesterday?" His tone turns hard. I am surprised at how upset he seems. His hands rub together in front of him like he's trying to stay warm.

"An old friend," I respond. "Are you alright Norm?"

"You need to keep away from him."

The smell of booze hits my nose, and I step back. Norm has demons, even more so than others I'm sure. War will do that to a man. He has witnessed more evil than I could ever dream of.

"He has a fire inside him, Charlotte. I can see it burning." Norm steps forward, too close, but I remain still. I have never seen him like this, I didn't even think he drank.

"It's all right, Norm." I can't think of what else to say.

"The devil is trying to get his claws in you." His voice raises and his pupil's dilate the more irritated he becomes, and I wonder if he's taking his medication. "I had a dream about you last night."

"Norm, honey, Charlotte's just fine," Jan says.

I hold up my hand to stop her. "What was your dream?"

"The devil had you tied up in his entrails." He mutters something under his breath. "He's going to devour you."

"It's alright, Norm," I say, again. I reach out to touch his arm, but he pushes me away, too hard, and I stumble.

"No, no, no." He steps back and runs his fingers through his hair. "I've seen men like him before. In my platoon. They cover up their evil with gentle words and a soft touch."

"He is not like that," I say. My stomach twists.

"Don't go." He hisses, whiskey invading my nostrils. "That man is caustic, and he'll leave you burned."

I step away and glance to Janice. Her eyes dart from me to Norm. He backs up and mutters something under his breath, then walks away. His door slams behind him when he enters his room.

"What the hell was that?" Janice asks. Her eyes are wide and just as shocked as me by his behavior. "How'd he know you were leaving?"

"You didn't tell him?" I ask.

"No, he came runnin' outta his room, all crazy talk, wanting to know where you were."

I glance back to his door. The curtains in his room rustle. "He must have heard Henri and I talking yesterday," I tell her. "He was at the bar."

Janice makes a sour face. "I have never before seen that man drink. Somethings got him all twisted up inside."

I have always been open-minded. Hell, I can feel people's emotions when I shake their hand. So if someone tells me, they saw something in a dream, I don't take it lightly. The one thing I am sure of is that Norm has never been so upset. I know nightmares. They stem from somewhere dark, from shadows that are very real.

I walk away and try to leave our weird conversation in the parking lot. Janice and I continue to clean rooms, and after we have finished, we hide in the last unoccupied room and eat snacks from the vending machine. We may, or may not, have watched a few movies this way over the last five years.

Three hours later, I am walking back to my house. Sally sent me home after I gave her a check for two month's rent and promised to keep in touch. Clouds are forming, giant thunderheads, and I wonder if today will be the day the heat finally breaks. The weathermen don't say it, but it feels like we are headed into a severe drought. The last one we had in Florida, hundreds of acres of state parks burned. It was so bad, ash fell from the sky, carried hundreds of miles by the wind. Thick pieces stuck to cars and dry patches of lawns. It was an eerie sight, standing on the beach, the scent of burning wood, flakes, like snow, falling around your feet.

My mind goes back to Norm and his warnings. His words have left a sick knot in my stomach, and I can't seem to shake it. Norm has always been a tad on the strange side, but quiet. Nothing like what I witnessed this morning.

My phone rings and I pull it from my purse. The screen shows a blocked number, but my gut tells me it's Henri. My stomach lurches into my throat, and I answer the call.

"Are we on for dinner this evening?" He doesn't bother with pleasantries. Straight to the point.

"Yes," I say.

"Good. I will be by at seven to pick you up." He sounds different than he did yesterday. More... open. "Wear flip flops."

He hangs up without another word, and I am left staring at my phone, not sure what he has planned.

***

I stand in front of the mirror in my room and look down at my toes. The nails are now what the bottle of polish told me is Convertible Pink. It is a fitting name. The color reminds me of the Barbie dolls I played with as a child. They ran off with Ken, fleeing in a flimsy pink, plastic car. My halter dress matches the large chandelier earrings I picked out--a vivid turquoise. My eyes go back to my feet and the brown slip-on sandals they are in. Not exactly flip flops, but close enough.

My hair's pulled back loose and braided to the side, falling over my shoulder, the ends curling. My skin's turned darker with more freckles than I used to have. Usually, I wear no makeup, having been given the gift of flawless skin and long black lashes, but this dinner is special, and I want to look nice. Like I haven't spent the last five years wallowing in pity, working in a cheap motel, depriving myself of luxuries and people in self-loathing. I trace my eyes in a charcoal liner and add a hint of silvery blue shadow. It makes them shine brighter, though, I'm not about to admit, it is for Henri's benefit.

After a close inspection, I figure I'll pass. The sedentary life of a hermit has added a few extra pounds, giving me curves that I have never had before. My nose is long, longer than I like, my cheeks high, my jaw strong but feminine. Emily said once we looked like Grace Kelly. Emily exaggerated all the time.

With a deep breath, I sit on the couch to wait. My insides knot and the palms of my hands sweat. I grab the hem of the dress and count backward from twenty, trying to rid myself of the craving for a cigarette. A knock at the door almost sends me through the roof. I have to calm down.

Henri stands on my porch, smiling when I open the door. He is dressed casually, in gray slacks and a white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled showing tan arms; the first few buttons at the collar undone, revealing his smooth chest. I suck in a breath. Somehow, in twenty-four hours, he has become even more beautiful. My chest tightens, and the pain of seeing him is almost unbearable.

"You look lovely, Char," he says and looks down at my feet. My eyes follow his and my toes wiggle. He grins and takes my hand, leading me to the SUV.

***

The restaurant Henri picked sits further north towards the tourist trap, a small place with only a few other patrons. A thin girl that looks barely old enough to be working seats us. She fumbles with the menus and dinnerware, all flustered by Henri. Poor thing. I smile knowingly at her. I'm pretty flustered myself. He has that effect on women. Maybe Norm was right, and he sold his soul to the devil for that smile and golden skin.

Soft music plays in the background and the candle on our table flickers between us. I keep my eyes on the flame, trying to distract myself as too many thoughts and memories flash through my head. I can't seem to get a hold of myself. We rode in silence to the restaurant, and it has followed us in from the car.

"So tell me, Henri, what is it that you do for a living?" I ask, desperate for conversation.

"Genetic research."

I choke on my water. He could have told me he was an astronaut, and I would have been less shocked. Over the years, though I'd never admit it because of how sad and desperate it sounds, I Googled him. I Facebook crept, and back when MySpace was the thing, I clicked through every Henri on the site. Nothing, it was as if he vanished.

"Don't look so surprised. Stephan sparked my interest. When you and Emily weren't tormenting me, Stephan would show me what he was working on," Henri says with a deep and throaty laugh, making me melt a little.

"We didn't torment you," I respond. I can't picture Henri, this version, or the skinnier, younger one, in a lab coat looking into a microscope. But, in reality, I shouldn't be surprised.

Daddy works for the state university doing genetic research in the agricultural department and heads a small research facility only an hour's drive from the plantation. His work involves the genetic modification of plants and animals, creating new disease resistant versions. He had worked with his father in the same department up until my grandfather's death a few years ago.

Emily and I had grown up knowing of his work, but never really talked about it. Even as we grew older and went off to school, our father didn't bother to share his studies, much less try to get us involved. This always hurt me. I loved to learn anything and everything. But then, I didn't know he already recruited Henri to carry on his legacy. Henri admired, or more accurately, worshiped my father. Henri following Daddy in the science field shouldn't be a surprise, yet it is.

"Yes, you did. You two were terrible." He smiles at some private memory he holds. It's strange to think this man that sits across the table from me has his own version of life, one that involves me.

"What is it that you do?" I ask.

"My field of research focuses predominantly on genetic diseases," Henri says. I watch his hands as he plays with his water glass, spinning it in small circles. They are strong, his fingers long, almost delicate. I had always loved the way his fingers played over my skin. I focus back on his face as he speaks, ignoring the pain that keeps needling its way into the dark places in my mind. "My research involves targeting the telltale markers in DNA that identify genes."

"So you study the genetic makeup of people."

"Yes." He nods his head slightly as if to tell me that is 'sort of' what he does. His eyes almost sparkle when he speaks. "Every person carries a DNA match of their ancestors. The scientific community can determine that all living organisms are in a sense related. When a person is born, the DNA from the parents is carried over into them. This is how we get hair color or facial features that are similar. Or tragically, genetic diseases."

"And you study these diseases." I watch his reaction. It is no secret his birth mother had died of an illness, though what, I never knew. Now, my mother, his surrogate, has become ill.

"That is what I do primarily, yes." Henri glances around the room, done with the conversation.

After we eat, or rather, I try to eat, Henri takes us down the trail behind the restaurant to the beach. Now I know why he wanted me to wear flip-flops. I carry my shoes in my hand. Henri leans down to roll up the bottom of his slacks, he had been wearing flip flops that he now carries as well. His feet are the same, his toes long. It is a weird thought. Even as we get older, there are parts of us that don't change. When he stands, he catches my eyes, and I have to look away.

The cool beach sand pushes between my toes as we walk along the water. A breeze comes in off the water, trying combat the heat of the day, still carrying the slightly rank smell of seaweed. Noise from the bars on the shore floats out to us as we stand at the water's edge. Waves lap at my toes, my feet wading in the water. I can barely see his face in the dark, but the moon washes over his golden highlights, making him look angelic.

He keeps brushing his arm to mine as we walk. "I have decided, the best way to convince you to return to France with me, is to court you."

I laugh loudly. His words are unexpected, but so very like the Henri I remember.

"Is that what this is?" I ask, my tone teasing. "Courting?"

"Yes," he says. I can feel his eyes on me in the dark. "I was never able to properly do so."

My stomach drops and I have to swallow around the lump in my throat. I decide to wait to tell him that I have already arranged to leave, curious over his courting plans. This could be interesting.

"So I take it that you are not involved with anyone," I say. I noticed no ring, but that doesn't mean anything.

"No," he says coyly. "You interested?"

"You never were one with subtleties were you?" I laugh.

"No, I am a man. We don't inherit this gene you women carry."

I shake my head. He hasn't changed at all. 

# Chapter Six

The nightmare returns full force, always the same. I've tried for years to figure out what hidden message my conscience is trying to tell me but fail. The dream focuses on Emily, who's trying to tell me something, but her mouth never forms the words in a way that I can interpret them.

I wake with a start, the strong hands grabbing me as they always do at the end of the nightmare, pulling me back into the world. Light filters through the crack in the blinds, slanting early morning light over my bed. I glance at the clock-- seven A.M. Thankfully, the dream didn't come earlier, leaving me to lie in the dark, the memories refusing to leave.

I unravel myself from the comforter and make my way to the kitchen rubbing the ache in my head. I need coffee and lots of it. I stand and wait for the coffee to brew at the sliding glass doors, watching the ripples on the ocean. My thoughts quickly turn to Henri, a picture of his young face pops into my mind's eye. Six years old and scared, putting on a brave face, moved from the only home he ever knew, to live with practical strangers. He had clung to my father. Adored him. It is no wonder he has chosen a similar profession.

While the coffee brews, I hop in the shower. The nightmare fades in the light of the morning, leaving only traces of unease tickling the back of my thoughts. I dress in loose shorts and a tank. On the mornings I don't work, I usually spend the time walking the beach collecting small shells and snapping pictures. I grab my cell phone from my nightstand after I strap my camera around my neck. Not that I have great service, but like every other tech junkie, I feel better knowing it's on me.

Coffee in hand, I hop down the stairs and walk across the empty road toward the rocks and flat beach. Carefully navigating over the sharp rock wall, I walk over the packed sand towards the water. The elderly couple renting the house next-door walks along the shore, and I wave in their direction. The wife, a sweet and quiet woman in her late sixties, returns my wave and starts toward me.

"Hello, dear!"

Great. Not wanting to be rude, I walk toward the woman. I only have to deal with them for a few more months at most, and they will return to their homes up north.

"I wanted to tell you what I saw last night. It's probably nothing, but it doesn't hurt to ask." She looks at me, questioningly, with small brown eyes surrounded by deep wrinkles.

"Last night a car was sitting outside your house. A man got out, walked around and then left. I didn't want to call the police, after all, it may have been someone you knew... but well, I've never seen any company there. Except, of course, the young man yesterday, but this was someone different."

"What time was this?" I'm not sure which part to be more upset about--the fact my neighbor is incredibly nosey, that she thinks I have no life, or that someone was snooping around my house.

"Oh, I'd say about eleven-thirtyish?" Her brows turn down in thought, her head nodding. "The late-late show was coming on, so around then."

"Well, thank you for telling me. I'm sure it was a friend," I say. At that time, I was still out with Henri.

She smiles politely, her face revealing she knows I have no friends. "Alright then dear. Have a good day."

I walk further down the beach away from the road and my house. In less than forty-eight hours, my safe, quiet life has become suddenly very busy. People and memories I packed away are pushing themselves to the surface. Now someone is creeping around my house while I'm gone.

Just great. On top of everything, I have to worry about my house being scoped out for a possible break-in. This town isn't exactly a hub for organized crime, but break-ins and the occasional drunken driver do occur. Oh, and bar fights, but Janice and I know nothing about those.

An hour later, after combing the beach for whole shells, I climb back over the rocks toward the road in front of my house, just as Henri's black SUV pulls up. Seeing me struggle to get my footing on the jagged rocks, he parks on the shoulder and walks toward me.

"Why don't you just walk around?" he asks, leaning over the edge of the shoulder to offer his hand.

I glance toward the end of the road as I grasp his hand, and he pulls me up. My house sits last on a dead end street, which gives way to large rocks and a wide sandy path to the beach.

"This way is faster," I say. Gods must have visited in the night and blessed him further--he's practically glowing.

"Always in such a hurry."

"Not always. I remember when you wished I moved faster." Flirting? What the hell is wrong with me?

Thankfully he only smirks and follows behind me up the stairs to my house. I am glad I put on my short shorts this morning. "Do you have plans for today?" he asks.

"When I agreed to see you again, I didn't mean for breakfast," I say to him.

"That ruins my plans for this evening."

"Well, in that case ..."

I am shameless. It must be the tight blue shirt he wears or maybe the cargo shorts that reveal his toned calves, and I can't help but fall into the flirtatious banter we had years ago.

I need to get a grip on myself. Only two days after seeing him unexpectedly and I am already acting like a fool. If I'm not careful, I'll be throwing myself at him by the afternoon. I don't exactly have a shining history of making great decisions.

Without waiting for an invitation, he follows me into the living room, and he walks around the open room, looking at my knick-knacks. It's weird seeing him in my house, moving around, picking up the shells on the coffee table. Still surveying the room, his eyes land on the framed prints on the wall over the fireplace.

"You took these?" He points to the wall.

My photos are private. I had several published in magazines when I worked in the advertising company, but those were for work. The few I decided to frame are for my eyes only. Since no one other than Janice ever comes in my house, it is safe to display them on my wall, a personal portfolio. I shift uncomfortably in place, not liking his eyes on my pictures. It leaves me feeling exposed, almost vulnerable.

"These are amazing. This one is stunning," Henri says, pointing to a large print.

It was taken on one of my few trips to the neighboring city. I had decided that if I was going to live next door to a tourist town I might as well see the sights. After an entire day spent visiting the attractions, I had settled in the large square at the center of the town. Walkways lined with benches and old cannons framed the square.

An elderly couple came to rest on a bench in front of me, their backs to me. The woman had shifted slightly and leaned her head on what I guessed was her husband's shoulder. Between the thin slats, I could see their hands clasped together, resting between them. The print is in black and white. I had raised the aperture on the lens to allow more light to come through. The long exposure had created a halo effect, softening the hard edges and ringing the couple in light. It is my personal favorite. Its simplicity speaks volumes. An old love. An old friendship. Complete trust. Any bad times they had shared in their life together vanished at that moment. A silent story of sacrifice and devotion.

Henri reads my face and knows that I managed to catch in a single picture, everything I ever wanted. Desperate to break the silence, I move toward the kitchen, changing the subject.

"You have some explaining to do. First and foremost, how does Daddy know where I live?"

"Your credit card."

Annoyed by my stupidity, I roll my eyes and turn to make a fresh pot of coffee. "Okay, it's not like I'm listed. How'd he know my address?"

Henri's face says it all. Secrets are hard to keep from anyone with loads of money. Especially when your target makes it easier by buying camera lenses and take-out with the credit card Daddy still pays for. Working as a maid in a roadside motel doesn't exactly leave me overflowing with cash.

"Okay, dumb question," I say.

"Do you enjoy working at the motel?" Henri leans forward, his muscular forearms on the counter. The only person Emily and I had ever told of our ability to feel people, so to speak, was Henri. He knows that I hate large crowds and rooms full of people so it would appear strange for me to be working in a place where I come in contact with so many faces.

"Yes, actually I do."

He nods like this answers something for him. "I saw one of your photographs in a magazine, years ago. Abigail never told me you became interested in photography. Then again, she didn't tell me much of anything."

"But she told you why you both left for France," I point out.

"No, Ashur told me that one. Abigail made me promise to keep it to myself."

I picture my mother asking such a thing. She wasn't one to take no for an answer. I want to ask what had happened. Why was it so terrible that we had started a relationship? Instead, I hand him a cup of coffee.

I glance at the clock on the microwave. "What brought you here so early?"

"I wanted to see you," Henri smiles. It is the same smile he would give me as he led me to the storehouse. Small, one corner of his mouth turned up, his eyes holding a secret. "Really, I wanted to catch you in case you had to work. I was hoping to convince you to play hooky and have lunch with me."

"I have the day off."

"Good, I have you all to myself."

I bite my tongue holding back my anger. He had already had me.

"We can do lunch," I say. Then I'll tell him I will go. "But I need to get ready."

"That's fine." Henri walks to the sofa and sits down. He really isn't good with subtleties.

"And I have some phone calls to make," I lie, something that seems to come naturally.

"Then I'll pick you up in an hour."

Once again, I watch as he walks down the stairs and climbs into his SUV. The reality of the situation has yet to hit me. I know when it does, it will knock me down and steal my breath.

***

The floor creaks under my feet. I pace in my living room, clenching the legs of the sage linen pants I wear. I keep checking myself in the mirror in my room, trying to convince myself, the white layered lace tank I wear looks just fine. That I don't need to change. It doesn't matter what I am wearing when I tell Henri the news.

I bite my lip and twist the ends of my hair between my fingers. I want to run to the store for a pack of cigarettes, but I am stronger than that. The sudden realization that I am going to tell Henri I will go with him turns my stomach. Not sure if it is the idea of flying, leaving the country or seeing Abigail that has me in a panic. It could be that I am leaving with Henri that seems to be what my brain keeps focusing on. Henri. It took me many years to get over him. Too many.

My suitcases sit by the door, packed and ready. Really, I won't need to say anything. When he walks through the door, he will see that I have decided to go. I hear his SUV pull up outside, and I want to run. The idea of leaving the little safe haven I have built up over the last five years makes me queasy. I reach for the door and open it before he has a chance to knock. His brows raise, but he stands quietly, watching me.

"I will go, see Abigail, hear what she has to say, and then I come home."

Henri nods slowly. "That sounds like a plan."

We stand in silence for a few minutes. It seems like this huge change in my life should come with a more dramatic moment. Music or something to mark the change that is happening. Instead, it is quiet and simple.

"My bags are packed," I say.

He nods again. "Let's go."

# Chapter Seven

Different shades of green blur past the window. After we had loaded my bags, we drove out of town, headed west. I thought we would drive to the small airport to the north, but instead, Henri has taken us toward the central part of the state.

"Where are we going?" I ask, shifting in the seat.

"The airfield."

My family owns a private jet that Daddy would use to fly to France to visit with Henri's uncle, Ashur. After Abigail had left, he traveled only a few times in the months that followed, and then stopped. Emily had begged and pleaded to go with him, desperate to see our mother, but he never allowed her.

The jet is housed in a small airstrip near our home. I had figured Henri had flown into the larger airport since it was closer to where I lived. I realize now, he must have seen Daddy. I have not taken into account the relationship he had with Daddy, or that they have kept it up over the years. The thought is unnerving. They have known where I was most likely the entire time I lived on the coast. And here I thought I was in hiding.

I watch the scenery as we drive, absently tugging at the seatbelt in silent reassurance. Growing up in central Florida, you learn to recognize where you are by specific markers: elaborate mailboxes and how many curves in the road there are before the next turn to your house. Acres of farm fields are often unmarked. Cow pastures with low hills for miles. The landscape becomes as familiar as road signs. There are endless stretches of asphalt, lined with pine stands or acres of dense woods. It is only as you neared the small towns that signs of real civilization appear.

In the distance, spot the massive live oak that sits next to the pile of limestone rocks by the road--the sign we're driving past Ol' Jack's cow pastures. My stomach drops. Shifting in my seat, I try to distract myself from the panic churning my belly.

Henri's cell phone rings, jarring me from my thoughts. He releases the wheel, his hand digging into his pocket to locate the phone. The sight of him carelessly driving, his eyes darting from the road to the rear-view, floods me with fear. I want to scream for him to concentrate, to keep both hands on the wheel and focus on the road, to slow down and drive the speed limit.

A thickness in my throat starts to choke me. Hard hands reach up and wrap themselves around my neck, crushing my windpipe. A small choking sound escapes and my arms begin to tingle, my breaths coming in bursts, trying to keep the anxiety at bay. My eyes blur in and out of focus as the tingling moves down my arms into my hands, and claws at my cheeks. I lean forward to put my head between my legs, gasping for air.

The SUV jerks to the right bumps over the edge of the road, and stops. Henri pats my back, saying something, but the thumping in my ears blocks out any other sound. Fear laces up, the floodgates open and panic takes hold, eating me alive.

I pull the door open and fall to the coarse grass on the shoulder of the road. It takes a few minutes before my body calms, leaving me numb. Henri sits with me on the side of the road, his hand still on the small of my back. I loathe being so weak and have managed to avoid situations that bring about these attacks. Like not going home.

Embarrassment forces me to my feet. Henri stands, brushing the dry grass from the seat of his shorts. Avoiding eye contact, I walk toward the front of the SUV and look further down the road. A small white object sits in the ditch, toward the line of trees recognizable by its shape. I have always wondered who put the small signs cautioning passerby to "Drive Safely." Where do you even buy them? I'd never seen them in stores. Maybe the DOT puts them there, marking the spots where accidents occurred.

The warning signs never made sense to me. Why mark the location where tragedy had caught up with families and ripped their lives apart? Surely parents driving their children to distant relative's homes or off on vacation don't need a reminder that death strikes at any moment. That regardless of how careful you spend your life, anything can jump out and tear your loved one's away, mercilessly.

Henri comes up to stand next to me, watching me carefully. He reaches out and takes my hand tightly in his. I squeeze back. He knows the devastation. We walk further up the road until we reach what I know is the right spot. Someone placed the sign marker a bit further, missing the exact location.

I am glad. It doesn't need to be marked.

I stop at the tree line. It seems like there should still be signs. With the memories of that night so fresh, the road should still bear the marks of tires. The tall pines and spindly laurel oaks should stand broken and scorched. But there is nothing. Like nothing ever happened here. Birds chirp quietly from the dense woods, cutting through the still air. The subtle beauty of the scene is welcoming. It is peaceful here.

The sun sits high, bathing the dark asphalt in bright, hot light. Ripples of heat upward, warming my skin and making me sweat. It is amazing how life continues on. New leaves grow, fresh grass covers the shoulder of the road, and water hyacinths stand in the moist ditch. Dense layers of air potato vines blanket the smaller trees. It is a fresh mask covering up what happened that night.

Nature repairs itself, allowing life to return to the Earth. It is only humans who hold on. We post little signs, hang flowers, and mourn. All these little things that refuse to let wounds heal. People hold on to memories. It doesn't matter if they should be swallowed up and forgotten, allowing nature to reclaim them, leaving us in peace.

I stand in front of the woods where Daddy's little vintage car had crashed. Emily isn't here. Her ghost doesn't walk the road lost and angry. She doesn't search me out, fists shaking, her mouth open in silent screams. It is just a span of trees and an empty road.

My sister is dead, and this spot doesn't bind her to the Earth.

# Chapter Eight

Dr. Gregory said it was common after a traumatic experience to lose all memories of the incident. He assured me that it was normal. One day, when I was ready and emotionally able to handle it, I would remember. The one thing Dr. Gregory doesn't know is, I lied. I remember everything, in bright horrific detail. Just like it happened yesterday.

After our mother left with Henri, Emily and I barely spoke. I became obsessed with him, replaying everything he ever said to me, trying to figure out what I had done to make him turn to Emily. It didn't take a genius to figure out the root of my problems. I had serious abandonment issues. Even I knew that. My mother left me. She took the boy I thought I was madly in love with and moved to France.

I was heartbroken and knew even through my anger that Emily held as much pain as myself. It didn't matter. In my resentment, I refused to try to mend our relationship. Instead, I used every ounce of energy to stay angry with Emily. I fed my anger toward Henri, not allowing myself to feel the pain he had caused. But with her, I bathed in it, embracing every lick of sorrow, letting it fuel my hatred.

There were times staying mad wasn't so easy. Emily was charming, vibrant and demanded attention. After a few months, my anger cooled, and the pain faded. Henri became the focus. Emily was my sister. My blood. I couldn't escape her, but Henri had left me. It's easier to hate a person you used to love when you don't have to see them all the time.

Nanny stepped in and tried to fill the space my mother and Henri left. Abigail's absence was acute in every room in the house. Before, our days were filled with laughter and joy. Enduring the countless introductions and dinner parties were tolerable with our mother and Henri: him making faces behind stranger's backs, or Abigail encouraging me to make up stories about them to keep us entertained.

Once we graduated, I continued on to the University of Florida, and I went wild. Our lives had been so sheltered, we were escorted wherever we went, to school, friends' houses. Sleek black cars parked outside day and night. Suddenly I was free, and I took advantage of every single moment.

I was drunk more times that I was sober. My innocence was left on the dirty floor of a frat house bedroom, taken by the up-and-coming football quarterback. Later, I slept with his friend, not something I'm proud of, but a trend started. I went full steam ahead like a linebacker through most of the team. Soon, I tired of the sweaty hands and overzealous antics to get my attention and moved on to bigger, better, and much older things. Like my professor and the random men that eyed me in the bars. I had issues. Serious issues.

Somehow, I managed to get through school, left after only two years and moved back home. My love of the arts had drawn me to photography and digital arts and sciences. My big plans were to find a job after college in advertising. But my real love was holding a camera. Capturing moments in life, seeing the world through the lens, a filtered and safe distance.

To my surprise, Daddy agreed to let Emily go to school in Savannah. She studied drama and theater for two years, before returning home. We settled on a quiet truce, even sharing a few laughs. Daddy was pleased we were patching our relationship, at least on the outside.

That day sits vividly in my memories. It was our twenty-fifth birthday, and we were both living back at home. I was recovering from the rather disastrous ending to the affair with my boss at the travel magazine I had managed to land after school. Emily was picking up odd jobs at the town theater. We were sitting by the pool, a new addition to the backyard garden, soaking up the sun.

"We should celebrate," Emily said, sipping her iced tea. Her hair was piled on her head in a loose knot. Thin strands clung to her temples, and beads of sweat covered her upper lip. Emily's thin fingers played with the string of her baby blue bikini.

We looked almost exactly alike. There were only a few differences that separated us. My cheekbones looked slightly wider, her eyes closer together. I had more freckles and even a few darker moles that she didn't have. And her strange fire highlights that shone like embers in the sun.

"It is, after all, our birthday," she said.

I glanced over at her through my sunglasses, surprised at her words. We hadn't celebrated a single one together since that terrible eighteenth birthday. The absence of our mother and Henri left our home empty. The party was a disaster. Even Emily had been quiet.

"Like what?" I asked. I lay next to her on my stomach in my chair.

Emily took off her over-sized sunglasses and sat up, a devious grin on her face. She was so vibrant and beautiful. The years in college and a few small stage plays she landed had given her a maturity she had never held. Her eyes lit--she knew she had spiked my interest. "Anything, let's find something."

"Fine. Let's go." I laughed at her mischievous look. It could be fun, like old times.

"Oh, Char, this is going to be fun!"

And like that, years of hurt and anger melted away. We spent hours trying on clothes, doing our hair, giggling like silly teenagers over the trouble we would cause. The air was charged with our excitement. Nanny kept coming into Emily's room making tsking sounds, telling us we were nothing but a pair of troublemakers. We laughed even louder, poking at her middle, making her squeal as she batted our hands away, secretly happy we had made peace.

We ganged up on Daddy, just as we had as children. Making sweet promises to be safe, and covering his face with kisses as we coerced him into handing us the keys to his favorite car, a cherry red 64 Thunderbird convertible. His dark brown eyes had been so surprised, he would have agreed to send us to the moon if we'd asked. There are times I think back and wonder if he regrets that decision. But I can't dwell on these thoughts.

Just like when we were teens, we stole a bottle of spiced rum from Daddy's study and cans of Coke from the kitchen, as we ran from the house. By the time, we drove into town we were giddy with excitement and a few drinks already under our belts. Emily was behind the wheel, sipping from her can, telling me a story about poor Joe Fallon and an unfortunate incident our senior year, getting caught in the girl's locker room.

Emily was lit with the late afternoon sun, her hair whipping around her face as we raced down the empty country roads. I was laughing so hard, tears were forming. I hadn't laughed so much in years. It was pure joy, seeing my beautiful sister, hearing her voice ring in laughter, filling the emptiness inside me.

The town we lived on the outskirts of had a few bars were the local girls went dancing, and the young men went eagerly for a date. We reached the small town by dark, wearing slinky dresses and high heels, showing off our legs. Our hair hung down, cascading in waves over our backs. I was proud of my thick golden locks, Emily of her strange fire highlights. Emily had chosen her dress because of its deep red color, showing off her hair. I chose mine because it showed off my back, all the way down to my waist.

We hit the bars, taking shots and dancing, stirring up the crowd wherever we went. I knew we caught the eye of every man we passed and were the envy of every woman. I let the men dance close, giving them hope that I may, just may be interested. Teasing, flirting, touching them lightly. I had reverted to my college days when I would take home any man that looked at me with dangerous eyes.

I felt glorious and powerful. With Emily next to me, I was stronger, whole. She filled the void that was created when our mother walked out the door. I hadn't been this happy since I was seventeen, stealing kisses from Henri, our futures overflowing with possibility.

It was two in the morning when we finally settled down. My eyes were bleary, my head swimming, craving a pillow. The night had turned cool, so we opted to put the top up for the drive. We settled into a quiet, comfortable silence, thinking about the night. A calm washing over us after hours of frenzied laughter, reflecting on what could have been.

I remember the drive distinctly: I flicked through the radio stations, trying to find something other than country music. The long county road was pitch black, only the glow of the moon and diamond shine of stars lending light. The vintage car's headlights broke through the darkness as Emily sped, the speedometer hovering near ninety. We drove almost wildly down the flat winding road. Tall pine stands lined it on either side, an occasional double wide breaking the endless dark woods, its porch light a beacon in the ink-black night.

After giving up on the radio, I settled back into the seat, kicking my shoes off. Henri's teenage face flashed into my mind. We never talked about the day he left with our mother.

"Did he tell you he loved you, Em?" I don't know why I asked. I didn't want an answer. Years ago, I came up with the notion he had used us both. Telling lies to gain our trust, luring Emily into betraying me. It no longer mattered, seven years later and as an adult, I liked to think I had grown past the hurt.

"Who?"

"Henri. Did he say he loved you?"

"Of course he loved us!" Emily laughed, dismissing my question as silly.

"No. Emily, when he took you to the sugar mill," I pressed on, suddenly needing to know. "Did he tell you he loved you?"

She remained quiet for a long time, her silence edging into the darker parts of my mind filling me with dread. "No," she said, finally.

It was silly, horrible of me really, but there was a small victory in her answer. Henri had told me he loved me every time we went to the mill. He made me promises and showered me with affection. But, he had still taken my twin there.

"How long had you, you know, been together?"

"We weren't together," she spat, her voice, twisted.

"Then what were you doing at the mill?"

"You have always been so naive," she said, sharply. Emily gripped the wheel with both hands. "You have no idea what was going on. You lived in some dreamland with Henri at the center. He didn't love you or me. He loved the idea."

Her words stung. There was no pretending what Henri and I shared. I could feel it, and I knew that Emily could, too.

"You were jealous, and it killed you that he didn't feel the same way about you," I said, nastily, my voice slicing through the thick quiet.

"Oh, Charlotte, I feel sorry for you. You believed he wanted to be with you. And maybe he did. But not for the reasons you thought."

I looked over at her. Emily was watching me in the dark, her eyes darting from me to the road as she drove.

"You are unbelievable, Emily. You just can't stand the idea that he didn't want you. That he loved me over you." Now I was the one being cruel, the one being petty.

"You dumb girl. He may have been sweet with you because that was what he knew you wanted. You were innocent. But he wanted more. And when you wouldn't give him what he wanted, I was there, offering." She laughed again, her body shaking, her hands still gripping the steering wheel.

I wanted to slap her. He told me he would wait for me. I knew she was lying. She had to be. Anger welled up, and noise roared in my head. I could no longer hear the rhythmic thump of the tires as we drove. Or the wind whipping at the canvas top of the vehicle. Only her words, cutting into my mind.

"Once he had a taste of what he was missing, he wanted more." She smiled wickedly. I could hear the lie in her words. She couldn't stand that I had beaten her at something.

"Wow, you are amazing," I said the words with pity, but I felt like my head was going to explode. Part of me did pity her, but instead, I was cruel. Her pain reached out to me, but I ignored it, reveling in the power I held. "But Henri would never have the likes of you. He must have felt sorry for you."

Emily remained quiet. No nasty retort, no further digs. Just thick silence, filling the small car, leaving it taut with resentment.

"Fine. You're right," Emily said, finally. "He didn't even try. I offered. I tried to make him love me the way he did you, but he never would. He told me so."

Part of me was glad, the other just felt horrible.

"When he left, I should have told you that I had made a move on him that day. He didn't push me away, it was worse. He allowed me to come on to him and then told me he could never love me the way he did you." Tears streamed down her cheeks. I wanted to take my words back, tell her I was sorry. That I had never wanted to hurt her. The sight of her in pain was just as physical as if it were my own. And it was. She was my other half. I reached my hand out and touched her arm.

Emily turned her face to mine. In the dark, the light from the moon gleamed in her eyes. Mad and dangerous. Her smile twisted into a sneer. The streaks of tears glistened on her cheeks. "I hated you for it. That's why I didn't tell you. I hated you. I still do."

I pulled my hand back as if bitten.

"You think it was easy growing up with you? Hearing them whisper how great you were? How special?" Emily laughed again, but this time, there was something in it that was false. It echoed and bounced in the car. No mirth, no emotion. Vacant. "You were always so good. So sweet."

"It wasn't easy to live with me?" I wasn't sure what world she lived in, but it wasn't one based in reality. "You were the one to get all the attention."

Her laugh was high, verging on mad. She was still gripping the steering wheel as if hanging on for her life. "Henri told me he was going to marry you. I can't let that happen."

I was beginning to question her sobriety, maybe even her sanity.

"I love you, Char, I really do. But I can't let you win. He was meant for me." Emily seemed suddenly calm and focused. A tingle of fear spread in the pit of my stomach, cold vines lacing up, tangled in my gut.

Emily had always won, always gotten whatever she had wanted. I had envied how she had somehow acquired the extra DNA that made her more beautiful, more desirable to everyone around us. I had been jealous at first that even Henri had wanted her over me. But, in her eyes, I had been the one to receive the admiration.

Her version of our childhood seemed distorted. She had betrayed me out of jealousy. I had always swallowed my pride and fell back as she got all the attention. It sickened me that my sister couldn't stand that I was the focus of Henri's desire. Of anyones. Instead of easing my pain, she let me believe that Henri had hurt me. She was right. I was naive. I couldn't see my twin for what she was.

How had I missed this person? How had I grown up giving her every benefit of the doubt, protecting her from herself and everyone around her? I had stood there while she had developed into a stranger. Maybe I had seen her cruelty and callousness but ignored it. She was my other half, we were an exact match. But something in her was wrong. I saw it then.

"I never meant for you to get hurt," I told her.

Emily turned to look at me. Her face was blank. One hand left the steering wheel and tugged at her seat belt, then went to the small angel charm around her neck.

"I'm sorry, Char."

Someone said time slows down during traumatic events. Like the powers that be push a button, imprinting your brain with each image, burning them forever in your memory. It wasn't like that at all. What happened next didn't play out in slow motion. I didn't see each detail frame by frame. It was a blur of motion, an infusion of sounds and smells. The lasting impression of horrific betrayal.

Emily yanked the wheel of our father's small vintage car, forcing it off the road. My head slammed into the side door, my vision blurring as the wheels caught, and the car spun out of control. There were slick sounds of the tires failing to grip the wet grass. I watched her hands on the wheel, how she gripped it tight, struggling to regain control. I saw the line of trees stretched out in front of us. Felt the sickening twist in my stomach--the sudden truth we were going to crash.

There was barely time for it all to register. There was only the violent force of the driver's side making full impact. The sound of it hitting the tall, spindly pines and leafy laurel oaks. Only pain, my body twisting, jerking sideways and bones snapping. Screeching sounds of bending metal. The loud popping sounds as Emily's head hit the glass, the glistening shards flew around her, a shattered halo, flying out and cutting my face and arms.

The point that sits most acutely in my memory was the quiet. It wasn't the pain or the gasps of air as I tried to breathe around the blood that filled my mouth. It wasn't the small hissing sounds or metal creaking as the car settled, but the stillness as if every creature that had witnessed sat mute at the horror.

My vision was blurred. Pain seared my skull, but I could still make out her face. Emily's body mangled and twisted in the metal door. Tree limbs reached inward, catching pieces of her hair in their sticky fingers. And the blood. There was so much of it. It oozed from around her beautiful face, dripping on the soft yellow waves, flowing into her fire highlights. Her eyes were open, and her mouth formed a small circle. She looked like she was going to tell me something, something so important, something that I needed to know. I screamed for her to tell me. I begged for her to stay with me. Horrible sounds, tearing through the black night. But she left. I watched her go.

Years later, I read that the brain is the last to die. That it takes something like five minutes before our minds finally catch up and let go of this life we struggle to hold on to. Five minutes, even after we've released our last breath, we still cling to it. Even if it was done by our own hands. What they failed to mention is, the person left behind in the silence sees as death takes them by the hand and the lights fade.

Maybe the angels in heaven wept. I know for sure that the devil must have smiled when death's face appeared, his hand outstretched, reaching to take her with him. His shadow passed over her, the thick stench of sorrow and fear. I watched as Emily took death's hand and turned away from this life. The last light faded, and she surrendered herself to him.

In those last five minutes, did she know I screamed for her? Did she walk away and look back, and feel remorse for what she had done? I wondered too, did she walk with the devil in those moments, or did God let her in his door? I didn't know. I never will, at least not until death comes to claim me.

Darkness followed and silence. Stark, deafening silence. I couldn't move. My body was twisted and broken. I couldn't reach her. Deep in the pit of my being, I could feel her absence. My sister, the other half of me, was gone.

It remains unclear what happened after that. There were loud sounds and flashes of voices and faces. Metal was tearing, pain searing through my body. Dampness seeped through the back of my shirt. The stars shone, crystalline dots, glistening around the edges. The cool night air grabbed at me, forcing me to stay awake.

I was no longer in the car but laying on the ground and could feel hard, rough hands wiping my face. Reassuring whispers comforting me. There was a charred scent, like melting metal and something else. Something, almost sweet. I had wondered if it was death that I had smelled that night. Cold fingers brushed my lips, and I choked on the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. Steel gray eyes looked at me, centering my world as calm settled, a thick blanket of warmth and peace. There was no pain anymore. I knew I was dying.

***

When I woke, a week had passed. My eyes fluttered open, panic taking hold. Machines beeped, becoming louder and more frantic as my heart raced. A nurse came rushing in, seeing my eyes open and she smiled and called for someone. More nurses came in, checking the machines and talked in smooth, calm voices.

The first few days after I woke were spent in and out of darkness. Nurses and my father's face appearing, before falling back into a dark sleep full of screams and nightmares. Emily's mangled body always reaching for me, her hands trying to grasp me. In my dreams, her body would be burned, Emily's half of our angels, charred and blackened by fire, the small arm melted into her skin.

I had lost mine in the accident. Part of me was glad. I couldn't bear having to see my angel's outstretched arm, waiting for her other half, the only piece that would make her whole. Waiting forever for her sister's embrace. One that would never come.

My injuries had been severe. I had several broken ribs. My collarbone had snapped, almost severing an artery, and I'd endured severe head trauma. Doctors told me I had been put into an induced coma as they waited for the swelling to go down. It was amazing I was even alive. By all rights, I should have died that night.

Daddy, choking on the words, had tried to tell me about Emily. But I shook my head, unable to bear hearing the pain cracking in his voice. My heart was in a thousand pieces.

The doctor informed me I would be able to go home in a week if not sooner. They said it was a miracle. I was healing so rapidly, everyone was astounded. Nurses were whispering that I had angels watching me. Like heavenly hands had reached down to mend the broken bones, and stitch my torn flesh. It stirred everyone up so, Daddy, against the advice of the doctors, moved me to another smaller hospital.

It was there, in the small modern medical facility, that I made a full recovery a mere two and a half weeks after the accident. There were endless blood tests, x-rays, and questions. I was monitored closely by my doctor and few nurses. The staff there didn't say much when I had been found walking with a cane to the bathroom, the sling supporting my arm cast aside, desperate for a shower. None of the nurses whispered in hushed tones eyeing me suspiciously. If anything, my rapid recovery was nothing new to them. No one seemed amazed when only three weeks after a devastating car accident--I walked out, completely healed. My body, holding no evidence of the accident other than the faint scar over my collar bone where they had to operate. I swear it was for appearance's sake they asked that I go to physical therapy and consult with the hospital's therapist.

During my stay in the hospital, I refused to speak Emily's name. The television was never on, the newspapers lay untouched. Fear of seeing her name or hearing it spoken was more than I could handle. The memories of that night flooded my dreams, remembering each sound and smell, leaving me unable to talk for days. My father tried to talk to me, but his pain filled the room and forced the air from my lungs.

Finally, the day before my release, I worked up the courage to read the paper. There was a brief article mentioning the death of the daughter of a prominent scientist. Doctor Stephan Duval was to receive an award for his work and the article recounted the night of the accident.

Twin sisters, who after a night of celebrating their twenty-fifth birthday were found off Route 335, the car still smoldering after it had burst into flames. The accident, it read, had been caused by a deer jumping in front of the vehicle, sending it out of control and crashing into the tree line. One twin managed to crawl to safety before the car was engulfed in fire, leaving one trapped inside. The police guessed a combination of alcohol and speed played a part in the deadly crash.

I had reread the article several times, trying to understand the words. How had they gotten it so wrong? There was never a deer. There was only Emily. I had been trapped, unable to move, the seatbelt jammed and ungiving. The searing pain when I tried to free myself. The cool hands running over my face, and the bright stars as I was placed on cold, wet grass.

Dr. Gregory had tried several times to talk to me, asking what I remembered from the accident. He said it was such a tragedy, how Emily had died.

"I don't remember anything," I lied. I told him nothing of my desperate screams for Emily, of seeing her lifeless body twisted and broken in the vehicle.

To this day, I say nothing of the hard hands soothing me, of the gray eyes and the calm I felt in them. Nothing of the soft fingers delicately stroking my lips. I never speak of Emily's cruel words and the mad light in her eye as she jerked the car toward the trees. I keep silent, never telling anyone that my twin had tried to kill me. 

# Chapter Nine

After my roadside meltdown, Henri follows me back to the SUV, and we continue to drive the rest of the way to the airstrip in silence. There is nothing to say. He knows that Emily died on the small stretch of road near our childhood home. He knows I ran away, trying to forget. A person could guess at the demons within me. A battle I to this day fight. What he doesn't know are the secrets I covet. No one knows of the black places that lay hidden.

I fled five years ago, in hopes to escape Emily, to escape Daddy's grief. He will never know what his daughter had done. My home was destroyed, my childhood memories warped. But I ran in vain. She follows me wherever I go. Her face stares back at me every morning, her eyes, my eyes, reminding me of my silence. She had waged a battle against me, one I never knew I was supposed to fight. My twin had hated me. Enough to drive off the road in a last desperate attempt to win the boy that left us. I can't comprehend her actions. I doubt I ever will.

As I stand next to Henri, I think of the boy that started a chain reaction, a series of events that played out in the dark corners of my twin's mind. I can't help but think of her accusations. I have spent a good portion of the last five years replaying that night, picking apart my childhood, trying to find the evidence that proved what she said was true. I unpack the boxes her memories are stored in and reexamine every detail. Most of the time, it hurts too badly, so I leave it be. But as hard as I try, I can't see it. Only the bleak places and empty spaces our mother left.

As a boy, Henri had always treated Emily and I equally. He loved us, but at some point, it began to change. I can't look back and pinpoint the exact moment. But, it was long before he first took me to the mill. Before his soft kiss. Emily must have been devastated. Even with her betrayal, even after her attempt on my life, I couldn't hate her. I had spent so many years prior trying to despise my sister, only to fail. Maybe if I had tried to understand, my sister would be alive today. My memories of her wouldn't be stained red.

Somehow, I have come to stand with the man who haunted my life, ruined my sister, and not to mention, stole my mother. I am about to board a plane that will take me to the very woman that has wrecked my mind, leaving me with so many issues I don't even know where to begin to heal myself. I am to travel to see her so she could share secrets I never knew existed, only so she can leave me again. This time forever.

I look at Henri. His hair shines brightly in the sun, the long shadows of the afternoon playing over his face. He had turned Emily away. His inability to love her the way she wanted had destroyed her. I wonder if maybe I was no different, he destroyed parts of me as well, yet I stand the victor of Emily's silent war.

Dr. Gregory told me that survivor's guilt was common after what I have experienced. I carry guilt, but it's not just the pain of being the only person to walk away from the charred ruins of that night. That is not what turns a single glass of wine into an entire bottle. What haunts me, what makes Emily plague my dreams, is the relief I felt when I knew I was to live.

***

Crisp, light and earthy, exactly as I imagined the French mountain air would be. We arrived at an airport in a cluster of villages in the foothills of the low-lying mountains. The flight, just as Henri promised, had been long and tedious. I had finally fallen asleep but woke up when Henri announced we were to land soon.

In the distance are the silhouette of hills and spindly trees as the landscape changes and we drive toward the south. I sit upright in the car as we drive away from the towns and further east, gripping the seat beneath me, my thoughts tumbling around loosely in my head. Henri says that the chateau sits in a small village in the Southern Rhone Valley.

I have no concept of time, but it feels late or early depending on perspective. The longer we drive away from the lights of the cities, the darker it becomes. The night sky holds so many stars, more than I have ever seen in the sky over the plantation. It is as if France has gathered them all and shines them brighter than any other part of the world.

When we landed, the same man that apparently flew with us from Florida quickly escorted us to a car. I can't help but wonder where he was on the flight since his lean, athletic frame accentuated by a navy suit, dark skin, and shiny bald give him an ominous appearance. As I stepped into the vehicle his strange eyes, an almost colorless blue, cut through me like he knew all my secrets.

"Who is the guy?" I whisper. Henri and I sit in the back of the car, the tall man in the driver's seat. A glass partition separates us, but I am worried he can still hear me.

"Lance," Henri whispers back like we are conspiring. "He works security for Ashur."

"Like a bodyguard?"

"Yes."

"Seriously?" I ask. Talk about overkill. Not that I am not used to bodyguards. Daddy was an over-paranoid, over-protective parent. We had security on us at all times. When I asked Daddy why we had bodyguards, he told me that Emily and I were his angels, and he couldn't ever let anything happen to us. Finally, when I was older, he confessed that an old colleague of his had made terrible threats against us. He was cautious to the extreme.

"Yes, Char, seriously."

"Why do you need a bodyguard?"

"My research has brought about some unwanted attention."

Can he be more vague?

"Do you mean your disease gene research?" I don't think I could sound less educated on the subject.

"Once you talk to Abigail, you will understand."

"Your DNA research?" How in the hell can Abigail explain what Henri's been doing?

"I have discovered something. Let's just say there is a group of people that would benefit from this discovery and will do anything to get their hands on it."

"When you say, 'do anything' what exactly does that mean?"

"These people are dangerous, Char. I'm not taking any chances with you," Henri says. "I've waited this long to have you in my life again. I'm not going to let anyone take you away. Get used to seeing Lance, he's going to be around--a lot."

Henri has waited a long time for me. The fact that I am obsessing over his statement more than the bodyguard he has assigned me tells me that my brain is probably not functioning at its best.

"We are going to stay the evening in a small village between the airport and the chateau, at Aydin's villa. I don't want to travel too far with you at night, even with Lance. You won't be entirely safe until we reach home."

"Who?" I ask, purposely ignoring his remark about me not being safe.

"Aydin," he says like I should know who this is.

Finally, we arrive in a small town, with narrow streets and stucco-covered houses. I wish it were daylight so I can see better. The car jostles us over the old cobblestone roads as we make our way through the sleepy town. We drive up to a large building that butts up to the street. I pictured a decent-sized home when Henri called it a villa, but this is huge. Lance leads us into the massive foyer, where a plump woman stands, her arms folded over large breasts.

"Bonne soiree, Henri." The woman smiles widely at Henri and nods her head toward me. "Suivez-Moi Mme Charlotte." She turns and gestures for me to follow up the massive stairway. Our shoes click on the stone floor as we walk to a thick wooden door.

In the center of the room sits a giant bed. Delicate rails hold gauzy material, framing the headboard. Everything is a rich dark wood or white, even the soft woven rugs that cover the floor. Streams of pale yellow light flitter from the table lamp.

My suitcase has appeared, along with my camera bag. I dig until I find my college t-shirt. The bed looks welcoming though I doubt sleep will come. My body aches from traveling, but my mind spins with questions. There is no choice but to resign myself to the fact that I have to wait for answers. Henri wouldn't budge. I tried to pry answers from him on the plane to no avail. I am left to wait full of questions until I see Abigail.

Had she seen it? Couldn't a mother see what was deep inside her child? Emily had twisted her world to fit her version of our life. Surely, our mother had seen it. If so, why would she leave me with the one person who posed the greatest threat?

# Chapter Ten

It is so dark I am blind. Screeching metal roars in my ears, piercing screams ring out. Then complete silence. Cold splinters tear at my skin, the flesh peeling away. I reach out, trying to find anything substantial, as I swim in the darkness. I catch something soft--a warm and sticky layer covers it. My fingers run through silky soft strands.

Slowly a light begins to form, a pinpoint in the blackness. As it comes closer, the object I am holding starts to take form, still obscured partly in shadow, blurring in and out of focus. Emily's face comes into view, filling the entire line of vision, cerulean blue eyes staring back me vacantly.

Panic wells up and I am unable to free my hands, ensnared in the sticky, blood-soaked web of her hair. Screams bubble up as I frantically try to free myself. Emily's mouth opens, forming words I don't understand. Her hands claw at my face, nails digging into the raw skin. I push back, my fingers pressing into her eyes in a desperate attempt to escape her grasp. Blood oozes as I dig until she releases me. Finally free, I shove her away, trying to run, my body slow and struggling in the nightmare. Strong arms wrap around me, spinning me until I meet the steel colored eyes, jolting me from my sleep.

I scream, loud pleads, clinging to the thick blanket as Henri shakes me, yelling my name until I focus.

Light filters through the cracked blinds and I blink.

I'm Okay. I'm awake.

The nightmare is the same every time. Waking at the same point, the eyes the last vision before my mind breaks free of the dream.

"Charlotte, you are awake." Henri smooths his hands over my hair. He sits on the bed next to me, running his hands through his hair, trying to flatten the wild strands.

"I had a nightmare," I say, blinking in the bright light.

"That was one hell of a nightmare," he says with a ragged voice. I wonder how long he had been trying to wake me. "Do you have them often?"

"Yes." I want to tell him it is almost every night. That Emily haunts my sleep, her gaze empty and terrifying. I want to tell him unless I am drunk or drugged, sleep rarely comes. That my entire life has been shattered the night my sister tried to kill me. Instead, I remain silent.

Tears burn behind my eyes, but I push them back. The nightmare lingers in the back of my mind, huddled in the dark corners. I shove the blankets away untangling myself from the mess of sheets, and walk to the window, aware of Henri's eyes on my bare legs, the t-shirt I wore to bed scarcely reaching my cotton panties.

"What time is it?" I've traveled through different time zones and have no idea even what day we are on.

"It's passed noon."

That surprises me. But then, I have no idea of what time we had arrived at the villa the night before. "When do we leave to see Abigail?"

"Why do you call her that?" Henri asks.

I turn back to Henri, who still sits on the bed wearing only boxers. He must have come running when he heard my screams. My entire body heats at the sight of him. The muscles of his thighs strain at the fabric of his shorts, my eyes travel from the thin material up to his smooth chest. Bright morning light shines on him, highlighting his skin and hair. He could be the sketch of an artist, he's beautiful.

I force myself to look away and turn back to the view out the window. I hate being so obvious. "That is her name," I say, with no emotion.

"She is your mother."

"She gave up the right to be my mother when she left."

Henri moves to stand next to me. It is too intimate. I don't want to share the same space with him wearing next to nothing. I want to remain angry with him. For holding secrets. For still caring for me. For hurting Emily.

"She left partly because of me. Because of us." Traces of sadness color his tone.

I am so tired of being sad, sick of feeling everyone's pain. Of secrets and small family tragedies. I have lived, carrying them around for far too long.

"Why, because you tried to get in my pants? Because I was going to let you?" I can't help the bitterness that stains the sarcasm in my voice.

"You were going to let me?" A light laugh comes from him, calming the air in the room.

"I would have caved eventually. You were persistent." I laugh with him.

"Damn," he teases and brushes his fingers over my arm. My skin tingles. "Maybe I should start trying again."

I laugh again, nervously. The heaviness has returned, but this time, it is thick with want. I could reach out and touch him, and I know that would be all he needed. He steps closer, closing the space between us, towering over me. I tilt my head back to see his face. His eyes fill with desire. No, need. It flows off him, and I know if I were to touch him, it would fill me, but Henri waits for me to make the first move. He always waited. I had to be the one to touch him first, always, even in his teenage lust. My eyes move to his lips, I want desperately to know if they feel the same. I brush my finger over his bottom lip, the pulse in his neck quickens thumping hard in his throat. Henri reaches out cupping my face and his lips barely touch mine. When he pulls away, I am too scared to open my eyes, knowing they will betray me. I keep them closed as I hear him walk from the room.

***

I shower and wash the memory of Henri's touch from me, regretfully. I don't want to go on. The large bed calls to me, and I can only picture climbing into it with Henri and staying there until everything bad that has ever happened fades.

I have never dealt with surprises or stressful situations well. Flying to France hadn't been one of my plans. Seeing Henri and finding he still holds strong feelings for me was certainly not expected. My mother dying of cancer was never in the cards. Being forced to face where my sister had crashed our father's car definitely was not written anywhere on my life's to-do list.

After Emily's death, I learned that planning in advance is futile. Life happens around us, people its game pieces. We move about seemingly at our own will, blind to the truth. We have no control over the way our lives play out. Not really. Only how we choose to live in each moment. I learned to take every second as it comes. Life tears up your plans no matter how foolproof and safe they seem.

After my shower, I go downstairs and find Henri sitting in the large living room talking to Lance. I am surprised to hear his smooth voice. I am surprised to hear him speak at all. On the drive, he had sat like a statue, staring straight ahead at the road in front of him. His intelligent eyes take me in as I walk in and sit down next to Henri, who smiles at me, the secret of our kiss in his eyes.

"We were just discussing the trip to the chateau. Lance feels it's best to leave as soon as possible, but I have a few things to attend to," Henri tells me. "Lance will go with you to town, and you can do some shopping. The chateau is about two hours' drive from here. I should be finished by five o'clock and we will arrive at dusk."

My smile is big and obvious. This will be fun. "So, it looks like we get to go shopping," I say to Lance.

Lance's face remains impassive. Oh good. He has a great personality.

We all stand at once, and Lance walks from the room without a word, fingering the Blu-tooth device in his ear. I am going to have a long day. Henri reaches toward the coffee table and hands me a large manila envelope. Inside is a new smartphone, two credit cards and a bundle of money.

"I can't take this," I say, putting everything back into the envelope. "I have my own money and phone."

"A bank account that is traceable and a phone that is not secure," he says, pushing the items towards me.

"I need a secure phone?"

"My research remember?" Henri says and rubs my arms. "This group will use anything, or anyone, to get what they want."

I stand staring at him, but remain silent. I don't like what he is implying. My brain conjures up images of me bound and gagged. Dark rooms and threatening voices. He knows I have a wild imagination. Henri appears to be better with subtleties than I initially thought.

"Make sure you pick up some dresses while you are out," he says. "Claudette insists everyone dress formal for dinner. It's a quirk we all put up with."

"Who?" Claudette? I don't think I can handle any more weirdness. I've already had my fill, and I've only just woke up.

"Claudette is Ashur's daughter. He adopted her when she was very young. Don't worry, you will love her." Henri leans in and kisses me lightly, and walks from the room.

Claudette.

Ashur has a daughter. What? That would make her, Henri's cousin? Technically, yes. How had I gone my entire life not knowing Henri had a cousin? When he had come to live with us, Emily and I were told he had no other family besides his uncle. He had never spoken about her, not in the almost twelve years he lived with us. Not even when he returned from one of his trips from France. Henri, it seems, has even more secrets than I do.

***

I find Lance standing in the hall, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, his entire stance screaming security.

"Right this way, Ms. Duval." He gestures toward a small door leading to another room. "Mr. Moreau has indicated I escort you to the plaza."

"Wonderful," I say. Lance isn't exactly warm and friendly.

Without another word, he walks me to a side room that leads into a large garage. Lance opens the door to the car we had arrived in the night before, gesturing for me to enter. We drive for a few minutes in silence down the narrow streets. A small square with a large fountain comes into view, bistros and boutiques frame the square. Few people mill about, sitting in the outside chairs or weaving lazily around each other in the doorways. Lance parks next to a small store and helps me out of the back of the vehicle.

Looking around, he leads me into the shopping plaza. No doubt checking the place for boogiemen in the bushes.

"You should be able to find everything you need here." Lance sits down on a bench directly facing the entire shopping center. He pulls a book from his back pocket and becomes suddenly engrossed, dismissing me.

A small shop carries general items like brushes and toiletries. I buy the things I will need and splurge on shampoo that smells of sweet almond and sandalwood, my favorite scent. Halfway through my shopping spree, I leave my bags with Lance, who is still engrossed in his book. Some bodyguard he's turning out to be.

There are two more shops to visit. The first carries long gowns and short revealing dresses. A woman comes up to me, kissing the air around my face.

"Bonjour! Henri said you would be here!" A young and exuberant woman glides to me, her overly generous bosom jiggling as she speaks. "Henri said to spare no expense and make sure you got a variety." Bernadette, she calls herself, grabs me by the hand and shows me a surprisingly large selection of dresses. When we reach the last dress she has decided I simply must buy, she zips up the back making loud tsking sounds.

"This will not do." More tsking sounds come from behind me.

At first, I think she is talking about the dress, which makes no sense. It is a dark red, flowing, with garnet beads at the bust curving perfectly down the side to accentuate the hips. I stare at her confused and see Bernadette holding my simple cotton bra. My cheeks turn bright red in embarrassment.

"Henri will want something more... feminine."

My stomach drops. Oh no.

Just how many women has Henri sent into these boutiques? Before I can clarify that Henri will not see my underwear, she drags me through a small door leading to the shop next door. To my horror, lace panties, and matching garter belts grace the headless mannequins. Corsets and other items that make me blush proudly on display. I'm no prude, but being raised a proper southern girl, there are parts of undergarments that should simply have fabric.

Yet another woman, this one not speaking any English, comes forward. Without so much as a proper hello, she lifts my arms and wraps a tape measure around my chest, then hips.

Sweet mother of Hades.

My entire face turns red as she holds out several lacy, frilly things, smiling in approval. Still too embarrassed to refuse, I leave with more items than I will ever use. Garments that Henri paid for, but in my anger I swear will never see.

When I sit next to Lance on the bench, three hours have passed. My head swims and my feet hurt, my pride severely bruised. The women seem to know Henri and his preferences very well. What kind of man must he be that they know him by name? What kind of person has a credit line in a lingerie store? I begin to wonder what all has passed through their stores funded by Henri. I knew a man that good looking couldn't be single, at least not every night of the week.

As if on cue my new phone rings, I dig it from my purse wanting to throw the gift across the square when I see Henri's name. How nice, he has programmed himself.

"Yes." My teeth clench. I am stuck, at his mercy until I see my mother.

"Bonjour, Charlotte, did you get the items you needed?" he asks, more chipper than I am. "I hope everyone treated you well."

"Oh yes, Henri the ladies were magnifique." I exaggerate his name, mimicking the accent of the women. I see Lance shift, looking at me briefly, a small smile on his grave face. "And I bought lots of lovely little things."

"That is good, I think," Henri says, slowly, "I have good news and bad news."

He waits for me to respond, when I don't, he continues. "The good news is we can leave as soon as you get back. Aydin says it is safe to travel to the chateau."

There is this Aydin name again. We stayed at his villa, and it's a strange feeling, not having met him. The guy does have good taste even if it's a bit on the sterile side. The villa is beautiful.

"What's the bad news?" I don't think I can handle any more bad news.

"Abigail is still in Nice, she went for treatments but is unable to travel so soon after. Ashur wants to keep her there until she is well enough to make the trip home."

Reality crashes into me nearly knocking my breath away. Not once had I even thought of it. My mother moved in with another man. Not just any man. Someone who was supposed to be Daddy's friend. I always thought she had gone to live in France to be with Henri. Not Ashur. The thought leaves me deflated. No wonder Daddy became withdrawn. Yet he had let her go, hadn't he?

Darkness falls over my golden-laced childhood. Emily had twisted it, edging in doubt that it was a secure and happy as I remembered it. My mother taking Henri had cast a shadow over it, but the realization that Abigail is indeed with another man shatters everything I thought I knew.

I hang up the phone and glance at Lance.

"Who is Aydin?" I ask him, not that I expect an answer.

"Mr. Thanos is Head of Security," he says, his eyes never leaving his book. I pull the book up to see the cover. War and Peace. I would have laughed if my heart wasn't breaking in two.

# Chapter Eleven

The car weaves through open fields spray-painted with vibrant colors. Shades of amethyst, ruby reds, and fiery oranges. Henri senses I am upset and leaves me alone, not bothering with conversation. A wise choice since I am still hanging on to the anger of my discovery at the boutiques. That and the realization of why my mother left has hit home, leaving me in a foul and unfriendly mood.

My breath fogs up the car window as I take in the view, pressing my nose to the glass. I have never seen such an array of colors. Small orange poppies line the road before the dirt break of the hills, covered with rows of lavender. The sun shines with such intensity the purple of the flowers looks a vivid blue against the darkening sky. I itch to stop and take pictures, the lighting perfect.

"Pullover, Lance," Henri says, breaking the silence in the car. I look over at him surprised as he climbs from the vehicle. He comes to my side and opens my door, his hand outstretched. "Get your camera."

I squeal with delight and jump from the car pulling my camera from its bag. The sun moves lower in the sky, almost kissing the tops of the highest hills. The sunrise of the east coast holds nothing to the spectacular display in front of me. Henri watches as I angle my camera, sitting low so the lens captures the light playing on the tips of the lavender. I snap as many pictures as I can, thankful for Henri's silence, my anger slipping a few notches.

When we get back into the vehicle, he takes my hand in his and brushes my knuckles against his mouth lightly. I hate that I can't remain upset at him, he was always my weakness. I let my hand stay in his as we drive. Who am I to judge his private life?

"So tell me about this Claudette and why haven't you mentioned her until now?" I ask.

"Like I said she is Ashur's daughter, he adopted her after her parents died, old friends of his."

"And she lives there at the chateau? With you?" I try to keep my tone even, but my questions betray me.

"Yes." Henri smiles. "Claudette works with me sometimes, she's interested in my line of work."

I bet she is.

"Why did you never mention her?"

"I didn't know her very well back then."

That makes sense, I guess. He did grow up in Florida. She must have been adopted when Henri was living with us. That must feel terrible, to have his uncle, his only real family adopt another child after he was sent away. My anger falls a few more degrees.

"And this Aydin, Lance said earlier he is Head of Security? I'm curious Henri, why does a man who owns a winery need security?"

"The security is for the research we are doing."

"What exactly is this super-secret discovery that you need security at all times?"

"It is complicated, Char." He looks annoyed, but probably not as much as I am.

"Why there? Shouldn't you be in a lab in a government building? That would provide plenty of security."

"This project is privately funded. Ashur has a vested interest in genetic research and this project." Henri looks over and sees that I am not happy with his answer. I don't want to let the subject go, but sense since he's done talking about it. Not wanting to disrupt the quiet truce, he doesn't know I have drawn up, I let the topic go.

***

Lance seems relaxed, driving slower than a herd of turtles. We pass through a small village, and a few shops sit along the main road, few people bike down the main street, but empty otherwise. The sun settles, the sky turning a shadowy purple. We left the lavender fields long ago, the hills slowly giving way to small clusters of homes nestled in rows of grapevines. Dirt roads snake through the fields all leading to a large tall structure in the distance, outlined by tall trees.

"Is that it?" The building is far in the distance, sitting on top of one of the highest hills.

"No, that is the winery. The chateau is further up, closer to the mountains." Henri's arm reaches across me to point in the direction of the mountains. I have yet to see anything beyond it so I take his word for it.

The vehicle makes a sharp turn onto a dusty dirt road headed into the foothills of the mountain range. Soon, we pass the large winery, like a sprawling mansion with distinct Mediterranean architecture. Behind us, the village is still visible, maybe a mile from the winery carved into the vineyards.

We drive another mile before the chateau comes into view. My stomach drops. It sits high in the foothills, built into a tall rise of jagged rock. A massive, ominous structure made of gray stone, weathered and pitted high towers stretch up, meeting the black sky. It looks like something out of a horror movie, a place where young girls are lost to the world, where men suffer, their screams echoing on the empty walls.

A large stone bridge spans over a small river leading to heavy doors that mark the entrance. Intricate cast iron hinges hold the massive doors in place. Lights sparkle from the windows that line the large square building at the center. Massive columns contain huge flames, lighting up the entire front of the castle.

"Please tell me this place has plumbing." I can handle no electricity, but the thought of no running water makes me want to run screaming.

"Do you really think your mother would have spent the last decade without it?"

Lance parks in the circular drive and Henri gets out opening my door. The chateau is so tall I can't see the tops of the towers looming in the back, the peaked roofs blending into the dark sky.

"Welcome to what the locals call 'Gardien de la Riviere Rouge,'" Henri says, dramatically sweeping his arm in a grand gesture toward the doors.

"What does that mean?"

"Keeper of the Red River," he says, his eyes gleaming.

Lovely.

Henri spent the first six years of his life here. It's hard to fathom him living as a young boy in the castle. He takes me by the hand and guides me to the massive doors. They are opened as we walk up the stone steps by a large man in another suit--this one is pinstriped. Henri nods to the man who watches us enter and leads me into the grand foyer. The walls are ornate with heavy carved wood, golden sconces and painted fresco ceilings. Thick marble slabs cover the floor, reflecting the light from the oversized chandelier. Wide stairs stand in the center of the foyer and lead up to the second level, framed by marble arches, carved with intricate vines and flowers. On either side of the stairs, massive archways lead into two separate corridors. Henri walks me down a long corridor to the right, our shoes clicking and echoing.

We enter into a large parlor and at once, my breath sucks from my lungs. The air crackles, thick with energy, like it is alive. The calm before an intense lightning storm. Hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I take a deep breath, trying to remain balanced.

The room's decorations are more subtle, light satin fabrics and rich blues. Floral patterns cover several small chairs. The large carpet is slightly faded, a pale yellow with woven blue vines. A stone fireplace sits at the very back where I see two people standing, turning as we enter. A petite woman comes rushing toward us.

"Henri! Oh, comme tu m'as manque!" The woman says in a heavy and rich accent. She pulls Henri into a fierce hug, resting her head on his chest, then kisses his cheeks, and squeezing his arms. Claudette, I gather. I remind myself they are cousins. Technically.

"Charlotte. Finally, I get to meet the woman that holds my Henri's heart! I am Claudette, I have waited so long to meet you!" She grabs my shoulders holding me at a distance.

Claudette looks to be somewhere in her mid-twenties. Everything about her is exaggerated. Her eyes are large and secretive, a vivid blue similar to my own. Her face is wide with high and prominent cheekbones, and a small petite nose. Her heart-shaped mouth is full and painted the glossy red of apples. Pale skin matches fair, silky hair, the color of lemon chiffon cake, which is elaborately woven into a braided coiffure at the base of her skull, kissing a long and graceful neck, leading to delicate collarbones. Her clothing is perfect, a simple light pink dress that clings to voluptuous hips and an equally voluptuous chest. In one word, she is exquisite.

"Lovely to meet you, Claudette." I'm not sure what to make of her. She's way too pretty to be real. Past her, I see the other person is a man, thin and tall, with dark hair, dressed in a suit like Lance, his arm resting on the mantle of the fireplace.

"I am so happy you are here, I have heard so many wonderful things about you. I know we will be good friends!" Claudette grabs my hands in hers, her fingers cold and dry, and her body tense with excitement.

"I'm sure."

Henri walks to who I guess is Aydin. They embrace, and the man cups Henri's cheeks and kisses each one lightly, Henri holding his thin arms. This is odd since I've never seen Henri show affection toward another man, not even my father.

"I am so sorry Abigail is not here to welcome you," Claudette says. My mother. Had she cared for Claudette as well? She is certainly young enough. I hate to think that Abigail had come to France and cared for other people. The thought sickens me. When I laid in the hospital, I had thought about her almost constantly, her face the last thing I saw before Emily crept into my dreams.

"I understand," I say, though, secretly glad she isn't.

"Aydin," Claudette calls and leads me toward Henri and the man he had embraced. "Come say hello to our Charlotte." Then, turning to me, she leans in to whisper, "He can be so uncivil."

A light gray suit hugs thin, but broad shoulders. As he extends his hand, my eyes move from the lapel of the jacket down to his arms. Tailored perfectly to him, the material of smooth, expensive, but it fails to conceal how thin he is. My gaze travels down to the hand he has outstretched--fingers long and thin--attached to a large hand. My pulse flitters and my throat thickens. Anxiety wells up and I swallow desperately to get past it. I lift my hand and place it in his. The shock of his skin burns me to the core, and I clamp my mouth shut to keep from calling out. His fingers grip my hand, and my eyes rise to meet his. A cool steel gray, like liquid metal, look back at me. His brows turn down slightly as if he is gauging my reaction. The air catches in my throat. The world begins to spin, my place in it lost.

# Chapter Twelve

Silence envelopes me like someone has trapped me inside a glass box. Muffled sounds penetrate the thick walls and touch at my ears, but I can't make out the words. Aydin's skin burns into mine, but his fingers are cool. Time slows, capturing every detail around us: the particles of dust in the air, the smell of charred metal and exotic spices. The thin material of his suit and the specks of lint on his tie. Henri's voice tries to break through, but I don't care what he is saying. Nothing else matters. Only this moment and the cold liquid eyes that watch my face. Aydin's long lashes and dark brows. There is nothing else, but his skin burning into mine, and the sweet metallic taste in my mouth.

I blink, and I'm thrown back to Earth. My senses jar as our private box shatters. Noise crashes back into my ears: my heavy breathing and the fire crackling in the background. Aydin releases my hand, and I avert my eyes trying to recover.

"Charlotte." Henri's voice carries from far away like I am underwater. My hands start to shake, and I grip the hem of my dress to steady them. "This is Aydin Thanos, he is in charge of the security team here."

I clear my throat, my eyes meet his again, and I can barely breathe. His presence tickles my skin, hot and energizing the air. I swallow, my voice gone, and nod my head in greeting.

"Claudette, why don't you show Charlotte to her room, she can get cleaned up and meet us later in the dining room," Henri says and drags me across the room towards the door. I tear my eyes from Aydin and look at Henri's unreadable expression.

"Charlotte, come." Claudette ushers me from the room, back to the main entrance, and up the broad winding stairway.

"You will be staying next to Henri. The chateau is so big he feared you would get lost, very easy to do." She talks excitedly as we walk until we reach a hall with thick red carpeting and a series of doors. The last one we come to she opens, revealing an enormous suite.

The floors are a smooth beige stone covered by large oriental rugs. Heavy ornate furniture fills the space. A four-poster bed sits in front of leaded glass windows, sheer fabric winding around the frame. A set of doors leads into an extensive and surprisingly updated bathroom. Relief falls over me seeing the carved walls of the step in shower and soaking tub. Another set of doors leads out to a wide private terrace.

"This room overlooks the gardens, beautiful in the day." Claudette smiles, opening the double doors letting in a fresh scented breeze. She points to an armoire. "Your clothes are there, we will meet in an hour, do not worry someone will come get you. I am so happy you are here." She comes forward and pulls me into a tight embrace before walking from the room. It is then I notice, her touch holds nothing.

I am accustomed to sensing the undercurrent of desires and secret thoughts of everyone I meet. Oddly, Claudette lets off nothing. No energy, no emotion, not the telltale hints of some former heartbreak or lifelong hope that every person carries around like an extra skin. The man Aydin is fire, pure energy like I have never experienced. The traces of his touch linger under my skin. His eyes flash into my mind, clear and liquid. His gaze had been piercing like he had known every demon that claws at my back, every desire that passes through my thoughts.

My thoughts tumble in my skull a mess of emotions and confusion, mixed with a bit of excitement. I have to pull myself together. There is still dinner to get through, and no doubt be forced to answer their questions. My new phone says it's just past 8 o'clock at night, only an hour before I am expected to join them. Peeling off my clothes, I stand in the shower letting the water soothe my aching body.

When I dry off, I pull the clothes from the closet trying to decide what to wear. With few options, I dress in the thin undergarments from the boutique, a sheer set completely see-through, which leaves me uneasy in my skin. I slip on a little black dress with a sheer overlay and strappy heels, then pin my hair back loosely at my neck with a large enamel flower clip.

When I'm prepared, I walk onto a large terrace. Small dots of flames flicker below, lighting up paths winding through low bushes and rose gardens. Fragrant air blows over my skin, filled with the scent of lavender and roses.

Claudette and Aydin must know the details of Henri's life. That must mean they know the events that have led up to my unexpected trip to France and what has kept Abigail away. The thought doesn't sit well with me.

Henri knocks lightly at the door before he enters. "You are stunning," he says as he joins me on the balcony. He leans in and brushes a kiss on my cheek.

"I'm going to take an educated guess that this Aydin and Claudette already know the details of our past," I say.

"Yes." Henri rubs his eyes with his fingers. My anger softens, he must be just as tired and strained as I am.

"That is just lovely."

"Charlotte, of course they do, they know everything about me. Abigail has lived here for the past twelve years." He speaks kindly, thankfully ignoring my harsh tone.

"I'm nervous," I admit.

"Don't worry, they already adore you." Henri takes my hand. "I'm forewarning you though, Claudette is a complete gossip."

***

"Vous etes belle! No wonder Henri has only eyes for you!" Claudette coos. She pushes a glass of wine into my hands, flashing a pretty smile.

The dining room is similar to the parlor I was in earlier. Pale blues, flowers, and paintings. An ornate chandelier hangs over the dark polished table. Henri pulls out a chair indicating for me to sit and does the same for Claudette next to me. Aydin enters the room. I take a deep breath as he takes a seat across the table from me. His every move is graceful like it's been choreographed. I blink and glance at his face.

Aydin's features are dark and angular, like a male model, but more pronounced, almost gaunt he is so thin. Obviously of Mediterranean descent, his olive skin is cast a sickly pallor. His face is hidden behind a beard, making it hard to tell his age. His onyx black hair shines almost blue, and he keeps it long, the thick waves touching his ears. Dark brows and long black lashes give his large, almond eyes a menacing look, but it is his lips I keep watching. They are wide and full, with well-defined peaks. The kind of mouth that carries around promises and soft kisses.

Altogether, he is stunning, but not in the beautiful way handsome men are. But, in a hard and very masculine way, like he can be cruel. Everything about him screams bad boy, but controlled and coiled up in a business suit. The cold, mercury gray of his eyes hold secrets, I can almost see them moving about, wanting to break free.

I want to run from the room to collect myself. He is amazing, charismatic and sleek like a predatory cat. The fact that I'm staring is obvious, and I try to focus on the paintings and flowers, but my eyes keep finding Aydin's. My breaths shorten, the air is so thick with him. It is as if he has sucked up the oxygen and replaced it with pure lightning.

"Henri, no doubt has drug you across the Atlantic telling you little of your situation," Aydin says with a deep and masculine voice. There is a hint of an American accent, but with the undertones of something I can't place.

"I wasn't even aware there was a situation." My words spill out breathy. I suck in a lungful, biting my lip.

Get a grip.

Aydin raises an eyebrow at my response, leaning in to rest his arms on the table, fingers rub together like he is feeling the air in the room.

"I have just discovered, whatever Henri is up to, leaves me in a rather precarious situation," I say.

"Yes. I am afraid it does," Aydin responds, coolly. "Henri takes his work seriously. As do many other people."

"He also seems to think, a group of people would like to get their hands on me. Though, why I am so desired, remains a mystery."

"That is no mystery," Aydin says.

I swallow hard. Aydin picks up his glass and touches it to his lips, and the corner of his mouth pulls down. He may be hiding a smile, but it is hard to tell. This guy is definitely not subtle. My eyes drift over to Henri, who sits glaring. Actually glaring.

"Oh, Aydin." Claudette grins shaking her head. She turns her attention back to me, "We want to hear all about you! I have always wanted to visit the states, but my father refuses." Her lips turn down in an exaggerated pout before breaking into a mischievous smile. I doubt anyone denies Claudette anything. Ever.

"From what I understand, you know everything about me." I smile, forcing my eyes to stay on her. "So maybe you should tell me about yourselves."

Henri catches my eye, and his brows turn down. I am not usually this straightforward, at least not toward people whom I have just met and are my hosts, but I am not in the mood for pleasantries. I want answers. And to get away from this Aydin.

"I'm sure there are plenty of things we don't know, Miss Charlotte," Aydin says.

His tongue rolls out my name like it is a rare jewel. It flows over his lips and spills out; a musical ring to it. I have always hated my name. In order to pronounce it, you almost have to be from the South. Only a deep southern twang can string the syllables together for them to come out right. Yet, when Aydin says it, my name sounds enchanting. My skin flushes all ridiculous, which makes my already frazzled nerves, that much worse.

Dinner is served, interrupting the uncomfortable silence that has settled. It is a lavish display, but I can hardly eat. The warm scents of rich meats and fresh vegetables make me queasy. Everyone seems nervous, picking at their food. I try to steal looks at Aydin, and each time, he catches me, his steel eyes burning into mine, forcing me to look away, embarrassed.

"Henri tells us you are a photographer. I would love to see some of your pictures," Claudette says, interrupting Aydin and I's not-staring contest. Her fingers brush over my arm, forcing my attention back to her. Henri has been watching me, his mouth a hard line.

"I would hardly call myself a photographer. I barely spent any time with an actual paying job. But, I do enjoy taking pictures." I am being so obvious, it's painful.

"A photographer none the less," she says, smiling and revealing straight white teeth. She is perfect. Too perfect. I don't think I like her.

The sound of Claudette's chair squeaking across the floor startles everyone.

"I am too excited to eat!" She stands, taking both our glasses of wine, and walks from the room. Everyone rises from their seats and follows her down the hall into the large parlor where I had met them shortly before.

Claudette sits down on a silken settee and pats the space next to her. I sit as she indicates, squeezing into the small seat. Henri and Aydin settle across from us, it is hard not to stare at Aydin, I can feel his eyes move over my face as we sit down.

"You look so much like your mother. The resemblance is almost unsettling," Aydin says and sips at the clear liquid in his glass. I haven't seen my mother in so long, I wonder how time has aged her. If her hair is streaked with gray and the years have added lines to her lovely face as they have Daddy. "Thank goodness you didn't get your father's looks." Aydin winks. I grin and glance down at my hands. It's weird to think these people know my family.

"I understand you are the Head of Security," I say to Aydin. "How long have you worked for Ashur?"

"For many years. He took me in young, I was..." Aydin stands and moves toward the fireplace, his brows knitted, searching for the right word. "... His companion."

Abigail always told me she could tell what I was thinking, just by looking at me. I wear my thoughts on my face, always betraying me. Companion brings up images of Ashur and Aydin that suggests my mother's wedding vows are still intact. I can practically hear gay men cheering around the world.

"Aydin, you are so old fashioned." Claudette laughs. "Aydin is family, Charlotte. Ashur treats him as his own son. We call him Head of Security only because he likes the title."

"I work full time to keep Ashur's estate, and Henri's research secure." Aydin's gaze returns to mine. "Ashur began my security training young."

"I imagine your work is very stressful. Keeping the chateau secure and free of snooping scientists" I almost grimace. That came out snarkier than intended.

"Yes, it can be." He sits back in the chair and rests his elbow on the arm, bringing his fingers to his mouth. His teeth flash as he starts biting on the tips of his fingers. He looks annoyed... no... He is annoyed.

Holy crap. I've already managed to piss him off, and we've only just met.

Claudette makes small talk, but I am having a hard time concentrating. As she talks, she touches Henri's arm, or grazes over his hands, possessive. The movements leave me uneasy, they are almost inappropriate and unnecessary. The conversation moves from the landscape in Florida to the French Alps around us. I try to keep myself in the flow, acting like the photographer I am supposed to be, but Aydin is too distracting. All he does is sit off to the side, occasionally sipping his drink, in between nibbling on the tips of his fingers. One by one, like he's warning them to remain to themselves. His eyes keep finding mine and right before I glance away, I catch a smirk, the corner of his mouth turning slightly down.

"It's almost two a.m., I don't know how you are still awake," Henri says suddenly.

Claudette stands and pulls me into another embrace. "We shall give you the tour tomorrow."

"That would be lovely," I say and turn to Aydin, who nods before Henri leads me from the room.

We walk back through the maze of halls to my room. Once there, he leads me to the bed, before shutting the terrace doors, and turning on the bedside light.

"Tomorrow, I'll show you around the chateau. I have to take care of a few things, but will be free all afternoon." He smiles, kisses my forehead and is gone.

I strip the dress over my head, and not bothering to find something to wear, climb into the plush bed. My mind drifts over the events of the evening, thinking of Claudette and her seductive beauty. Henri doesn't try to hide that he still has feelings for me, the idea is exciting and confusing. I think of his kiss, his mouth. Familiar and new at the same time.

Aydin forces himself to the forefront of my mind, his dark features, and light eyes. The unsettling way I can read him. He is the first person I have come across that I don't have to touch to feel his emotions. The thoughts of Aydin stay with me, taking front and center until sleep finally takes over.

# Chapter Thirteen

Sunlight shines through a crack in the curtains, hitting my face. For a few minutes, I lie confused. For the second morning in a row, I have woken up in an unfamiliar room. My brain clears and I remember the night before. Claudette and Aydin. My arrival at the chateau. Henri.

Abigail.

I sit upright and swing my feet over the bed. Dim light filters from the thin line of sun peeking through the curtain. My new phone says that it's past noon--I can't believe I slept so late. My head pounds like I had too much wine--a familiar sensation. The muscles in my legs and arms ache and I try to stretch to relieve the tension.

A hot soak in the large tub provides some relief though my head is still foggy. I lie in the bubbles, piecing the events of the last few days together. It as the first time in days I have had time to think. My life is surreal. Somehow, I've ended up in a castle in France. However, maybe I shouldn't be surprised. I always hoped Henri or Abigail would resurface. I knew, in reality, they always would.

A soft knock on the bathroom door startles me. "Can I come in?" Henri's voice comes from the other side.

"Um," I look down at the bubbles and panic. Before I can respond, the door opens, and Henri walks in--he was never good at listening. Memories of summers in the woods spring up. Playing in the lake near our home, or the sun hitting our small bodies as we ran through the sprinklers in the backyard garden. The three of us, soaking wet, screaming and laughing.

"I heard you in the bath," Henri says and leans against the long counter. "I was hoping for no bubbles."

"You're lucky there are bubbles." I can't help but laugh at his devilish grin.

Henri's expression tells me he thinks otherwise. "I wanted to show you around the chateau a bit. Thought you'd like to see the gardens."

"I'd like that." I point to the towel hanging next to him. He turns his back to me so I can stand and cover myself. I step from the bath and look up to see him watching me from the floor to ceiling mirror lining the wall. My eyes meet his, and a smile touches the corners of his mouth. A deep blush covers my face. "You, Henri, are a cad."

"Are you implying that I have other than honorable intentions, Charlotte?" He turns and walks towards me. My heart flutters.

"That is exactly what I'm implying."

Henri leans in and brushes a kiss against my cheek. Every part of me melts.

"Good," he says quietly. "My thoughts would more than likely make those cheeks of yours blush further."

Before I can respond, he turns and walks from the room.

***

I dress in a pair of khaki shorts and a low cut tank top. Once again, not for Henri's benefit. I bring back my wet hair in a high ponytail before I make my way down the red corridor to the landing. My camera hangs from my neck, ready to go.

Large suited men point me in the direction of the kitchen, where I find Henri sitting at a long center island, a plate of food in front of him. A buffet lines the counter, the smell making my stomach growl. I had barely eaten the night before, much less the past few days. When he sees me, he stands and starts to pile food on a plate before placing it next to him.

"I figured I'd start with showing you the dungeons," Henri says.

"Oh, lovely." I almost choke on my food.

"We call it the dungeons. That is what the lower levels used to be. Ashur converted them into offices years ago. My lab is down there, along with the main security room."

"You're going to show me your mad-scientist lab?"

"I'll give you the grand tour."

Henri takes both of our empty plates and washes them in the sink. "Nanny taught you well," I say.

"Nanny didn't teach anything. It was either you did what she said, or you suffered the consequences," he says. "If I didn't wash these dishes, somehow she would know and fly all the way here to make sure I did."

When Nanny told us to do something, we did it, no matter how old we were. The woman was terrifying one minute, then wrapped you up in her strong arms and loved you to pieces the next. She once told us that she had spies all around the main house of the plantation. We believed her. If one of us didn't do as she asked, she would somehow know, and she'd give us her knowing look. No words were spoken.

Henri leads me toward the back of the castle. We walk past several large closed doors to a small narrow stairwell.

"The servants used these passages so guests wouldn't see the maids. My great-grandfather used to sneak women through the stairwells in the middle of the night."

"That must be where you get it," I tease.

"I'm pretty sure being a cad isn't an inherited trait." Henri smiles and grabs my hand as we walk.

A small, almost claustrophobic, stairwell leads to the lower level. I run my hands over the walls a rough, moist stone. Dim lights hang from the landings, casting creepy shadows, and barely any light down the flights of stairs. We descend several stories, and I count three landings before we stop at the bottom room. Why don't they have an elevator?

A metal door, with a thick opaque glass opening, stands in the center of the square room. Henri slips a key card from his pocket and runs it through a small box next to the door. A light buzz sounds and the door clicks open.

"You have a lock on the basement door?" Disbelief seeps into my words, I can't help it. My skin is practically crawling.

"How else do you expect me to keep you locked down here?"

The door opens into a long hallway. Fluorescent bulbs run down the length. Doors line each side, before ending at large metal double doors that stand propped open. The familiar scent of antiseptic cleaner tingles my nose. We walk to a door on the right of the hall, and Henri uses his keycard to open it.

Gleaming white tiles cover the large lab. A desk and computer sit off to the side. Long white counters with machines I have never seen before standing in the center, a large computer monitor hanging overhead. Microscopes and other small devices I can't identify sit on top. Small white refrigerators sit against the far wall with keypads on the face. A set of glass tubes nestled in a tray completes the look. The only things missing are a few caged monkeys, screaming and rattling the bars, and beakers bubbling with different colored liquids.

"This is where you work?" I stand in the doorway, my mouth slightly open. There is no hiding it. Henri is the very last person I can picture standing in the lab. Sure, he's really smart, but wow. "Do you wear a lab coat too?"

Henri pulls me in and closes the door, then points behind me. I turn and sure enough, a white coat hangs on a rack at the back of the door.

"That is pretty sexy, Henri."

"This is where I have spent most of the last few years," he says, smiling at my remark.

"So this is where you made your discovery? The one that has all these dangerous people scampering about?"

"The Organization," he says.

"I'm sorry?"

"The group. They are called the Organization."

"Really?" The Organization. How unoriginal. I glance around the room. "Mind explaining now, what it is you are up to?"

Henri sighs and walks toward the counter. He leans against the edge, facing me. He seems to be contemplating what to say, choosing his next words carefully. "I discovered something that could potentially help thousands of people."

"Okay," I say.

"Sick people."

"I'm all about mystery and intrigue, Henri, but that's a pretty vague statement."

"A potential cure, Charlotte," he says. "For many different diseases."

My face must show my thoughts. Something that more than likely resembles I think he is full of it.

"It's unbelievable, I know. But, with Stephan's help, we could create a medicine that would be more powerful than any other the world has ever seen."

"What does Daddy have to do with it?" I ask, too sharply. Daddy focuses on gene modification. Disease resistant plants, tomatoes that don't freeze. That kind of weird science.

"With the work he has done over the years, we could create a very potent gene therapy."

"I thought gene therapy was still experimental?"

"There have been significant breakthroughs in the science over the years," he says.

I put two and two together. My father tweaks genes, Henri looks for the... whatever it is he looks for in genes. "What carries the gene that you found?"

"If I tell you, I will have to kill you." Henri smiles coyly and pushes himself from the counter. He walks to the door and opens it, "Come, I'll show you the control room."

"Henri, you can't just tell me that and not answer my question."

"That is all I can say. Don't feel bad. No one here knows exactly what I've found either." Henri stops in front of the large double doors at the end of the hall and waits for me to catch up. "Now, do you understand why these people want my research?"

I nod. The ramifications of what he said are tremendous. I know nothing of gene therapy, only that the results are not guaranteed. But Henri seems to think, what he found will have results that can cure a lot of people. Information like this would make a lot of money. Loads. So much money, it could lead an Organization to use any means to get to Henri. Unfortunately, that any means, Henri thinks, is me.

"And this is why a small family winery needs security," I say.

"And you need security."

"Mr. Thanos needs to speak with you, Sir." Lance appears in the open double doors. I almost jump out of my skin, stifling a scream. The man makes no sound when he moves. Lance wears a bluish gray suit that enhances his dark skin and strange light eyes. He turns and walks away, just as quickly as he had appeared.

Henri leads me through the doors into a large open space. Charcoal carpeting and dark wood paneling muffle the sounds of fingers typing on keyboards. A few men and women in suits sit at a series of desks in the center. Monitors rest in front of each of them, creating a circle. The entire back wall of the room houses large screens, the pictures in clear color. Henri walks through a side door leaving me standing in the center of what I'm guessing is the control room. I walk to the back wall and the monitors.

The main entry, the long corridors, and even the red-carpeted hall to my room is spread out in front of me. On the screens, a few men in suits mill about or stand in doorways. The housekeepers walk carrying various items. Someone is in the kitchen I had sat in before with Henri, picking at the food on the counter.

My stomach twists. Are you kidding me? The entire chateau is under video surveillance. Like I'm not freaked out enough. I look to the other screens. Some show the outside parameter from various angles. Several screens display the inside of what appears to be a warehouse. Tall metal cylinders stand in a large concrete room, a line of wooden tables running down the center.

Aydin enters the room and walks up behind me. His electric charge ripples through the space. I am surprised the videos don't distort and go out with his presence.

"You can see every room in the chateau," I say.

"Yes."

"It seems excessive," I say, trying to control my breathing.

"I would hardly call it excessive, Miss Charlotte. I take every measure to make sure my family is secure."

I turn to look at him. Dressed in another suit, this one a steel gray, matching his eyes, with a deep blue tie. His thick black hair looks tousled as if he has spent the morning running his fingers through it. With a hand in his pocket, he looks like he stepped from a fashion magazine. The kind where all the models look forlorn or angry. He's almost too handsome, except he's so thin. I can't help but think he is on the arrogant side, well aware of his extreme looks and the effect he has on probably every woman that comes in contact with him. Unfortunately, I happen to be one of them.

"Where are the cameras?" I ask.

"They are hidden."

"Where?"

"Various decor items, some are in the crown molding. Everywhere."

"That is a lot of cameras."

"Yes." Aydin nods.

My eyes wander over his extremely tall frame--at least six and a half feet--much taller than anyone I've ever met. The legs of the slacks hug his body, outlining lean muscles in his thighs, athletic looking. Everything about him is hard, smooth, and somehow feral. I wonder if what they say about tall, thin men is true.

"Would you like to see my equipment?"

"What?" My eyes shoot back up to where they should have been, up to Aydin's dry expression. A blush creeps into my cheeks.

"Would you like to see how the cameras work?" Aydin points to a small desk and a bunch of electronic equipment.

I bite my lip closing my mouth.

"Grab the joystick," he says, and my brain goes there. Right back to junior high.

Oh no. This is awful. Aydin blinks and points to a small joystick attached to a large keyboard. A small choking sound comes from my throat. I walk over and wrap my fingers around the device.

"Rub your thumb over the top."

Oh, holy hell. I do as instructed. The screens change and one starts to zoom in.

"See, now you can control and move it, right where you need it."

"I see," I say, and let go. I can't look at him. If I do, I'll start to crack up. He's moved too close, making my cheeks burn. This is terrible. I'm like a hormonal teen.

"Now, I've shown you mine, you show me yours."

"What?" I ask. The corner of his mouth turns down. Is he stifling a smile?

"Your camera," Aydin says and points to the Nikon around my neck. I laugh, loudly, and flush like a schoolgirl.

"Are you ready to see the gardens?" Henri calls from across the room.

"Yes," I say, too quickly, and start to back away.

"Enjoy the gardens, Miss Charlotte."

"Thank you, Mr. Thanos," I say. "Next time I'll let you play with my gadgets."

Aydin smiles then, so bright, it's like a flashbulb, and I stand stunned, blinking in the white light of it. His smile a victory, beautiful and just for me.

I don't want to, but I walk toward Henri and take his outstretched hand.

# Chapter Fourteen

The paths of the gardens are made of small white stones, the edges lined with low laying bright green hedges. Large pots are scattered among the tall cypress trees, filled with fragrant lavender. Small bushy roses cover the back of the gardens. The low shrubs surround a brick square, a tall statue at its center. Everywhere I look is a perfect picture.

The sun touches the tops of the mountains as we come to the end of our walk. The peaks shimmer in a gold light like Midas reached out and grazed his fingers over the jagged rocks. A small, walled area, hidden by a large wooden gate covered in thin vines catches my attention. I point and cut off the path to see what lay behind it.

"It's the pool," Henri says, walking behind me.

A blue tiled, shallow pool sits in the center. Tall stone fountains of thin women holding pots, rest at each corner. The statues are pitted from the weather, covered in a layer of green lichen. The fading sun barely casts any light into the small space.

"This is stunning," I say.

"Aydin had it built. He likes to swim I guess."

Massive white columns connected by broad sweeping arches frame the entire pool. Rough stone meets the pools edge. The same large pots that are in the gardens are scattered around. It reminds me of an outdoor Greek bath. I sit at the edge, removing my shoes and let my legs dangle into the water. My mind goes back to Aydin. I wonder if the pool is his outlet. Claudette looks like she would be a challenge to keep restrained.

"What is with you and Claudette?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," I say. Maybe what I saw is something else entirely. Henri remains silent. Uncomfortably silent. I turn to look at his face, which he has turned away from me.

"Oh, so there is something," I say, with more jealousy than I want in my voice. "Kissing cousins, Henri?"

"We are not related. I grew up with you. She's hardly family." His tone reminds me that I have very little room to talk.

"Still...You had a relationship?"

"Not really," Henri says, sitting next to me. "A long time ago."

"She's only, what? Twenty-something? It couldn't have been that long ago."

"It was after Emily's death," he says in a small voice. "I was a mess, she was there."

"Oh." His confession stuns me a bit. They are cousins, well technically, but she is adopted, just as Ashur. Henri hadn't grown up with her like he had Emily and I. At some point, I know, I need to reexamine the relationship we had formed, but I push it away.

"Would you rather I lied?" he asks.

"No. I just wasn't expecting that, exactly." I've never really been the jealous type, well, no more than most people. However, the idea of Henri with Claudette twists my stomach.

"What do you think would have happened? If I hadn't been sent away?" Henri asks, suddenly. His question startles me--it's raw and exposes him in a way I haven't seen in a long time. He lightly tugs at my ponytail. A playful gesture. A kid wanting attention, even if it means I will yell at him like I always did when he had tugged my pigtails as children. Instead, I smile. His hand moves to my mouth, and he brushes his thumb over my lips, holding my face.

Twelve years melt away, and I am looking at Henri. My Henri. The one who stole kisses, and played pranks on Nanny. Henri, who protected Emily and I. Mischievous, playful and loving Henri.

"I think you know what would have happened," I say. The truth stings my eyes and turns butterflies in my stomach. He pulls me closer, and we sit in silence. The years of what could have been closing the distance between us.

***

Henri leaves me in a massive library. The feeling of his soft touch lingers, leaving me tingling and giddy. I have changed into the formal clothes Claudette insists everyone wear--a steel gray number that hugs every curve. Low cut, revealing more cleavage than is necessary. This time though, I freely admit to myself, it is for Henri's benefit.

Henri said he had to talk to Aydin about something, some incident with a fellow scientist. I haven't quite pegged the relationship between the two. They are close, and Henri, I can see, cares deeply for him, remembering their warm hug and the way Aydin had kissed his cheeks. But there is a hint of something dark that lays between them.

I glance around the library. Floor to ceiling shelves lined with books in several languages, many I have never seen before. Lights glisten from the wall sconces, giving the room a golden glow. White painted wood and smooth furnishings. The dim room glistens with bright stars, framed by heavy cream curtains, showing off the night sky.

Claudette appears in an elaborate light blue dress. The layered tulle is high in the front, revealing her toned legs, and falls down to her ankles in the back. I am struck again by her beauty. The kind that inspires men to wage wars. Flawless skin men yearn to touch. Henri, it seems, had been one of them. Claudette comes forward and kisses my cheeks, her lips barely touching my skin.

"Bonjour, Charlotte." She smiles small, her mouth a perfect heart.

"This is amazing." I wave my arm toward the tall bookshelves.

"Henri said you loved to read, I thought you would like to see my father's collection."

"It is quite an extensive collection."

"Yes. My father loves books, and he can speak many different languages." Claudette smiles, it is obvious she loves him dearly. "Aydin spends whole nights in here reading. This is one of his favorite rooms."

"Does Aydin live here, at the chateau?"

"Yes. We all live here. A rather strange family."

Strange indeed. I wonder if Ashur chose to adopt children since he was adopted himself. I glance around the room, it reminds me of Aydin's villa. It's no wonder he likes it in here.

"Aydin likes to pretend he's mean, but he's really just a big teddy bear," Claudette says, watching me. It must be obvious what I'm thinking. It is hard to imagine anyone comparing him to a bear, but then, he seemed pretty outgoing this afternoon. And flirtatious, which was entirely unexpected.

"Is he ill?" I can't believe I just said that aloud. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate."

"No, no, please, it is a fair question. Yes. Aydin is ill. A few years ago he became sick, as you can see it has left him very thin."

"Is it fatal? His illness?"

"Possibly."

How awful. Pieces start to fall into place. Aydin's illness would give Ashur the incentive to fund research. Henri's interest in genetic disorders makes sense. If he had grown close to Aydin over the years, having him fall ill would give him motivation. Daddy made sense as well, he was, of course, a friend of Ashur's. Or well, he was until Abigail had left. I think of my mother. The depth of Henri's losses hits me hard. I have suffered, but Henri has suffered just as much, if not more.

"Henri says that you work with him on his research." I want to know more about Aydin, but the subject is upsetting.

"I would not say 'work together'. Henri is patient enough to explain a few things to me. He allows me to help around his lab. Small things. Most of his work he keeps private."

"I still have a hard time seeing Henri as a scientist," I say. Much less one that has his own lab.

"Yes. I suppose it is if you do not really know him. He looks like he should be on the cover of magazines." Claudette walks around the room, lightly touching the bindings of the books.

If I don't really know him. She has no idea just how well I know Henri. Well, I used to know him.

"For some reason, he is in love with you, Charlotte."

I stand stunned, not sure how to respond to such a bold statement, leaving a distinct distaste in my mouth.

Nope, I don't like her at all.

"When Henri came home, he would not let you go. He tried to call you all the time. He even tried to run away and go back to the states." Claudette smiles. "Ashur finally forbade him to call you. I felt bad for him, but it was over the top. Obsessed."

Claudette turns to glance at me. I remain silent, not trusting the words that may come out though I know my thoughts are written on my face.

"Your mother is the reason Henri came home. Henri would do anything to please Abigail and Ashur." Her mouth turns down as if she tastes something bad.

"After your sister died, Henri fell apart. Abigail shut down. No one saw her for months. I don't blame her. Her daughter was dead." She looks at me again, her eyes almost compassionate. Almost. Everything about her is false and off center. "Your sister's death was such a tragedy. And, poor Charlotte, the only one to survive. It is terrible you have to live every day with it. But then, I understand you do not remember."

My breaths come out in shallow bursts as I try to control my anger. She has no right to bring up Emily, nor is there a good reason for her to tell me any of the details of Henri's life. Claudette's cruelty felt deliberate. I have only just met her, which tells me one thing: she wants to make sure, I know right off the bat, she doesn't like me. Well, the feeling is mutual. Her words pound in my ears and my temper flares. I clench the hem of my dress to keep my hands from flying out and slapping her.

"Shortly after your sister died, Aydin got sick. See, it affects him strangely. He can barely eat. That is why he is so thin." The room is silent, the only sound: her fingers grazing over the leather bindings of the books.

I try to refocus on Aydin, on what would make him so ill, instead of the pictures of Emily that flash, a tragic slide show.

"After that, Henri immersed himself in his research. It was all he would do. He did not sleep, we barely saw him. Then one day, he came out. He had discovered something."

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask. My skin heats and my palms sweat as the anger grows. She glides up close, so close I can smell the perfume she wears: the light and fragrant scent of roses. She leans forward, close to my ear, her voice so low, I can barely decipher her words.

There are dark blue and green flecks in her eyes, alive and moving in the dim light. "I tell you, dear Charlotte, because you are Henri's obsession."

***

After our conversation in the library, I don't trust Claudette any further than I can throw her. She has feelings for Henri and made it clear she doesn't like the idea, of well, me. Her words tell one story, of a lovesick Henri, but I know the undercurrent. It rings out clear with envy. My super-wench detector has been sharpened and refined after Emily.

Abigail had forced Henri away. Ashur had kept him from seeing me. It seems ridiculous. We were young, but far from stupid. It is understandable they were concerned we would ruin our future by making mistakes. Maybe if Henri had stayed he wouldn't have become involved in genetic research or made the discovery this Organization is so focused on. But, it doesn't explain why my mother had left with him.

I consider playing sick to avoid Claudette, but I know she would see right through it. She has shared information with me that she shouldn't have. Information I feel guilty for carrying around, like my knowledge of Henri's struggles is somehow a betrayal. He should have been the one to confess those details to me. They were not Claudette's to give away.

We eat in silence. Aydin again distracting me to the point I can't eat. He watches my every move, making me nervous. Claudette sits across from me, next to Henri, who is in his spot at the head of the table. She has tried a few futile attempts at conversation, leaning over to touch Henri's arm often, but even he seems distracted.

After dinner, we return to the large parlor with drinks in hand. I have been here a full twenty-four hours, only twenty-four hours, and already feel weary. I want to see Abigail. I want an explanation to why she took away Henri and why she left. Most of all, I just want out of here, super-secret Organization or not. I miss Jan, my cottage, hell, even my nosy neighbor...

Oh no...

"There was someone snooping around my house the night we went to dinner," I tell Henri.

"And you are just now telling me this?" Henri sits upright, his face tense.

"I didn't think anything of it. I didn't know I had to worry about secret Organizations," I say, defensively.

Aydin puts his hand up, silencing Henri before he can respond. "Charlotte is here now, she is safe, Henri."

Henri sinks back, shooting daggers at Aydin.

"Is my father in danger?" I ask. The idea suddenly hits me. I can't be the only person that could be used to gather information.

"Your father is safe," Aydin tells me. He is sitting in his wing-back chair by the fire, again sipping his drink.

"You made sure of this?" I ask.

"I did," Aydin says, sharply.

Henri's phone chimes grabbing everyone's attention. He steps toward the fireplace and takes the call. His arms move around, exaggerated gestures, like an actor in an old silent movie.

"Has Henri shown you around the chateau?" Claudette asks.

"No," I say, suppressing a sigh. She knows well enough he has not. "I would love to see it."

Claudette stands and pulls me to my feet. For whatever reason, she keeps me close. Something about keeping your enemies within reach no doubt. As we move from one room to another, she steps in close and looks me directly in the eyes when she talks. These people are intense.

"The chateau was built in the 11th Century. Originally, it was built for a relative of King Charles the V. I am a descendant, far removed." Of course, she is royalty. Claudette is grandiose, it is only fitting that she would be related to Kings.

"That is fascinating," I say.

Claudette turns to Aydin, who has been watching our exchange. "Aydin, come with us, you can show Charlotte where you like to play."

As he stands, the weight of her words seem to drag him down, like the idea of having to endure Claudette's tour is about as appealing as getting a lobotomy. Maybe that is what it will take to enjoy it.

"I have been sitting here, simply hoping you would invite me along," Aydin says so dryly, I can practically hear leaves crunch in his teeth.

Claudette waves to Henri, but he bats her away and goes back to his phone. Part of me wishes I can pull the same trick, but at least I am not stuck alone with her again. Aydin, I hope, will keep her from airing more dirty laundry.

As we walk from one room to another, I try hard to listen, but Claudette's voice drones on. I can tell she loves the chateau and its history. I don't blame her, I would love it too, had anyone else been showing me around.

We enter into a large room with paintings on almost every inch of wall space. Large oils in thick frames. Some gilded, some elaborately carved. Some both. In the center of a large marble fireplace hangs a massive framed picture of none other than Claudette. Of course, she has a framed picture of herself. Almost life-sized. I really don't like her.

"Well, look at that." The words escape before I can clamp my lips shut.

"Yes," Aydin says rubbing his thin beard. He looks over and rolls his eyes. My face shows my shock at his sudden teasing, and he smiles slyly.

"My father had it commissioned for my twentieth birthday," Claudette says, her back to us.

I refocus back to the painting. It's exquisitely done, in the style of when every artist painted women with soft faces and full cheeks. I am no expert, but it looks like it was plucked from the 1500s, all the way down to the red lips and rosy complexion. As a self-proclaimed photographer, I can appreciate the light, the use of color, and awe at the way the artist captured her. The artists even captured the slight secretive glint in the stark blue of her eyes.

"It's beautiful," I say, hoping that will appease her and we can move on. I step away, my eyes catching a smaller painting. Black hair, a soft face, the hint of light eyes.

"Come, let's see where Aydin plays." Claudette grabs my arm and pulls me out into the long corridor. "The Great Hall is this way."

We walk to the west wing through a narrow hall I'm guessing was used in the past by servants. We end up at the other side of the chateau in yet another long corridor. Large double doors line the room, and one set stands open. We walk through them into a massive room.

"The Great Hall." Claudette spreads out her arm in a large sweeping motion. "The old family used to hold gatherings here."

"Soiree's," Aydin says, his tone exaggerated, and raising his eyebrows. I laugh. He's unexpectedly playful.

Long tables line one side of the room. Thick columns hold up carved arches that fade into the fresco ceiling. Crystal chandeliers hang down the center, running the full length of the room. Opulent, yet somehow understated compared to the rest of the chateau. Faded murals cover the walls, depicting scenes of ancient gardens and women dancing in flowing gowns. A large grand piano sits toward the end of the room near a huge set of French doors that lead out to the gardens. I realize my room sits directly overhead.

"I'm actually speechless," I confess. "This is beautiful."

"If you cannot find Aydin in the library, this is where he will be," Claudette says.

I glance over and catch Aydin watching me. Again. I wonder what sort of playing he does in here and why he finds the room so appealing. I point to the piano, intending to ask if he plays.

Loud footsteps echo as Henri walks into the room. "I see Claudette has given you the tour," he says, interrupting my train of thought. "Sorry, I had to take the call, it was about work."

"Come, Charlotte's glass is empty," Claudette says before she walks out of the room. I look at my wine glass confused but follow everyone back to the parlor. My empty glass seems to be an urgent matter in need of immediate attention.

Once I am squeezed back in the small settee next to Claudette, a glass of red wine in my hand, she seems satisfied. I can't fathom why the woman is so insistent upon feeding me booze, but I go with it. Abigail raised me well. I behave. Most of the time. At least I try when others are watching.

"Tell us about the plantation," Claudette says, "Henri and Abigail have told us some of what it was like. Your home sounds lovely."

"I'm not sure what you mean," I say. Bright sun and a flash of dense woods fill my mind.

"Henri says it was like living in a storybook," Claudette says. Her entire demeanor is so vastly different from earlier. If it hadn't been for the wicked way she had spoken, I would say that she is almost endearing. "He said there was an old sugar mill that you played in as children."

"Yes. The plantation was like living in a storybook," I agree. "It was enchanting."

"How so?"

"There is a lot of history there," I tell her. "Many generations, each with their own stories, their own losses. I swear there were ghosts hiding behind the old oaks. The woods were full of them like you could feel them lurking."

Silence fills the room. Sometimes, I really wish I had a better mouth filter.

"But Henri swore it was a beast." I laugh, slightly uncomfortable.

"The Beast of Duval Plantation," Henri says and grins wickedly.

"Henri would tell us terrible stories trying to scare us," I say. "I told him that it was the ghosts of slaves. Emily swore the woods whispered the words of a man who had lost his love. She was like that."

I look down at my glass. I said her name. Spoke it in front of them. Her topaz blue eyes and fire streaks of hair, just like her temper, spring up. My chest aches and I swallow past the pain.

"Stephan told me the story. I was only passing it along," Henri says, his face grim. The room grows so quiet, the crickets chirp from the open window, deafening. So much for my storybook childhood.

"Why did you think your home was haunted, Charlotte?" Aydin asks. He has moved closer, away from the fire, next to Henri, his eyes on my face.

"I'm not sure," I say, "I supposed because the woods felt too troubled. Like, they had seen too much sorrow. Can you imagine how awful life must have been for the people that worked the mill?"

"Do you mean the slaves?" Aydin asks. His fingers play with the hair on his chin, his mouth turned down in a frown.

I nod. "Maybe it wasn't all bad. Sometimes it didn't feel so sad. Mostly my home was peaceful. Except, there were times the entire house felt different."

"How?" Aydin leans forward, placing his arms on his thighs.

"You never told me this," Henri says. He glances to Aydin then to me. "Then again, you usually had the most ridiculous ideas."

"I don't know." I wave my hand, Henri's words making me blush. "It must have just been the plantation. If you were to see it, stand in it, you would understand."

I look back at Aydin to find him sitting forward, his eyebrows up, the long fingers still playing with the thick hair over his face, waiting for my response. Fine. "Sometimes, at night, it was like you could feel them watching you. Henri doesn't believe in ghosts, he never lost sleep."

"And, you did?" Aydin asks, his face unreadable "Because you thought the ghost of slaves were watching you?"

All eyes are on me, leaving me uneasy. I laugh and sip my wine, shaking my head.

Aydin leans back in his chair and his long finger rubs over his bottom lip. I can't tell what he is thinking. His face is completely void of emotion.

"I believe in ghosts," he says, finally. "They are the people we once loved, the memories that live in our minds."

# Chapter Fifteen

Henri is off doing whatever he does in his lab, and my other hosts are nowhere to be found. I spend the day in the gardens, taking pictures I didn't get the day before. Every twist and turn around the paths, I spot Lance, my personal bodyguard. He is constantly in my peripheral, just out of the line of sight.

After I snap a few pictures of the sun setting over the chateau, the golden flares of light falling over the silhouette of the tall towers, I head back to my room. Lance leaves me, finally, to get ready for the evening. I dress for dinner in a lavender slinky number, maybe too short and search for someone to help me locate my hosts.

The men that work for Aydin all look similar, dark suits, perfectly tailored to fit their muscular bodies. They look like they've been snatched from old gangster movies. I half expect to see machine guns hiding behind their backs and fedoras magically appear on their heads. The suit I walk with is the first one I had seen upon my arrival, the pinstriped guy-- a small rebellion from the plain suits that mill about.

"You are a liar!" Claudette's loud voice carries through the hall from the library. I glance at pinstripe suit and he shrugs. He holds the door open, and I walk in. Claudette stands over a large table at the center of the room, her face twisted with rage. She tears large diamonds from her ears and throws them on the table. Piles of money, coins, and a watch lay at the center. Bicycle cards lay scattered, some on the floor, some on the table.

Lance sits his tall frame upright and unmoving, his back to me. Henri laughs loudly, his face covered with the cards in his hands. Tears form as he bends over, trying to catch his breath. Aydin sits in the corner, his leg swung over the side of a deep plush chair, reading a book. He looks up as I walk in, letting his book fall to his lap. He appears calm, feels calm, the air in the room relaxed, for which I am grateful.

As children, Daddy would allow the three of us to spend the long rainy summer afternoons with him as he taught us to play poker. Henri always won, raking in our chips mercilessly. He became a master of deception, never consistent in his bluffs. It made it impossible to find his "tell."

"Your boyfriend is a liar and a cheat!" Claudette hollers.

"Oh, please. I won it fair and square!" Henri defends himself. "It's not my fault you can't tell when I'm bluffing."

Taken back a bit by Claudette calling him my boyfriend, I move to the table to see what has happened. "Henri has always won at poker," I say. "And, he plays dirty."

"I do not!"

The table looks like it belongs in a saloon. Claudette's diamond earrings mix with other pieces of what I assume is her jewelry, and what I think maybe Lance's watch as well. Simple, understated but expensive. It looks like Lance.

"Henri is a good liar," Aydin says from his seat. He has sat upright but still appears to be reading, only half paying attention to the game. "That is why I don't waste my time."

"I am not!"

"You don't play Aydin because you are an old boring man," Claudette teases.

"I'm not boring," Aydin says, pulling his book to his face. The thick leather binding faded, words scrawled on the cover in a language I don't recognize. "I would simply rather keep my watch."

"Hey, I gave you the last one back," Henri says.

"Only because you are scared of me." Aydin smiles over his book.

"You can play with him," Claudette says, pointing to Henri. "I'm out of money and jewelry for him to steal."

Henri laughs harder and pushes the chair out with his foot. "Come on, Charlotte, you know you wanna play" He smiles at me, the same grin he would give before he took all of my poker chips.

I sit down and watch as Lance gathers the cards from the floor and the table.

"Come on, Aydin," Lance says in a smooth and strong voice. "Stop being a bore and join us."

My mouth pops open, and I gasp, placing my hand over my heart, all exaggerated southern belle style. Those were the most words he has strung together since I had met him days before. "My shopping buddy can speak."

Lance gives me a dry look.

Aydin chuckles and comes up behind me. He takes Claudette's chair and sits near me. His presence instantly puts me on edge. "You should hear him when he's drunk. Lance never shuts up."

"That is hard to believe," I say.

Lance ignores my remark and hands out the cards. We are playing the simple five-card game my father taught me. I glance at my cards and grimace, and I look up to see Aydin biting his lip, his eyes moving over my face and hands as I arrange my cards.

"You have a terrible poker face, Miss Charlotte," he says, his own face impassive.

"Doesn't she?" Henri roars, he is infectious, making everyone grin. "She makes it so easy."

"Maybe I do it on purpose," I lie, laying out two cards face down.

"She doesn't," Henri says.

I pick up the two cards Lance deals and know that there is no way I am winning the hand. I try, really hard, to keep my face unreadable, but I can feel Aydin watching me. So I fold.

Henri sighs, "Aww, come on Char!"

"I refuse to let you swindle me out of my possessions Henri, you have already made off with my Ken doll and, let's not forget, my collection of porcelain rabbits."

"Are you serious?" Lance bends his head to look at me, his brows knit together in genuine disbelief. I can barely hear him over Henri's laughter. "He took your Ken doll?"

"It's not called swindling, Char, it's called winning." Henri stands and comes toward me putting his arm around my shoulders. "You got your little rabbits back, didn't you? Now the Ken doll, on the other hand, well, he was sentenced to death I'm afraid."

"What did you do with him?" Lance asks, he still looks appalled.

"Remember those old fireworks I found?" Henri looks down at me, his face mischievous. "Ken's death held meaning--there is honor in dying to advance scientific research."

"What Henri wouldn't do in the name of science," Aydin says. He pushes back from the table and stands.

Henri pulls me from the seat, weaving his fingers behind my back, forcing my body close to his. "I'm sorry about your Ken." His smile says otherwise. He leans in and brushes his lips over mine. My cheeks heat, acutely aware that Aydin stands right next to me.

I step back. "It is fine. Barbie moved on. One can only mourn the loss of her love for so long." I don't know why I feel such a mean streak and his touch suddenly unwelcome in such close quarters with people I don't know.

# Chapter Sixteen

I sit again brain-numbingly bored in the overly decorated parlor, my finger tracing the floral pattern on the settee. The heat from the fire warms my legs, the flickering light casting shadows around the dim room. Light cracking sounds pop in the background as the wood burns, filling in the quiet space between conversations.

Claudette drones on about something, but I'm not listening. The pale rose wine in my hands holds my attention more than her. People that live in a chateau in France should be better conversationalists. My mother has yet to arrive, and Henri becomes close-lipped whenever I try to mention her. I get the feeling they are biding time, waiting like I am until Abigail arrives.

My days have been spent walking around the chateau snapping pictures. But even I, who love photography, am getting sick of the same setting. How many close-ups of roses, or sunsets over a castle, can one person have? I'd much rather have its residents, but no one has offered to model, not even the eyelash batting, grinning, Claudette.

Henri disappears to his office each morning or has to leave for some secret scientist meeting. Claudette does whatever it is women like her do during the day. More than likely it involves creating potions and talking with the devil in a gilded magic mirror. Aydin, I'm still not sure what Aydin does, but I know it involves the suits that follow me around and the equipment in the basement. It all adds up to something mildly unnerving, and though I will never admit it out loud, erotically voyeuristic.

I have learned to ignore Aydin, pushing his energy away, leaving it shadowing me. He has become a light hum, a live wire, popping and sizzling in the background, threatening to catch fire to the room he is in. I know he is there, but I tune him out, hoping he will go away before things go up in a raging inferno.

"Anyone feel like sharing why my mother left Florida twelve years ago?" I ask, coldly.

Claudette shifts next to me. Today she's outfitted in a flesh-colored lace cocktail dress that seems overly dramatic, even for Claudette. I, on the other hand, have chosen a skintight red dress that reveals a good portion of my legs and breasts. I guess I'm feeling dramatic as well. I have finished my first glass of wine at dinner and watch as Claudette refills it. My head is fuzzy, making it hard to hide my annoyance.

Henri sits forward, and I can see the nightly ritual is wearing on him as well. "I'm sorry, Char, I know this is hard. Ashur says he will bring Abby soon."

Did he just call my mother Abby? Seriously?

The urge to scream bubbles in my throat and I close my eyes, clenching my jaw shut tightly. I worry if I open my mouth, nothing but years of anger will come spilling out.

"Did you take many pictures today?" Aydin's voice startles me, and my eyes pop open. I have worked so hard to ignore him; I almost forgot he is sitting in the room with us.

"Yes. I did."

"You've spent most of your time in the gardens," he says.

I shoot him a smirk. Aydin would know, considering I can barely take a bathroom break without Lance. There are probably cameras in there as well.

"Yes, I have. Actually, we could play a game of 'Where's Lance?' in all my pictures," I say, my tone like venom. Aydin sits quiet, his face telling me nothing as I continue. "We have become so close, Lance and I. Practically inseparable. Soon we will be picking out towels and setting a date."

"I'll ask him to be more discrete." Aydin rubs his finger over his bottom lip, his face un-amused. He's so contained, it's infuriating.

"How about you ask him to give me some more space." I'm acting hostile and rude, but I can't seem to stop myself. "I'm in a guarded castle. You've got this place locked up tighter than Fort Knox."

"That is my job."

His job. The overbearing security that has been assigned to me for some inexplicable reason. Secret Organization or not, it all just seems like overkill. I let out a sigh and drink more wine. It is pointless. My mother has to return at some point, and she can have her say. Then I will go from there though I have a feeling it won't involve me staying in France much longer.

Aydin glides forward, the soft material of his suit making silky sounds, and sits down directly across from Claudette and I. "I'll ask Lance to take some days off."

"How kind," I say, sarcastically. I don't want to be rude.

Aydin sits back, practically pushing Henri off the sofa. I am again struck by how large he is. "What draws you to the gardens?"

I lean back lazily, letting my eyes wander over Aydin's face, his metal eyes, and gaunt cheeks, letting the question hang in the air. The entire room hangs suspended, waiting for me, the rude guest, to answer.

"The light." Fine. I'll play along. "Your gardens are beautiful, and the light is perfect in the afternoons. The way the sun peeks over the mountains, it turns the entire garden into a spectacular contrast of dark and light."

"I would love to see," Aydin says.

I hesitate, "I will get the laptop."

"I will walk with you."

Oh good. Aydin is the very last person I want to follow me around.

Henri stands and grabs my hand, bringing it to his lips. The move is an obvious display, and I refrain from rolling my eyes. "I'll find you in a bit, I have some work to do."

Aydin takes a different route to the wing Henri and I stay in, passing by the Great Hall.

"Can you imagine the parties this room must have held?" I ask and walk into the massive room. I can imagine women in silk gowns, their hair powdered. Men wearing leggings, sweeping elegant women across the gleaming wooden floor.

"You, Miss Charlotte, are a romantic." Aydin's hard voice and echoes from the doorway around the room.

"What's wrong with that?" I ask, forgetting I am angry. My body finally relaxing, my arms lightweight, my mind calm. The first time in days. Months. Years.

"There is nothing wrong. I just didn't take you for one." Aydin comes to stand with me in the center of the room. His body moves fluidly, not with the precise, purposeful steps he usually makes. More languid. Even the hard stone mask he always wears has slipped away.

"What do you make of me then?" I ask.

"A woman who relies on her common sense." Aydin's voice falls gently over me, his hard tone left behind in the parlor. "But, one who wants to see the good in everyone."

"And that doesn't make me a romantic?"

"No, Charlotte, it makes you hopeful. Having hope does not make you a romantic, it makes you human."

"Some would say it makes me naive."

"Naivety is not looking at what is in front of you, not knowing enough to see there is evil. Being hopeful makes you see the good in spite of it." He looks around the room. "Being a romantic makes you see the beauty in everything."

"Then I am a hopeful romantic," I say, backing away from him, and half waltzing toward the door, keeping his eyes locked on mine. His mouth breaks into a small grin. I like this Aydin. He isn't so intense. Or maybe it is the wine, I don't know, but this version of Aydin is easier to be around.

"Are you always this silly, Miss Charlotte?"

"Only when someone gives me too much wine, Mr. Thanos." I raise my empty glass high in the air.

We walk in a more comfortable silence to another small stairway and Aydin leads me to the red hallway outside my room. I grab my camera, remove the memory stick and load the images onto the laptop. The program to view the pictures pops up and I click to enlarge them. I look up to see Aydin still standing in the doorway.

"You can't see the pictures from there," I say. Aydin steps into the room, slowly. I sit on the edge of the bed and pat the space next to me. He's grown tense again, it comes off of him in waves as he sits next to me.

The first picture I pull up is of the entire garden. The sun is high overhead, too bright, highlighting the petals and leaves in a stark white light. I hand the laptop to Aydin, showing him how to click through the pictures.

He studies each image carefully. My heart flutters around, waiting for his reaction. He seems to like them, which makes me smile inwardly. Aydin stops when he comes to the photo of the pool. The picture was taken from one of the archways that surround it. The angle of the sun sent long sweeping shadows of the arches over the shallow pool. A single statue sits centered in the photograph. The light caught one side of her face, making her appear as if she were split in two. One side brightly lit, the other a dark black mask, giving her a deformed, almost demented look.

"You see the world for its beauty. Yet, you don't hide how ugly it is." He touches the screen lightly. A deep sadness drapes over me. Darkness edges its way into the room then disappears as quickly as it had inched in.

"And what does that make me?" I ask, catching Aydin in profile. A beautiful, long straight nose and thick lips. His eyelashes are so long, they brush his cheeks when he blinks. The hair in his face looks soft, and it's a fight to not reach out and run my fingers through it.

"A realist."

"I'm a hopeful, romantic, realist. That doesn't seem to fit together very well."

He looks over and catches me staring at him. I bite my lip, trying to keep the blush spreading from my chest, and moving into my cheeks. I can practically feel his eyes move over my face, they almost seem alive, rippling like mercury. His gaze stops at my lips and moves down to my chin. Aydin's eyes land on mine again, and he smiles, the corners of his eyes crease. My breaths catch in my throat.

Holy cow. He has to know how sensual he is, like every movement he makes is intentional.

"Are you going to show me yours?" Aydin asks, setting my laptop down.

What?

"Your camera, Miss Charlotte."

Oh jeez. It is amazing how deteriorated my thoughts become around this man.

I stand, take my camera out of the bag and hand it to him before sitting back down. Aydin holds it out, inspecting it carefully.

"Be careful, it has little buttons and nubs that are sensitive." Oh, good grief. This guy is dangerous to be around.

Aydin turns his brows up slightly and the corner of his mouth twitches.

"I don't want the card erased," I explain, painfully.

"I know my way around these things."

"Oh, yes. I forgot. Your fascination with cameras," I tease.

Aydin shifts suddenly and hands me the camera. He stands, and his eyes scan the room quickly. With long strides, he walks to the open terrace doors and shuts them.

"You must keep these locked at night," he says, sternly.

Wow, complete 180 in nano-seconds.

"Because someone may fly in and grab me?"

"Because I said you must."

"Okay," I say.

Henri appears in the doorway. He looks frazzled when he sees Aydin in the room, as he should be, considering the way I behave alone with this guy. "There you are."

"Charlotte was showing me her little pictures," Aydin says, his voice frosty.

Little pictures?

"Charlotte has an amazing eye." Henri walks toward me and wraps his arm around my waist. "She is quite talented."

Aydin's face has become stone. The soft edges I had caught sight of have disappeared. This Aydin, I don't like.

"She is very tired." I pull away from Henri. His possessive moves are starting to wear on me--the constant hand kissing and lip brushing. Aydin nods his head and leaves the room in silence. Henri smiles victoriously, having won that round.

"I'm going to call it a night," I tell him.

"I'll be right in the other room if you need anything," Henri says, his hands reaching for mine.

I kiss his cheek lightly and turn away. I'm not in the mood for anyone, my body sore and stiff. The tension of the last few days, wearing me thin.

After he leaves, I walk to the terrace doors and open them wide in defiance. The cool night air and washes the tension away. I hope Abigail returns soon. I dread facing her, but the idea of being stuck here any longer is exhausting.

# Chapter Seventeen

I wake in the late afternoon feeling restless. I have waited patiently for my mother to return though I know it will end the comfortable routine that has developed. Claudette, it seems, could sit for hours, and listen to the stories Henri and I tell her of the plantation. I know they have knowledge of the accident, of our life with Emily, but I refuse to tell the stories that involve my twin. I made the mistake of speaking her name once. I am not going to do it again.

No one talks about my mother, as if they say her name, I will suddenly remember I am in France solely to see her and start questioning everyone. I play nice. I don't ask questions. I have been at the chateau for one week. I have counted the days. But, I have waited long enough. I knock loud on Henri's bedroom door.

When Henri opens his door, wearing only boxer briefs that cling to his thick muscular legs, forming around his body. My mouth pops open.

"Good morning, or should I say, afternoon." He grins, stepping back and letting me into the room. He doesn't bother to dress, instead sits down at the large desk in the corner. I lean up against it, making it a point to not look at him. I do not look at his tanned chest, or the light dusting of hair spread over it. Nor do I greedily drink in the sight of the thin line that runs from his navel to just below the inside of those too-tight boxers.

I glance down at his desk, purposely not eyeing all these things, and see papers scattered over the top, a vial of red liquid rests on top. Henri catches me looking and puts it in the drawer of his desk. My brows knit and I eye him, everyone's weirdness is making me paranoid.

"So, when do I get to see Abigail? When does all this get explained?" I wave my hand over his desk at the various files. I want to ask what he's doing, but I know he won't tell me.

"Soon, I promise. Ashur says by next week at the latest."

Next week?

"Great," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. I don't think I can handle this much longer. "You know, I've been very nice this past week, letting you slide on the subject."

"You have been a good girl." Henri moves from behind his desk to stand near me. I have to work hard to keep my eyes focused on his, trying desperately not to look at his body and tight boxers.

"I usually am."

"Except, right now." He smiles coyly at me. "Right now you seem to be having a hard time concentrating."

"Henri, you are practically naked."

"I can get completely naked."

I have to laugh, breaking the tension building inside me. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I move away from him, but he reaches out and grabs my arm.

"Being near you is driving me insane," Henri's says, his jaw clenched.

"I'm sure all the women you sent into those stores would love to hear that." I give him a withered look.

"What?" His brows turn down, confused before he breaks out into a loud laugh. "That explains your behavior."

"What is so funny? It's obvious the owners knew you well and what you liked."

"Charlotte, I told the owners to expect you." He smirks and once again closes the space between us. "I have lived with Abigail for twelve years, I don't know how many times I've gone to those stores to pick up items for her. She's practically kept them in business."

"You've picked up lingerie for my mother?" Talk about mommy issues.

"You bought lingerie?" he asks and pulls at the straps of my dress, teasing. I back away, swatting at his hands and can't help but laugh. That would explain why they knew him so well, but it still doesn't sit well with me.

"Sorry Henri but they seemed adamant about your preferences, leaning more toward lacy, frilly things."

His face turns serious. "I pick up pre-wrapped boxes. I really don't want to know what Abigail wears." He stands close, heat from his body seeps through my thin dress. "But, I think it's pretty cute you were jealous."

"I wasn't jealous." I can't help the flush that fills my cheeks. Damn him. I never considered the woman had made assumptions. Like I have.

"Yes, you were. Now let's get back to these lacy, frilly things I have yet to see." He smiles again, that smile, the one that turns my legs to Jell-O.

For an entire week, I have pushed away all emotions that came up, not wanting to acknowledge that after so many years, I still care for him. Yeah, I love him. Of course, I love him. He's Henri. But I am pretty sure at this point, I am simply in love with his memory.

Tension fills the air, and I know I'm in trouble. Not to mention the fact he is almost naked. Half the work has already been done for me. Everything in me screams to dive in headfirst. Forget checking the water, ignore the warning signs and jump, consequences be damned. No matter how shallow water, it looks dark and tempting.

Henri steps closer and runs his hands down my arms. The skin tingles and goose bumps raise over my skin. His eyes darken, the gold flecks shimmering with desire. Henri's breathing grows heavier, and my stomach dips. He leans in and grazes his lips over mine, his tongue darting out, tasting, the hardness of his excitement pressing against my belly.

Henri pulls me closer, wrapping his hand around my back, and deepens the kiss. My toes tingle, and I lean into him, gripping his shoulders. My lips part, allowing him in, tasting the familiar clean, earthy scent, feeling the sandpaper scruff over my cheeks. I squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring the pain in my chest and tightness in my throat. This. This is what I have wanted. Henri.

The loud pound on the door breaks the frenzied air. Henri moans in frustration. I push away, blinking rapidly and suck in a deep breath.

"Really, really bad timing!" he shouts at the door and reaches for a pair of pants.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but, Mr. Thanos says it is important, and he needs to speak with you immediately," Lance says from the other side of the door, his voice muffled. Henri laughs, making an edgy sound. He presses his fingers to his eyes, mumbling something I can't hear under his breath.

I walk like I'm escaping, which in reality I am, to the door and open it. I ignore the expression on Lance's face and slink back into my room, guiltily. My heart pounds, my palms sweat, and I shut the door to my room too loud. This is the last thing I need to be doing. Falling into bed with Henri I know will be disastrous. There are too many unspoken issues and too many wounds that still bear scabs.

***

"You call me again, and I'm just gonna block you." Janice's voice echo's far away over the phone line.

"It's me," I blurt out.

"Charlotte!" Jan screams. "The number is blocked, I thought it was a bill collector."

"Sorry. How are you?"

"Good, good!" It feels good knowing she has missed me. "How's everything with your momma?"

"I have yet to see her. She's in Nice for treatments and is too sick to travel."

"Oh no, I'm sorry, honey."

"I should be seeing her soon," I continue. Janice's sympathy hits me hard, I have stayed ridged for so long. "How is everything at home?"

She fills me in on the latest gossip around the motel. Norm, she says, suddenly moved out. No explanation. Just packed up his truck and left. His warning echoes in my head. I hope he is okay.

"But, that's enough about crap here. So, tell me, how are things with that hottie ex of yours?"

"Complicated." I laugh. "I'm not sure what to do about him."

"I got plenty of ideas if you need some." Her voice hints that her ideas will probably make me blush.

"I mean, about what to think," I say, still laughing. I have missed her. "He is keeping something from me, but I don't know what."

"Whatever it is who cares! The man is beautiful beyond belief."

Part of me agrees, but my mind automatically goes to Aydin, which, I won't admit, is becoming a problem. "The people here are strange," I say. My description of Claudette leaves Janice laughing, her voice tinny.

"She sounds just lovely."

"You have no idea. She's so stuck up, she'd drown in a rainstorm." I roll my eyes. "And, there is Aydin." I'm not sure how to describe him, but decide to leave out his job title.

"Oh, what a sexy name," Jan says, which I will agree, is true.

"He's, well..." Dark, intense, and the few smiles I have seen leave me wanting more.

"Oh no," Jan says, her tone exaggerated. "Don't tell me you are caught in a love triangle!"

"Hardly," I spit out. "I'm not interested in Aydin. He's a bit rude." I leave out that if I were into quiet and menacing, I sure would be. That and I can't be alone with him for more than five minutes before I'm flirting.

"Yeah, but is he good looking?"

Yeah, he's gorgeous, arrogant, and inappropriately playful. Not to mention completely overwhelming.

"He's ill," I say as if this explains everything.

After I promise to send her pictures of the chateau, I hang up feeling lighter. I have missed her crass humor and garish laughter. My heart aches for home. I want my beach and my cottage. My solitude.

***

The castle loses its ominous look during the day and holds a more enchanted appeal. Dense vines creep up portions and completely obscure some of the windows. The faded gray stone walls are pitted with age and years of dirt darken the edges of the leaded windows. I can see the tips of the peaked roofs, the shingles almost a dark blue. Wispy clouds float over the towers. The sun flares in the stained glass windows over the massive entrance. It looks like it was stolen from a fairytale.

I have walked the grounds almost every day, each time wandering further from the chateau, finding new buildings and hidden gardens. I remember seeing an old bike sitting next to the gardeners shed almost hidden by vines. The small village near the winery rests about three miles down a steep incline that snakes up from the main road. I hope the bike's tires are good, it is a long shot, but I want to print up pictures to send to Janice.

I consider asking one of the suits that mill about to escort me into town, but like the idea of exploring on my own. There has been no mention of threats, and with the town being so close to the chateau, it's unlikely anyone will bother me there. Aydin has kept his word, and I haven't seen Lance for the last two days. Then again, he may have simply upped the stealth level.

The bike leans against the shed where I had first spotted it, and I pull it free of the mass of vines. Luckily, the tires look good, maybe a little low, but it will make it at least into town. I wheel the bike along the path that leads to the castle. It goes downhill to a small river that creeps along the front of the chateau. A thick wooden bridge spans the banks of the river, and the dirt path leads further down toward the main road, skirting the vineyards at the foot of the mountains.

I hop on the old bike and start the long ride to the town. With my yellow dress and vintage bike, I feel like I am in a scene from a movie. The dress flowing behind me as I pedal down the dirt roads, my golden hair shining in the light. All that is missing is a little basket hanging from the handlebars with a loaf of bread sticking out.

The ride is relaxing and easy though I am a bit winded when I come into town. I spot several small shops and what looks like a general store, where I restock on a few items. Inside the stores, people greet me nice enough but seem wary of me.

Village is a more appropriate term for the small town. A central plaza with an ornate fountain makes up the town center. This seems to be the theme in France. Fountains and plazas. The architecture is similar to the winery up the road, reminding me more of what I imagine Italy would look like. Terracotta tiles on the roofs of the stone or stucco buildings. There are long cracks in the weathered walls that have been plastered and repaired. Bright flowers on thin vines crawl up the buildings. I remember how far east we are. The Mediterranean influence is everywhere.

Attached to the general store is another smaller shop. The sign outside reads "Signs". In the window, there are several examples of said signs along with a few postcards and framed photographs of the winery. If this place can't print pictures, then I'm out of luck.

Vintage bottle labels from several eras hang framed on the walls as I enter. An older man sits in the back corner at a large desk. He looks up over thick glasses as the door chimes.

"Hello, I was hoping you could help me with printing up a few pictures." I stand holding my purse tightly, breathing in the dust and metal in the air.

The man stands, holding his back and walks hunched, over to me, wrinkling crinkling his face as he eyes me. "What is it you want to print?"

"Photographs." I pull the memory stick from my purse, showing him.

"I can do that." He doesn't have much of an accent, which surprises me. He could even pass for American. "I am Pierre."

Pierre smiles, revealing straight white teeth, the sign of dentures. I can't help but smile back. He seems so friendly. Normal.

I haven't realized how incredibly weird everyone at the chateau acts until I am reminded that there are friendly people who don't stare me down or brood in corners. I have been living in a bubble all week.

I look around the shop and recognize the wine labels from the bottles Claudette serves at the chateau. "You make the bottle labels."

"Yes."

"Does everyone here work for the winery?"

"Monsieur Moreau is very generous. The families in town work for him in some form or another. They work the fields, others run the winery itself. Ashur treats everyone fairly. This is the way the Moreau family has run the winery for many generations."

Pierre takes my memory stick and plugs it into a large computer by his desk. The images pop up, and I point to the pictures I want. Pierre quickly prints off the photographs and puts them in an envelope. He refuses payment, so I thank him profusely before heading out.

The village has grown eerily quiet as the sun sets over the tiled roofs, casting purple shadows in the corners of buildings. The streets now empty, a complete ghost town. I realize that the day has passed, and everyone will be gathering for dinner soon. I pull my phone from my purse to call Henri when I see there is no cell reception.

Shit. Henri is going to be mad. Spittin' mad as Janice would say. I hadn't told anyone that I was leaving, thinking I would be back well before nightfall.

The bike wheels are, of course, flat. Kicking the tire in frustration, I look around, hoping to find someone still open so I can call Henri. The sun has set fast, and only a few lamps light the way, as I walk toward the edge of the town. Every door is closed, lights out. Before I reach the last business, I notice a small bar, music spilling from the open door, onto the street.

There are few people inside, mostly men who eye me as I walk in. The sweet, rough scent of cigars fills my nose. The place is dimly lit and tastefully decorated. Wood paneled walls and thick oriental rugs. The furnishings are dark wood with velvety red fabric covering the seats. A chill wind blows through the open door behind me, and goose bumps cover my skin, the stillness of the village setting me on edge. I place my purse on the bar and order a drink. I check my phone but still have no service. I empty my glass and order another.

The bartender hands me the glass, and I glance at his cigarette burning in the ashtray. He catches me and offers one from the crinkled pack he pulls from his pocket. I hesitate, but only for a second, and take one greedily. The bartender offers a light, and I inhale in the thick smoke desperately. I moan in satisfaction and let the smoke curl out around my nose. I glance down at my phone. No bars.

"There is something wrong with my cell too." A man has slid in the stool next to mine, without me even noticing. His smooth voice carries an obviously American accent. He looks to be in his early thirties, not typically handsome, his face more rugged like he knows his way around a ranch or farm field. There is something about him that is off, maybe in the way he holds his mouth.

"Oh yeah?" I ask. This should be interesting.

"It's missing your number." The rancher flashes what he likely thinks is a charming smile, but it crash-lands closer to smarmy.

"Oh, terrible one." I grimace. He's not deterred and braces his shoulders back for the next round.

"You know, I was feeling a bit off today, but you have definitely turned me on."

I shake my head and laugh. "Just, no."

"By the way, you owe me a drink."

"How so?" Please, let this one be better.

"Cause when I saw you, I dropped mine."

I groan dramatically.

"Not much happening in this place." He looks toward the back of the bar, and I look over. There are two other men dressed in jeans and t-shirts. They look equally unappealing.

"Let me guess, we should get outta here and get to know each other better."

"It's like you can read my mind."

"More like I've heard them all before."

"I think it's fate, baby."

"I think you need better material," I say. Taking my purse and glass off the bar, I turn to leave, but I stop, stunned.

Aydin sits, lounged out, his arms out behind him on a sofa in the middle of the bar, no less than ten feet from me. I had no idea that he had come into the bar. Much less, that he had been watching the exchange between the rancher and me. How did I not know he was here?

Aydin lifts his hand off the back of the couch and waves, a rakish smile on his face. It is completely disarming. I stand to stare a minute before I look back at the rancher, giving him a tight, rather sassy smile and walk toward Aydin.

"Hello, Miss Charlotte," Aydin says, his voice too friendly, but his face is hard as stone. "I see you have decided to take a little tour of the town."

"Yes." I swallow.

"Alone."

"Yes." My stomach drops, the man behind me forgotten.

Aydin nods, his eyes cold. He looks extremely displeased with this decision of mine. His hand moves to his mouth. Teeth flash as he starts to bite the tip of his thumb, his tongue rubbing over the end. My heart flutters and I clench the glass. He appears to be debating what his next words are going to be, and I'm pretty sure they are not going to be nice. Aydin gestures his head to the side, indicating for me to sit. I hesitate, but scoot around the coffee table and sit down next to him, placing my purse and drink on the table.

"You should have told me you wanted to leave."

"You?"

"Yes, Charlotte. Me." He has moved on to the next finger. Up close, I can see the soft skin of his lips, the moisture of his tongue as he rubs it against the tip of his finger. Aydin turns his head and catches me staring. I bite my lip, closing my mouth. His eyes move down to the cigarette I forgot was in my hand.

"You seem to be full of poor ideas this evening," he says.

I stub it out in the tray in front of us. I glance back at Aydin, who's made his way to his pinky finger, chewing the end. It's an oddly erotic sight, watching his lips and tongue move around his finger. He sucks lightly on the tip, making a light popping sound before he places his arm on the sofa behind me.

Oh, my lord.

Still watching my face, he moves his arm from the sofa and places it over my shoulders. A large smile creases the corners of his mouth, and his eyes catch fire in the dim light. I stop breathing altogether. Aydin's fingers burn into the skin on my arm, and he pulls me closer, pressing me into his torso. My heart pounds in my ears, and I grab the hem of my dress.

Holy cow. We have flown past innuendos and gone straight to cuddling.

"You had your pictures printed," Aydin says and points to the envelope sticking out from the top of my purse. He reaches out with his free hand and grabs it, smoothly opening the seal. I watch in silence as he flips from one picture to the next, placing them on his knee. When he comes to the picture of the statue by the pool, Aydin slides it in his suit jacket.

Um ...Okay? What am I supposed to say? Sure, you can have my picture since we have suddenly become such good friends? This is all so weird, I laugh nervously, but it comes out more of a choking sound. I really hope Henri doesn't decide to grab a drink at the bar. That would be awkward, to say the least.

Aydin finishes thumbing through the photographs, places the entire envelope back in my purse, and hands me my drink. "Drink this and we will wait for the car to come and get you."

I nod gratefully, sucking it down. Wait. What? If he doesn't have a car, how did he get down to the bar? I open my mouth and try to shift away, but he pulls me closer. Aydin hooks a finger under my chin, forcing me to look up at him. He cups the side of my face and his thumb rubs slowly over my bottom lip. My breath rushes out as his thumb stops at the corner and pulls my lip lightly down. The metallic, spicy scent fills my nose and my mouth, like sandalwood incense but burning with something alive. I realize it comes from him. My head is clear, but I can feel my entire body relax and ease into him.

Holy shit. He is completely overwhelming.

His illness dims his features, but it doesn't mask the underlying sensuality. He is charismatic and magnetic in a jagged, unpolished way. The rational parts of my mind are calling to me, but I shove them away. I don't want the moment to end. His face has this just woken up look to it, like his eyes are still adjusting to the light, and he smiles. Not the too bright flashing smile, but soft and lopsided. At this moment I see it, Aydin masks it, covers it with a cold and pretentious air, but he's revealed his secret. He is kind. I grin at the revelation.

"Where are you from?" I ask, all breathy and ridiculous.

"My mother was from Greece, maybe Turkey," Aydin says, smiling down at me.

"You don't know where your mother is from?"

"No."

"Did you live with her before Ashur?"

"My mother died giving birth to me."

"I'm sorry." I frown, running my hands down my legs. Aydin's eyes follow them to my knees. "Ashur seems like a good man."

"He is driven." Aydin smooths the beard over his face. He has gone back to looking at the rancher who still stands at the bar, watching us. The man's eyes are all over me, making me uneasy. I shift again, but Aydin refuses to let go.

Aydin turns his focus back to me. He brushes hair back from my face, twisting the ends. His long fingers move slowly as if he feels every single strand before letting it fall to my shoulder. There are calluses on his palms, the fingers long like a musician. His nostrils flare, and he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, his jaw clenching. My mouth goes dry, and I swallow hard.

"You shouldn't have come here by yourself," Aydin says. I watch as his mouth forms the words. Women would kill for lips like that. I want to take his bottom lip in my teeth, bite the smooth skin, tasting him. A rush of emotions well up clawing at my throat. Sorrow, joy, anger, weariness, and something in between I can't place. I can't tell if what I am feeling even belongs to me. He's too consuming. I take another deep breath.

"Are you and Henri close?" I blink several times, and try to focus on something normal. Something, anything, other than him.

"We used to be." Aydin seems suddenly distracted and keeps eyeing the door. "When Henri first returned home, we became very close. He was like a little brother."

Little brother. Aydin could pass for maybe five years younger than us both.

Aydin's body tenses, his arm drawing me in closer. I lean forward to place my glass on the table in front of us, the question of what he meant formed on my lips, but the rancher suddenly occupies the space. I blink, confused.

"Seems to me, if she were with you, she'd be marked," the rancher says, leaning in as he speaks.

"Excuse me?" I ask, loudly.

Aydin shoots me a look. He reaches up and gently strokes my cheek, leaving a tingling sensation. My body melts, tension easing away under his cool fingers. "She is with me."

"Now see, it's funny, 'cause you weren't here to make a claim on her earlier, and being she's not marked, simply put, I saw her first."

I blink rapidly and focus on the rancher. Is this guy serious?

"I have already claimed her, it's a shame you missed your opportunity," Aydin says sharply.

"Excuse me?" I ask again. This time, I direct the question toward Aydin. The calm feeling shifts, my body becoming tense as it leaves. I look at the two men, seeing they are involved in some sort of staring contest. The entire situation has gone from weird to completely absurd.

"Someone should claim her, she's a fine piece," the rancher sneers. My face heats at his words. He rakes his eyes over me, taking in my breasts and stopping between my legs. An ugly smile forms on his lips. The rancher reaches out and brushes the top of my thigh.

Aydin's arm shoots out, grabbing the man by the throat, his fingers digging into the skin. He stands, forcing the rancher to his knees in front of us. "Don't fucking touch her!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I scream and bolt up. "That was completely unnecessary!"

"Shut up and sit down!" Aydin hisses, his teeth clenched, but he releases the man.

I gasp at his gall. "You have a lot of nerve!"

Aydin turns to me, his face enraged, and presses heavily on my shoulder, forcing me down to the sofa. "I said, shut up."

The rancher stands, rubbing the angry red marks on his throat. "It seems as if you have lost control over your toy."

The air fills with lightning, and my breath sucks in at the sensation. Aydin grabs the man by the back of his head.

"Do you know who you are fucking with?" Aydin shakes him violently, his eyes darken, losing all color, and his mouth twists in rage. Aydin throws the rancher down hard, and I can hear the sickening sounds of bones crunching as his knees hit the hardwood floor. The man screams out and collapses forward, grabbing his knees at my feet.

"Get the fuck out," Aydin commands. He turns to me, his eyes black, but then he closes them and takes a deep breath. His eyes blink open, and they are clear and gray.

The man slowly rises next to me. Popping sounds crack out as he steadies himself using the table for support. He rises inches from me, so close, I can see the tightly woven fibers of his shirt, the thick fabric of his jeans, the light hairs on his arms. My heart beats in my ears, and the sickening scent of fear fills my nose. The rancher turns to look at me and nods before he walks out the door. His friends in the back stand and follow.

My breaths refuse to come out right as my chest constricts, forcing short, ragged bursts of air from my lungs. My hands shake, and my legs tremble. I bring my knees up on the sofa.

What the hell just happened?

I point to the open doorway, "He just walked out."

"Yes. As I asked."

"That was asking?" My raises up shrilly and noise roars in my ears. "I think you just broke his legs!"

"The man is fine. He just walked out," Aydin points out.

Yes. I saw. He walked out. With two broken legs.

Aydin grabs my arm. His fingers burn into the skin, and everything around me goes quiet. My pulse slows and air fills my lungs. "Charlotte, we are going to go back to the chateau now."

***

I am thrown down hard into the small settee as we enter the parlor. My head swims, the scene in the bar tumbles around in my skull, shaken not stirred.

"What did you do to her?" Henri roars. He grabs my shoulders forcing me to face him.

"What happened?" Claudette crouches down in front of me.

"I'll tell you what happened," Aydin snarls. "Charlotte seems to have a hard time listening! If she had just kept her mouth shut, I could have handled the situation calmly."

"What situation?" Henri yells.

"In town! Who knows who I've just pissed off!" Aydin's voice booms, ricocheting off the walls, pounding in my ears.

"Who were they?" Claudette stands, placing her hand on Aydin's arm.

"I don't know, I've never seen them before. They were new. Americans. There were three of them. One of them was all over her, trying to claim her." Aydin shakes her off and runs his fingers through his hair, agitated.

"Why did you let her go off alone?" Henri demands.

"It's not my job to watch her remember?" Aydin screams back. "Lance can only do so much, Henri!"

"It is your job! Lucius isn't here!" Henri screams.

Who in the hell is Lucius?

"You were instructed to make sure she stayed here, Henri. She's not marked." Aydin's voice turns cold.

"I was Aydin, but you called me away remember?" Henri steps closer to Aydin, challenging. Seems like a poor idea.

"When we said to keep her occupied, I didn't mean by trying to fuck her!" Aydin's voice rattles the chandelier.

Everyone around me yells, Aydin paces, shouting, his entire demeanor a far cry from the cool and collected man I have spent the week with. Far from the smiling, sensual man in the bar. He looks like he is coming unhinged, a wild panther clawing at the bars.

"She's in shock," Claudette says. I look down at the glass that she has forced into my hand. The clear liquid ripples as my hands start to shake, so I give it back to her.

Someone says my name, their voice, maybe Henri, rising in panic. I look up, Aydin has stopped pacing, and his eyes focus on mine. My arms quake, shivers run down my spine, shaking my legs violently.

"Come here." Aydin's voice breaks through the din in my head, velvety smooth. I stand, still trembling, and walk to him.

"What just happened?" My voice rattles in my ears. His thin frame holds a raw power, deceiving under his gaunt appearance.

"My god, Aydin," Henri says. "What did you do?"

"It wasn't that bad, Henri, calm down," Aydin says, calmly. He radiates power, and it wraps itself around my body, hot and dangerous. He reaches up, brushing my hair over my shoulder, his hand lightly touching the skin on my face. Fire lights under my flesh. Henri stands, coming forward but stops when Claudette grabs his arm, forcing him still.

Aydin brings my hands together in his. My body eases, the shaking stops and I am instantly calm. I feel myself spinning, my head hazy, and my legs weak. Tears form behind my eyes, a pool of sorrow so deep my feet will never touch bottom. Aydin's sorrow. Aydin's pain.

"It's time you talked to your mother," Aydin says, softly. His words connect and shake me from my trance.

"Abigail is going to kill you, Aydin!" Henri yells. "Charlotte's not ready!"

"That isn't your choice, Henri," Aydin tells him. "Go get Abigail."

"You mean she's here?" I shake my head, trying to clear the fog. I spin to Henri. He closes his eyes and sighs.

"She is. She's been here the entire time."

What?

"The entire time," I repeat.

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"Will someone, for the love of god, please tell me what is going on?" Now I am the one screaming.

"Charlotte."

I freeze. My heart pounds in my ears. I can't move, can't breathe. For a long time, I try to reconnect with the Earth, swirling out in space. It has been twelve years since I have heard her voice. Twelve years, full of nights weeping for her, days cursing her.

Her eyes are bright and blue like my own. The same soft, honey hair. High cheekbones that hold the same light freckles from too many hours in the sun. No wrinkles are carved into her skin. Her hair isn't streaked with gray as I imagined. She is suspended in time, thirty-seven years old. My mother stands before me, exactly the same as the day she left.

# Chapter Eighteen

The human mind is an incredible machine. It is in charge of sending messages to every single part of our bodies. Hardwired to find patterns, and force our eyes to see what is right in front of us. Designed to make sense of any situation. It is rational, or at least it is supposed to be. I'm pretty sure it is our emotions that mess up the signals. Making some of us see faces of God in pieces of bread or the sides of buildings. It is hope or faith that scrambles all rationale. Some of us succumb to these, some of us don't.

I'm not one of them. I see the bread for what it is. Bread.

Though I usually see the logic, I don't forget there are different shades of gray that fall between the black and white. There is beauty in the Earths brutality, even a necessity for it. Light shines where one thinks only darkness falls, but I don't ignore the shadows. I can still see the pretty rainbow and like the idea of a pot of gold. But I know it isn't there. I base my entire life on this.

I stand staring at my mother, and I think of two things. First and foremost: everyone has lied to me. Everyone. She looks healthier than the day she left. Second: my mother has found what is probably the best plastic surgeon in France. In the entire world.

I pride myself on my common sense.

Everyone in the room is silent, watching like I'm under a microscope. Calmly, or at least, I hope this is how I appear, I walk to the seat Aydin had thrown me in before and sit down. My hands shake and I worry it is going to spread again to the rest of my body.

I do a quick calculation in my head. The last I saw my mother was twelve years ago. She would now be... do the math... almost fifty. Forty-nine to be exact. Yet, she isn't. She's still in her late thirties. Almost exactly seven years older than me.

"Charlotte." Abigail's voice is quiet. She moves toward me, but I shake my head. My jaw clenches, the room seems to have lost all air, making it hard to force my lungs to work.

"You look well," I say.

Claudette's laugh bursts with anxiety. The room fills with it. The tension creeps out of my pores into theirs.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," Abigail says. "I didn't know of any other way to get you here. You would never come unless I lied."

I nod. She is right. I wouldn't have. I would never have flown to France if I hadn't thought she was dying. But she isn't.

"Are you going to explain to me what is going on?" My voice is quiet. Too calm. Too detached.

Everyone looks at each other. Their faces turn to one another like they are hoping someone else will volunteer to the task.

A figure comes into the room. He is tall and thin. He wears a dark navy suit, and I wonder what is so important that we are interrupted by security. His face is distinctly Persian, with tanned skin and long black hair pulled into a low ponytail, and eyes so dark, the pupils fade into the iris. He looks young, very young. Maybe twenty.

Claudette rushes to him and gives him a hard embrace. I have yet to see her so happy to see anyone. She wasn't even this excited to see Henri.

"Father." Claudette kisses his face, smiling as she does.

I blink, hard, my lids heavy and slow. Everyone in the room turns again to watch me. I stand from my seat, my heart pounds in my head making me dizzy. A laugh rushes from my lips, a strange, strangled sound. I laugh again, this time, louder. Eyes still watch, as what can only be described as complete hysteria bubbles up, and I continue to make these high-pitched chortling sounds.

I have a tendency to have inappropriate timing.

Five faces look back. They hold the same expression, worry mixed with confusion. Except Aydin. He is still calmly watching me.

"Hello, Charlotte. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I am Ashur," the man says.

I nod. Of course, he is. Because it makes perfect sense, that Henri's uncle from France, my father's childhood friend, looks like he is barely old enough to buy alcohol.

Oh no. The laughter stops abruptly. I rub my arms, digging my nails into the skin, trying to remain in contact with reality, yet my brain is amazingly clear.

Dear, God. I am insane.

They are here to help me. That is why they have brought me to France. I'm crazy, like Emily. Or maybe she wasn't. Maybe it is only me. Maybe I can't read people and feel their emotions. I just think I can. I see people how they couldn't possibly be, plastered too young of faces on their bodies. Do crazy people know they are crazy?

"She's going to pass out," Claudette says.

Noise roars in my head. Breathing is impossible, the air in my lungs coming out in chopped up bursts. The tingling signs of panic caress my fingers, spreading up my arms. Aydin's hand wraps around my arm, and everything stops. The sound vanishes and my breathing slows.

"How did you do that?" I ask him, still staring at the newly introduced Ashur.

"I can control your energy," Aydin says.

I nod and look at him. The corners of his mouth pull down, but he keeps his expression impassive. What he says makes sense in my new crazy world. My insane version, where people don't age and others can change your emotions with a simple touch.

My mother makes a movement indicating everyone should leave. Aydin starts to walk away.

"No!" I scream the word. Everyone freezes, staring at me. I don't want him to leave. He is like a drug. Without him near, I may fall over the brink.

"Everyone needs to stay. But someone, anyone, better start talking," I demand. Somehow, I sound in control of myself. I sit back down and wait for them to situate themselves around the room. Aydin stays close while Henri makes the wise decision to sit far away.

No one wants to be the one to start, so I turn to Aydin. There is no way a man that looks as thin as he, has the strength to throw anyone hard enough to shatter bones. No man does. I heard them crack, I heard the ranchers scream, saw his pain. I also saw the man stand up and walk out from the bar. I rub my face. I look at Aydin's eyes, liquid pools that seem to move in the light.

"What are you?" My jaw clenches so tightly that my head aches.

"We have many names."

"Any one of them will be a helpful explanation," I say, sarcasm dripping from my words. Pieces try to put themselves together, but my rather smart brain refuses to let them go there. Dark nights. Long days alone while they worked. One word keeps flashing in the front of my mind. Like a cartoon trying to teach me the meaning.

"Vampire."

Such a simple answer. I laugh again, but less edgy, more incredulous.

"The man that you say tried to claim me? Whatever the hell that means?"

"Vampire," Aydin says.

"Oh, okay," I say, smiling, my head nodding. This is funny. Joke's on me. I look over at my mother. "So that means--what? You are a fairy? No, wait. I have one better. A werewolf." My sarcasm is back. I use it as a shield.

"Don't be silly," Aydin smiles.

"Me? Never," I mock and return my eyes to him.

"There are no such thing as fairies," Aydin informs me, "or werewolves."

"Just vampires."

"Yes." A smile slithers over his lips.

I stare at him and then look around the room, landing on Henri. Claudette has her fingers intertwined in his, consoling him.

"This isn't funny," I choke. My chest tightens, a thick rope pulling my heart taut.

"No, it isn't," Aydin says. I look back at him. He is easier to look at. Henri's a damn liar, and I can't look at Abigail.

"Like blood sucking vampires," I say.

"Yes," Aydin's lips pull up, flashing his charismatic grin. I glance back to Henri.

"But you aren't." Henri shakes his head solemnly, "And you are," I say to Claudette. She smiles at me, almost sheepish. I look back to my mother. She is dressed in a simple black pantsuit, her hair down around her shoulders. My god, I look just like her.

"You haven't aged." It is an obvious observation, one that needn't be said, but my brain is trying to process the information, and failing.

"No, I no longer will."

"Like, ever?"

"That is part of being a vampire," Claudette says.

I really don't like her.

"This is why I couldn't come to see you," Abigail says. "I wanted to see you desperately, Charlotte." A single tear falls over her cheek, tainted a pale pink.

I gasp in horror. Aydin's hand finds mine and grips it tight. Peace falls around me like a blanket. He controls my energy. I yank it away.

"Don't touch me." My voice turns to ice--hysteria edging back in. "Don't ever touch me."

Is that why I had been so calm in the bar? Had he been controlling me then? I had been calm in a situation where I shouldn't have been. Snuggled up and cozy with this man that is telling me they are all vampires. His face turns to stone, and he quietly leaves the room.

"Don't take it out on him, Charlotte," Abigail pleads. "He is only trying to help you."

My head swims, my arms tingle. I almost want to bring Aydin back, but I sent him away. Henri stands coming to sit next to me.

"No one come near me." I swat him away, practically screaming.

Claudette rolls her eyes and stands. "I'll come back when you have calmed down."

Ashur nods in my direction, before following her out.

I stare at my mother a long time. She is so beautiful, even more beautiful than the last time I had seen her. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes so blue--a crystal ocean. They sparkle, the light hitting them, and they flicker alive and charged. Like Aydin's. His liquid steel eyes, like nothing I have ever seen before. Like Claudette's, the dark blue flecks that hold too many secrets.

I think of Abigail's face the day she left. Her arguing with Daddy, the sounds of things breaking. Had she been forced to go? Was this her choice?

Her skin is completely flawless, but she still has the scar that runs down her jaw, a small line of raised flesh from when the bathroom mirror fell and shattered, cutting her face. She is the same. Exactly the same No, not exactly. More alive. More vibrant.

"When were you going to tell me?"

"On your birthday." Another pink tear falls. I wish she would stop. It's inhuman. No one cries blood-stained tears. Except maybe, vampires.

"Which one?"

"Your twenty-fifth," she says.

The birthday my sister died. The day she tried to kill me.

"And then I couldn't. You would not have been able to handle it. You wouldn't be able to understand then," she says, desperately.

"I'm not having such an easy time understanding now. I don't understand why you left." I have waited almost half my life, I needed her to tell me.

# Chapter Nineteen

The best stories always start at the beginning. Not at the plantation, well before then. Way back, when humans were taking their modern form, thousands of years ago. Well before the first civilization settled. Back to when our ancestors hunted and gathered. During the time when men were cave dwellers and passed their history to their descendants through words and songs. It could have been before this. We have no idea how old humans truly are.

It starts with the story my mother would tell Emily and I as children. Of the heavenly man that fell in love with a woman of the Earth. The woman gave birth to Twins, born in the hottest time of year, before harvest. When the sun sat high, and grasses grew long from the rainy season. The orchards were in bloom, the delicate flowers covering the branches of the rows of trees.

The Twins were like nothing the Earth had ever seen. Like their mother, the girl's skin was fair, with eyes as bright and blue as the daytime sky. They held the beauty of the women of the Earth, their features frail and glowed with the light of the Heavens. They were named Ana and Eresh, though, throughout time, man has given them different names. Ana had golden hair that shone as bright as the sun. Eresh's golden locks were streaked a bright red, flowing like lava.

Upon the girl's eighteenth year on Earth, Ana and Eresh were separated. Ana was to rule the sky as the Queen of Heaven and Eresh was to rule the Netherworld, a right given to them by their Moon God father. Ana was to watch over the men of Earth, for their passions often lead them astray. Man is driven by his heart, the need for love and thirst for revenge. Eresh was to usher the dead, helping them find their way to a peaceful Afterlife.

In a time when Gods walked the Earth and Demons weren't forced to hide in the shadows, the Twins were worshiped. They possessed the powers of the Heavens and the Gods themselves. Some stories tell, not of Twins, but of a single woman, torn apart by her inner battle of darkness and light.

Over time, the sisters fell in love with the men of the Earth and had children. These children gave seed to sons and daughters of their own, each new generation passing along the powers of the Heavens. Superior knowledge, strength, and great empathy. Ancient stories tell of demigods and oracles born to Earth. Powerful beings who could see the past and sing the songs of the future.

An evil force wanted the powers of the human descendants, for they carried the blood of the great Goddesses, the knowledge of the Heavens above and the secrets of below. Lamashtu she was called though humans have given her many names. She walked in the night, where willow roots twisted, and owls called out, fearful cries in warning. It is said she laid out serpents in her wake, and the winds howled and shook bones in her presence. Lamashtu was a dark force who preyed on the flesh of the living, born of the Gods just as her cousins Ana and Eresh. Stories said that she had long wicked teeth and clawed feet. That she stole babies in the night, chewed man's bones and sucked their blood.

The Demon Queen, Lamashtu, hated the Queen of the Netherworld, for she had taken Lamashtu's lover before his time on Earth was complete. She swore revenge on Eresh, and after years finally lured her into a deadly trap. Lamashtu then drained Eresh of all her Heavenly blood. With Eresh so close to death, Lamashtu forced her own blood down the Queen's throat, changing her body and the Earth forever. From that day forward, Eresh was never to leave the darkness of the night or her throne in the Netherworld.

Angered by her unjust sentence to an eternity in darkness, Eresh created an army of powerful creatures. She took the men of the Earth and fed them her new blood, transforming them, just as she had been. With elongated teeth, the blood of the Heavens, and the dark of night in their veins, they swept the Earth hunting for the Demon Queen.

These predatory beasts were soon feared by man, calling them the Mitutu or the un-dead. They were cursed, just like their creator, to live in darkness and drink the blood of man. For a hundred years, they hunted for Lamashtu but were unable to find the Demon. What they did discover, however, threatened to destroy the Earth and sweep it forever into darkness.

The Mitutu found the descendants of the Twins, who were still ruling as Queens. Few humans with the blood of the Heavens roamed the Earth and possessed great powers of empathy. If the Mitutu drank the blood of these descendants, the Mitutu's powers were that of the Gods themselves. It made them stronger, faster, and even more deadly. Soon the Mitutu gave up their quest for the evil Lamashtu and began hunting down the offspring of the Twins. They killed or enslaved them, marking them with venom and feeding on the human until they were too weak to carry on.

Ana saw the evil that was consuming Earth and begged her sister to stop the horde of creatures she had created. Eresh knew then, if not stopped, evil would take root and destroy every last one of the offspring of the Gods. Once again, Eresh used her demon blood, and the very first Nassaru was created. A Guardian so powerful, he was feared by all, and humans quaked at his feet. This Guardian was instructed to protect the innocent human descendants of the Twins, keeping them hidden from the evil that hunted them. Eresh gave her blood again and made the first Sar Mudutu, the Keeper of Knowledge. He was to record the names of the descendants and work alongside the Guardians, keeping Eresh and Ana's bloodlines in secret.

Over the generations, new offspring were created, more Keepers and more Guardians, as the family line of the Twins grew and spread over the world. For thousands of years, they watched over and protected, from the shadows, and at a distance, the descendants of the Heavenly Queen Ana and the Queen of the Netherworld, Eresh. They kept the family in hiding, away from the evil that wanted to consume them. My family. My bloodlines. Me.

I blink. "You are telling me that I, we, are of these bloodlines?"

"Yes."

Okay. I nod slowly.

"I don't understand why I am here," I say. Not like I understand much of anything else either.

"You are here because there are people in the Organization that want to use you," Abigail says. "This is the only place you are truly safe."

"Because I carry unique genes."

"Yes," she says it like this is a reasonable explanation.

I nod and take a deep breath before running my hands over my face. Suddenly I am spent, and my shoulders sag. No more information can be dropped on me. There is no way to carry anymore. I try to focus on what I know. Henri studies genes. He said with my father's help, they could create a potent cure, all from a gene he refused to tell me about. At the time, I didn't know vampires roamed, or, that special bloodlines existed. Now I do, and I wish I can go back to being ignorant.

"How do you know?" I ask. "That we are from these bloodlines?"

"Ludari. He is a Keeper," Abigail says. "He has kept our ancestors hidden and safe for many generations."

"Like a literal record Keeper," I say. Henri has sat silent the entire time my mother has told me this insane story. I glance his way. "And you knew all this?"

He looks scared to respond, as he should be. "Yes," he says quietly.

I have to swallow around the tightness in my chest. Henri has known all along. He has lived here, with my mother, with secrets. He has worked with my father, researching genes and vampires. Daddy. I shake my head. I can't go there.

"Why did you come here?" I ask Abigail.

"I grew up, just as everyone in our family, knowing of this life. I didn't want my girls to grow up this way," she says. "Ludari and Ashur meant to bring you and Emily here when you turned eighteen. I asked them to let you live in Florida a while longer and wait until you both were finished with school. He allowed you both to stay until your twenty-fifth birthday."

The birthday Emily tried to kill me. I rub my face. This is all too much. "You still haven't answered my question."

"I came here, Charlotte, to help keep you safe," she says. "When it was time to bring you here. Emily was dead. I couldn't put all this on you. You needed time to heal."

"Why did you leave us?" I ask, my voice tearing. "Especially if we were in danger. You left us alone."

"As long as you have Ashur and Ludari's protection, you are safe," she says.

I can feel the tears forming. There is no way I can keep them back any longer.

"I left, Charlotte because I had to," Abigail says. "I made a deal."

"What deal?"

"You and Emily were to stay in Florida with your father and remain under Ashur's protection." She lowers her voice, refusing to look at me. "But, only if I agreed to come to France and live with Ashur, as his mate."

# Chapter Twenty

Henri sits at the table in the library, bent over a large book. The open windows of the library let in a soft breeze, perfuming the air with the musky scent of the vineyards. I have spent the last day in my room, simply put--freaking out. I keep expecting Dr. Gregory to come cart me away. Part of me hopes he does. My brain swirls with images of my childhood, my mother's face, Emily's twisted words and attempt on my life. I can't seem to process everything that I learned the night before. It lies heavy, a weight on my chest, constricting my breaths.

"I see you are ready to face everyone," Henri says, cautiously.

"Emily found out, didn't she?" She had hinted to it the night she crashed the car, but now I suspect she had known the truth. Every shred of craziness.

"Yes, she found out. She was constantly eavesdropping." Henri stands from the table. The pain that comes off him is piercing. "She couldn't do what you are capable of doing."

"What?"

"She couldn't read people like you, that's what you call it, right?" Henri's eyes search mine.

"What do you mean?" My brain trips over his words. Emily could, she told me so. Of course, she could. We were a match.

"Emily told me that she wasn't able to feel people's emotions, their inner soul," Henri says. He presses his fingers to his eyes. "She hated that she couldn't. It drove her mad."

Oh, Henri, you have no idea.

"This is the supposed power of some ancient gene that I inherited?"

"Yes. Usually, only vampires are able to feel people's emotions, Charlotte, but you can. It is amazing."

I think of Aydin. "I can't control people Henri."

"No, I know you can't. Actually, Aydin is the only vampire that I have met that can control people's emotions."

Because he has met so many vampires. Maybe he has.

"He can control thoughts?"

"Not so much thoughts, their emotions. How they feel," Henri says. His face betrays him, his mouth twisting at the mention of Aydin. "I'm not sure why. He used to be very powerful, but I can see he is still able to control people. He can you."

They can feel my emotions. Aydin can feel me, just as well as I can. Well, not all of them, just Aydin. But, they don't know this.

"And this Organization wants me for my genes. And this is what you are studying? These family genes and what? Vampire genes?"

"Yes."

This just keeps getting better. I almost look around for the good doctor.

"What did you discover?" I ask.

"Medicine that can be manipulated to correct any genetic mutation. It can be coded and used for many different diseases. It is astounding."

"Is this from them?" Vampires, but he knows what I mean.

"In short, yes."

My miraculous recovery and short hospital stay... "Is this what was used on me in the hospital?"

"No." Henri looks away. "This is a lot to take in. Ask questions. Everyone will talk to you. It may seem strange, but this is your family."

I chuckle at that and walk out to go have some wine with the wicked witch of the west because this insane world is now my new normal.

***

My heart races, my stomach in knots. What I really want to do is go back to my room and stay there for the rest of my life. Instead, I sit in the parlor and wait for the sun to go down. I figure Claudette will be crawling from the depths of the underworld around then, coming to warm her ice soul by the fire as she does every night.

She is right on time.

When Claudette walks in, she doesn't seem the least bit surprised to find me here. Every time I see her, I itch to slap her. It is an awful feeling, to be so disgusted with someone. But Claudette isn't a someone. She isn't even human.

Oh, good lord.

My stomach twists tighter, rising bile in my throat. Henri has slept with the un-dead. A soulless creature that preys on the innocent. I knew I didn't like her. I'm pretty sure I'm going to pass out, my head is spinning so fast. I pour myself a glass of wine, sucking it down. Abigail follows closely behind her. I wonder where Aydin is off to--probably still watching all his cameras.

"He is with Ashur, they are discussing your security," Claudette says and pours me more wine. I start to make a face and ask how she knows I am curious of Aydin's whereabouts when my mother chimes in.

"We can read your emotions. Whenever a human thinks of someone, it carries a feeling with it. That and it was written all over your face," Abigail says.

Henri is right, vampires can read my emotions. Great.

"What about thoughts?" I ask. My mind starts racing, picturing all the personal details I never want people to know: My memories with Henri, the kiss in the villa, the one in his room. How I stole a CD from a store when I was fifteen. I still feel guilt over that one.

"We aren't mind readers." Claudette laughs. "We can't take information from your brain, but we can make a suggestion on how you see a situation, how you feel about something. We are even able to share some experiences. We feel what you are feeling, and right now you are panicking."

I try to relax, rolling my head on my shoulders and sip my wine. Maybe that is why she's always feeding me booze. To help me relax. Keep my brain numb so I don't notice they can sit perfectly still.

"What else do you want to know?" Abigail asks. I have been watching her, openly staring. A quiet has settled over the room without me even realizing it.

"When you are turned into ... a... you know." I am still having a hard time with the vampire part. I gesture to her. "Do you change? I mean you get stronger, right? But what else? You look exactly the same."

"When a person is turned, you stay as you were when you were human," she says.

Human.

"Only, you become a more enhanced version of yourself," she continues. "Vastly improved eyesight, smell, and hearing. All the senses are magnified. We are faster. The older you are, the more powerful."

"You get brought back to life?" I can't help the high pitch of my voice. Every person knows the legends of vampires. Their bodies reanimated, stalking their prey in the night. Long evil teeth. I can't seem to turn off the nagging voice of reason in the back of my mind.

"No, we are alive, but with a different force than those of humans," she says it again. Like she is something different. She doesn't look any different. Well, except healthier.

"Aren't you dead?" I ask.

"More like reborn," Abigail says. "When a vampire is created, the blood is drained until right before the heart beats it's very last. Their soul is still attached, the last breath hanging, suspended and clinging to life. So you see, we never die."

Questions tumbled around inside my head. Logic keeps trying to intervene and save me from this conversation. I want to poke holes in what she is telling me, but well, she's sitting right in front of me. The perfect picture of.... I can't go there.

"Do you breathe?" I think of Aydin, his deep breaths, and rushes of laughter.

"It's not necessary," Abigail says. "We don't require oxygen. Everything we need is absorbed into the blood that flows through us."

"So your heart beats?" I don't want to know any of this.

"Yes, it keeps the blood moving through us. If it stops we don't die, simply after a while we remain still," she says.

"You stay alive regardless?"

"Yes," Claudette says. "It takes a lot to kill us."

"The man from the bar kept saying he had claimed me and that I wasn't marked," I say. "What does that mean?"

"Claiming is when a vampire says that he wants a human for himself. It's like a dog pissing on his territory," Claudette says. "Males do it more than females. Some piggish behavior never leaves, no matter how long they have lived."

"I thought you all were supposed to be enlightened or something."

"We are born human first. Behavior is learned, the older ones are the worst. Women meant nothing not so long ago. Only a way to bear sons and fulfill desires."

No wonder Aydin had been so handsy with his over the top male dominance routine, he had been trying to keep the rancher off me. "So then what does it mean to be marked?"

"It is when we leave a particular scent on a human. We do this when we want to keep them for ourselves. Only other vampires can detect it. Once the human is marked, no other vampire is allowed to touch them. Humans can't feel it, so they aren't affected in any way," Claudette says.

"A mark is a warning that the human belongs to another vampire. It is mostly for protection," Abigail says softly.

"But mostly for our pleasure." Claudette grins.

"Is Henri marked?" I really don't want to know.

"Yes. I marked him." Claudette smiles, smugly.

"So you really drink blood?" My stomach churns at the thought.

"Yes."

"It doesn't hurt?"

"It can if we want it to. But when we feed we associate it with something else. Usually sex." She smiles, almost perversely.

Henri embraced by Claudette in the throes of passion makes my heart drop. My fingers grip the glass tighter. The fact that it doesn't shatter into a million pieces is surprising.

It has been set in stone.

I fucking despise her.

"Think of it like a kiss," Abigail offers. "It can be sweet and tender. Loving and protective."

"Or passionate," Claudette interjects. "Or possessive, or forceful, or violating."

I look away, pretty sure I've heard enough adjectives to last me awhile.

"I thought vampires couldn't control thoughts," I say, my mind again on Aydin. It's becoming a problem I refuse to look at.

"We can't control them, no," Abigail says. "We can influence since we can feel what a person is feeling we are able to manipulate them. Like Claudette said, we are able to change the way humans perceive a situation."

"Aydin is able to," Claudette interjects. I am pretty sure she is lying about the reading the minds part as his face refuses to leave my thoughts. "He is able to make a person feel anything. He is also able to control thoughts. It is not just a small influence. That is why when he touched you, you became completely calm. If you were angry, he could force you to feel happy. Or vise-versa. He could force you to feel anything, for anyone."

Is that what is wrong with me? Has he made me feel his presence? I don't like that he had forced me to remain calm. My skin crawls at the thought he may have been using super mind powers on me.

"He only did it to help you," Abigail says.

They have to be lying.

His thin face flashes again in my mind. Thin. Wait. He is a vampire.

"He's not sick," I say, flatly. Abigail shifts in her seat. She and Claudette exchange a look. "Why is he so thin? Was he sick when he was turned?"

"No. He was very healthy," Claudette says. Her face shows actual admiration, and another more pronounced emotion that makes me want to slap her. Lust. "Beautiful, really. The most powerful force anyone has ever seen."

"You told me he can't eat. Is that true? Do you all eat food?" I am getting off track, but I want to know.

"Small amounts yes, but it does nothing for us."

"Can he not drink blood?" My mouth turns down at the thought. Maybe that's why he watches me all the time. His vampire stomach is growling. I almost laugh at the thought, but I worry I may never stop.

Claudette and my mother again look at each other. Claudette glances away. Wow, they should really be better liars.

"That is something you will have to ask him," Abigail says. She runs her hands down the legs of her pants. She used to do this right before one of Daddy's dinner parties. To wipe sweat, or maybe convince herself she was calm.

"He will never tell her, Abigail," Claudette whispers to her.

"It is not our place."

"Who are you protecting?" I ask.

Abigail looks at me then. Her face is pained, her eyes sad. "It's not my place to say, Charlotte that is only for Aydin to reveal."

***

A clock somewhere chimes, letting me know it's three o'clock in the morning, but I can't sleep. Questions roll around my head, refusing to let me rest. My nerves are frayed, leaving me jumpy and anxious. Everything I have thought about life, Earth, and its inhabitants is gone. Dashed away by a secret world. I still doubt my sanity. They all look so normal. Except Aydin and his metal eyes. And the fact that he can run his finger over my cheek, and I melt like a warm marshmallow. And that, my mother, of course, is only a few years older than me.

Henri sits with Abigail in the parlor where I had left her earlier. I take a seat next to my mother. Henri looks away, almost wounded, but I'd rather sit next to her than him. Liar that he is. We all look up as Aydin saunters in. He stands in the center of the room, his eyes on mine.

"May I, Miss Charlotte?"

"By all means, Mr. Thanos." I gesture to his chair by the fire.

Even though I have glimpsed at his savage power, it is hard to see him differently. He is so stoic. Yet he has let me see a small layer that lay underneath, a flash of brutality and glimpse of softness. It is such a stark contrast it's hard to imagine they are both inside him. I can't get Abigail's words out of my head, he has secrets as well.

"I have a question," I say to him.

"What is it you would like to know?" Aydin asks, coolly. He leans back in the seat, his arm resting on the chair's back. He looks like some business tycoon in his crisp, charcoal gray suit. Images keep flashing of his fingers over my lip in the bar, how they dug in deep, almost piercing the rancher's neck. His force and raw power when he threw the man down.

I have to tear my eyes off him and see my mother's brow turned down. They can tell what I am thinking, more importantly, who I am thinking about and how it makes me feel. I glance back to Aydin, who is trying to hide a smile.

"I would like to know what the Organization is, exactly," I say, regaining my composure. Thank goodness, Henri doesn't know what I'm thinking.

"The Organization is a group of Elders, vampires. A representative from different parts of the world holds a seat. They are in charge of making the big decisions," Aydin says.

"Like the United Nations."

"In a way, yes. The Organization has control over the laws of our world. They created these laws to protect vampires and humans alike. Each Region is assigned, by the choosing of the Elders, a Sovereign, and they enforce these laws. These Sovereigns or Presidents, so to speak, then assign their own Cabinet members, and so on, until each region has its own small government system."

"Whose Region are we in now?"

"Ludari is our Regions, President. He is in charge of keeping our area free of crimes against humans. Ashur is the Premiere, or you would be more familiar with the term, Vice President."

"So, this government wants Henri's research," I say.

"Not as a whole. Over time, it has become corrupted. There is a handful that want more power." Aydin sits back. "If what Henri has suggested is true, that he and Stephan could possibly have a cure for human diseases that, Charlotte, would be very powerful."

"Someone inside, at the top wants this information? Not only for money but for power? Over what? People?" I ask. I still can't say human, it places them, my mother, too distant and I'm not ready for that yet.

"Very good, you are smart."

I give Aydin a wry look. "I get it, if you control a medicine, it can control the population, keep a people weak. They would do anything to get their hands on it."

"Exactly," Aydin says, "which is unethical and goes against everything the Organization was created for."

The thought is terrifying. A league of vampires with the power to save thousands of lives, dangling it over people's heads. It is like conglomerates, controlling the water supply to third world countries. They have the money, and means to provide, but would rather keep them thirsty and suppressed to line their pockets. No wonder Henri is so secretive.

I glance to Henri and my mother before I speak. "So, Ludari is the leader or Sovereign of the Region we are in. He was assigned, I guess long ago, by a top member of the Organization, which is supposed to keep vampires from what? Using people?"

"He is also a Keeper," Aydin says, "which is a crucial role in the Creation stories."

"If these Keepers and Guardians are supposed to keep these bloodlines safe, why was my mother forced to come here? Shouldn't we automatically be protected?"

The three of them stare at me blankly.

Ashur walks into the room, his presence forcing everyone's attention and stopping our conversation. On his arm is Claudette, as luxurious and sexy as ever. "Abigail, have you informed Charlotte of our Celebration Feast?"

The what?

"No, my love, I have not. We were just discussing the Organization. Trying to help Charlotte understand her importance," my mother almost coos at him. My stomach twists.

Claudette releases Ashur's arm and comes toward me. She pulls me to my feet. "I have the perfect dress for you."

"What is this celebration?" I ask.

"A very elaborate party," Claudette says, her eyes sparkling. I wonder how often she is allowed to leave the chateau.

"We extend an invitation to all the Cabinet members and their families in the neighboring Regions. I host this function as a sign of partnership. Our joined effort in keeping the Organization strong and unified," Ashur says, smiling at Claudette.

"It's a political move," Aydin tells me.

"Yes, dreadfully boring when father speaks politics, but they are fun. We provide excellent entertainment." Claudette starts to pull me from the room. "Come, I will show you the dress I have picked out for you."

Claudette leads me to my room, holding my hand the entire way, chatting about something or another. I only hear talk of dancing, free-flowing wine, elegant gowns, along with equally elegant vampires. All her words rattle in my head. Vampires have only just become my new reality, and I am supposed to attend a party full of them. My stomach clenches thinking of what is in store.

When we reach my room, I see that Claudette has laid out a gown on my bed. It is stunning, to say the least. Silky and sexy, the color of clear blue topaz.

"I want us to be friends," she says.

"I don't see why we can't be," I lie.

Claudette smirks, calling my bluff, "We started off poorly, I'm afraid, which is my fault. I love Henri very much and, unfortunately, it seems to bring out the worst in me. Ashur says it is because I have marked him, which makes us possessive at times. Please accept my apologies."

Her openness has me a bit stunned. Part of me is glad to have cleared the air.

"It is understandable," I say. "I'd like for us to be friends as well." This time, I don't lie. Claudette is still shady, but she is my age, or well at least mentally... Maybe.

Claudette hugs me, her beautiful face smiling big. "Good."

# Chapter Twenty-one

Two days after discovering my mother, who left me to move to France with my teenage crush, and his underage uncle is a vampire, I am back to sitting in the parlor drinking wine with everyone. Everyone consisting of one person and four dark demons. Nine days ago, I left Florida. Nine days ago, I thought my mother was dying. She never will. I have a hard time wrapping my head around this one. So, I am drunk. Well, almost.

My stomach twists every time I take a drink of the blush wine Claudette keeps handing me. I think I'm on my third glass, but my head is fuzzy, and I can't remember. My brain and coping mechanisms are shutting down, and it's obvious.

"Claudette, I think you like to live vicariously through me," I say, "You keep trying to get me drunk."

She grins and rubs her cold hand down my leg. How had I never noticed how cold her hands are? My eyes drift over to Ashur. He is sitting on the sofa across from me with Abigail wrapped around him. His hand grazes over the arm she has draped over his chest. The sight is...unnerving. My stomach clenches, revolting, as I down more wine.

Ashur isn't typically good looking. He is sleek and hard, like a shark, the complete black of his eyes stare, almost unseeing, but somehow missing nothing. Still, he doesn't give off any weird vibes. In truth, none of them do. I can't read a single person in the room except Henri and Aydin. It is maddening. What I can see, however, is that Ashur does have a hint of underlying darkness. What kind of man would force a mother away from her family? Then again, he is not exactly a man.

I hope he is kind to Abigail. He doesn't appear cruel, but she isn't radiating happiness either. She seems to be tolerating, rather than enjoying his touch. Her arm over him, more of a show. It is a far cry from the hugs and kisses I had seen my parents exchange. The sight stings. No wonder they had been screaming that night. Poor Daddy. Then again, his other option was to have his barely eighteen-year-old daughter's move to France and live with a bunch of vampires.

Abigail catches my eyes and smiles. It's not that she is my mother that makes the picture in front of me so strange, more so that he looks so much younger than her. I know, in reality that he is in fact way, way older. Just how much, Claudette told me, is still hard to fathom. Well over two-thousand years.

Since the vampire is out of the bag, so to speak, most of the daytime staff has been let go. The thick curtains that hang in every room are kept closed, sealing out the light. They are free to walk around during the day, as long as I promise not to run around tearing the draperies down. Vampires, after all, are not allowed to walk in the sun. They burn I'm told, and burn badly.

I take another sip of wine. Aydin sits by the fireplace, acting like he is reading a book. His leg swung over the arm of the chair. All casual and somehow arrogant. For whatever reason he is ignoring me, which I find maddening. I am still angry that he manipulated my emotions. I can't help but wonder just how far he took it though I'm not sure how to ask. If I do, it will reveal I can read him.

For the first time since my arrival, I actually want Aydin to look at me. It has nothing to do with his beautiful sculpted lips that seem too perfect and feminine. Or his metal eyes. Or his feline movements and raven black hair. Nothing at all with his beautiful smile, restrained laugh, and feigned disinterest. None of these things is why I'm sitting here, willing him to look my way.

Claudette has filled me in on the daily lives of the chateau's inhuman residents. Aydin and Ashur are very old and need little sleep. She tells me that she is a mere five hundred years young and requires a full day to rest. And here I thought Claudette was planning all the different ways she could be wicked when in actuality she was buried underground sleeping in her coffin. Which, she informed me after I rudely asked, they don't actually do. Apparently, vampires sleep in beds. Wikipedia, it turns out, is not a very reliable source.

Claudette also told me, Abigail is "mated" to Ashur, which is like being married. I have been told so many things I don't want to know. Things like my mother exchanging blood with her new husband. Absorbing his strength, creating a strong and unbreakable bond. She is extremely powerful, having been created by an ancient and having mated with one as old as Ashur. I gulp some wine and hope that maybe I'll pass out soon, or at least, the knots in my stomach will fade.

"He is here," Claudette says.

"Who's here?" I slur.

"Lucius," Henri says. He rests his head on the back of the chair, his eyes on the elaborate ceiling.

"Who is Lucius?" I ask, waiting for anyone to answer.

"My brother," Aydin chimes in.

"You have a brother?" What? The last thing we need around here is another Aydin.

"He is your Guardian," Ashur tells me. He is now playing with Abigail's hair. I drink more, emptying my glass.

"Guardian? What is that?" I ask.

"A Guardian is just that--a protector. A bodyguard. Someone who looks after a human and keeps them safe."

"Why do I need a Guardian?" Wait... I know why. Secret underground labs and magic genes are why I need one. I look to Aydin, "If I have a Guardian, why did you show up at the bar?"

"I asked Lucius to stay in Florida to finalize some things," Ashur tells me. "Aydin went to town because you knew him, and Lance could not have handled all three of the vampires."

I nod. Lucius, my vampire Guardian. Lance can't handle too many vampires. Seems like he does just fine every day working for them. In my fuzzy state, this all makes sense. Maybe in a sober one as well. Probably not. I rub my face, trying to clear my brain and look up to see a man, wearing a tight blue t-shirt and slacks, standing in the doorway, filling up the entry.

Oh ... My ... Lord.

I swear on my life, I can't help the expression on my face. I glance to Claudette with large eyes and pursed lips, trying to hide my shocked grin. It is the same expression Janice and I exchange, when we see a man that is so impressive, we have to share the moment of his existence with someone else. This I am guessing is Lucius. For the first time, I truly wish Janice was here.

Henri is beautiful and glowing. Aydin masculine and charismatic. Lucius is stunning. It may be the overly large muscles that ripple as he moves, or his fair, smooth skin. More than likely it has something to do with his soft cheeks and large pouty mouth. It definitely has a lot to do with his midnight blue eyes and the blond curls that frame his face. He is almost as tall as Aydin, but filled out and huge. He looks like a cherub. A large, manly cherub and he stands in front of me with a smile curved over his lips.

"My son." Ashur stands, his arms outstretched, "It is wonderful to have you home."

Lucius, the cherub hugs Ashur, kissing his cheeks. I sit opened mouth at the exchange. Lucius looks somewhere around my age if not older. I wonder when I am going to get used to seeing the various ages that make up this family.

Lucius turns to me and forces me to my feet. His smile is sly like we share some secret. I do my best not to swoon. My entire face heats and I grin back, utterly ridiculous.

"Finally, I get to see you up close instead of from the back of bars." Lucius smiles again, showing large teeth. "It sounds a little strange when I say it like that. I wasn't stalking you, really. Just doing my job."

I laugh as he winks. He holds my shoulders and kisses the sides of my cheeks, his lips hard and rough, his smile devious.

"I asked Lucius to make sure you were safe while in Florida," Ashur says. "He has been your Guardian the last five years."

His words float in the room, even in my stupor it echoes. Five years. Since Emily's death.

"There is no way you followed me around and I didn't see you," I slur and swoon a bit more. The wine is making me giddy, or maybe it is him.

"It wasn't a hard task." Lucius winks again. "You and your lovely friend Janice were usually thrown out on your asses before you could get into any real trouble."

A strangled, uncomfortable sound comes from my throat, and my stomach drops. He talks of Janice like he knows her. I don't want any of them looking at my Jan. It doesn't matter that he looks literally, like a Guardian Angel and is more than likely the best-looking man the planet has ever seen.

Lucius continues around the room hugging everyone, his voice loud until he comes to Aydin. Lucius kisses both of Aydin's cheeks, and they pound each other on the back, laughing at some private joke. They sit and start to talk quietly, grins on their mouths like they are conspiring. Their shoulders shake as they laugh. Each one glances my way before saying something I can't hear.

Ashur stands and pours himself a drink. Each movement is deliberate. Do they all do this out of habit? To appear normal? If it hadn't been for Aydin's display of power or the strange hours, or that I had seen my mother, or well that they told me, I never would have known.

So much for seeing things as they are.

"So you are all family," I say. "Ashur, you...turned them?"

"Yes, Aydin, Lucius, and Claudette are my offspring." Ashur sips his drink. I wonder if it tastes different to him.

"So then who made you? Who made my mother?"

"Ludari," Ashur says his name quietly. As if it were a sacred word or worse, that it shouldn't be spoken. "He is both my and Abigail's creator."

My face must show my thoughts, more than likely exaggerated by the amount of wine I have drunk.

"The relationship is not the same as with humans," Ashur continues. "We call each other by the human name sometimes, simply to voice the bond that is made. It is common for us to ask our creators to turn a human, so we share a stronger bond with our mate."

"A vampire can't turn a human and then mate with them?" I ask.

"No," Abigail says with a hint of disgust. "The creator becomes like a parent. That never changes."

"When did Lucius join your family?" I turn my attention back to Ashur. He seems to be in charge of the home and everyone in it.

"He was turned shortly after Aydin. Lucius and Aydin were brothers in the ring. I bought Lucius as a boy after Aydin was born."

Bought. Ring. I try to comprehend his words. I can't. I let it go. It must be the wine and the fact I can barely stay in my seat. I turn to Claudette.

"When were you...adopted?"

Claudette smiles tight, her lips forming a thin line. "I was born into the family, just like you. And my mother before, and her mother, and so on." She puts her hand on my knee. "You and I my dear, share the same family bloodline."

"What?" Claudette catches me before I fall from my seat.

"Ludari and Ashur have watched over our family for thousands of years," she explains. "Our family is very important, Charlotte."

"We are actually related?" I ask.

"Yes, distant cousins, many generations removed." Claudette taps my leg and pours me more wine. I accept, grateful.

"That is amazing," I say. "You would have given me an 'A' on my history final."

My mother chuckles. She stands, brushing off Ashur. A shadow crosses his face as she does. Seems he doesn't like rejection.

"Abigail and I will retire for the evening," Ashur says. He takes my mother's hand. She doesn't brush him off this time. I see he holds power over her. He has done as she had requested and left Emily and me alone. Yet, she still seems to be paying the price. I watch as he leads my mother from the room. His young face is a deception. I feel a twinge of sadness for her. Only a twinge.

"Charlotte is drunk," Claudette announces as if it weren't obvious. "Henri, why don't you take her to her room?"

This makes me laugh. Henri stands and moves to bring me to my feet, but I slap his hands away.

"I will send myself to my room," I slur and stand, the room tilts. Shit. I try to remain upright, and Henri reaches out to steady me.

"Come, Char," Henri orders.

"I don't want anyone to touch me!" I scream and shove Henri away. Damn him. I don't want his touch. His help. His affection or his love. He has been a part of all the lies and has known all along. Claudette makes a sound and leaves the room. I really don't like her.

"I can't deal with you right now," Henri says, annoyed. "I have work to do, and I'm not in the mood."

"Oh, so sorry I'm making your life difficult, Henri," I say, nastily.

Henri shoots me a look of disgust. "You need to lower your voice and calm down. You're being overly dramatic."

I make a sound, deep in my throat. If there is one thing a man should learn early on in life, it's to never tell a woman she is overreacting. Especially, a southern woman. It doesn't matter if she is indeed being, overly dramatic. I slap him, hard, stunning even myself. Bright red lines form where my fingers have struck. His eyes flash dark and mean. His beautiful features twist, and he reaches out, grabbing my face, his fingers digging into my cheeks. Tears sting my eyes. His mouth opens to speak but his head jerks back, and I am released.

Lucius has his hand on the back of Henri's head, holding him by the hair. Henri's eyes shine, outraged, before Lucius releases him, sending Henri faltering back.

"I don't believe Abigail would like hearing that you have been impatient with Charlotte," Lucius says, his voice velvet. He even smiles. His pupils have dilated, and I can only see a thin ring of blue around them.

Henri storms from the room without another word. His anger clings to me. I had known Henri as a boy, seen his anger and felt his love, his good. I have never seen the crazed look or the possessive force that came off him. I am too intoxicated to care, and I sink back into my seat.

"He can be a little prick sometimes." I hear Lucius' smooth honey voice and look to see him standing above me. Good lord. The man looks like a Viking God with his pale yellow curls.

"So you're my bodyguard?" I ask.

"Guardian, yes." He smiles, coyly. I have no idea what this means, but who cares. He can follow me anywhere.

"Are all Guardians as beautiful as you?" I stand and grab his shirt to steady myself. I can feel his thick muscles underneath, and I slide my hands over his chest.

Holy cow. He's perfection personified.

"Yes, pretty Little Bird, we are," Lucius says, and glances at Aydin.

Aydin's brows knit together and his eyes darken like he may murder the next person that speaks. I keep forgetting they know what I'm feeling. I groan inwardly.

"I'll deal with her," Aydin says.

Lucius lowers himself to look me in the eye, "Aydin here will see after you. I am giving him permission."

Lucius leans in to say something to Aydin and walks from the room.

"Come, let's get you to bed," Aydin offers his hand.

"Are you trying to get in my pants, Mr. Thanos?"

"You are too young for me, Miss Charlotte," Aydin says and puts his hand on my elbow, sending shudders of electricity down my spine.

"Don't touch me." Aydin, out of everyone, is the last person that needs to touch me. "I don't need anyone to deal with me. I've made it this far in life."

"Barely," Aydin says, but releases my arm.

"I don't need anyone to watch over me, Aydin," I say, walking toward the door. "I don't need anyone to calm me down or tell me when it's time for bed. I'm a big girl."

***

Darkness blankets the walled garden. The bright moon touches the tops of the archways, casting pale blue shadows over the pool. Black ridged mountains provide an eerie backdrop. Water ripples, moved by a gentle breeze. The soft light from the moon cascades over the water, reflecting the stark white sphere.

The sweet smell of night blooming jasmine and lavender fill the air. I breathe it in deeply. It reminds me of home. My real home. Where beasts stalk the night and laughter rings out from the shadows of the oaks. Sometimes I miss it, the memories, not what it really was.

The water is cool, caressing soft hands over my skin. I float in the shallow water, watching the stars, bright faces of ghosts gleaming back at me. I can't help but wonder what all they have seen. How many gods and monsters did these stars lend light to as they in walked this garden of shadow? A rush of cool air brushes over me. I know he is here. I stand upright, looking under the arches, but I don't see him.

"I hope you brought a towel." I stand, water dripping around my feet at the pool's edge.

Aydin steps forward out of the shadow, the moon bringing out the blue in his hair. The mercury color of his eyes gleam toxic. His thin frame is graceful and he moves forward with such ease, there is no sound under his feet. In his hand is a towel and he holds it out for me.

"Making sure I don't drown?" I ask and wrap the towel around me, covering the thin material of my bra and panties.

"I knew you would be cold," Aydin says. He watches my every move as I sit by the pool's edge. He joins me, his long legs stretching out, leaning back on his arms. I try to make out his features in the soft light. He looks like some mythological creature, and well ... he is.

"When were you born?" I ask.

"Which time?"

"The first time."

"The calendars were different then, and it wasn't documented. But it was in the fall of 183," he says.

Holy crap, what? "You mean, like, 183 A.D.?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

"Almost nineteen-hundred years old."

What?

I turn to stare at him in the darkness. The moon glints in his light eyes, giving him a predatory look. I don't know what to say, so I ask the next logical question if logic can even be applied to this conversation. This is all so out of my element. "How old were you when you were turned?"

"I was twenty-seven," he says. "Ashur was never one to keep up with birthdays, but the woman who cared for me kept track."

"So, you really were with Ashur as a child."

"Yes." Aydin sits up, his arms rest on his knees protruding through the thin material.

"Did he know your mother?" A million questions race through my mind. "Where did you live? Did he know your father?"

"Slow down. I will tell you." He laughs quietly. "I was born in a small village outside of Ephesus, in Ashur's ludus."

I take a deep breath and focus on what he said. My brows turn down. I know what that is. I know all sorts of things, but none of it is making its way through my fog.

"It is where gladiators were trained," he clarifies for me.

"No way." I laugh. "What did you do?"

"I was a gladiator," he states like it should have been obvious.

"You were really a gladiator? Like Spartacus?" I ask because I haven't insulted him enough.

"Yes."

"Wow." I am actually speechless. It is no wonder he is the Head of Security. He looks like a character from a book. Disproportionate. Too-tall, too-thin, yet underneath, it is visible. It is in his features, written on his gaunt face. He is handsome, in an intense, almost devastating way. As if he carries too much, even his features seem too strong. I want to ask him what had happened that made him look sickly, but I have offended him enough.

"I've changed," he says. In the stark light, his face looks thinner under his beard, his eyes paler, almost white.

"You are incredible--your face. You should let me take pictures of you," I say.

"No."

"What? Oh, my god! Do you not show up in pictures?"

Aydin releases a rush of air, laughing. "Of course I show up in pictures."

My laugh is quiet, more of a giggle. Good lord, I'm drunk. It feels wonderful. My head is dizzy, my entire body warm, tingling from wine. I try to prop myself up next to him but fail. Instead, I lay out, too close. "What is it like?"

"Dark."

I make a face, showing this isn't the answer I was looking for. My head swims and I have to close my eyes to focus. When I open them, he is still watching me. I hear a sigh escape.

"It's like living with ghosts," he says, finally.

Ghosts. I know them as well. Aydin knows about ghosts more than I. They dance behind his eyes, the faces and faint whispers of past lives in the gray.

"What does it feel like, inside?" I ask. I sit back up, waiting for his response. Heat radiates off him, it reaches out and caresses me. I touch the skin on his hand. It is cool and soft. He looks down at my fingers, and I pull my hand away, biting my lip.

"A being, something connected to a power we can't see, flows through you. Everything around you is alive, and it reaches out to touch you. I can see the light in the dark. Feel the passion of the humans around me, the small short bursts of energy their lives give out. The complexity of their emotions. Their mortality. How frail you are. How scared. It is beautiful, so much so, that it hurts."

"And you called me a romantic?" I ask, laughing. Aydin smiles and glances towards the water. I like his smile. It lights up his face and removes the sadness from his eyes. "Everything you described makes you sound human, Aydin, but you refer to yourself as otherwise."

"I am not human, Charlotte." He stands and forces me to my feet. He hands me my rumpled dress, and I slip it over my head.

"Make sure you change into dry clothes before you go to bed," Aydin scolds. "Come. You should get inside before you pass out. I'd rather not have to carry you."

I laugh at that. "You are the first man I have met that doesn't want to take me to bed."

"I don't find little girls tempting."

I look up and give him my best seductive smile. I grab the lapels of his jacket, and press in close, too close, the damp material of my dress seeping through into his suit.

I can feel his attraction. He pretends it doesn't exist, but he has no idea that I can read him. Aydin's desire is different, softer, and it reaches out with longing, sitting just under his skin, threatening to break free and consume.

My head spins and I grip tighter. A flash of light, metal links at his neck. The corner of his mouth turns down slightly like it does when he is hiding a smile. Such a beautiful mouth. I reach up and trace his bottom lip. They are soft and cool under my fingers. I wonder if his lips would burn as harsh as his hands. His smile grows wider like he knows what I am thinking.

"Do I look like a little girl, Aydin?"

"You look drunk."

"Then get me in bed!" I put a finger to my lips to hush myself and giggle.

"Is this supposed to be your way of invitation, Miss Charlotte?"

"Maybe," I say to myself.

"At the rate you are going, we are never going to get you to bed before sunrise," he says. "I'll be forced to leave you passed out on the ground."

"I'm tired." I sag against him, still holding his jacket.

"Come, Charlotte." He runs his hand through my hair, smoothing the strands down. He's oddly comforting, so different from what he has shown me the last week. He's gentle, like in the bar, before he broke the man's ... no ...vampire's knees. Claudette is right, he is like a bear. I close my eyes and lay my head on his chest.

"You don't feel so intense when no one else is around," I say.

"Am I too intense?"

"You're overwhelming," I say, my vision starting to blur.

"I'm not sure if that is supposed to be a compliment."

"It's a good overwhelming." Darkness grabs at me. "I like it."

# Chapter Twenty-two

Pain stabs the back of my eyes and sears through my skull. My stomach protests as I shoot up. I am in my bed, tucked safely under the blankets, still dressed in the same clothes as the night before. The stiletto heels have been placed neatly by the armoire. A tall glass of water and a bottle of pain medicine sit on the side table. Early morning light shines through the open terrace doors, and a soft breeze tickles over my skin. The light scent of sandalwood fills my nose. Aydin, I know, had carried me to bed. His smell is in my hair and on my skin. I bring the strands to my nose, creepy stalker style and drink in his scent. At this moment, I know I'm in trouble.

I cradle my groggy head. How embarrassing and almost comical. It is hard to imagine him walking around, gathering the glass of water and pain medicine, leaving the terrace doors open for me. He doesn't exactly look like the type that would leave a woman snuggled nicely in bed. He doesn't look like he would leave a woman alone in bed at all, much less with her clothes on. I brush the thoughts away.

I stand, and bile rises in my throat. The room tilts, and I grab the table to steady myself. My head roars, and I gulp the water and take the medicine, grateful. I am going to have to thank him later. And then I remember.

I sit back down.

Aydin's stern face flashes in my mind, and I groan. It seems as if it was a dream, like I had made it up in my drunken stupor. Maybe, and I really want to believe it, I had not made advances toward him. I know, though, I had. Rubbing a man's lip and then passing out in his arms more than constitutes as making a pass. To make matters worse, I had practically invited him to my bed. Oh no, had I? I pray to whatever gods that will take their time with me that I really had used my inner voice.

For whatever reason, I am attracted to Aydin. He isn't even my type. My type is Henri. Silky smooth, beautiful, exotic, and very human, Henri. Yet my body keeps telling my brain that I like Aydin. A lot. We had, after all, shared a moment. Granted it had been a super power induced moment that ended with his breaking legs, but it was a moment none the less. I know I am just enamored because of what he is. I'm a mere mortal woman all giddy because he is a supernatural creature. A breathtaking one.

A shower helps, and I feel almost normal again, dressed in shorts and a loose halter-top. I let my hair fall around my shoulders, still wet, and walk barefoot down the red corridor towards the servant stairwell. Lance stands, my loyal guard dog at the end of the hall. I wave, before stepping into the narrow passage.

When I open the stairwell door, I hear Henri's voice carry down the long hallway. It comes from behind the closed doors of one of the rooms Claudette had shown me.

"Not you, Aydin! Lucius! Lucius is her Guardian!" Henri screams.

"He just put her to bed. I was...busy."

There is a muffled sound and the door opens. Lucius stands, a huge, toothy smile on his face, and steps back for me to enter. "Sleeping Beauty is awake, and I hadn't even come to steal a kiss."

If I hadn't already been swooning from my hangover, I would have. Oh no. I forgot I got all handsy with him too. This is horrible.

I give Lucius a weak smile and walk in. It is a drawing room, or whatever they call it in France. Another room with seats and a small writing desk sits in front of the windows. Heavy curtains cover them, and the room is dimly lit with a few well-placed lamps and wall sconces.

Lucius leads me to a small chair and I sit down, blushing at his attention and mischievous smile. He doesn't carry the energy like every human, nor the power of Aydin that leaves me desperate for air, but he is certainly just as overwhelming.

I freeze as I remember what I had said to Aydin before passing out. Bits and pieces of the night come back slowly. Good, grief. Seems like I got real friendly with everyone I wasn't supposed to.

My head shoots over to where Aydin sits, aloof in a chair. Henri, red-faced stands in front of him. Aydin's eyes catch mine, but I can't read his face. I look away, wishing I could disappear.

"You look... pale." Henri settles on the least offensive word as he moves toward me.

"You look like you need food," Aydin says from his seat.

My stomach revolts at his words and I swallow painfully. "I don't know what you put in the wine here, but it doesn't sit well with me."

"Five glasses of any wine wouldn't sit well," Henri points out. "Let's get you some food. We need you feeling better, we have plans today."

"Plans?" My only plan is to get back in bed after I calm the growing storm in my stomach. In the safety of my room, I can hide from Aydin.

"Yes. I'm still courting you, remember?" Henri gives me his thousand-watt smile. He has apparently forgotten about his sudden outburst the night before.

I reluctantly smile back and rub my face with both hands. The room sways like I'm on a boat, and my stomach roils every time I move my head. The last thing I want to deal with is Henri trying to rekindle our twelve-year-old romance. It dried up and withered away when I learned he had been living with my vampire mother. My stomach knots and I try to push it all away.

"The Celebration Feast is tomorrow," Aydin reminds me. "There are going to be several Organization members there. Ashur wants to introduce you to them."

I sink in my chair. I forgot about the damn party. I clasp my hands together, avoiding his eyes.

"Make sure you eat," Aydin says. I slump down, further. It is amazing how small he can make me feel. Like I don't feel stupid enough.

"I'll take care of her, Aydin," Henri snaps. He pulls me from my seat too quickly, and my brain sloshes around before settling, again pounding. "She will be fine."

"I know she will because you will make sure of it," Aydin says, a nasty edge to his voice.

"She can rest on the drive," Lucius offers.

"She will be fine by this afternoon," Henri says.

"Oh, take her camera, I want to see pictures." Lucius winks at me.

"Her camera is already packed."

"Did you get her an extra memory card?" Lucius asks.

"She unloads the one she has every night on her laptop," Aydin lets everyone know.

How does he even know that?

"She already has an extra memory card," Henri announces.

No one bothers to look at me.

"She is standing right here," I say, to no one in particular, and point at myself.

Henri finally turns to me. "We are going to do some sightseeing."

"Don't keep her too long," Lucius says. "Charlotte and I have some catching up to do." His smile is secretive, making me flush as I'm led from the room.

***

"You are beautiful when you sleep."

My eyes flutter open to see Henri laid out on his side next to me. His body pressed against mine, his arm bent, propping up his head. My skin tickles where his fingers lightly graze my abdomen. His eyes move over my face, and he brushes the hair from my eyes.

"I didn't realize I had fallen asleep," I say.

The drive hadn't been too long. I managed to take a catnap on the way. Henri had ordered, rather than asked me to eat the light picnic lunch he had brought. The soft fleece blanket under my skin and the warm air had lulled me into a peaceful slumber.

We are laying at the base of a large skinny tree in the middle of a field. Bright orange wild poppies fall away to rows and rows of lavender. In the distance, is what looks like the top of a small cathedral sitting on a steep conical hill. Buildings, obscured by tall trees, dot the slope surrounding it, the pale roofs bright in the midday sun. We are just outside a small village that had once inhabited Romans.

"I used to watch you and Emily sleep. You both were so different." His hands move back to my abdomen and lightly pulls me closer. "Emily talked up a storm, and you snored."

"That's a little creepy, Henri," I say, "And, I don't snore."

"Oh, you do and talk in your sleep sometimes." Henri brushes his fingers over my side, raising goose bumps all over. "It sounded like the two of you were in conversation."

I press my eyes closed, "I still can't talk about her."

"You rarely say her name."

It is simply too hard to say it. He doesn't know of her deception, her hatred, and her lies. Henri has the freedom to remember her as she presented herself to the world. I don't have that luxury.

"There are many cultures that don't speak the names of the dead. Some believe it's a sign of respect, others that it would cast a dark shadow on their souls. Others, simply because it's too painful," he says softly and lays his head next to mine.

I remain still and let his fingers soothe me. I know I still care for him, maybe even love him. Really love him. Maybe it will be easy to forget that he has lied to me for so long. I am good at pushing out the bad. Eventually, the hurt will lessen, and I can move on. But, I know too much and have seen too much darkness.

"I think, if we go too long without speaking of them, we lose sight of what they were," he says.

"You have no idea what she was, Henri. She was nothing she seemed to be."

"You still don't remember that night do you?"

I shake my head and look away. I can't talk about her, or that night. I swallow around the lump in my throat.

"It is good you don't," he says. "I couldn't stand the thought that you would have to live with remembering."

My heart almost tears in my chest. Please don't say these things.

He shifts his weight and pulls himself on top of me. His arms rest on either side of my head, his face close. I can feel his warm breath and smell his earthy scent. His thigh pushes between my legs forcing them apart, pressing himself to me.

"Let's not talk about her." His mouth presses against mine, hard and surprising me. His tongue flickers out over my lips.

I shove him back, and he breaks the kiss. "I can't do this, Henri."

He rolls over and sits up, running his fingers through his hair. I have hurt him, not that I wanted to. "I'm sorry."

"All of this is too much." I stand. "We aren't eighteen anymore. The Henri I thought I knew would never have brought me here or lied to me our entire lives."

"Do you really think I wanted this?" he asks, angrily. "Do you really think I wanted to lie to you? I had no choice. This is my life, Charlotte. This is your life."

"I don't want this life!" I yell. "Did you really think you could bring me here, show me my mother and I would just forget all the years you both were gone?"

"We are your family, this is your life. There is no other choice."

"Yes, there is! My life is back in Florida." How can he not see this? How can he really think I'd be so accepting? Did he think I would fall into his arms?

"Your life there was over the moment you found out about Abigail." Henri presses his fingers to his eyes, irritation rolls off him into the air around us. "You think you can just go back to ignoring life around you? Pretend none of us exists? Go back to having Lucius follow you quietly?"

"No."

"Then what? What do you want?"

Something normal. Something real. Something that isn't shrouded in darkness and deception. "I don't know."

Henri's eyes darken, "Here. France. Me. This is your life."

We stand in silence. "I have a say in this, Henri."

"No, Charlotte, you don't."

***

The ride back to the chateau is tense, to say the least. Lance feels it, and he seems on edge at the wheel. Then again, I'd be pretty pissed if some jerk made me drive him on a picnic and I had to wait by the car. I hope he had his book.

Once we arrive, I leave Henri in the foyer and hide in my room. I don't want to see anyone, but force myself down to the dining room for dinner. I sit at my usual spot next to Henri, but refuse to look at him, and pick at the food on my plate. I don't know why they insist on this nightly ritual. They don't even eat.

My stomach knots, nausea gripping it, making my head pulse with the worst case of nerves and regret. I try to focus on my plate. I know I need more food, but it is useless, I crave the safety of my bed.

Aydin appears, dapper as ever, and sits directly across from me. He looks different, colder, and more controlled. Even the air around him flows differently, charged and challenging. I can feel his eyes on me, but I can't look up, keeping my own down to the table. Images of him play in my thoughts. His lips, his smile. If I look at him, he will see everything. My humiliation and my attraction.

I really hope no one knows what I am thinking.

"It seems as if our, little Charlotte has a thing for Aydin." Claudette laughs.

My head shoots up to look at her. She has to know my thoughts. I want to slither under the table and disappear into the carpeting. It is made worse that they can feel my embarrassment. I hope she can feel how much I hate her. Her silky, bitch smile tells me she does. So much for our friendship.

"Why would you say such things?" Henri looks disgusted, his eyes moving from Claudette's, trying to find mine. I stare at Claudette, avoiding him.

"Charlotte was taking a swim last night, and Aydin was keeping her company. Seems she's taken a liking to you, Aydin." She almost bats her eyelashes. I'd like to slap her senseless.

Eyes look at me. Some shocked, others grinning, like Lucius. Henri's angry. No. Infuriated.

If the world ends, and the Earth opens up, swallowing me whole, I'll be okay with this. Really.

"Can you blame her? What mere mortal could resist his charms?" Lucius asks. The silence breaks, but the elephant still lingers, large and obvious.

"You made a pass at, Aydin?" Henri's asks, he isn't letting this go.

Someone, please kill me.

"She had too much to drink." Aydin waves his hand, brushing away Claudette's words as if my intoxicated state were the explanation. The only explanation. Not exactly disproving that I made a pass at him. "You shouldn't make assumptions, Claudette."

"So, you made a pass at her." Henri's face contorts with rage, and he looks almost as scary as Aydin. Almost, but not quite.

"Calm down, boy," Aydin sneers. "No one it is going to touch your precious, Charlotte. It's your job to remove the stain of countless others."

WHAT?

I glare at Aydin. Countless others? Countless?

"There is nothing to worry about, Henri." I smile nastily at Aydin. "I don't exactly have a 'Nosferatu' fetish."

Aydin's face remains stoic, but I can see the corner of his mouth turn down, hiding his smile. Creep. I want to reach out and remove the smirk from his face.

"Well, doesn't she have a nasty little mouth?" Aydin's eyes gleam dangerously.

"Doesn't seem to keep you from wanting it," I snap.

Ashur slams his hands on the table with such force, glasses fall over and shatter. The elephant disappears, running away in fear.

"This has been very enlightening," Ashur says, his black eyes scanning the room. "If you will excuse us, I have to speak with Aydin and Henri in private."

My mother ushers me from the room, practically carrying me out. Instead of taking me to the parlor, she shoves me down the hallway toward the back of the castle. My arm aches as she pulls me down the red corridor. Once in my room, she slams the door with such force I wonder how it doesn't splinter.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice a low growl.

"Nothing." My hands tremble. Her eyes flash in rage. She is scarier now than she was when I was eight. By a lot. By a thousand degrees.

"You are not to talk to Aydin. You stay away from him!" she yells. "He has been hurt enough!"

What?

My mother isn't angry that I have jeopardized my relationship with Henri. It's obvious everyone wants me to be with him. But, after discovering his lies, I have decided this is not what I want. Not ever. It has only been confirmed after seeing his dark streak. No, my mother isn't upset that I made a pass at Aydin. My mother is upset over Aydin's feelings.

His feelings.

"He's been hurt?" I ask, incredulously. "He just basically called me a whore!"

"Just stay away from him. You could get him hurt, Charlotte. Or worse. You don't understand what is happening."

"Then tell me! I'm so tired of lies!" I scream, loud and desperate in my own ears.

Abigail's hands smooth down her dress. I have no idea what she is thinking. I can no longer feel her. Her sweetness, her kindness. They are lost to me.

"Aydin was your Guardian," she says, finally. "Ashur assigned him to protect you and Emily the day you were born."

I let that sink in. For a long time, I sit mute.

It had been revealed from the moment I saw him, but my mind had tried to keep it from me. He had always been there. I had felt him my entire life. He is charged, and it reverberated throughout my home, throughout my life.

Tears burn. His steel eyes watching, always on me. Studying. I have refused to see it. I know the soft caress of his hands. I remember the way he traced my lip, his gray eyes, rescuing me like they always have from the nightmares. He knows my secrets. He knows Emily's as well.

"You said was." I fight the nausea in my belly and the tears trying to force their way out.

Another piece of my mother breaks and I can almost hear her heart shattering.

"He protected you and Emily, every day. Until one day, he failed."

# Chapter Twenty-three

# Aydin

There are things the mind captures and saves, etching the horror behind the lids, and in the hollows of your ears. If you look just right, you can see the faces. If you sit too quiet, you can hear the screams. They can never be unseen or unheard. You can push them back, refuse to look where the images lay, but they are there. Always. They become a part of you, sinking deeper into the center, to the heart of who you are. No matter how you try to change your past, it lays just behind you, tickling the back of your neck, a constant reminder of what you really are.

My entire existence was dependent upon two little girls. I had been created for the sole purpose of being a Guardian. The stories around my birth were written in blood. In the desperation of my mother's screams as she gave her life to bring me into this world.

I protected my family, my father, my brother. The fragile human lives of small girls and boys that had been cursed and born into this evil life of blood and depravity. Of darkness and demons. I was a brave and unrelenting force that would tear limbs from bodies, and drink the blood of my enemies. My strength and brutality kept them safe, kept them caged. I know cages and I know chains.

I was born into slavery. Emperor Commodus had taken full reign. All of Rome was sickened by his greed, trapped in his dark world. His desire to be grand fed his insanity, as it does every being who walks this Earth.

The story of my birth is buried in myths and legend, but I could see through the layers of deception. My mother was a slave. She was given as a gift to the doctore for his years of loyalty and service to the House of Antonius. The doctore, it was said, had loved her with every part of his soul. He had treated her kindly and never touched her out of greed.

Lydia was my mother's name, she held the rare beauty of the women from her home country. Her hair was black as night, her eyes clear as the day. The tales say that her skin was smooth and warm, light caramel and she smelled of the hot sand that lay along the sea. And, she was fierce. Some say she was stolen from the last of the Amazonian women who lived hidden, in the steppes of her homeland. Her strength alone is what created the legend.

My father was unknown. The old woman who cared for me told me the terrible stories of my conception. An act of rebellion against the doctore. A handful of men, gladiators known for their brutality, forced themselves upon my mother. Each one took their turn, their hate for the ludus, and the life they had been fighting, bled into her. The men, no longer brothers in the ludus, were put to death. They had disgraced the House, their doctore, their lanista and the brotherhood that bound them together.

Lydia had fought each of the men, the other women had hidden in fear, but they told the story of how she had slashed at them, tore the flesh from their bodies with her teeth. Clawed at each men's faces and screamed such ferocious howls, it was said a demon must have entered her soul from the evil they laid upon her. But my mother had refused to be broken.

It was her ferocious manner that gave birth to the stories. The will for revenge had sparked a fire inside her belly. Her rage and taste for blood had fanned the flame of its seed. From her power, it was said, I was created. Not from the depravity and hatred that she had endured, but of her strength alone. Some say the gods had placed the child in her womb, but the old woman told me the truth. My mother's will had placed me there. Her desire to keep other girls safe from the evil that lay in the hearts of men.

She gave her life to give me breath. My mother had kissed my mouth, releasing her last breath into the child that would grow into a fierce fighter. A man cast from savagery. A man created to protect the innocent and strike down the wicked.

Augustus Antonius, my creator, was called then, had been known for his cruelty. He kept me at the ludus as a young boy, to feed and clean up after the gladiators and later to tend to the weapons. My human life had been brutal and only spared because the doctore had loved my mother, which the lanista respected and treated well for his years of loyal service.

I grew into a formidable presence, my body large, my legs long and agile. My mother's features showed in my face. Her soft, warm skin was my own, her onyx black hair, and bright gray eyes. I was created by her, held her soul in mine. She walked along side me, giving me strength, and the will to survive.

Lucius and I became close as boys. We grew together, worked together. Even endured the vicious lashes of punishment, holding each other's eyes, the sting of the whip making us strong. He was only a few years older than I, almost as big, and just as loyal.

Others thought me fierce, and I was often found bloodied and bruised after sparring with my fellow slaves. Augustus saw in me a fighter, so brutal and seemingly unconcerned with my own life, he began to train me, seeing what he hoped would one day be a great gladiator. What he didn't know was it was my drive to protect that kept me alive. Lucius' angelic face often brought unwanted attention, revealing our brother slaves true nature. He, along with the young girls that worked the kitchens, was always on the twisted minds of the men of the ludus, who touched them in ways that brought out my inner beast and need to protect.

It was customary for the House of Antonius to hold fights on dark nights, at a high fee. These were grand spectacles of brutality. The tall flickers of the flames licked at the stone walls. The many faces of the audience, shone with lust, revealing their depravity. Blood flowed, spilling into the small ring of the ludus, forever staining the sands a dark red.

Lucius and I were the stars. We fought with such savagery, Ashur's spectators would ask for us to fight together, slaying men, our swords forced by their coin. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. Fiercely. Even if it meant through violence and blood.

In the ring, I held power. I was honored, no longer looked upon as lowly. Spectators enjoyed the monstrous rage that spilled out. They cheered as I slashed my opponent's bodies. Their eyes shone evil, their desire for blood forcing me to take a life. I never enjoyed the kill, it was the fight that drove me. I looked into my fellow slave's eyes and forced myself to remember their faces. Their lives held meaning. There were men and woman they had loved, children they had given seed to. I dreamed at night that they saw in me, not the face of death, but an angel of mercy, relinquishing their soul, taking their fear and life and casting it in the steel behind my eyes. They would never be forgotten. Their sacrifice gave me the strength to move forward, in what I knew one day would be my mother's fight. A story, written in the last breaths of her life. A fight for the innocent.

At a young age, I recognized Ashur was unlike the other Romans who visited his house. He was dark, his ancestry visible in his distinct features and long black hair. He was often challenged, but having many friends who held high seats in the Senate, their coin lining his pockets, the threats were quickly dispensed of. Soon, no one questioned his ludus. Or his honor.

I quickly rose to fame in the small circle who visited the private fights. Ashur would often force me to fight several men or beasts to prove my strength and valor. More times than not, Lucius would be at my side. My body would be battered, sharp swords tearing at the flesh, but I would always stand victorious, and would later be tended to by Ashur himself, healing me with ancient potions that mended the skin quickly, preparing me for yet another battle.

For years, I existed in the brutal life of a gladiator. Many times fighting in the stadium, proving my worth and heightening the name of the House of Antonius. I was the pride of the ludus and sought after by the women of high ranking homes.

At the height of the house, Ashur came to me and instructed I lose the battle in the next night's fight. By then, I knew my master lived in the night, his blood holding the power of the gods to heal me. I had grown to care for Ashur, wanting to bring honor to the Famila Antonius. Ashur promised freedom from slavery, to continue on as his son, walking alongside him as an equal. His blood of the gods would heal me and my life as a gladiator would be over. I would carry his family name, and he would reveal his true life.

During the fight the following night, I followed my master's instructions and left myself open to my opponent, pretending to be filled with arrogance and pride. It was a grand show though I knew, my heart had become blackened by it. As the blade cut through my skin, I fell, knowing it would be my last in the small, cruel ring. It felt glorious. I was leaving behind the brutal life I lived in, for far too long. My hands would no longer be forced, and my body would be mine alone.

The cut was deep, my life spilled out, a thick dark red, running down my thighs, pooling at my knees. I remember looking up to see Lucius. His eyes held such pain, I thought my heart would be cleaved in two. My last memory was of hands dragging me into darkness, my brother's face behind my eyes.

I woke a night later with agonizing screams filling the dark dungeon where I was held. They echoed in the hallowed chamber, off the stained stone walls and crashed into my ears. In the ring, the wounds had been a source of pride, showing the spectators my strength and endurance. But this, this was a power I had never encountered. My body rocked as a great force overcame me. It coursed through my veins, my body changed, my senses opened. I screamed for the gods to have mercy, never had I experienced such suffering. I was paying for my sins. For the many lives I had taken. I prayed the gods would release me, forgive me, for I still had a battle to fight. The one that was written in my mother's blood.

My mind was cleared, eyes opened. Light danced in the shadows, revealing the world in ways humans had not ever seen. I had memories of my birth, of seeing my mother as she lay dying. I felt her mouth kiss mine, her sad breath as she let go of her mortal life and gave it to me. Visions of my childhood: Lucius and I playing, small round boys, of the doctore holding and kissing my head, the tears for the woman he had loved washing me. Of sin and lust, the men I had killed, of the hands that had battered me or lay upon me in greed. Memories that lay buried deep, never meant to be seen.

I could hear people talking, clear, as if in the room with me, but knew instinctively they were very far away. Their voices carried to where I lay; I could hear their whispers, so far away, yet it was as if their mouths were pressed to my ears. Bodies moved through the house above, the smell of torches, of earth and sweat. The sweet sticky blood that ran through them. My teeth grew long at the scent, my throat burned with a desire deep in the very pit of my being. It tore at my center, the thick metallic scent calling to my soul. I was wicked. Unnatural. I wanted to taste the essence. To drink the life that coursed through them and I knew then, I was no longer human.

# Chapter Twenty-four

When Charlotte arrived at the chateau, it had been five years since I had seen her. Lucius, my brother, has become her sole Guardian. In my world, five years is the blink of an eye. Not seeing Charlotte, five years felt like a thousand lifetimes. I had not seen the light of the sun for too long. Forgotten its warmth encased only in the cold darkness. Charlotte brings me the sun. She smells of it. Radiates its heat.

The night of the accident sits in my mind perfectly. A grotesque painting of bold red blood and black velvety death. It will never leave me. I can still hear the metal tearing, bending and breaking their bones. The toxic smell of loss and betrayal still fills my nose, the hideous stench of death. Charlotte's screams still echo in my ears. The visions of the car crashing, then resting in ruins, stain my soul.

For the first time in my too long life, I knew what real failure was. I had failed my father. My family. Abigail. I had been her protector, too. She was a beautiful, small girl that I had cared for. When the time came, I was given the job to keep her daughters safe. She had trusted me.

From the moment they drew their first breath, it could be felt. Ashur would not tolerate one of his Golden Twins held darkness. He turned his back to it, hiding what we all knew. Emily smelled of dankness and metal. Something cruel and ancient had twisted itself to her, binding her up in its evil.

Charlotte was pure light. I could feel her in every cell of my being. She was sunshine and fragrant air. Fresh grasses and salty water. It flowed from her, soft and subtle, reaching out to me. I could feel her life and the substance that created her. They were as different as night and day. Just as beautiful as darkness and light.

It is a terrifying feeling, to care for such fragile beings. Their life lay balanced in my hands. Ashur had placed it there, instructing I Guard them against the evils that wanted to destroy them. From the Organization that would use them for greed, just as he planned to. There had been many children before them. I had been Guardian to hundreds of small girls that grew into beautiful women. Yet, there was something in these two girls that I had not ever witnessed. They both held such power, of the gods themselves. They drew me to them, magnetic forces, with beauty and innocence.

Abigail had insisted her daughters would not know of the darkness they had been born into. She held such little power over their future, but I assured my father there would be no harm in granting Abigail her wish. It was the one gift I could give her. Her awful life had been my fault. I had been unable to protect her from the fate bestowed upon her. Abigail's daughters would not know the hard world she had been forced to live. Innocence lost too early, too much knowledge of evil. Emily and Charlotte would not grow up in darkness, I promised her, only in the shining light of day.

I watched the subtle beauty bloom, as they grew older. In the shadows, at arm's length. Never touching their faces, or speaking to them, as I had with others. I even watched over Henri. He is just as important. I think I may have felt love for him then as well.

When Henri had been sent to live with the girls, Ashur instructed him to never tell Emily and Charlotte of our existence, and never utter my name. He was a good, sweet boy. I would hear the three of them at night whisper and tell stories as I watched from the woods. Their smiling faces and little bodies comforting each other in the darkness.

Henri did as he was told. He grew with them, never telling Emily or Charlotte of the dark life that awaited. I watched as he changed. He had started out innocent, but it is true, with knowledge comes great power, and he held too much. When Charlotte confessed of her abilities, he knew the importance. Something in him began to change, yet even I refused to acknowledge it.

As they grew, Emily deceived everyone. She stole the light from Charlotte, mimicked it and used it as her own. No one could see past her for the longest time. Emily demanded center stage. She forced Charlotte in the shadows. But no one could hide Charlotte's beauty, her pure heart. Charlotte stood out even when she tried to hide.

Emily discovered what was in store. The darkness their futures held. Her hatred for Charlotte grew, it blackened her and stained her red. I wanted to change her heart. Tell her to love her sister and let Charlotte fill her with light as she did me. But I couldn't. I was merely a shadow in the corners of their lives.

On that night, I had been there watching over them. I hadn't seen them for too many years. My duties to my father in France had kept me away. The lovely little girls had become enchanting women. Emily was bewitching, her short dress showed off her curves. Her hair caught fire in the artificial light, flares of dangerous embers. I loved she held such power. She embraced it, controlling the very air she breathed.

Charlotte was mesmerizing. She had grown in the shadow of Emily, but that night she outshone her twin. I had to keep men from touching her. She was alive and bright, like soft mornings and lustful promises. Her body, like Emily's, but her skin more delicate. A sprinkle of freckles over her shoulders, her cheeks, and the tops of her thighs, light kisses of sunshine. I could see in her eyes, the glint of truth, she knew she was beautiful, yet she had no idea the power she held.

When they left, I was forced to stay behind. The girls had been spotted. A vicious pack of hungry wolves, their fangs elongated, excited after watching the girls move. I killed them. Everyone. I tore at their flesh removing their lustful eyes. The terrible sound of their screams filled me, fueled me. I was savage and out of control. No one would touch Emily. No horrible evil would ever touch Charlotte's beautiful light.

The disgusting lust for blood clouded my mind, I was far behind. Too far. Emily's death bloodied my hands, it seeped into my skin and remains there to this day. Charlotte's pleads tore at my ears until I thought they would bleed. I deserved the torture. I deserve far worse.

What does a man do when he loves two women? When he's loved too many lives and seen too much sorrow? When faced with a decision that would tear the women he loved apart? If I were a man, maybe I would have known the answer. But I haven't been, not for far too long.

Almost two thousand years had brought me to them. Emily and Charlotte's faces lay behind my eyes in the darkness. They had brought me to the point of ruin. I was faced with a choice. I had to trade one for the other. Emily's life lay in my hands, I had only seconds to decide. I am not proud of my decision that night. Emily was fading, her dark shadow passing. My blood may have saved her. There may have been time. But I didn't try, I will never know. The truth of those words tears at my soul, at the life my mother had given for me.

Charlotte's life was fragile, her light dimming, death strangling her. One cruel hand clasped over Emily's mouth, too late, the other at Charlotte's throat, her breaths ragged and painful. Her sorrow filled the night. It spilled out and dimmed the stars, the moon faded, hiding its face to her pain.

For years, I was their shadow, their unknown protector. I had longed to kiss their cheeks, to run my fingers through their golden hair. Nothing more than to wrap my arms around their warm bodies and protect them from evil. From the monster that lies hidden.

For the first time, I touched her. Charlotte's skin was just as soft as I had imagined. Her scent so strong, like the warm sands of a dawn flooded ocean, just as I remembered from so long ago. My fingers stroked her lips and wiped the tears from her face. The very tears I had caused. I forced my blood down her throat, my fingers pressed to her lips.

It was made clear that night, my intentions were unclean. I was no better than the darkness that wanted to consume her. I was just as evil and just as greedy. My blood could have destroyed her, but the thought of her dying was more than my mind could bear. I wonder if it was the grace of gods that saved her, allowing my blood to heal her wounds.

I can never claim her. I can never mark her, but I know my blood flows through her, binding her to me. 

# Chapter Twenty-five

My punishment is poetic, scripted from deceit. It fits my crimes. I am a liar and a murderer. Full of wickedness and greed. I deserve nothing less. Abigail's tears stained my being. I bathed in them, I drank them up, and they gave me the strength to move forward. Her broken eyes I had seen a thousand times. From girls whose lives were stolen. I caused their darkness. I deserve her pain.

In the peaceful golden years of the girls' youth, I took shelter under the mill, in old tunnels carved in the Earth many years ago by slaves. Their weary hands had created them and carried the mill's goods. The dirt walls held their secrets, the lives that burst with passion. The desire for freedom, for laughter and love.

My days were spent, too long, awake and unable to sleep. I was too powerful and far too old. I could hear the children play, their small sounds filling my ears. Tinkling sounds that washed away the ghosts who haunted the caves.

At night, I would walk in the woods and listen to their small laughter. They were safe, I made sure of it. Nothing could break through the barrier I built. Nothing could harm them. Except the evil that lay hiding within.

Lucius was there often, he would come to visit, sometimes even relieve me for long stretches at a time. It became apparent the children's laughter was wearing on me, and times were not always easy. I cared for the three, but Emily's darkness made me weary, Henri's obsession with Charlotte angered me.

During this time, I would be free for weeks or months. Several times, I left for years. I traveled the world, hunted and filled myself with the sins of the flesh. I loved each woman who gave herself to me. The power they held shone in their eyes, the knowledge that they were giving me a gift. Not just of their blood, but of their trust, to show them I could overpower them, but leave them free to dismiss me if they chose.

After spending years traveling, I returned to find that the girls were suddenly fifteen, awkward and rebellious. I laughed when they stole their first bottle of rum from Stephan's study. Abigail knew, but I convinced her to let them get away with it. To give them this small act, allowing them to grow.

After Henri had left the plantation, I listened to Charlotte weep. I worried most of the time about her. She seemed frailer than Emily. She trusted blindly and loved too hard. Her suffering, her confusion, were physically painful to witness, and I called upon Lu to take over often that last summer.

When Charlotte found her voice behind the lens of the camera, it was beautiful to watch. She grew and found her strength. She carried her camera everywhere, developing the images each night, storing the ones she liked most in a box. The others she threw away, memories of the life she didn't want or need to move forward.

It became hard to see her as the temperamental little girl who ran through the plantation, her dresses tattered and shoes scuffed. Surely this wasn't the same child who climbed the oak trees and teased Henri. It was as if she had packed up her childhood and stored it away, emerging a new person. And maybe she had. Abigail's sudden departure almost sent her over the brink.

When the girls went to college, Lucius followed Emily out of state, and I was to remain and watch over Charlotte. It is during these years the role of a Guardian changes. We are more distant, forced to sit back and simply watch. A shield is created, a circle of safety around them. We are often close, but not so that we hear the daily lives of our charges. Simply close enough, that we will know of immediate danger.

Instead, we rely more on humans. They become their new bodyguards, seen in the background, driving them places. Guardians do not interfere, regardless of how many poor choices we witness. I don't lie to myself. It was a relief when Emily moved back home allowing Lu to take over Guarding them. My father had called me back to France, and I didn't have to sit idly any longer. At times, I wonder if this is why he has become too attached to Charlotte. Lu saw first hand the years of self-destructive behavior and, unfortunately, the aftermath of my failures.

After the accident, I had only minutes before my father would arrive. We were so close to the plantation, they would be there to see the ruin with their own eyes. I altered that night and covered Emily's deceit in a blanket of lies. No one must discover the truth. Abigail's suffering was already too great. Henri would never know his actions had driven the one he saw as his friend, his sister, to attempt to kill the very woman he lived and breathed for. I bear the weight alone.

Ashur left my sentence up to Abigail. It is only because of her open heart I was allowed to live, or, it may have been her thirst for revenge to see me suffer. For a hundred years, I was to waste. Not allowed to drink the essence of life that consumes my thoughts, and drives my hands to kill. Only when Abigail allows, am I to hunt and drain a single deer. Enough to keep me suspended in the world. Enough to serve as a reminder of my failures. I suffer the humiliation. My disgusting lust had caused it. My own lies had formed my punishment. 

# Chapter Twenty-six

Charlotte's soft and breathy laughter rings out from behind the door. Lucius tells her the role of a Guardian as he explains why we were in her life. Most of this, I believe Abigail has told her, but it is good Lu is making sure she understands. He makes her calm, and she relaxes being near him. This is a relief, she is so tense all the time.

I stand outside the parlor, my hand outstretched and ready, but I cannot seem to open the door. Abigail has told her the truth. The version I created. A sick feeling sits in the pit of my stomach that worries Charlotte remembers that night.

I didn't want her to find out this way. My plans had been to tell her, but she had not been in the best state of mind the previous evening. Claudette had managed to humiliate Charlotte and raise my father's anger. Something that I try not to do. My life is precarious at best.

Lucius knows I stand outside. He can sense my hesitation, even my fear. Once I walk through the doors, it will show in her eyes. I'm not sure if I want to know. I'm not sure that I can bear her disappointment.

Before thinking further, I open the door. She sits on the settee next to Lu. Her face blanches. I have to suck in air to stay on my feet. I shut the door and walk to sit across from them. My eyes keep hers as I lower myself to the chair.

Charlotte's eyes are wide, and there are lines in the corners. So full of fear, open with alarm, like the deer I killed and blamed for Emily's treachery. Her entire face is tense, and a crease between her brows makes her look too serious. She is wound up so tightly, I fear she may burst out into the room around us.

The truth sits between us, dense, and as palpable as if it were alive. I'm not sure what to say to her. My hands tore the pieces of her life apart. Her blue eyes move over my face and down to my hands as if seeing me for the first time. She, I know, is waiting for me to make the first move. I can't help but wonder what she expects I will do.

Charlotte's pulse thumps in her neck, her hands clutch at the hem of her red dress, pulling the fabric tight over her thighs. Her face is pale and stands out against the bright red. A large flower is sewn, just above the waist, into the material. It reminds me of the spindly flowers that sit on the sides of the roads. The flower looks sad, drooping as she shifts, uncomfortable. Her golden hair is pulled back loose, and a few tendrils, bright waves, fall around her face. I want to reach out and brush them away from her eyes.

Lucius says that we have spent too much time standing around while little girls play with dolls that we notice these things. What they wear and how they behave. I do not disagree. He says it makes us weak and we care too deeply for them. This is a problem Lucius has always had. He loves too hard, leaving himself open to pain and the inevitable loss of separation. Part of me wonders if I too suffer from this terrible affliction. Of caring too much. Then again, I am her Guardian. No... I was. This responsibility has been given to my brother.

It is no longer my duty to worry her nails are too short, chewed down to the quick. That her hands shake, and she grabs at her clothes when she feels fear. It is no longer my worry her breathing is too shallow and too fast. I needn't be concerned that she may be drinking too much or making one poor decision after another.

Charlotte has not moved her eyes from me. Her chin quakes and she bites her lip to keep it steady. Fear spills out into the room with us. She is terrified.

Charlotte remembers. Everything.

I glance down to my hands, fighting to keep them from digging at the tightness in my chest. Somehow, this seems far worse than if she thought that I had failed to protect her. When I look back, she is still watching me. Is she scared that I know the truth? Surely, she knows by now I would never reveal Emily's actions.

Lucius leans back and puts his arm behind her on the sofa. She shifts and sits closer to him, responding to his protective nature. He catches my eyes, his eyebrow lifts, concerned over my reaction to her sudden movement toward him? Do I react poorly when he is near her? Something he sees in my face makes him grin. Lu and that fucking smile. Like we have some secret, but he knows more of it than I.

There are times I believe Lu does know me better than I know myself. He has been with me since my life began, both human, and otherwise. He knows of my cruelty and my weakness. He knows my secrets, all but one. I know that he would die before he revealed any of them.

Finally, Charlotte leans forward and rubs her face in her hands. When she sits upright, her teeth hold her bottom lip, chewing on the corner. Her entire body slumps wearily, and for a moment, she looks breakable. So full of fear. Of what I had done? I, a fierce gladiator, a nineteen-hundred-year-old demon, find I am scared of how she will react.

It is easy to care too much. Yet I have always known to keep myself separate from our human charges. That is until Emily and Charlotte. When they are young, they view their Guardians as a protector. As they grow older, they know we are there, they wave, and we share laughs. Guardians don't give out advice or share secrets. They weren't friends. We were there to protect, as they lived their lives. That is how it is supposed to be.

Yet Charlotte, I had never spoken to. I hadn't been in her life. I was a distant figure she never met, in the shadows, keeping her safe. It leaves us in an odd position. I knew her and cared for her as a child. I saw as she grew, but over the years she has become a stranger, and suddenly we sit, forced together in a situation where we are bound together by a secret.

Lu stands abruptly, "Well, this is fun, but I'm off to... do something." He leans down and kisses Charlotte's forehead. Her smile makes me want to rip his throat out. I close my eyes and refocus. He is my brother. He is her Guardian. He is allowed to touch her.

"No doubt something mischievous," Charlotte says after he has left the room.

"You like him."

"What's not to like?" A wanton smile curves her lips and her eyes sparkle. The blue so clear, but rimmed with dark lapis lazuli, like the springs near the plantation. Had I never noticed before how they light up when she smiles? I know that I must have.

She has always been... flirtatious, carrying an underlined sexual draw that every man can detect, even across a room. Charlotte's flirtations are contagious, and I can't seem to resist teasing her. Something I regret as I sit in front of her. I am still shocked though, by her behavior the night by the pool. More so that her flirtations were aimed at me, and not subtly.

I sit back and do my best to look uninterested. Her smile fades, and I worry I appear angry instead. That is what I feel, nothing but anger. Toward myself, Emily, Charlotte, and the fact she is scared of me. She shifts in her seat. I stare back, waiting. Her heart starts to beat faster, and her breathing is shallow.

"You were there," she says, looking down at her hands.

"Yes."

"I remember." Such a simple statement, yet it holds so much. It is amazing how two little words can tear at my soul.

"And here, I believed it was my amazing charm that made you swoon," I say. Her reaction when we met, officially, should have told me she remembered. Maybe I didn't want to believe it then.

She looks away, and I regret my words immediately. Something about her brings out terrible things in me. Her fingers wrap into her hair, and she brings the strands to her lips, rubbing the ends over them. A strange habit that she must have picked up after Emily's death.

Looking at her now, I realize, I do not know this woman. She is closed and secretive. She used to wear her heart on her sleeve, now she keeps everything inside, locked away from prying eyes. How can this be the same girl I watched over? She is so lost, terribly damaged, and I have caused the worst of it.

"You lied," she says to me.

"As did you."

"But why did you lie?"

"Why does anyone lie?" I ask. "We lie to cover truths, to stay hidden, and to keep ugliness from touching others. That is what it comes down to. We lie to protect the ones we love."

Charlotte nibbles on the tips of her hair. It is fascinating to witness her movement as she thinks, but I'm not sure of what. She is the only human I have met that I cannot read clearly. Anxiety pours from her, I can guess what it stems from, but I have no idea what her thoughts are.

Her stark blue eyes raise again to meet mine, "All lies are self-serving. This, what you did, wasn't."

"No?"

Charlotte sighs and stands to pace the room. Her legs are too thin, having lost weight since her arrival. I want to remind her to eat and take care of herself, but I remain silent. She seems to shrink into herself when I say these things.

"You are being punished for something you didn't do." She looks at me like she can see every sin I've committed. Maybe she can.

"I failed to protect you."

"But you did, don't you see?" Tears form in her eyes and I have to look away. Her pain is too consuming, it leaks out in the air around us, constricting my chest painfully. "If Abigail found out..."

There is no need to finish the sentence. We both know the reason we remain silent. Charlotte stops in front of me, too close, her desperation written clearly on her face. Her need. I'm not sure why she feels this when she is near me. It threatens to weaken me. She wants nothing but to lose herself. The self-destructive behavior her entire life has stemmed from this desire to let go of her pain. She must feel safe with me. I carry her secret. This is good. I need her to trust me.

When I glance back, I see a million questions pass behind her eyes. Her emotions are all over, but the one emotion she has not expressed is anger. I can feel her confusion and her fear. Yet she has no anger, only fear, and another, more acute emotion. Guilt. How could she possibly feel guilt? She has done nothing wrong. This, I am unable to understand. I expected her rage, not this, not the horrible sorrow and pain laced with guilt.

How could she not be angry with me? It will come later, I'm sure. When she is able to fully understand what I have done. I had told Abigail the truth. My bloodlust had destroyed her daughters, and Abigail would not mince the words when she told Charlotte.

"Were you really there? At the plantation?" she asks.

"Yes."

Charlotte nods, this seems to be the answer she wanted. "Like, always?"

"Well, at night. I left for a few years when you were older."

She nods again and paces in front of me. "So you sat, in the bushes, a vampire Peeping Tom and watched Emily and I as little girls?"

"No. That is a terrible way of saying it," I say, defensively.

"What is it with you and cameras, and watching people?"

I laugh. She is ridiculous. "You seemed to like my equipment," I say. It is impossible to tell if she is toying with me.

"Before I found out you were a voyeuristic vampire."

"I was protecting you."

"Is that what you call stalking girls in their homes?"

"You didn't call it stalking when you found out Lucius was your Guardian," I say, trying to cover my annoyance. I have to take a deep breath again. She has this way of twisting words that is maddening. "But, if that's how you'd like to view me, it is a little perverse considering."

She sits down again and puts her head in her hands. Her embarrassment is clear. She read it wrong the other evening. I care for her. I had protected her. That is all it is between us, but she's too fun to tease.

Charlotte pulls at her dress, adjusting the hem. Her toes squirm in her shoes. I remain still, not wanting to distract her from her thoughts. Her legs move, and she rubs her ankles together. She can't seem to stop fidgeting. The light smattering of freckles on her thighs peeks out at me. There are traces of sweat and sunlight on her skin. Faint flecks of dried grass on her dress from the gardens. I see where her fingers had picked at the small petals of wildflowers--the light scent still lingers on her.

I look around the room, aware that I am observing her too closely. The lamp by her illuminates the darker freckles over her arms. She has more than she used to. The light hits the moisture on her lips, glossy like hard, sweet candies. I have to take another breath, deeper this time. She is distracting. I find that I'm noticing things I had never before.

"I'm leaving in two days," I tell her.

Charlotte's head shoots up with alarm, her entire body tenses with anxiety. I hadn't expected such a strong reaction. One would think she would be relieved I am leaving. She will not have to deal with me and worry over slipping up in front of anyone. Or maybe I am relieved. It will be a nice break from Henri and his greedy hands on her all the time. I can almost see his fingerprints on her skin, or where his lips have touched hers. It is mostly in my head, but his scent is all over her. It always is.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to travel to Italy. Milan. A meeting I have to attend," I say.

"Will you be gone long?"

"I'm not sure. A week at most," I tell her. "Lucius is here." What had Henri said to her? I'd tear his heart out if he did something to her.

Charlotte nods, satisfied with my answer. Her eyes float over my face, my nose? No, my lips. The woman is constantly watching my mouth, always chewing on her own lips or the tips of her hair as she does. Almost as if she is wondering what they taste like. The thought makes me smile, and I press my fingers to my mouth. Her lips part and I hear her breath catch. It is... distracting, but I cannot seem to stop myself from instigating.

"The Celebration Feast is this evening," I remind her. She slumps down in her seat. She has forgotten again. "Are you prepared?"

"How do I prepare to be around a bunch of vampires, Aydin?"

My jaw tightens, my throat clenches. I swallow to relieve the sudden tension in my mouth. I'm not sure what it is that makes my fangs long. The sound of her voice saying my name, or the thought of her being exposed to all the guests and greed these gatherings involve. I press my fingers to my mouth and take another breath.

"You will be there right?" The desperation in her voice doesn't help, and I bite the tip of my thumb to try to relieve the tightness in my throat.

"Yes," I say.

She stands and walks to the door. The bottom of her dress barely covers her thighs. It is an indecent length, too high, forcing my eyes. I want to refuse to give her the satisfaction that she can distract me. Charlotte, it seems, knows her body is seductive and uses it as a weapon. Not that I blame her. It is a gift women hold such power. One that is all too often used against them. She turns, glancing my way, her smile small. She has caught my wandering eyes. Her skin heats and I breathe in, letting her scent fill me.

"Then I will see you this evening, Mr. Thanos."

***

The computer screen stares back at me, the chateau halls are empty. I had seen Charlotte walk with Lance up the tower stairs to the roof, her camera in hand. She is out of my view, and there are no cameras up there. Vampire Peeping Tom. I have to laugh. She has an amazing ability to bring out the absurd in any situation. And distract. Charlotte is very distracting, so much so, that I am having a hard time focusing on the task at hand.

I click the screen back to the email I had read. My hands hover over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. Modern technology is amazing. Words appear, stolen from my thoughts and transfer to the screen by my fingers. A few clicks of a button and the words are sent away, into the air, to some place else, seen by other eyes. Those eyes are what I worry over--who all will see my response. No matter how carefully I code the message, there is always a chance it can be deciphered.

Noise clicks in my head, small voices over the device that sits snugly in my ear. No matter how low I turn the volume down the tinny sounds pierce my skull, as do the monitors. As fascinating as it is, I despise all the equipment. The job, the endless questions and constant state of alarm. The deafening noise and chatter. I would rather go back to using my instincts, listening with my own ears, all my senses open. That is what I was made for. Not staring at a computer, typing cryptic emails. But I have to remain on top of their every move. There are those in the Organization that keeps things hidden.

"How did it go?" Lu asks from the doorway.

I gesture for Lu to come in and shut the door. Even as human children, he tried to sneak up on me though he was never able to. "Better than I had hoped."

"Then why do you look upset?" Lu asks. His body takes up the entire chair. It never failed to amaze me how he had managed to build larger muscles than I. As humans, we trained the same, often sparring, forcing each other to be more powerful, more brutal. The last five years have taken their toll on my body. I am not sure why I have the sudden thought. Maybe it is the way Charlotte eyes his large frame.

"She isn't angry with me," I say.

"Do you want her to be?"

"No."

"Then what is the problem?"

"She feels guilty."

"You are doing it again. Over analyzing." Lucius laughs quietly, more to himself. "Sometimes I think the devil made a mistake making you a man."

"Thankfully he did. I would never be rid of you otherwise."

"You know you love my company." Lu smiles that smirk again. "Why are you so surprised she is not angry?" He is avoiding my observation over Charlotte's guilt. In reality, it is understandable.

"I just don't see how she can be so forgiving."

"You know, better than anyone, brother, she has a beautiful soul," Lu says. "Actually, she has beautiful everything. That body! Those breasts! They would fit perfectly in my hands." He makes a deep, guttural sound, and I take the time to consider if I should rip off the hand he holds up, cupping the air, or let him alone. Instead, I click the mouse to send the email before standing. He needn't dwell on any particular part of Charlotte.

"Is everything ready in Florida?"

"Yes brother, I have made all the arrangements," Lucius says and stands. "Are you ready for this evening? Alfonso is to attend."

"Yes, I will speak with him tonight."

Lucius turns and starts to walk from the room.

"Lucius," I say. He turns to face me, his entire body taking up the doorway. "Do me a favor."

"Anything for my favorite brother."

"Keep your fucking hands off her."

# Chapter Twenty-seven

The night air has turned cool, blowing over my skin, a calming effect on my raw nerves. The sounds of the conversation around me rattle in my head. Thinly veiled greed shines on the faces of Ashur's guests. They know what is in store. I despise these gatherings. They remind me of my time in the ludus, dark times I would rather forget.

In secret, Ashur hosted lurid gatherings, offering gladiators at the request of his many influential friends. Men and women would come for the promise of a night of pleasure. Coin spilled from their purses, spittle forming on their mouths. The torches flashing on the men's hard desire, the women's moist lips, painted red. Ashur masked his gladiators, and we stood unclothed, on display, and at their mercy. Lucius' hard muscular frame and soft curls would make him a target. He would be left, shaken, refusing my attempts to comfort him. He endured far worse than most of us. However, he never broke. His strength willed us both through it.

The nights of lust, we called them, hold far worse memories than my time in the ring. The air would reek of greed and sin. My body on display, my life's only meaning to give pleasure to whatever sick desire was chosen for me. The men's brutality was expected. The women's desire to be consumed was welcome. I could lose myself in their lust. It was the power they held over me that was terrifying, their grip on my life dangerous, leaving me at their mercy. In the dark bedrooms of the ludus, I was nothing more than a slave.

The humans around us walk seductively, trying to catch the eyes of every vampire in the room. Skin tight dresses and tailored tuxedos, erotic spices over their warm skin. It is enticing. I feel myself being caught up in it and walk outside for fresh air.

The ripe smell of grapes and raw earth from the vineyards hit my nose. A welcome scent compared to the lust that fills the room behind me. I look back to see Lucius engaged in a conversation with a plump woman. He smiles politely at her and catches my eyes. The expression on his face makes me smile, and he breaks free to join me on the open terrace.

"She isn't down here?" he asks. I know he means Charlotte.

"No."

"Hmm...I hope she is doing alright." Lucius seems to be just as enchanted as everyone else by her. Charlotte is already proving to be a problem for me as well. She is constantly sitting in my mind, demanding my attention. There is part of me that wonders if it is because I gave her my blood. I know mostly it is my darker parts that wish this.

I turn back to view the room. Ashur has spared no expense this time. Gauzy material hangs from the ceiling creating a silky canopy. Crystal beads and small light bulbs weave between the thin layers, washing the entire Hall in a soft glow. Strands of lights spread out over the gardens from the French doors, like fallen stars.

Charlotte walks through the doorway with Claudette, grabbing my attention. Charlotte's gold locks of hair are pulled back loosely, revealing her thin neck. Her long dress hangs low with a loose neckline, exposing her chest, all the way to her navel. The thin blue material is held up, barely, by a string tied around her neck. There is a sudden urge to cover her, shield her from the eyes that follow her around the Great Hall.

When she turns to greet Henri, I see it is backless and gathers into a deep V, showing small dimples in her lower back. Every time she moves, the too high slit in the side shows most of her thigh. Henri places his hand on her back, my throat clenches. I have to bite my tongue to keep my fangs from showing.

"Wow," Lu says. "I am sure I do not need to point out, pretty little Charlotte wears nothing under that dress."

Oh, yes. I have noticed. Along with every other greedy eye in the Great Hall. Lu's eyes move back to me, watching my reaction. Sometimes I wish he didn't know me so well. I keep my focus on her, trying hard not to show what I am thinking on my face. Lu sees it, but I hope no one else does.

Charlotte's scent carries from across the room. She has bathed in sandalwood soap. Dark eyes follow her as she moves through the crowd. The low lights kiss over her skin. I look over to Lu, expecting to see that smile of his, but his face is different, melancholy.

"Sometimes, I think this task of being a Guardian is cruel." Lu's keeps his voice low so that no one else can hear us. "We are forced to love from a distance."

"I am no longer a Guardian, brother." My words surprise even me. Lu smiles, but this time, it's his classic smile, and I respond with one of my own.

I look back to her. Her dress moves with her, pulling away from his body, and revealing thin black lines over her side, twisting down to her waist.

No... Anger wells up and I look to Lu. Charlotte has permanently marked her body, covered it in deep ink, forever staining her glowing skin.

"Why did you let her get a tattoo?" I growl, not bothering to hide my rage.

Lu rolls his eyes to the heavens. "It is not like I could stop her," he says, quietly. "It is her body to do with as she chooses."

He knows this answer does nothing but infuriate me further.

"Honestly, I don't know how you didn't see it before," he says. "With the way you ogle her constantly."

"I do not ogle her."

Lu looks to me, "Please brother, everyone notices."

Shit.

I look back to Charlotte, to ogle, as Lu seems to think. Her eyes float around the room like she is searching for someone. Her heart flutters in her chest, moving the thin skin in the hollow of her neck and I realize she's looking for me. Her eyes finally find mine and she calms instantly. A smile curves her lips, creating little lines around her mouth, and her eyes spark in the dim light. The smile I give her stems from the knowledge that I can quicken her pulse or slow it down.

Charlotte walks around the room on Henri's arm, shaking hands, and putting up with the men that brush their lips over her small fingers. She moves with such grace, but I know she is doing it for appearance sake. Abigail trained her daughters to survive any social situation. Having watched Charlotte grow, I know most of the time it is a challenge for her to remain this way for long.

"Should I go save her?" Lu asks me.

"Yes."

Lucius walks into the room and interrupts the charade. Henri looks angry but keeps his nasty little mouth shut. Charlotte's face lights up, and she almost runs with Lu from the Hall. She grips his arm laughing, the corners of her eyes creasing as they walk toward me.

"I thought that was never going to end," she says, breathlessly. When she moves, the sides of her small breasts peek out under the blue fabric, showing little freckles. The silky material makes a soft, seductive whisper as it brushes against her skin. A small blue stone, lapis lazuli sits cradled in the hollow of her neck, moving as her pulse thumps, drowning out all other sounds. I look away.

"These gatherings are simply a way for Ashur to show off," Lu says. He still holds her arm in his. Her fingers squeeze at his tuxedo, feeling the muscles underneath. I debate ripping his arms off.

"Show off what?" she asks, looking at me. Her hands fall as she lets go of Lu's arm and looks down at her feet.

"His power." My tone grows hard. Cold. I curse myself. I need to remember to stay in better control.

Charlotte turns her attention back to the crowd. Some of the guests have started dancing. The slow, formal dance of too much money and years of social formalities ingrained in them. The women smile politely, their backs rigid, men holding their bodies at a comfortable distance. Later, they will behave differently. I can't help but wonder why they always put on such a show. Why they try to mask their greed before the real reason they are here begins, as if it doesn't exist. Yet it does, only later, and in the dark.

Charlotte grabs at Lu's arm again, "Oh, let's dance!" she says to him, her body bouncing in place. I know Abigail has told her that I am not supposed to be near her unless asked, yet I can't help the sting of her words.

"What is it with women and dancing?" Lu asks.

"I bet you are an amazing dancer." She smiles slyly at Lu.

I laugh, making them both turn to me.

"I'm not that bad, brother," Lu says.

Charlotte reaches out and takes my arm. "I will bet, Mr. Thanos, you are better." Her fingers grip my suit, and she pulls me forward. Lu's eyes open in alarm.

"You are very forward, Miss Charlotte," I tell her, allowing her to drag me out to the mass. Ashur and Henri stand on the outskirts of the gathering dancers, their eyes following us. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs. This isn't good.

Charlotte steps close and places one hand lightly on my arm, and clasps her other in mine. Her head tilts back to look at me, a devious smile on her lips. Thin pieces of her hair fall around her face. I place a hand on her waist, letting my fingers graze her back, and her mouth opens slightly under my touch. Her body heats, the skin flushing over her chest, and giving my senses a rush.

I press my fingers into her skin, taking pleasure in her reaction as I guide her around the dance floor. The music is an old Roman hymn, with soft flutes and beating drums. She glances around the room, and as her eyes find mine, the music, the voices, and other bodies fade to the background. My eyes travel from her face, down to the thin bones of her shoulders, moving to the space between her breasts.

"This is the dress Claudette picked for you," I state. Charlotte's face blushes pink, warm from the attention, the scent of her making me heady.

"Yes."

I release the air I have been holding, "A woman's dress is a reflection of who she is."

Her eyes drop down to her chest. I close mine briefly and breathe. She looks back up with a playful smirk, her tongue touching the corner of her mouth. "Do you disapprove, Aydin?"

"It is reckless and demands every man's eye, all the way down to the tattoo you have on your back." I move my hand--a stupid, bold move--around her back, forcing her body to press into mine, delighting in the way her cheeks turn red and her breath catches in her throat. "You stepped on my foot, Miss Charlotte."

I pick her up lightly, catching her misstep, grinning down at her. Her throat moves as she swallows, darting her eyes away. I should stop teasing.

"You don't talk like a vampire," Charlotte says, suddenly. She tastes the last word, feeling the way it sounds over her tongue. Her mind moves from one subject to another, so rapidly, I often wonder if she does this on purpose. Deflecting attention from herself.

She closes the small space between us, flattening her body against mine. The flickering of the candles sparkle in her eyes--she is daring, and she knows it. I can feel Henri's eyes cutting into my skull. I smile large at her, knowing it will piss the little shit off more.

"Is that so?" I ask her. "How should I speak?"

"More charming, maybe."

"You wound me, Miss Charlotte," I say. "Your words sting deep, all the way down to my tar black soul."

She smiles and laughs. Her voice is lovely. I have always loved her laugh, and find that I will do anything to bring it out.

"Was that a trace of a southern accent, Mr. Thanos?" Her teeth catch her lip again, the light glistens over the moisture of the soft flesh, like the inside of a peach.

I look around the room to the others. My kind. "We have to be adaptable. We change our language, our mannerisms in order to survive. We hide behind stories and keep our inner violence at bay. I spent almost five hundred years in the south. I imagine I do have an accent by now."

"Five hundred?" Her eyes widen. "I bet you did not fit in very well down there in the central part of the state."

"No. I did not."

"I'll bet though, Mr. Thanos, you were very popular with all those desperate southern belles, bored to tears, sipping their tea, and waiting to be rescued from the dreadful heat." Charlotte takes a slight teasing tone, giving her voice a twang. She couldn't possibly know that I had spent most of my time with the slaves after her family left the coast.

The silky material of her dress glides under my hand, moving over her bare skin. Every step she takes, the thin muscles of her back tighten under my hand. I let my fingers flitter along her spine, feeling the small bones. Her breaths flutter, changing slightly when I glide my hand further down her back, grazing over the small dimples I hadn't realized I wanted to touch. Until now, when I see how her eyes darken, looking up at me under her long lashes. Until I feel her heart quicken and a small shiver run through her.

My throat closes, and I clench my jaw taking a deep, long breath. Someone needs to get her away from me. Henri even. The music needs to stop. I look to Lu for help, but he's got that damn smile on his face. I can feel my chest tighten, like a weight being placed down hard.

"Charlotte, you are going to get me in trouble." I glance over to Henri.

"You started it." Her smile grows mischievous. "Besides, you don't look like someone who shy's away from trouble."

"Some trouble's just not worth getting into," I tell her, lightly nodding in Henri's direction. The music stops. I let go and step back, quickly. I hope it is not obvious how desperate I am to put space between us. I bow to her, and she takes my arm again, ignoring Henri's obvious irritation.

"I'll bet you have some pretty intriguing stories, Mr. Thanos."

"You have no idea, Miss Charlotte."

# Chapter Twenty-eight

# Charlotte

Aydin had not asked for my forgiveness. He didn't give me an explanation. I don't want one. I know why he had lied. They are the demons that chase him, following him around, leaving sorrow in his wake. His actions had caused him disgrace to his family. Abigail told me he was a powerful force, and no vampire would ever dare challenge him. Yet, his lie, my lie, shattered that. And for what? Two selfish women, he was instructed to protect. There is no anger--I can't possibly hold resentment toward him. His gray eyes keep Emily's ghost and our shared secret. I can only seem to feel guilt. Aydin is the one who suffers the most.

I stand between him and Lucius. On one side, I have a dark and menacing male, the other, a light and angelic looking cherub. Both beautiful in their own way. Both look mighty spiffy in their tuxedos. I can't help the smile that plays on my lips though the glass of champagne and my already light head probably help.

Claudette insisted on the dress I wear. She even brought the pretty blue stone necklace, saying the dark blue was a beautiful contrast to the light color of the dress. I am doubtful. Every time I move, I worry everyone can see all the way to Christmas. The material is so thin, the neckline so low, I am wearing nothing underneath. I feel overexposed and vulnerable. Except, of course, when Aydin looks at me. His eyes shine when he looks my way. I can't help that my pulse races. I can't seem to respond normally to him anytime. Though, I'm not sure what this says about me. I know Aydin has been around my entire life, but it feels surreal. I've only just met him. Maybe this is what draws me to him even more than before, the tantalizing wrongness of my attraction. He is headmaster, protector, a carnal creature of death and darkness, and I fly toward him a moth to a flame.

"Can you tell the difference?"

I glance at Aydin. He nods to the crowd.

People move about, mingling, some are dancing. There are so many different cultures in the room--it's like nothing I have ever seen before. Women wear bright clothes, some men are in tunics, long shirts, and loose pants. Some move gracefully, almost feline, through the crowd, precise steps like Abigail's. Predatory fluid movements like Aydin.

"I see," I say, and smile at him.

"If it weren't for these pesky noses, some I would never guess," Lucius says.

"You can smell each other?" I ask.

"Unfortunately, yes," Lucius says. "We can smell everything. And everyone. Where they have been and who they have been with."

I look down to my dress and body. I really hope I bathed well.

"Don't worry, Charlotte, you smell divine," Lucius says, nudging my arm. "Like fresh cut grass and a sunny day. Why you mask it with that old dusty soap is beyond me."

I look to Aydin, who eyes, Lucius. His gaze falls and catches mine. "Don't listen to Lu. He is just angry that he smells like a wet dog."

Claudette steps forward with Henri. She offers me another glass and winks. It's a constant battle to stay nice to her. She apologized earlier, acting like she hadn't realized she was causing problems. I am, of course, forced to deal with her. I don't want anyone to know that Abigail has told me of Aydin's part in my life.

"Charlotte, you look positively scandalous," she says.

I grin like the Cheshire Cat. Yes, indeed I do. Basking in the masculinity that sandwiches me. I smile slyly to myself at the thought. Lucius clears his throat, and I remember they can feel my emotions. This is hard to get used to.

"They will be starting the dance soon." Henri offers his arm and I reluctantly accept, stepping away from my safe little cocoon. I'm still angry with him over what he said on our picnic. I glance back as he guides me away. Aydin's face is hard, his eyes dark. He really doesn't like Henri.

Ashur appears with my mother on his arm. She is taller than him in her heels. Her dress is long and black, seductively elegant. I still can't believe how young she is.

"You are beautiful, my angel." Abigail's smile reaches her eyes, softening her entire face. She cups my cheek in her hand and places a small kiss on my forehead.

"Claudette has a good eye, you wear the dress perfectly." Ashur kisses both of my cheeks, and I resist the urge to back away. His dark eyes glint in the candlelight, black pools. "Come Henri, let us make the rounds."

Henri drags me around the room, introducing me to even more faces. I thought that I had escaped this earlier. Somehow, I find the proper training my mother had instilled in me. Now I know what she had been preparing me for. Their mouths brush the back of my hand, forming kind words and dark smiles.

A small man comes up to us, his face open and friendly. His eyes are soft, and his nose is upturned and short. He looks to be of maybe Italian descent, in his early thirties.

"Salve, Henri, I see we finally get to meet Charlotte." He says with a smooth and rich accent. "I am Alfonso, the Sovereign of the neighboring Region. The French air does agree with you."

"Wonderful to meet you, Alfonso. France is beautiful, I am very lucky to have been brought here." I see my mother give me an approving nod.

"Ashur loves his parties," Alfonso says and turns to Ashur. They exchange some small talk, and my mother pulls me back, out of their conversation. Alfonso turns back to me and takes my hand in his, kissing it before he speaks. "It was lovely to meet you. I will see you again."

Abigail leads me around more before my head starts to swim and we get trapped in a conversation with a heavyset woman who drones on about her trip to Greece and some catastrophe on her yacht. Even vampires have mundane stories. The crowd of people creeps in on me, suffocating me. I look around for Lucius or Aydin. Out in the gardens, I see Ashur talking to Aydin, who is shaking his head, but he seems to give in and follow Ashur into the Great Hall.

"Come, they are starting the dance." Henri appears and pulls me into the pool of bodies. He drags me toward the center of the room, and we move through a line of people to where a crowd has gathered. The lights dim around the room. Ornate tall floor candelabras stand, creating a small open space. A petite woman stands in the center. Candles flicker over her caramel skin, bringing out auburn highlights in her dark hair. Silky curls fall down her back, glistening with beads woven into thin braids. She is completely naked with only a large lapis lazuli hanging around her neck, nestled between her breasts. Shocked, I look to Henri, who watches the woman intently.

Off to the side, faint sounds start. Slow strums, followed by light picks. A haunting tune, an old sound stuck in a hollow chamber. The woman begins to sway, slowly moving her hips, the lapis lazuli strung around her waist, glistens with each movement. Her arms snake up, above her head, as her hips twist in a slow, sensual belly dance.

"She represents the Goddess Nikkal." Claudette's breath falls near my ear, and I jump at her sudden appearance. "She is the Goddess of fruit and fertility. It is said she was so beautiful, the Moon God, Yarikh descended from the Heavens to steal her heart. He offered her father gold, silver, and lapis lazuli for her hand in marriage. Some ancient tablets say she is the mother of Inanna and Ereshkigal."

"What is the music?"

"It is an old Hurrian hymn, written in her dedication. It is an ancient tradition, played at weddings, more than likely in hopes that Nikkal would make the wives fruitful and bear many sons." Claudette watches the woman dance, her eyes darken. "He plays well doesn't he?"

"Who?"

Claudette motions to the side, past Henri, who stands next to me, entranced by the woman. Aydin sits in a wooden chair, a small instrument in his hands, resting on his knee. It looks similar to a harp, but I have never seen it before. His long fingers pluck the strings, forcing delicate, melancholy sounds to ring out.

Claudette wraps her arm around my waist, bringing me close. I resist the urge to back away, reminding myself we are playing at being friends. "He hates this. Ashur always makes him play at these gatherings," she whispers in my ear.

I watch Aydin, transfixed by his hands, lost in the echoing sounds. The crowd erupts into a loud applause, and the small woman bows. She glides to Aydin and pulls him by his hand, forcing him up. He nods his head slightly, then walks from my view.

Music springs back to life from a small band that sits in the corner. Flutes and string instruments fill the air, a faster more hurried pace. Drums beat slowly, thumping in my ears. The sound is so loud, it reverberates in my bones. The massive entry doors open and a line of people walk through. My stomach drops and my heart leaps into my mouth.

They are all naked. Men and women, their skin oiled and glowing. Large animal masks obscure each face. Long beaks of birds and feathers like cranes falling down their backs. There are men in heavy lion masks, ornate with fur and glistening eyes. Some of deer with tall antlers, some, the slick black of predatory cats. The men and women lineup, there must be at least thirty of them. The scene is dark and obscene. My stomach starts to twist as the music gets louder and they begin to dance. Wild, quick movements. Their bodies jerking, then moving slowly.

Claudette pulls me to where the guests have started to dance again. I look but lose Henri in a sea of people. Faces around me glisten, their skin moist from the warmth of the room. Above the dancers, the heads of the masked people start to weave in the crowd. Hands are touching me, lips press against my skin. Claudette moves close, her fingers gliding over my waist and around my back, pressing herself to me. My heat races, the music and champagne making me dizzy.

A face flashes. A lion, almost psychedelic in front of me. I close my eyes and suck in a breath. Hands move under the material of my dress. A man in a panther mask rubs against me, his flesh slick with the oil, grinding his excitement into the exposed skin of my thigh. I put my hands on his chest and shove back. A large male steps between us, their bodies intertwine and move bumping into me. The lights keep flashing, forming a grotesque scene. The male kisses at the panther's neck. Moans fill my ears. Deep trickles of scarlet slide over the masked man's collar bone.

My chest tightens and my arms tingle. More hands spin me. Henri stands before me. He reaches out and pulls me forward, his arms wrap around me tightly. I am moving in the sea of bodies, caught in a wave of erotic sensations and sounds.

Claudette is at my back now, and her hands trace over my exposed thigh, slippery from the masked man. My throat clenches as a veil of black desire falls over me as Henri runs his palms over my shoulders and chest. Sweat gleams over his face. He kisses my shoulders, his tongue gliding over my skin to my neck. I grab at his tuxedo as his hand slips through the long slit at my thigh, under my dress and up between my legs. Claudette's breasts press into my back, and her hands grasp my neck.

Panic takes hold, and I shove away from Henri, spinning to break free of Claudette. The erotic scent of warm flesh and sweat fills my nose. My pulse thumps, drowning out the moans of the people around me. My skin tingles, my legs are weak, and I push through the slick tangle of bodies, desperate to escape. Tears sting my eyes, Henri tries to pull me back, but I lash out and hit him. His mouth opens as he says my name, but I turn and slip through the bodies around me.

I burst through, finally free, and the cold night air blasts over my skin. I suck in grateful and try to calm the panic rising in my throat. Tears spill out, and I run. Away from the dark carnal desire that snakes out and weaves around my skin.

The lights and flames from the sick feast behind me fade. I stop in the rose gardens trying to catch my breath. Small delicate bushes frame the stone center. A tall statue of a woman with her face in her hands stands weeping, consumed in her loss. The pale moon lightly touches her fingers and the folds of the dress that sags around her ankles. I want to sit and weep beside her.

The familiar metal taste fills my mouth. "Seems like a poor idea. A beautiful woman, sitting alone in a dark corner of the gardens, while the Celebration Feast takes place," Aydin says.

"Nice intro, Aydin. Do you always play before the masked humans come out?"

"Yes."

My stomach roils. He is one of them. I keep telling myself that he isn't, pretending he is something he is not. The tears start again. I wish I can make them stop, but I'm so angry with myself.

"Henri was supposed to explain what this evening was about."

"Well, obviously he didn't."

"Rather depraved is it not?" Aydin asks, quietly. He can see my tears and feel my anguish. My repulsion at him, at Henri, at them all.

"You would know." My voice cuts through the dark like a switchblade. I want to leave, but I have to pass by the sick scene to get to my room. Aydin steps closer, but I hold up my hand. "Stay away, Aydin."

He freezes and the air charges, letting me know I have hurt him. "I don't take part in these, Charlotte."

"Because you can't," I say, with more disgust than I intend.

"Not even before." He moves again to stand near me, but I back away. "Is that what you think of me? That I joined in these gatherings and slithered around like Henri? Touching people, under their clothes, without consent?"

Aydin's voice shakes with rage. I press my eyes closed and try to push away the thoughts of Henri's hands and Claudette's sickening smile.

"I don't know, Aydin. I don't know you." It is true. I don't. He knows me, yet, I know nothing of him. He is not even human. He was my Guardian. He keeps my secrets, saved my life and ruined it all in one fell swoop. I lean back against the statue.

Again, he moves closer so that I can see him clearly. His tuxedo is perfectly tailored to his thin frame, his jet black hair framing his gaunt cheeks. I rub my face. The guilt is too much. I want to make it all right, to remove the unjust punishment. He didn't have to lie. He doesn't have to suffer. Not for Emily, certainly not for me.

"Charlotte." Aydin's voice pulls at me, centering me. He catches my eye and my stomach drops. I don't want to be this close to him. He will feel how confused I am. He will know what he does to me. He is not even supposed to be here, alone. Aydin reaches out and pulls me toward him. I grab his arms, the muscles are hard and lean in his forearms. He is made of thick sinew that is all that is left of him.

"It appears Charlotte, I am bad for your health." Aydin hooks his finger under my chin and forces me to look up, his thumb rubbing my bottom lip. "You seem to forget to breathe when I am near."

The pulse in my neck throbs and a lump forms in my throat as too many emotions fall over me. Aydin bends down, his face next to mine. His hand rubs down my arm, goose bumps come up under his touch. His skin heats and it reaches out, covering my entire body. Aydin's breath falls on my face, cool and minty. His thumb goes over my lip again, and my knees grow weak. My heart pounds so hard it's all I can hear. I squeeze my eyes shut. His lips barely touch the tip of my nose. Aydin's breath falls over me in a rush, and I am let go.

"Do I get a kiss too?"

My eyes pop open, and I step back. Lucius and Claudette stand, eyes wide, brows up, staring. I try to slow my breathing, my hands shake and I lean at the base of the statue to steady myself.

"Of course, my brother," Aydin says. He steps to Lucius and kisses him hard on the lips before he walks away.

My mouth must have dropped open because it has suddenly become dry.

"I meant from you," Lucius says, dryly. My voice has vanished and I cannot seem to find it. Claudette stands with a devilish smirk on her lips.

Lucius steps forward and takes my hand in his. He leans down and looks me in the eye. His expression tells me nothing. "Aydin is not allowed to touch you, Charlotte. Don't tempt him."

# Chapter Twenty-nine

Sleep refuses to visit me. I am exhausted from the night before and the disgusting celebration I witnessed. And, of course, my almost kiss from Aydin. At least I think that's what it was going to be. Yes, it was. I can feel his desire every time I am around him though it's soft and sweet. Not obsessive and creepy, which is exactly how I feel. The fact that I am constantly thinking of him is more than likely unnatural, considering his role in my life. But he has taken up residence in every corner of my mind and refuses to leave.

I walk down the corridor past the parlor. The sun won't set for another few hours, and the entire chateau is quiet. The sound of my sandals click on the marble floors as I head toward the back of the castle and the gardens. I imagine everyone is sleeping after their rather lascivious evening. My stomach twists and my heart aches. Henri is a sick bastard. He's been living in this world for too long.

The door to the paintings room stands open. Laughs and whispers come from the doorway. They are deep, coarse sounds. Throaty and sensual. I walk into the room, my eyes immediately landing on Lucius and Aydin. They sit, their bodies squeezed together on a sofa, their heads bent close, conspiring. One set of light gray and one dark blue pair of eyes, stare back, half smiles over their lips. Two cats that ate the canary. I refuse to admit it isn't an unwelcome sight.

"What are you doing?" I ask, more out of shock from seeing them so close together. My cheeks burn. My mind immediately conjures up the image of Aydin kissing Lucius. Good, grief. I'm no better than the rest of them.

"I have never met a woman whose mind is so constantly in the gutter." Lucius smiles at me. A secretive smile and my entire face turns red. I debate leaving to save myself from more humiliation.

"Please, Charlotte, join us," Aydin says, and gestures to sit near them. Acting like we weren't caught last night in the garden. I look to Lucius, his warning resounding in my head.

"I was just talking about you," Lucius grins. "Or more accurately, your delicious friend Janice."

I point my finger at him like I am some kind of real threat. "You stay away from her."

Lucius sits back, his arms out, complete innocence on his face. "I would never hurt your lovely friend."

"Just keep your hands to yourself." I can't help my laugh. I highly doubt Janice would have minded if he hadn't. She would love his silky curls and overbearing muscles. Not to mention that pouty mouth.

"I can't make any promises. Considering how beautiful she is." Lucius smiles. It is still unfathomable how I walked around my little town, hitting the local spots with Janice, never once seeing Lucius. He is so stunning, it would be impossible for him not to draw a crowd. He looks like the kind of man that would pull a woman into his arms and shower her with kisses after he did some rather wicked things to her. My face blushes at the thought.

"Lu here was just telling me the details of one of your adventures with Janice," Aydin says. The smile on his lips is large, and... I'm not sure what it means.

"Oh? And what adventure would that be?" I ask.

Lucius smiles deviously. "Aydin was enjoying the story of your late night swim. The time you ladies decided, in what turned out to be a very thrilling evening for me, to take a dip in Doctor Spencer's pool."

Embarrassment doesn't cover the dread that fills me. We hadn't just taken a swim, we had in what may, or may not, have been a very drunk decision to skinny dip and wait for Doc Spencer to return home. Thankfully, we grew bored before he did. Lucius had indeed gotten quite a show.

"You are a complete degenerate," I say, disgusted.

"Just doing my job, it's just a shame Aydin had missed that one."

"I have seen plenty." Aydin pushes his hair back from his face, smiling slyly. I want to choke him. He leans back in the sofa and spreads his arms out behind him. His gray suit brings out his eyes, giving him an ominous look. How had I missed him? He had been there the night of our birthday, watching Emily and I dance and flirt with every man in sight. The sudden realization that he had been there, my entire life, hits home.

I sit down near them, my legs weak, and my stomach lurches. I rub my hands over my shorts. Had he been following me in college? I want to slink from the room.

The two men, or whatever they are, watch my face, their own taking a strange look, as the embarrassment of my life unfolds in front of me. My not so innocent kisses with Henri, my drunken passes at faceless men, my mean, mouthy streak when someone rubs me wrong. Had I any personal moments? Had my entire life been on display? Had he seen everything?

"I don't know what you are thinking, but it's safe to say, it's probably not very good," Lucius says. "Looks like we should watch our backs, my brother."

"I'm going to say, Charlotte just realized she has had two devastatingly good-looking men following her around," Aydin tells him.

"Devastatingly? Well, don't you have a high opinion of yourself," I snarl.

"Lu here is far more handsome than the so-called men you paraded through your bedroom. Although, to your defense, Henri, is a beautiful boy."

I am too angry to open my mouth, my brain frozen in rage. Does he know the intimate details of my life? I swallow hard. It appears he has seen more than I would like to admit, which is no doubt why he keeps referencing my extracurricular activities. This seems very judgmental of him, considering what he is.

"Aydin, stop being mean." Lucius keeps his face impassive, "Charlotte has kept her bedroom very quiet these past five years."

I press my hand to my eyes. This is unbelievable. Lucius sits back, Aydin's arm behind him on the back of the couch. So cozy. I want to slap them both. I turn my attention entirely on Lucius and change the topic.

"You were a gladiator as well?" Because ancient and brutal stories of murder are a better topic than my lurid love life.

Lucius raises his eyebrows, slightly. "Yes. I was. I even fought with Aydin in the ring."

"The Colosseum?" My mind conjures images I have seen in movies: lions and chariots, grotesque scenes of merciless violence. Maybe it isn't a better topic.

"No. We were kept for more private fights," Lucius says, quietly.

I know the stories. Gladiators were usually slaves forced to fight for entertainment. The better the fighter, the more likely they could buy their freedom. Ashur had said he had bought Lucius--bought, like an animal--after Aydin was born. Lucius is older than him, at least in human years. Aydin, I guess, had been born as a slave? The thought is horrifying. How terrible his life must have been. To be owned, controlled by someone else. Your very life in their hands.

"It is fascinating watching your face as you think," Lucius says. "One can almost see the pieces falling into place."

"Well, it seems you like to watch," I shoot back.

Lucius holds his hand out and looks to Aydin. "Do you see? She's become even more of a pain in the ass with age."

Aydin sits, perfectly still, a statue watching my every move. He looks worried I will ask about his life. I settle back in my seat and pull my smartphone from my pocket. Most of my sleepless night was spent researching vampire myths. Since one seems to want to kiss me--not that I am exactly protesting--I figure I should know more about them.

"There are hardly any mirrors around the chateau," I say. "Do you have a reflection?"

"What?" Lucius asks, dumbfounded.

"Why wouldn't we have a reflection?" Aydin asks, shaking his head like he can't believe how absurd I am.

"Vampires, they don't have reflections, right?"

"Where do you come up with these things?" Aydin asks, hiding his smile in his straight face.

"It's common knowledge."

"Oh, I see." Aydin laughs, loudly. A rush of genuine amusement. Throaty and sexy, like a night made of soft, rumpled sheets, and dim lights. He turns to Lucius, still laughing, "Could you imagine Claudette's devastation?"

Lucius grins watching Aydin. He turns to me, "Common knowledge? What else do you think about us?"

"Well," I glance back to my phone. "Says here, I can string garlic around my neck, and it will keep you away."

Aydin roars. I love it and chuckle with him. This is the Aydin I like. "I like garlic," he says. "If anything, it may make you even more desirable."

I raise my eyebrow at him. "So, then a stake through the heart won't kill you?"

"No, but I can guarantee it will really piss us off," Lucius says.

"Okay, then I guess the silver bullets are out."

"No, no, those are for werewolves," Aydin clarifies. He has stopped his laughter, but the smile is still there.

"Which, don't exist." I like this Aydin. This version of Aydin is calm and laughs openly. God, I like this Aydin. A lot. He draws me to him every time he smiles, every time he lets me see behind his stoic facade with his star shattering smile. My heart flutters. Here in this room, he isn't putting on a mask. He isn't hiding. Not from Lucius, not from me.

"You are rather silly, Charlotte." Aydin smiles.

"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment."

"I like silly."

# Chapter Thirty

Emily lies next to me. We are on our backs, looking up at the cloudless blue sky. Her arms are outstretched, holding something small above us. The sun shines brightly through her fingers, illuminating the charm in her hands. Her angel. She holds it lightly between her fingers, turning it slowing as if it is flying. The sun catches the angel, and with each turn, flares of light spot my vision.

Jasmine fills the air. In the spring, it carried around our home, through the open windows and filled every room. I love spring. It holds promises. It keeps secrets. Washing away long dark hours and cold nights as if they never existed.

There is a faint chime in the background. It is familiar, sad ... lonely. I can't place it but know it well. I turn my head to look at Emily. She is in profile, and the light brings out the amber streaks in her hair. Her nose just like mine, long and sharp. Eyes the same, vivid blue. A tear falls and the warmth hits my ear with a soft thud. She is beautiful. There is an ache, deep in my very pit. My god, I miss her so much. Every ounce of me wants to reach out and touch her, but I know she will disappear if I do.

I feel for my angel, but it's not clasped around my neck as it should be. Panic strikes, my chest tightens ... I remember. It was lost the night she died. The tears start coming faster, forming a lump in my throat as I fight them. I don't want the moment to break apart. If I lose control, she will leave me.

Emily turns to face me, laying on her side, her head resting on her arm. Her fingers still hold her tiny angel, twisting it. She is so close, her warm breath falling over my face, a light scent, like mint.

"You are sad because you lost your angel." Emily's voice rings out softly, musical. The sound in the distance comes closer. Louder.

Emily lets go of her angel and reaches to touch my face. Her touch is hot and surges through me, my skin burning. Her eyes change, the blue paling in the light, turning to a smoky glass. Silver flecks appear. I move my eyes over her face to her mouth, the lips are full and large with well-defined peaks, soft black hair frames them. My brows turn down confused, and I look back to see Emily has disappeared.

Aydin lies next to me. His hand touching my face, my skin on fire. His thin fingers stroke my cheek. They move over my lips, outlining them with soft, subtle touches.

"I'm sorry, Charlotte," he says, his lips unmoving. He doesn't need to speak. I can feel him, hear his thoughts. My heart aches.

Noise fills my head, but I still can't place the sounds. They are too far away. Aydin's fingers move over my neck, grazing over the scar on my collarbone. His gray eyes hold mine, and I can't tear them away, even if I wanted to. His fingers brush over my arm, my abdomen, further down. Aydin's hand glides under my clothes and touches me hard, between my legs. I gasp and startle awake.

I half expect to see him there, his hand against me, his long body laid out. The dream was so vivid, my body pulses. Hot air bursts from me and I relax. The door to my terrace is open and night air blows the heavy curtains, filling the room with the scent of jasmine from the gardens.

I can't help the tears that fall. I have not had a single peaceful dream since Emily's death. She has followed me, tormented me. There is this hollow feeling in my heart when I should be relieved. Part of me worries she will not return. That maybe I have laid Emily to rest and she won't visit me again. The thought of not seeing her tears at me. I'd give anything to see her again. Even if it means I will be chased in nightmares forever.

Soft sounds fill the room, distant and melancholy. I recognize it, finally. The sounds of the piano from my childhood. Memories of Emily and I, lying in bed, rush at me. Henri stroking the skin on our legs, his touch gentle. The weight of his head resting on my hip. The distant piano playing the familiar songs.

I stand, wary, but walk into the hall. I follow the sound, down the stairs to the main entrance, through the empty corridor. The piano gets louder, still muffled, but I know the song. It is heavy with deep sorrow. I can imagine his fingers touching the keys, his pain spilling out, onto them.

The doors to the Great Hall open smoothly. I push slowly, not wanting him to hear me. The song changes. He has moved on to Beethoven, Moonlight Sonata. My chest tightens. I walk into the Great Hall, and the hollow noise fills the room. It echoes off the painted walls and the clear crystals in the chandelier. I hold my breath, wanting to remain invisible, scared to break his trance.

Aydin leans over the grand piano, his back to me. His body moves slightly as his hands glide over the keys. His shoulders hunched over, his head bent. Pouring every ounce of himself into the music, elongating each tune, making it sound hollow and lost. The vision is agonizing. I stand frozen, my feet planted, memorized.

He can't see me or feel me. He is lost. Seeing only what drives his hands to move over the piano. Pieces of his past, of a life that is a mystery. I flash on the dream, his hand on me, my entire body heats, the pulse returning.

The music crashes, stopping abruptly. Aydin turns to face me, surprised that I have managed to sneak up on him. The dark brows over his gray eyes turn down, almost confused. I smooth down the soft material of the nightgown I wear and stop at the hem, too high on my thighs.

"It was you," I whisper.

I laid in bed at night and felt him, bathing in his energy. It hadn't been my father who played all those nights. It had been Aydin. He plays now, with the same torment as he had my entire life.

Aydin doesn't respond to my statement. Instead, he turns back to the piano, his fingers slightly touching the keys. Delicate tinkling sounds flutter out. Like the voices of fairies, soft bells. His fingers press harder, defining the sounds. I recognize the tune immediately. A fragile song, a Chopin nocturne, though I don't know which one. It was usually the last song before sleep came.

I glance around the elaborate room. The low light flickers from the chandeliers, the cool breeze of the open doors moving them. Lights glisten over the softly painted ladies, and they dance to the sounds that come from the piano. They live suspended until Aydin's delicate touch awakens their ghosts. I hadn't realized how much I have missed the songs. Standing in the Great Hall, the sound filling me, I feel the years that I missed him. It was him, after all, that had left me breathless.

Aydin continues to ignore me, playing the piano. I walk closer, so I can see his hands move gracefully over the keys. My mind brings the dream to focus, and I press my thighs together remembering how vivid it felt.

"It's very distracting having you standing there," he says, finally looking at me. Aydin's eyes shimmer with silver flecks, like in my dream, the iris too pale to belong to a human. Then again, he is anything but.

"I want it back," I say. The words come out, a foreign sound, I'm not sure of their meaning at first.

He ignores me and goes back to playing the piano.

"My charm, Aydin, you took it." Emily had shown me. Or rather, my own conscious had shown me.

"I took it because you wouldn't be able to look at it."

"You had no right."

"Can you bear to look at your angel now?" Aydin stands, his hand moves to his neck, backing away from the piano. I look away. He knows my truth and my lies. "Then I will keep it until you can."

My knees weaken and my mind cracks, and I sink to the bench, rubbing my face. My eyes burn with fatigue, my all muscles ache from the week of strain and pressure of so many lies. The very pit of me aches though it feels distant and unreal, belonging to someone else, but it's mine alone.

"Charlotte," Aydin says, his voice softer. I look up to see his hand outstretched. "Come."

He's not supposed to be alone with me, yet we keep ending up together. Mostly, it's my doing. Staying away from him seems impossible. I place my hand in his and he pulls me up.

Aydin guides me to the double doors, leading me outside. The smell of jasmine is stronger here, mixed with lavender, and I suck it in. His hand feels light in mine, the skin cool, but heat radiates from him. He pulls lightly, forcing me to follow him deeper into the gardens.

"Where are we going?" My heart hammers in my chest.

"I want to show you something."

We stop outside the wooden gate to the pool. Aydin opens it slowly and pulls me in behind him. The water moves like dark satin waves, reflecting the star-studded blanket of stars. The only sounds are the faint chirps of crickets and my heart drumming in my ears.

"Are we going for a swim?" I ask, nervously. I try to breathe past the tension in my chest, but I can't hide it. It leaks out into the air around us.

"Would you like to?" Aydin asks, grinning. "I know how much you enjoy late night swims."

My stomach drops, but he is teasing. I release a shuddered breath, "Why are we here?"

"I wanted someplace quiet," he says. "Where we won't be interrupted."

Lucius is right. I can't seem to keep my mind from wandering into lewd places.

Aydin laughs quietly, more to himself. "You are so concerned with what we can and cannot do. I thought I would show you."

I look wearily at him. "And, what exactly is that?"

"Turn around."

My heart falls to my stomach. I'm not sure what he has planned. I'm not sure I really want to know. Especially if I can't see what he's up to. Aydin waits, rather impatiently, for me to follow his order. I turn my back to him and face the pool. He moves behind me so suddenly I gasp. He is close, so close I can smell him, the metallic, electric scent he carries, with its faint undertone. The spicy scent of sandalwood. I smile. He's invaded every part of my life, all the way down to my favorite smells.

"Close your eyes." Aydin's chest brushes over the bare skin on my back. I suddenly feel under-dressed and vulnerable. His hand covers my eyes, forcing them shut. "Keep them closed."

Aydin brushes his fingers from my shoulders to the back of my hands. My body relaxes and I sink back into him. It is impossible to tell if he is making me feel calm or if this is what he does to me.

"Take a deep breath," he whispers near my ear.

Our fingers intertwine, and our hands move up together, wrapping around me, engulfing me in his warmth. My breath rushes out. Arms and legs start to tremble, betraying me what he does to me. Aydin is too close. My chest tightens, and my entire body stiffens.

"Shhh." Aydin squeezes my hands tightly in his. "Relax."

An impossible task, he is too consuming. His fingers spread out, splaying my fingers under his, over the skin on my chest. He moves closer, pressing into my back so that I feel his hard, lean muscles. My dream comes crashing into me. I can't breathe, and my eyes pop open.

"I am going to show you something, but you have to relax," he says. I can hear the laugh in his voice. I take another deep breath and ease into him. My anxiety grows thick, almost alive. I close my eyes and release a shaky breath.

Light touches the corners of my eyes. I squeeze them closed tighter, and a faint flicker of movement stills me. Aydin's fingers dig deeper into the skin over my chest. The light brightens. His hand moves to my neck, under my chin, forcing my head back slightly. His fingers move gently around my jaw, pressing into the pulse. "Open your eyes."

A burst of light makes me gasp. The mountains stand before me, glistening in a halo of soft light. There are bits of color in everything. It is as if the moon highlights every dark shadow and brings it to life. The stars shine, brighter, glowing around the edges. Colors swirl, like the inside of an oyster shell, in the royal blue of the night sky. The stars seem endless, stretching out and away from us, forever. Sounds of moving water fill my ears. The smell of earth, a rich, thick, dry scent hits my nose. There are faint undertones, light, crisp scents of fruit, a deeper smell of grass and fresh water. My skin tingles, almost painful, as the wind brushes over me. Tears prick behind my eyes, it is all too intense.

Aydin lets me go. The scene fades. The glowing light dims and the colors darken. I am left staring at the distant mountains above the pool and the black night sky. I sink into him, breathless. "What was that?"

"How I see the world," he whispers, close to my ear.

"How did you do that?"

"I can share pictures, things I have seen."

The world is dull and lifeless after what I have just seen. I turn to face him and see his smile. Not the small closed smile he shows everyone, but his smile. His real face. The Aydin who is soft and kind. He is entrusting me to see past the charade, to see him.

"You have let me see through your eyes, the beauty you create with your camera," he says. "I wanted to show you the way I see the world."

# Chapter Thirty-one

Normal. That is what he promised. It is still early and there a few more hours before sunset. Henri has taken me to the village for dinner, and we sit in a small restaurant, eating rich foods and laughing. It does feel normal and for the first time in days, I feel relaxed.

The chateau is like living in another dimension. I live in the night almost as much as my mother. Being out where people still smile, they laugh in the sun and play with their children, I am reminded that the outside world does exist. I have been trapped in the dark of the castle. Its secrets keep me cold and under a spell. Sitting in the restaurant, I can breathe fresh unstained air. No worrying about saying the wrong thing, trying to keep Emily's secret. And now, to keep Aydin's.

Henri rattles on about something. I'm not paying attention, just watching his lips move, enjoying the normalcy, and the way he looks at me. Coyly. Sharing the knowledge that we attract each other. Like the world I have discovered in France doesn't exist. He is beautiful. He is good. I push away his outburst, the night of the Celebration, and his lies, pretending everything is okay.

I can do this. I can be with Henri. I can live in France and make love to the boy I have wanted my entire life. I can love him the way I used to. It will be easy. We can't regain what we had been, but maybe we can build something else. Something stronger, with more substance.

But, Aydin forces his way into the fantasy. I keep remembering Lucius' words. Don't tempt him. It's all I want to do. Aydin consumes every waking moment. It has become worse, and I have allowed him to take front and center. It is like he has awakened something in me, a part I thought had died with Emily. Pieces that were locked away, the ones that carry happiness and promise.

Part of me wants to be rid of him. He is too heavy, but he refuses to leave me in peace. The worst part is Aydin has left for his trip, and it has been almost a week since I have seen him. It is disturbing how much I think of him. And his desire. I can't push it away. I want it. I want him, his everything. He's fed me bits, but I am a greedy creature and want more. He has shown me his world, its beauty, through his eyes. I don't know why. I don't feel like I am worthy of any of his offerings. I know I am not.

"You aren't listening," Henri says.

"Sorry, I was distracted," I confess. "My life has become very strange."

Henri holds his hand up, "No, we aren't talking about any of it today. You need a break. Hell, I need a break."

I agree, I do. How did he grow up with this and turn out sane? Maybe he hasn't. Perhaps he wears a mask like everyone else.

Henri orders sweet desserts and insists on feeding me bits. His fingers graze my lips, my face. He is sensual and loving. I return it, kissing the tips of his fingers as they touch my mouth. I ignore Aydin's eyes when I close mine and kiss Henri's lips.

"Maybe we should get back," Henri says, his voice low.

I smile but shake my head. I don't want to. The chateau is too filled, too empty.

"Show me the winery," I suggest. "I've been here two weeks and have yet to see it."

Henri grins. "We can do that."

We walk, hand in hand, through the vineyards. The winery comes into view. Its thick walls and tiled roof span out over a low hill. Tall windows look out over the fields, empty black eyes. A few lights shine dimly from the first floor, flickering in the fading daylight.

Henri guides me toward the back of the building, a second entrance, with large warehouse style doors that lead to a massive factory. The building attached to the main house is new, he tells me, added only in the last century. The machines used to produce the wine are the same. For hundreds of years, the family has kept the winery running, producing the same products. It's romantic thought. Generations holding its traditions.

I sample some wine, swishing it in my mouth and spitting it out as Henri shows me. I don't detect the fruity undertones or oaky flavors. I laugh instead. He is in love with me, I can see it. I can feel it every time he brushes his fingers over my arms and cheeks.

I can do this.

***

The muscles in my legs ache with each step, and I keep my hand on the wooden handrail as we walk up the stairs from the dark storage room filled with wooden aging barrels.

"Did Abigail tell you? Of Aydin?" Henri asks, abruptly. He has seemed distracted while we made our way back up from the cellar.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I know she did. That is why you have taken such a sudden interest in him. You always had a thing for wounded animals." Henri stops, we stand on the landing that leads to the fermentation room. His face has changed. He no longer looks friendly. "He gave you his blood. That is why you feel drawn to him."

"I'm not drawn to him," I lie. Of course, I lie. "And he's not a wounded animal."

Henri sees right through me. I avoid his eyes. He has no right to even ask. So what if I know? I deserve the truth.

I am relieved when I walk into the fermentation room. It is dark, no light shines through the grime smeared windows that line the exterior wall. Dim fluorescent tubes hang from exposed beams giving the room a pale blue glow. The metal tanks look dull and dingy in the stark light. There are long wooden tables lined down the center, small boxes stacked at the legs.

"It's not your fault. He should never have given you his blood," Henri says, almost to himself.

"It's none of your business, Henri. That is between Aydin and me."

"It is my business, you are my business." Henri's voice rises as he speaks. His face takes the same angry look I had seen before.

"No Henri, I am not."

"He is not what you think he is, Char."

"I'm not discussing this."

"He killed Emily!" Henri yells. He steps closer.

"Hardly! You have no idea what you are talking about."

"I saw her, Char." His eyes burn into mine. "I was waiting at the plantation with Abigail. By the time we got there, it was too late."

I can't speak, and look away. It's unbearable to think he had seen her. But he hadn't seen what she had done, only what Aydin had created. "It wasn't his fault. It was an accident. I was there remember?"

Henri grabs my arm, rough. I stumble, losing my balance as he swings me to face him. "You remember don't you? You remember him there?"

I refuse to answer. My silence confirms it, but it doesn't matter. Henri would see through my lies.

"It's no wonder you are all over him." Henri's voice turns cruel, and his fingers dig into my arms. "Your savior."

"Get your hands off of me," I spit out. I tug at his hands trying to get away. His grip only tightens. I'm pulled hard against him, and he wraps his fist in my hair, yanking my head back. I gasp as pain shoots through my skull. My hand flies up to grab his, my other pulls at his shirt.

"Do you like the fact that he watched you?" Henri's voice verges on mad. I shrink back at his anger. "Is that what it is? Your protector. He's not so powerful now, is he?"

"He's more powerful than you."

"Is that why you want to fuck him?" His voice rises loudly, and he shakes my head. "You fucking whore! You'd fuck everyone except me!"

Henri's eyes grow wild. The boy I loved has left, replaced by this mad man with dark eyes and a crazed face. My heart starts to pound, and the air is full of my fear. "If you hurt me, Aydin will break your neck."

This is the wrong thing to say. Henri's face twists, his mouth turns down, contorting at my words. He pulls violently at my hair, yanking my head back further, forcing a shriek from my mouth. His other hand grabs my face, the fingers sinking into my cheeks. A nasty smile turns his once beautiful mouth, cruel.

"Is that what you think? You think he has any power over me? He can't do anything to me. Aydin is not allowed to touch you! He's privileged I even allow him to talk to you!" He screams the last few words. The manic sounds ricochet off the walls, bouncing off the metal containers. It rings out, filled with malice. His anger fuels my own.

"He touched me, his hands were all over me," I sneer, keeping my voice low and throaty. I play with fire, even when I know I will be burned. No, engulfed, in its rage. I can't seem to stop, only able to see red.

Henri shoves me hard, my back hitting a table with painful force. The pain sears through me, and I cry out. He moves forward pressing his body against mine. His fingers twist my hair pulling the strands harder. His other hand moves down, lifting the dress I had picked out, the one I know he likes. With pretty lace on the low cut neckline and the slit that shows my thighs. Panic rises in my throat, razor sharp hands, cutting the flesh, choking me.

"You like him, huh?" His voice deepens, almost seductive. His hand slides under the thin fabric of my underwear, digging into the skin of my backside. Shocked, I hit him hard, knocking into his temple. I shove at his chest, pushing, desperate to get away. Tears burn. I scream at him, throaty desperate sounds, muffled by the tall metal cisterns.

The force of his hand hitting my face turns the corners of my eyes black. The pain rages in my skull, my eyes blur. I stop struggling as pain radiates from my mouth. He pulls back and hits me again, the back of his hand splitting the skin. My scream catches in my throat.

Henri turns me away from him and the hand intertwined in my hair pushes my face down toward the table. My nose hits the hardwood. The shock forces a small grunt of pain from me. Trickles of blood flow out, wet and warm. He holds my face to the jagged wood, smearing my cheeks in the blood.

My cheek burns, my mouth throbs. I can't scream. I can't breathe. My arms tremble as I try to push back on the table. Henri presses me down, holds me there, and forces me still. He outweighs me, he is taller, larger, and meaner. Driven.

Henri grinds against me harder, and the hardness of him rubs against me through his jeans, the fabric rough on my skin. His thigh spreads my legs apart. His hands dig into my skin, pulling at my panties, possessive and angry. The sound of his zipper makes me freeze, and I choke on the realization of what is to come.

My mind goes blank, only one picture taking focus. My childhood home. Emily and I running through the woods, our hair flowing behind us, our mouths open in screams of delight. Henri chasing us. He is going to catch us unless we run fast. Faster. The sun touches the tips of the leaves, filtering through the thin canopy of live oaks. Spindly pines fight for their space on the forest floor, their fuzzy hands reaching for the sky. Moss hangs, the velvety fingers caressing the arms of the trees. Soft ferns reach out, brushing our ankles. Dampened earth, rich with the scent of moist dirt and decaying leaves. The air light and full of promise.

And then he is gone. Complete silence echoes around the chamber. I push back quickly, turning and pulling my dress back down. Sobs catch in my throat. Blood runs slowly from my nose and the split on my bottom lip. I wipe at it, smearing the slick and warm moisture across my cheek. My stomach churns and I bring my thighs together tight.

Lucius' soft, almost boyish face looks back at me, his mouth a thin line. He stands perfectly still, his huge hand holding Henri by the back of the neck. Henri's arms stretch out in surrender as if a gun points to his face. There may as well be. Lucius' face is a mask of serenity, but his eyes give him away. The dark blue clouds with a storm of rage behind them, so intense I look away.

Lucius releases Henri and gently smooths his brown hair. He slaps Henri's cheek, playfully, and smiles. "You play too rough, my boy." Lucius sounds almost cheerful as if he hadn't just stopped Henri... I close my eyes and fight the tears.

Lucius fixes Henri's shirt and pulls his jeans around his hips. Henri's jaw clenches, his eyes stare straight ahead, as Lucius buttons the pants, then pulls at the zipper, tugging it closed.

"Abigail would like to have a word with you. Don't worry. I'll get Charlotte home safe. I know how you worry over her," Lucius says, a smile pressed on his lips.

Henri walks out, stiff-backed, fear flowing from him, mixed up with rage.

Lucius steps to me holding out a white cloth. My body refuses to move, and turns to ice, freezing me in place. The ice shards glide up, stiffening my arms, and chilling my brain that refuses to work. When I don't reach for it, Lucius brings it to my face, wiping the blood from my nose.

"Charlotte." Lucius' softness melts me and my knees weaken. "You are okay now, he has left, and he won't touch you again."

"Okay," I nod, understanding. Lucius starts to pace in front of me, his brows together, his face... I'm not sure what his face holds. Fear?

"Aydin is going to kill me." Lucius's states hoarsely. "He's going to fucking kill me."

I stare at him in disbelief. "Henri, almost... you know... and you're worried about Aydin?"

"I'm your Guardian. Henri should never have been left alone with you." Lucius pauses his manic pacing. "Aydin told me to watch him."

Lucius takes my hand in his and slowly walks me outside. Bile rises in my throat. The tears come back, spilling out and burning the scrapes on my face. My stomach churns and I crumble, falling down to the small stones. Lucius pulls me up, I am placed in a car, and he starts the ignition. A cold blast of air brings me center. He is taking me back.

# Chapter Thirty-two

It is my own private nightmare, replaying the same scene over and over. A demented song on the record player. Quiet and slightly out of tune. The sounds are tinny and fill the day with its promise of horror. The only problem, I am awake. Acutely aware of the insanity I am trapped in.

Leaving it seems, is not an option.

Lance blocks the door to the black car I am trying to get into. He refuses to budge. Pinstripe suit, whose name I discovered, is Edward, stands next to him. They both stare back with straight faces, no emotion at all. My suitcases are all packed and lay at my feet. I'm getting the hell out of here. At least, I'm trying if they'd just cooperate.

"I am sorry, Ms. Duval, but I am not allowed to let you leave," Lance says.

I try again to get past him into the car, but he's like a statue, completely unmovable.

"You can't fucking keep me here!" I scream and hit him with my purse, spitting a few choice words in his direction. He still won't move. Part of me knows he is simply doing what he has been told. Aydin can be pretty scary looking. He is the one who has instructed the suits, Lance and Edward included, to make sure everyone is safe. I really wish he was here. There is no way Aydin would keep me from leaving.

I look back to Lance, and my shoulders droop. The fact he is not allowing me to leave is unreal. I was assaulted, by the very person I had once loved, and am now being held a virtual prisoner.

"Do you know what just happened, Lance?" I move close, making sure he understands just how pissed, hurt and betrayed I am. "And you're going to make me stay here, with him?"

"My instructions are to keep you here, Ms. Duval," Lance says. He looks to Edward, who walks to sit in the driver's seat.

"Fine. Then I'll walk." I turn and set off down the circular drive. Freaking jerk. I'll go to the damn town and find someone there to help me. It is getting late, the moon shining brightly in the sky. Lucius left me in my room only a few hours ago. That is how long it took me to pack up my clothing and drag it downstairs. No one stopped me then. I'll be damned if they stop me now.

The sound of tires coming up behind me force me to turn and the car stops next to me. Lance sits in the passenger seat, Edward at the wheel.

"Ms. Duval, we will take you where you want to go, but Lucius will only come to collect you," Edward says. His face is kind and I can tell he feels bad.

"Thank you," I say and climb in the back seat. "I'll take my chances." There is no way that Lucius will come to get me. His job is to make sure I am protected, and here in this demon infested castle, I am definitely not safe.

***

Lance doesn't lie. We are only an hour's drive from the chateau. Edward doesn't exactly have a lead foot, driving slower than a month full of Sundays. He pulls over on the old dirt road and removes his hands from the wheel. Both men sit, neither speaking.

"What are you doing?" I ask. "You said you would take me wherever I wanted to go, Lance."

My door opens, and I'm shoved to the opposite side of the car. Lucius slides in next to me and closes the door with a slam. Lucius grins, his pretty curls flopping, and wraps his arm over my shoulder. "Sorry gentlemen, I would have been here sooner, but well, I stopped for a bite to eat."

"You just killed someone?" I scream in horror.

"What? No. Silly, Little Bird. She is in a very deep and satisfied sleep in her bed." Lucius grins, ear to ear.

"So, you just use super mind-bending powers to convince a woman to sleep with you, then... you know." I can't even say it.

"I have no need to use my mind powers to bed a woman," he says and flexes the muscled arm around my shoulders. "According to you, I am a very handsome specimen."

"There is something wrong with you," I say, disgusted and look out the window.

"More than likely," Lucius agrees and pulls me closer. I try to back away, but he refuses to let go. "Let's go, Eddie," he says and taps on the headrest.

I shove at his chest, but, well, he's huge and doesn't move. His body is solid, so it's like fighting with a pro wrestler, completely futile. "You are seriously going to take me back there?"

"Yes, Little Bird."

"After what Henri tried to do?"

"You needn't worry about Henri, Charlotte." Lucius' eyes darken, and he kisses my forehead.

"You lie like a no-legged dog!" I scream and hit his chest. "You're supposed to keep me safe and here you are taking me right back to the wolves den!"

"That colorful southern tongue comes out when you are angry!" Lucius laughs and squeezes my shoulder.

"You sick, twisted, mother-fucking son of a coward!" I scream. The tears start. Damn it. "I bet your mother is real proud of you!"

"Hey, no need to bring my mother into this."

"Fuck you, Lucius!" I cry, rage burning down my cheeks. "Do you fucking get employee of the fucking month for this?"

"My goodness, pretty little Charlotte, you could make a Roman blush." Lucius laughs and pulls me closer. "Don't let Aydin hear that mouth, he'd have a brain aneurysm."

# Chapter Thirty-three

The music of insanity plays in my ears. Claudette pours wine in my glass. I sit, in an embroidered dress, delicate yellow flowers woven in the chenille overlay. So short most of my legs are exposed. Deep bruises stare out at everyone, angry and dark on my legs.

No one speaks of the pink lacerations on my cheek, the thin layers of skin peeled back and raw. Or of the faint bruise under my eyes, the impact of my nose hitting the table. My lip is swollen slightly, a thin slice of broken skin in the corner. They ignore the dark bruises on my arms and thighs, the distinct outline of fingers giving away my secret. Their secret.

It is madness, it swirls around my head, and I stare at them in disbelief. I question if I am dreaming. Surely, if they don't see it, then it never happened. But I can feel it. It tears into me and makes me want to rip my hair out--there is no escaping it. Nothing can make the feeling go away, Henri's his intent to destroy me.

Ashur chats with my mother and Claudette. He smiles with love for his daughter. His fingers play with my mother's hands, intertwining their fingers. Occasionally, he reaches up and skims his fingers over her hair.

My mother.

Her honey hair falls loosely down her neck, held back by enamel flower pins. I am struck again by her young face. Her jaw's harder and stronger than mine, more square. I used to think she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Surely, she must have been a princess of some far off land, taken away from her castle by her knight in armor, my handsome dark-eyed father. Night skies, filled with the light of a thousand stars, the eyes of the angels in heaven upon them, keeping them safe and free. Maybe he had stolen her away because her belly was already showing their secret love to the world. Emily and I, her two angels.

She has returned to her castle, and I wonder how many myths she holds. Seeing her face light up whenever she sees me, stings my soul. I want to hate her and pretend she is a horrible creature. But it hurts too much.

Abigail talks to Ashur, her voice pleasant and cheery. Her eyes bright blue gems--my eyes, never looking directly at me. When Henri speaks, she looks his way and talks back. My mother talks to him. I clutch the hem of my dress, the pain is too strong. I may actually break from it.

I can't feel anymore, my heart has been left in that large empty room with metal beams. I can't feel the pain, there is simply no more room. I pack up Henri's anger and store it away, behind Emily's face and my mother's lies. My insides have been replaced with concrete, my bones made of steel.

I sip my wine, but I know better. They aren't going to catch me off guard again. I wanted to stay hidden, tucked away in my room, but I knew if I hadn't shown up, Henri would have won. He would have seen that he had broken something in me. I refuse to be broken.

My eyes drift to Lucius. He watches the conversation around us, occasionally looking my way. Our eyes meet, and I see it. He feels guilt. He knows how bad this hurts. Lucius turns back and watches Claudette talk, watches Henri wave his arms, and laugh. Henri is telling a story. Something about Nanny and a wild hog.

I remember. When we were seventeen, Nanny had opened the house to let the crisp spring air in. Henri had taken me to the mill. We had been holding hands laying on the blankets, and he had been placing small kisses over my brow. So tender. I close my eyes at the memory. Henri. Sweet and loving. We had heard Nanny's screams all the way from the main house. Henri had run, so fast, I couldn't keep up.

It's a funny story, a happy memory. A wild hog had wandered into the house and was trapped in the kitchen with Nanny. She was screaming, standing on the kitchen chair, her arms waving wildly about her. Emily had saved the day by getting a long broom and yelling until the hog ran out of the house.

I can't laugh or share in the story, filling in the details, about how Nanny had cursed, the foulest language we had ever heard from her. I sit mute. He is telling it for me, but I remember, he doesn't have to remind me. Henri used to be good.

Part of me can see it. The lies they tell themselves so they can live in it. I even understand it. There is great power here, in the darkness of this world. In the lust for blood, for passion. The draw to power and the sins of the flesh. They all push away the ugly part and keep the secrets of their life and their cruelty hidden. Locked in trunks, out of the light of day. But it pounds, crashing at the sides, threatening to break free. Violence and blackness. Greed and sin. Even Aydin can't keep himself from it.

"Isn't that right?" Henri asks me.

Metal. I am made of metal.

"I wasn't paying attention," I say, dryly, the sound of my voice surprises me.

"Nanny swore she would find that hog and roast him for dinner," he says, laughing. I used to love his laugh.

"Nanny always had a vengeful streak," I say. "Must be where I got it."

"You got that temper from your mother," Henri says, he's still laughing, it is all so funny.

"You should watch that temper, Charlotte." Claudette smirks. "It'll get you in trouble one day." She actually laughs, pretty and cruel. It matches the tinny music of my life.

I'd love to snatch her bald.

My wine calls to me. It can wash away the tight feeling in my chest. I can pretend. Just like them. Henri's hands never forced me, never moved over places without my consent. Violating. Hating. I can lie too. I don't have to feel any of it.

Metal. I am made of metal.

Claudette stands and glides to Lucius, his eyes meet hers, and they darken. Lust fills them, and he takes her outstretched hand in his, brushing his lips softly against her fingers. Does he know that underneath her beautiful mask, the inside is lined in black? He has to. She barely bothers to conceal it.

They walk, without a word from the room. Lucius pulled along by her wickedness, his boy face accepting. He does know of her true nature. He loves her anyway. Does he kiss her lips, blinding himself to her cruel ways, pushing aside the mean remarks and twisted smile? Taking the bits that are offered, ignoring the rest? As I have done, because simply, they aren't all bad. It makes life bearable, pushing away the ugly, remembering only the good. The flashes of beauty and kindness. Aydin was wrong. I do hide the ugliness. I store it away and pretend I can't see it.

The room falls quiet. Henri no longer talks, instead watches the fire, his face has no emotion. My mother stands and leaves the parlor with Ashur. No one speaks, only the light popping sounds of the fireplace fill the room. I want to run. I am left alone with Henri.

My wine glass is still full, and I swish the dark red liquid around the edges, daring it to spill over. How have I gotten here? My life in Florida seems far away, a life that someone else has lived. I wonder if Janice misses me as terribly as I miss her.

"Would you like me to see you to your room?" Henri stands in front of me. He looks normal. He looks like Henri.

Is he serious?

"I'd rather stab my eyes out." My words shock even me. My voice comes out strong, unafraid. When did I become so daring?

Henri laughs. It is a quiet sound, amused. I grip my glass to keep from clawing his face.

"You do have quite a sassy side." He is enjoying this cat and mouse game. Henri offers his hand to me. "Come, I'll tuck you in."

It comes out then. The glint of meanness. It has been veiled under a chocolate layer flecked in gold. Is that where the darkness lies? Hidden in the gold sparkles in the iris? I have gazed into them so many times and seen only love. I trusted them and trusted him, completely blind. The windows to the soul and I somehow missed the evil that lay in them.

"So you can finish what you started?" My voice is a flat line. There is no emotion in it. I refuse to let him see it.

Henri crouches down in front of me, his forearms rest on his thighs, and his fingers weave together. He is smiling again. Anger seeps into my pores, it fills me up. There is so much rage, my head rushes. He puts his face close to mine, his voice low. His breath feels rancid. "Soon, there will be no one to keep you away from me."

The surge of electricity steals my breath. My vision blurs and stars form in the corners. He tears at my metal core and leaves it shredded, the edges jagged and sharp. I can feel him, and there is no blocking him out. He is rage. A ferocious storm that will destroy everything, leaving nothing but ruin in his wake.

Aydin.

Henri can't feel it. He is oblivious to the target on his back. To the lightning that crashes in the distance. It gives me strength. Henri mistakes my silence for fear. He thinks he has won some game where he holds the cards, and I wasn't told the rules.

"Did you enjoy your tour of the winery, Charlotte?" Aydin's voice slices through the air like shards of ice.

Henri bolts up and spins to face him. His quick movements and red face give him away. He is scared, and he should be. Aydin stands maybe a foot from him, his face hard, the steel of his eyes frozen, frost glistening around the edges.

"It was very educating." My voice sounds calm like it belongs to someone else. Some woman who is stronger. Someone who doesn't have to pretend she isn't intimidated by the boy she had loved.

Henri walks out in silence, leaving Aydin and I alone. My breath rushes out. Aydin sits at his usual place by the fire. I haven't been so glad to see anyone in a long time.

"This is my fault. I should never have provoked him." Aydin's face is unreadable. "I'm going to kill Lucius."

My laugh surprises Aydin, who looks over to stare. "That is exactly what Lucius said. I'm just glad he wasn't any later." I glance down. The words came out lightly, but they carry more than I want to hear.

"Lucius is never late," Aydin says. He stands and walks toward me, every movement fluid and graceful. He kneels down, his stomach at my knees.

My heart pounds in my ears. Aydin's eyes are dark, the pupils dilated. The light reflects in them, making them shine. I hate that I can't tell what he is thinking. I want to know every thought that passes behind his eyes. I reach up, without thinking, and lightly brush his cheek with the back of my fingers. The hair on his face is soft. What sits before me is only the ghost of what he had once been.

Aydin's eyes close, a small breath rushes from him. Something in his face changes and his eyes cloud. I take a deep breath, sucking in the spicy, metallic taste in the air. Aydin brings a finger to his mouth, a glimpse of sharp teeth and it comes back with drops of blood. His blood. Lightly, he skims his fingers over the scratches on my face. His touch doesn't charge under my skin. There is only a small sensation, like an embrace. My cheek tingles and the sharp sting fades. I look at him shocked, and his fingers move to my mouth. The metallic taste of blood hits my tongue, as he rubs his finger over my lip, pulling the corner down. The skin tingles before it fades.

Aydin pulls a cloth from his pocket and wipes my face before he runs his hands over my hair. I feel weak. I want to sink into him. There are so many things I want to say, but I don't even know where to begin.

"There is nothing I can do about the bruises," Aydin says. "You must give them time to heal."

# Chapter Thirty-four

When I was fifteen, there was a small dinner party in honor of my father. I wasn't sure what exactly the party was for, but I remember it vividly. My mother usually kept Emily and I entertained by making up stories about our guests. She would encourage us to join in, spinning elaborate tales. Henri often laughed us off or after a while ignored us. My mother told me I had an amazing ability to distract with my vivid imagination.

During that particular party, we had only two guests. My father's gatherings usually involved his colleagues, sitting in the parlor until the wee hours, their loud carious laughter filling the house. Several unknowns would sit around with them. Very few made lasting impressions, except that night.

A tall woman with dark skin and dark eyes had been our guest. A small man with fair skin and flaming red hair, his pale face dotted with freckles, accompanied her. My father had introduced him as Thomas and seemed delighted to have him in our home. Thomas was nice with an Irish accent that made everything he said sound humorous.

But, it was the tall woman that had caught my attention. Dahnay was from Ethiopia, and my mother had said she had come for a special visit. I remember she had not offered her hand, but simply bowed her head slightly in greeting. Her long neck held thin gold necklaces, some with small medallions, others simple charms. Her dress was a dark red with gold trim. Dahnay's short hair was styled neatly to her head like the old black and white pictures of Hollywood movie stars. Her long forehead sloped elegantly to her large brown eyes. Those were what captured me. They were outlined in pure gold, like her dress, but so intense, I could barely keep her gaze.

Dahnay had seen terrible things in her life. I knew from how fathomless her eyes were, she had seen pain. It was etched in the dark color, framed with gold. They told her story, but I was forced to grab the words from the air, sharing them with my mother and Emily as I went along.

She was a queen from long ago. Her life had been created for her, her marriage arranged. Dahnay's new husband had been a hideous man, cruel and beat her often--hurting her in ways no woman should ever have to know. The depths of his cruelty were carved into her skin, hidden from prying eyes. I knew my words to be true--the gold flashes in her eyes told me so.

I continued my story, quietly, telling of how she had been forced into a dark life, trapped in the depravity around her. Until one day, she gathered the strength to break free. She had killed her cruel husband by sawing off his head and putting it on display. Dahnay's act of defiance made all the woman in shackles in the lands cheer. She continued by freeing their battered bodies and ruled over all of the north east of Africa for hundreds of years.

Dahnay had turned to me and stared across the room, her eyes meeting mine. I knew then that I had told her story. She had smiled at me, letting me know in silence I had breathed life into her past. Emily had loved my story, and Henri told me I was ridiculous. My mother had laughed and said that Dahnay was indeed a warrior.

I sit in front of my mother and see that her eyes are cast from the same dark pits as Dahnay. The dark and powerful woman that had sat at my dinner table had been a vampire. It's an unsettling thought. How many had I met in my life? How many toothy smiles had I seen and not known the darkness that was in them?

I watch as Abigail talks to Aydin. Claudette, I believe, is sleeping since the sun has yet to set. Lucius sits reading some huge book in the corner. The events of the past two weeks weigh on me. I can't imagine spending the rest of my life here. I certainly can't imagine spending it with Henri walking the halls.

"Will I ever get to go home?" I ask.

"Do you mean back to the coast?" Abigail asks. This is the first she has talked to me since Henri's attack. They all act like nothing has happened. Except, I haven't seen Henri since Aydin scared him last night.

"Yes," I say.

"This is your home now, Charlotte," Abigail says. "We will send for your things."

"I'm not allowed to leave," I state. I look to Lucius. "You will just come collect me again if I try."

Lucius' eyes dart away to Aydin. How can such a sweet face hide such deceit? I glance at Aydin. He has been watching me. "If Lucius doesn't, then you will."

"You are safe here," Aydin says.

"I felt real safe on my wine tour, Aydin." Sarcasm drips from my words.

His eyes burn into mine, but I look away. Cruel hands squeeze my heart. I can't believe he is keeping me here. Aydin spent my entire life protecting me, now he is the one making sure I never leave. The air in the room charges and the metallic scent hits me hard.

Aydin's face changes and twists, Lucius sits upright, his large muscles flex. I break away from staring at Aydin to look at him. Lucius has his eyes on me, but I can't read the expression.

"Charlotte, can I talk to you?" Henri asks from behind me. My stomach leaps into my throat. My hands start to tingle, the sensation spreading up my arms and claws at my face. Before it was car rides or sudden, loud sounds. I swallow around the anxiety. Henri has become a new trigger. The simple sound of his voice has sent me into a panic. I can't conjure my rage of the night before. I can't summon the bravery, and it's leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

Automatically I look to Aydin. He gives me a slight nod. I stand slowly, trying to keep my composure and turn to face Henri. His face appears different. His eyes dart away, unable to look at me. He always looks at me. The shame is obvious, it covers him like a shroud. My heart tears in my chest.

"Yes," I say.

Lucius and Aydin walk slowly from the room. Henri steps back as they pass, his haughty demeanor knocked back a few degrees. Either one could rip him to shreds. Their cruel looks and nasty smiles aren't needed. He is scared of them, of what he has done.

Abigail stops in front of him. His eyes shoot down to his feet. She runs her hand over his cheek, stopping at his chin. She grips his face and leans in to whisper in his ear. I can't hear what she says, but the look on his face tells me it more than likely involves threats of severe bodily harm. She backs away and kisses his cheek. The door shuts quietly behind her.

"There is nothing I can say to take back the way I behaved," he says, "I can't apologize, it was unacceptable."

The way he behaved. Like he had just talked badly about me, or insulted me. As if his behavior weren't that of someone who is controlling, possessive and abusive. My rage comes back. He has broken our trust, thrown away years of friendship and love.

"You're right," I say, pretending I am calm.

"There is something I would like to show you." His eyes burn desperately. "It won't justify my actions, but maybe, I don't know. Maybe you will understand."

"You mean there is a reason to hit me and...." I choke on the words and look away.

"No, I don't think any of that. Char, please, I just need to show you something."

Henri opens the door and walks into the hallway. Lance stands guard, and his presence gives me courage. He follows Henri and me toward the back of the chateau. Toward the narrow door leading to the back servants' stairwell and the lower levels.

Once we pass through the sterile hallway and stand in Henri's office, he tries to shut the door, but Lance braces his arm against it, his blue eyes threatening.

"I discovered something after Emily died," Henri says, backing away from Lance. At his computer, he punches buttons, and a screen pops up on the large monitor above the white counter. A bunch of lines jump out at me, different colors and numbers.

"What is this?"

"Remember I told you I had discovered a gene, a possible cure for many different diseases?" Henri asks.

I nod.

He points to the screen and a series of different colored worm looking things. "See this? This is your DNA."

"What? How did you get this?"

"After the accident, Aydin's blood was healing you so rapidly, it was astounding," he says, looking at the screen. "Stephan and I couldn't figure out why. The repercussions of what Aydin had done had yet to show itself. Their blood is very powerful, too powerful for humans."

"So it really was Aydin's blood that healed me?" I swallow around the bile rising in my throat. Abigail had told me this when she revealed the night Emily died, but the reality has yet to set in.

"Yes. He took a big risk. They do not give their blood to humans, even though it can heal us." Henri turns to look at me. "Every person reacts differently. Some, it is like a drug, the effects are a temporary feeling of elation. Others it heals or makes stronger. Some go into a catatonic state, but as soon as it enters the body, it starts to invade. It takes over every cell, trying to change it. Eventually, the person becomes very ill and dies."

I want to ask him how he knows this but am scared of the answer he will give me. "I'm fine, right? Will I get sick?"

"No, you are fine, amazing really," Henri says. He moves to his computer and hits more keys. Different images pop up, more squiggly worms and colors. Except these look different. There are threads attached the each one like they have been stitched on. "These are your cells after the accident. As you can see, they have been affected."

"Affected how?"

"When Aydin's blood entered your body, it went straight for the one gene it recognized."

"What do you mean?"

"Scientists cannot figure out why a cell splits and creates a twin. We know why fraternal twins are born, there is a gene for this that gets carried on. But, we have yet to discover if there is a particular hereditary gene for identical twins." He pauses to make sure I'm following what he is saying. "Until now."

"You're telling me, this gene you discovered, is, in fact, the gene that makes identical twins?"

"Yes." He looks back to the screen and points to it. "Vampires are from one of the original Twins in the creations stories. Aydin's blood, vampire blood, found its original source, the gene that you carry."

"I don't understand how this has anything to do with medicine and gene therapy." I'm so confused, I've forgotten I am angry.

"Think of their blood like a living organism, looking for a host. Instead of seeing foreign, sick, or damaged cells, Aydin's blood saw something it knew. It copied some areas of your DNA and replaced others. It's astounding really. Maybe that is why you healed so quickly. Why instead of reacting badly, it helped you. Maybe even still does. Because of how it invaded, we can now see how their blood can be used for medicinal purposes. We can turn it into a therapy for any type of mutation. Maybe even over time, eradicate them all together."

"All this, because I carry an old twin gene?" I look back to the images on the screen. "What are all these strange thread like things?"

"It is extra DNA," he says. Henri flips through more images, but in different colors all threaded with strange red strings. "Aydin's blood welded itself to different cells in your body. It's completely changed the way your body works."

I stare at the screen. His words refuse to sink in, I won't let them. "What does this mean?"

"It means Char, every single cell in your body has been affected. All the way down to the ones in your brain. The parts that make decisions and make you feel emotions." Henri looks deflated. I am beginning to understand. "When I saw this, I lost it. It's no wonder you are attracted to him. You can't help it."

He is a part of me. He has invaded my entire body, all the way to my core. My own personal code has been rewritten. Aydin has taken over my thoughts and my desires. Is that why I could feel his presence? No. I have known him before, maybe it is just more pronounced. I can barely be near him without feeling every raw emotion he feels.

"See, Char, it's not real," Henri says, softly. "I'm not saying that this excuses what I did. I'm trying to show you that, I thought I was going to lose you. Again. I can't lose you, Char."

There is this small part of me that can feel his anguish. I have the urge to rub my thumb over the crease around his mouth. Smooth out the sorrow and lines at his eyes, easing his pain. But, I don't. I can't. The damage has been done. I let his confession fall to the floor where it shatters, piercing us both, the shards a spectrum of colors--love, promises, memories--lay scattered at our feet.

"You lost me a long time ago, Henri."

"Char," he says my name, a plead.

"Does Aydin know this?" I ask, ignoring the tightening in my chest. I glance at Lance briefly, before looking back to Henri.

"No."

"Make sure he never finds out," I say and walk from the room.

# Chapter Thirty-five

The idea formed itself in my mind. It is a pretty good one. Simple, just like the best-laid plans always are. Too many complications leave room for errors. Too many ways to get caught. My plan for escape is foolproof. Except for one thing. It will never work.

I'm not dealing with usual, day to day people. Nothing in my life is normal. I'm not even dealing with things that walk in the light of day. The chateau has become my prison and is monitored day and night by vampires. That throws a wrench in my plans. A big one. I can run, in the daylight, to the town, but then Aydin will send one of his suited henchmen to retrieve me. He is bound to me. We are connected.

So, instead of running pleading for help, wild and hysterical which is exactly what I feel, I am doing what every southern-bred woman does in times of duress. I am day-drinking. No wine for me, I have moved on to the hard stuff.

It is the middle of the day. A bottle of lord-only-knows how old scotch sits next to me. I am in a makeshift bathing suit, consisting of a silky white bra and panties, laying by the pool, a small glass of clear liquid in my hand. My fear over the last few days has faded. Henri I know won't touch me. He crossed a line that even the psycho vampire family I was born into won't allow. For once, I am grateful for the protection. His futile attempt at an apology fell on deaf ears. I can only hear that Aydin has changed me and Claudette's warning. I am Henri's obsession.

I try to sip my drink, but the warmth sits in my belly, churning my insides. More accurately, I am trying to day-drink and failing miserably.

The hot sun feels good on my skin, and a thin layer of sweat covers my body. The thin material of my garments reveal more than what I would usually be comfortable showing. Considering that my life no longer belongs to me, I don't care. There is not much left they can take away.

I sip my scotch again and try not to choke on the taste. Aydin is the one I always see sipping the drink. I need to remember to tell him it is putrid. If I talk to him again. My stomach sinks. He is meant to keep me safe, and he has delivered me straight to the mouth of hell. I want to hate him, but I can't. For whatever reason he cared about Emily and I enough to risk his life. No matter how cruelly he acts, no matter what he has done, I know that is not his real face. He has let me see past it too many times.

Pain tries to needle its way in. I want to feel nothing over the pain they all have caused. I sip more scotch, my head growing light, and I close my eyes. Eventually, it will stop, and the hurt will fade, replaced by sweet numbness. Soft tingles of alcohol induced nothingness.

"Ashur wants to talk to you."

I scream loudly, and sit upright, spilling my drink. Lance stands over me, and I curse.

"You scared the crap out of me," I say and place the drink down. As I stand, I see Lance has looked away, his eyes focusing on the wall just behind me. Interesting. He is the only one that doesn't eye me. I walk to the pool and slide in ignoring him. The cool water washes away the sweat and spilled scotch.

"Ms. Duval, Ashur would like to speak with you." Lance tries a nicer approach. His voice softening as if that will help.

I continue to ignore him and dunk under the water. When I resurface, Lance is standing by the pool holding my dress, his face unreadable. He blinks and turns his head away, pressing the small device in his ear, communicating something to someone. Probably that I am being difficult. It is a little thing, childish really. The only bit of arsenal I have, being ornery.

I step from the pool, walk to the towel I have laid out, and pour myself another drink. Lance's large hand grabs my arm and yanks me toward the gate. I would yell, but I'm so shocked I can't open my mouth. In over two weeks, he has not touched me. Barely spoke and suddenly he is manhandling me.

With my drink still in hand and my other arm clasped by Lance, I am not so gently guided to the house. My body is almost completely exposed in the flimsy wet material. Goose bumps spread out, revealing my nipples under my bra. Only a thin layer of lace covers the most important parts on my bottom. Now I feel exposed.

Lance takes me to the back of the chateau, where I know they walk about. When we reach the back, he leads me to the servant stairs up to the third floor. I have never been in this part of the house. All the windows are sealed with thick heavy curtains blocking out the sun. Here, I thought everyone has been running around the lower levels, and they have really been right above me.

My arm aches, the skin twisting as Lance leads me to massive double doors. He pushes them open and escorts me in, practically shoving me to the center of the room. Instead of Ashur, I see Aydin, standing in what looks like a study. He is leaned up against the fireplace, his back to us, looking in the black mouth where the fire should have been.

"Here," Lance says, his voice mean and out of character. He throws my dress over the back of a small loveseat and without another word, walks out, shutting the door behind him.

"I thought he said Ashur wanted to see me."

Aydin turns, his mouth opens, his eyes widen, and he looks away. My entire body heats, reacting to his expression. A blush moves from my chest up to my cheeks. I refuse to budge. It doesn't matter that he can see almost entirely my upper half and the lower garments leave little to the imagination. Pride and sheer stupidity keep me from covering myself. I am going to have the upper-hand in this situation. Even if it means I am practically naked in front of the one person who has seen me grow over almost thirty years.

Aydin looks back, keeping his eyes glued to mine. He has regained his composure, and his finger rubs his bottom lip. "I thought you would come if you thought it was Ashur who wanted to speak with you."

I remain silent. Obviously, I don't want to talk to anyone.

"No escape plans today?" He sticks his hand in the pocket of his crisp slacks. Today the suit is a charcoal gray, almost black. His eyes clear and bright, a beautiful contrast.

"Well, yeah, but I don't think it would work," I say. "Security around here is tight."

Aydin gives me a dry look.

"I could get out by going through the kitchen--maybe get as far as the winery this time." My hand goes to my hip, resisting the urge to cover my breasts. "Maybe one of the workers would help. Doubtful though."

"No, they wouldn't help." Aydin shakes his head. His jaw clenches and he blinks. "There are tunnels that lead directly to the chateau. There are tunnels all over the town too, but they aren't connected."

I shrug. It isn't like it worked last few times I have tried.

"Seems you have decided to feel sorry for yourself instead. Is this the route you are taking?" He points to the glass in my hand, his brows turned down, his mouth sour. "I'm beginning to think you have a drinking problem."

"Drinking is the least of my problems."

"So, you are going to spend the rest of your life drunk?"

I look to my glass and bring it to my lips. With tearing eyes, I take a long drink and nod. The liquor burns my throat, and I choke on the word, "Yes."

"Instead of fighting, you are just going to sit back and let everyone take advantage of you?"

"Not much of a choice. The Head of Security is a real ass. Seems another attempt to escape is futile."

I think he smiles. "That is very unlike you, Charlotte."

"Since you know me so well."

"I know you better than you think."

"You seem to think there is room for improvement," I spit out.

Aydin takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair. "Are you going to spread your legs so Henri can fuck you over as well?"

The glass flies from my hand and shatters on the mantle next to him, shards fly out hitting his suit. He doesn't even flinch. "Isn't that the plan? I have to stay here so he can fuck me whenever he wants?" I scream at him. My voice tears through the room like a maniac. "Fuck you, Aydin!"

"Watch that nasty mouth!" he yells. Aydin walks to the love seat and tosses the dress to me. It lands at my feet. He sits on the seat, less than a foot from me, and rolls his eyes.

Rolls his eyes.

My temper flares and I lash at his face, his head, his shoulders. I want to tear him apart. He lets me, for a minute. He doesn't shield his face, only turns his head, closing his eyes before he grabs my wrists. His touch burns and sorrow fills me to my teeth. There is no escaping it. My legs weaken, and I crumble in front of him to my knees. Tears start to fall over my cheeks. I look away, but I don't care. He already knows how hurt I am. I have let it slip and let him in. I can't keep him out no matter how hard I try. I barely know his thoughts from my own. All because he has twisted my world, saved my life, and gave me his blood. I can't escape him because of it. I hate him for it and myself as well. For my weakness. My desire for him, my anger, and desperation that wants to trust him. Needs to trust him.

Aydin's grip tightens on my wrists, and he shakes me hard. My teeth rattle and I am stunned quiet. The tears stop, and I turn to look at him, but his face remains hard and unreadable. He forces me up so I am standing in front of him. My wrists are released, and he sits back holding my eyes. Every part of me heats. I can smell my sweat and my fear, giving away my desire and agony.

Long, thin fingers brush over my arm, barely grazing the skin. The kiss of his fingers raises goose bumps over my body. My nipples harden, and I close my eyes, trying desperately to keep my body from reacting to him.

Aydin isn't supposed to touch me. We aren't supposed to be here, alone. I wonder if anyone even knows where we are. Aydin brushes the tips of his fingers to mine, bringing my thoughts back to him.

I have known what I feel isn't completely my own. It has grown to such a size, when I am near him, I can't tell who it belongs to. I open my eyes to see that he is watching me, the toxic silver of his eyes moving over my face. Aydin's hand goes to his mouth, and he rubs his lip. I want to reach out and grab his thoughts. Force him to show me what he is thinking.

I step closer, but he leans back shaking his head in warning. I freeze, sucking in air. Aydin's arms spread out behind him, resting on the back of the seat. He won't let my gaze move from his gray eyes. His lips part and his tongue touches the corner of his mouth. Everything in me leans out, wanting to take it in my teeth. To force him to move his tongue over me so I can feel his cool breath and rough desire.

The bright platinum of his eyes cloud and the pupils dilate. Our gaze breaks as he lets his eyes move down. My skin catches fire as he gazes over my lips, my neck, the fabric over my breasts. They move hungrily, down over the curve of my hip, resting only for a moment on the thin lace that barely covers the space between my legs.

Aydin takes a deep breath, filling his lungs and releases it in a rush before he looks away.

"Go to your room and get dressed." His voice rasps out, rough and hard, giving him away. His body reveals the truth, it pounds into me, and I feel every lick of want. He is every sin, boxed up and hidden in the form of a man. He lies to everyone, himself worst of all. No one can have me. Henri holds no power, he can't touch me or try to claim me. Aydin already has.

# Chapter Thirty-six

# Aydin

A terrible savage beast lays within me. He is dark and demented. He sits hunched, on hooves, forming depraved thoughts in his sick mind. There are times he almost breaks free, times I want him to. This sickens me the most. My desire to unleash him, to unlock his cage and let him take her. I play with the locks, weaken them, threaten to release him unto the world where I know, just know he will devour her.

How have I come to this? How have I gone from her fierce protector to the one who she needs to be saved from? I am disgusting and immoral. Any ounce of humanity that rests in me falls out, trampled under this monsters feet, in his desperate need to have her.

It comes out, threatens to break free every time Henri looks at her. That is all he has to do, just graze his eyes over her body. I know what his eyes hold, it matches my own. I am familiar with its savagery, this unclean lust. I am as full to the brink as Henri with greed. It makes me want to tear his eyes out, to capture what he sees when he looks at her and remove it from his thoughts.

It is unclear when this started. There is not an exact moment I can look back and recognize when the hideous beast was born. It may have started, only a beating heart, when I gave her my blood the night of the accident. It may have been the night she sat in the village at the bar. When I could smell Henri's greed on her, how it was tangled up in her soft scent. Everything in me craved to remove it. To wipe his memory from behind her eyes, erase the places he had touched and color it with my own. It started to eat at me. I could feel its teeth gnawing at my insides, wanting out.

I had let Charlotte go and told no one she had slipped out and gone into town. No one followed her, no one could watch her. It was a stroke of luck I manipulated to be near her. To touch her skin and feel her warmth. I, of course, had to be the one to fetch Charlotte. My pride wouldn't allow for anything else.

The knowledge that my blood runs through her veins sparks this beast's insanity. It breathes life into my locked up monster. He rears his head and claws to be free. His cries make my teeth long, and my heart beat faster. He wants her. Needs her. Sometimes, I know, I am no better than Henri.

But, Henri is on edge, something about him is changing. At times, he seems darker and out of control. Thin layers are peeled back, and its ugliness peeks out. I had asked Lucius to keep his eyes open, he is, after all, her Guardian. I no longer am expected to protect her, no longer allowed. Lucius was supposed to keep a better eye on Charlotte. He knows how I worried over Henri. Henri's act of betrayal is far worse than cruel hands--I can see it written in her eyes. He wants nothing more than to humiliate, debase and control her.

That is what he is made of, this beast. The stuff of the betrayed. Broken promises and violating touches. He was born from it, created in it, just as I. From vacant eyes and innocence lost. How many of those have I seen in my life? Too many. I couldn't save them all, though I had tried.

Every fiber in me screams to kill Henri. A slow torturous death. I want to rip his eyelids back and force him to look at what he has done to her. Tear his hands so he could no longer feel the greed that drove them. The depravity of my thoughts shock even me. For he is still, somewhere in there, the boy I cared for.

After I had been created, I was powerful, my strength far exceeded Ashur, and the thought was terrifying. I had little control, and it took years before it was mastered. When I was finally disciplined, I kept it close. I never gave into greed and the bloodlust that makes us who we are. I am a master in control. Except once. And it has ruined everyone I ever loved.

Charlotte stands in front of me, her eyes flash as I speak. My secret has been revealed, and she knows my thoughts. Her body reacts, the scent of her desire makes me dizzy. Everything about her is intoxicating. The faint smell of sweat on her skin, the water that dampens the thin white silk that covers her. My fangs grow long, and I am scared to talk. She will see what she does to me.

I am disgusting. I lust after the little girl I had protected. There is nothing more I can think of. Charlotte consumes my every thought. How her skin would taste. How sweet and thick her blood would feel sliding down my throat. It tightens at the thought. I sit still, unmoving. If I try to escape her, she will capture me. The monster will break free and she will be left in ruin.

Charlotte would be easy to manipulate. She is scared, confused, and hurt by the very people she loves. With her standing inches from me, her body and its warmth are all I want. My insides scream to take her and tell her she wants nothing but me. I have the power to force her desire, force her hands, to control her heart and feel her skin on mine.

But, they all want to control her. Her life and her blood, her power and the beautiful light that draws me to her. I refuse to be one of them. I don't deserve the luxury of her desire.

"Go," I say, again. She's not listening. She hasn't since she arrived at the chateau. I don't know why I expect her to now.

"You think you're so dangerous, Mr. Thanos," she says, her voice low and throaty. "So self-contained. Always in control of everything."

I stand, and she backs away. I move forward too fast, and she stumbles, her back hits the door. "You are lucky that I am, Charlotte." I put my hands on either side of her, trapping her. Reason calls to me from far away. I know I need to stop, but all other sounds fade to nothing, only her ragged breaths, and drumming heart echo in my head.

"Powerful Aydin," she mocks. I bite my tongue to keep my mouth shut. "Everyone has to listen to you. So strong, but you can't even keep two little women safe."

My vision blurs red. She shrinks back, yet I can hear her laugh. I know I am losing control. She is purposely being cruel, finally letting her anger show. It is deserved. I know it is. Yet, it is amazing, that it affects me so. "You have an acid tongue, Charlotte."

Her lips part, but she seems at a loss for words as she stares back with a combination of fear and, something else. Something wild and unnamed.

I know my pupils have dilated, and she can see the tips of my fangs as I speak. I grab her hair, combing my fingers through the strands, and yank her head back. She reaches up, making a small, girlish sound. Her breaths rush out between her parted lips, washing me in her sweet scent.

I am no better than Henri. I know this. I want to stop, but I can't.

"Do you think, by using harsh words, you can hurt me?" I ask. The soft strands of her hair slide like silk through my fingers and I can smell her shampoo and the hint scotch on her breath as she gasps. "Your nasty little mouth does nothing to me."

Her thighs press together, and I almost completely lose control. The scent of her arousal invades all my senses, my mouth, my nose, making my fangs grow longer, cutting into my lips. My mouth waters and I lean in dangerously close, using my body to crush her to the door. The pulse in her neck flutters and my eyes move to watch her skin beating with the same rhythm of her heart, skipping as I tug at her hair. A small freckle on her neck moves with the mesmerizing wave of her pulse, and for a moment, I wonder what her flesh would taste like. If she'd cry out as my teeth cut through the thin skin. If her blood would taste as sweet as she smells.

"Does this make you feel stronger Aydin?" The slight fear in her voice cuts through my thoughts. "Are you going to try to force yourself on me too?"

She thinks I would hurt her? I let go of her hair and rest my forehead to hers. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, but I'm still on edge. How can she make me so weak? I drink in her scent and place my hands on the door behind her. I know if I touch her again, I may not let go.

"You have to trust me, Charlotte." My voice sounds desperate, even to myself, but I hope she can't see what she does to me.

When I open my eyes, I find her watching me. I lift my head from hers and give her space. Her eyebrows turn down, "I don't understand why you keep me here," she whispers.

I want to tell her it is because I am trying to protect her. Bear my soul and show her that she renders me powerless, but Charlotte pushes her hands against me, I don't want to back away but do, and let her pass. All my muscles relax, and there is space to think. She picks up her dress and pulls it over her. The outline of her bra soaks through the thin material, revealing her tight nipples and pert breasts. I allow myself another moment to look. A hideous beast, demented and filled with lust. That is all I have become.

# Chapter Thirty-seven

"Do you have a death wish, my brother?" Lu stands in the doorway of my office. When I look up, I expect to see his smile, but deep lines form around his eyes.

I ignore his words and continue the task at hand. Watching the monitors on my laptop. Charlotte has returned to her room, and I have yet to see her leave. I worry that I took it too far. She needs to trust me, but I think I may have scared her. Lance, I see, is standing outside. He will let me know if she tries to leave again. Or, if someone bothers her.

Lu shuts the door and sits in the chair in front of me. "Fuck the gods, Aydin. If father sees your hands on her again, I'm not sure I can help you."

I look up at him. This time, he is smiling. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Things have heated up, and I don't mean when you were pawing at Charlotte upstairs."

"I wasn't pawing at her," I say. I simply wanted to talk to her, but her mouth got in the way.

"Oh yes, you were." He smiles. "I'm sure Abigail would call it so."

I sink back in my chair. "What is happening?"

"Ludari wants to meet Charlotte."

"What?"

"Oh, yes, brother." Lu leans forward. "Soon. As in, this evening."

This is not good. This is precisely what we have worried over. Before I can ask if Abigail knows, the office door swings open and Abigail walks through. I didn't even hear her coming my thoughts were so wrapped up in Charlotte. This is happening more and more. It has been too long since Abigail has let me feed.

"Ludari has taken an interest in Charlotte." Abigail's voice is tight, and she comes to stand near me. "He wants to introduce himself. Tonight."

"Lu has just told me."

"Why does he want to meet her suddenly?" Her voice is getting high. Panic is setting in. We all know why.

"Everything will be fine," I tell her. Though, I know this may be my last lie.

Abigail nods and sits on the corner of my desk. Her eyes move over my suit and force me to look at her. Fuck. Charlotte's scent is all over me. I try to swallow the guilt settling in my throat.

"I'm trusting you, Aydin," she says. "You should change, and bathe, and stop touching my daughter. I need you alive."

I look away to Lu. His expression grows serious, but I can see the corners of his mouth tugging, trying hard not to smile. I nod my head and look back to Abigail. Her face grows softer, and she reaches out to brush my hair back. At some point, the tables turned. I used to do this to her, and now she sits giving me the same knowing look I used on her. I release the breath I have been holding and lean back.

Abigail stands and leaves the room shutting the door behind her. "When is this introductory meeting supposed to happen?" I ask.

"Later? This evening? Who knows?" Lu says. "You know how unpredictable Ludari is."

I nod and look back to the monitor. Lance still stands, unmoving by Charlotte's door. I press the small device in my ear. "It is happening."

***

Charlotte lays on her stomach on the floor in the Great Hall when I walk in. Lance reported that she had left her room with Claudette, dressed for her introductory dinner to Ludari. Deep red fabric flows around her legs, spreading out like a pool of blood over the floor. The tight bodice cinches her waist with small beads, garnet, woven into the fabric. They twist and contour to her curves. Her feet are bare, and the dress moves up her legs, exposing her calves as she settles down lower on the floor. The room is dark, only the light from the stars and moon filter through the windows and terrace doors. The camera she holds rests on the wooden planks in front of her.

I look to Claudette, who is standing off to the side, holding a pair of red heels. She shrugs her shoulders.

"What are you doing?" I ask Charlotte.

"Hold on." Charlotte presses the shutter release, and the camera clicks after a few moments. Once she is satisfied with whatever she is doing, she stands and brushes off the front of her dress. Her blonde hair is loose and cascades down her exposed shoulders. She looks up and I see that her mouth is painted a deep red, her lips soft and full. She smiles at me and the moisture on them glistens like varnish in the light. "Look."

I move closer, and she holds out her camera. The small screen shows the room from the floor, squares of moonlight fall over the wooden planks, the shadow of the French doors creating a block pattern. The grand piano sits centered in the frame. Specks of dust float in the air, like the feet of dancers have just waltzed over them. The entire image looks as if it glows around the edges.

"If you raise the aperture, it allows more light, this is what gives this halo effect," she says, smiling and quite proud of herself. Charlotte reaches up and brushes her hair off her shoulder. I release a deep breath. I had thought she would be angry from our encounter earlier. But, she seems to have pushed it away.

"So, when do I meet this Ludari?" she asks.

"At dinner. I understand he plans to join us." I keep my voice even.

"Is this unusual?" Her face looks suddenly worried. Shit. Control. I need better control.

"Everything Ludari does is unusual," I tell her. "See you soon?"

Charlotte nods and reaches out toward me. I look down as she picks a small piece of lint off the lapel of my jacket. She moves closer, and I try to back away. Claudette is watching our every move. Nasty little bitch loves to cause trouble.

Charlotte glances up at me, her tongue at the corner of her open mouth. "You have to make me a promise," she says. "Claudette already has."

"And what is this promise?"

"To let me take a picture of you."

I back away and take a deep breath. "I'll allow you one. But not this evening. I will tell you when."

She smiles like she has just won a great victory, "Deal."

***

"Where in the hell is my daughter?" Abigail rushes into my office with a strained face, her voice reaching a piercing level, and her hands keep running down her thighs. Her panic is almost alive.

"Last I saw her, she was with Claudette," Lu says. He looks to me, his expression tells me everything.

"I left her in the Great Hall with Claudette earlier," I tell them. "She was taking pictures."

"Aydin!" Abigail screams. "She is supposed to be here, with you and Lu!"

I look to Lu and stand. "He has her or is planning to meet with her soon."

"Where?" Lu asks.

"I don't know. It's too soon," I say. A strange sensation crawls in my throat. I haven't felt this since the night of the accident. Panic. I can't panic. I have to remain in control.

Abigail starts to cry, leaning into me. Her arms wrap around my waist, and I smooth her hair down, but she slaps my hands away. She doesn't want comfort. She wants me to act. I have failed once already and she has given me another chance to carry out the plan. This will be my last chance.

Abigail's life has been filled with darkness. She had asked me after her daughters were born to keep them safe. I have made a promise. It undermines my father's wishes. It breaks the bounds to my creator and betrays him. But I have betrayed him before, long ago. Well before Abigail had asked. When I had seen the lives he was destroying. The women he used, the girls he enslaved.

Some I had saved. Most I couldn't. But my father never knew, I am his most loyal son, his prized fighter and fierce Guardian that keeps his girls' safe from the powers that try to stop him. What he doesn't know, is that those powers and I are one and the same. I will die before I break my vow to Abigail, but my timing has to be perfect.

# Chapter Thirty-eight

# Charlotte

Claudette leads me down the stairwell to the lower levels. I'm not sure what we are doing. She says she wants to get something from her room. I was right about one part, she does live underground, though I have yet to see if she has a magic mirror. I now know she doesn't need potions, it runs in her veins.

We walk down the sterile hallway past Henri's office. Before we end at the double doors to the security room, she walks through a door that leads us into another passageway. This one isn't white and tiled. It is darker and has a plush red runner. There are several doors lining the walls. This is where they must sleep during the day. My heart starts to beat harder. The realization of what I'm seeing hits me. I am in their lair.

Once we reach the last door in the hall, she opens it and walks through, or rather glides--Claudette never walks. The room is dim, except for a small lamp that turned on when she flicked the switch on the wall. It is surprisingly big and decorated like Marie Antoinette herself lives here. Pale blues and satin everything. Rich, gold gilded frames and a large heavy four-poster bed. The far wall holds a large carved mirror. Not gilded, but magic mirrors can be deceiving.

Claudette digs through a heavy box on her dresser and pulls out a necklace. "This will look perfect with your dress."

I'm beginning to feel like a giant play doll for her. She helped me get dressed for the Celebration Feast, which I have yet to talk to her about. They way her hands were all over me, leave me weary of being alone with her. We can play at being friends, but not that close.

She guides me to the mirror and pulls my hair to the side. She is standing close, too close, and she brings the necklace around my neck. The gold charm is small and strange. It looks like a star, but it has eight points. A large lapis lazuli sits in the center, and the metal points are grooved with light lines extending from the center. I'm not sure how it matches my red dress, but I go with it.

Claudette brushes my hair aside and places her hands on my shoulders. Her breasts press into my back, her skin cool. Anxiety needles its way in my stomach, but I swallow it down.

"What do you use when you bathe?" she asks. Her nostrils flare, as she smells my skin.

"Sweet almond and sandalwood," I tell her. Mental note: never come down here with Claudette again. If I make it out, that is.

"It is delicious." She bites her lip and backs away. "This must be what has him so enchanted by you."

I turn to look at her confused. "Who?"

"Aydin. I have never seen him like this."

I turn back to the mirror and smooth down my dress, all nonchalant and horribly obvious. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Oh please. He is quite taken with you." She smiles knowingly at me. "As you are with him."

I put my best 'I'm clueless to what you mean face' on. "There is nothing there." I move to walk from the room.

"Everyone knows Abigail told you," she says.

I freeze in the doorway, unable to speak.

"Guardians are never allowed to mate, to mark a human, or create offspring. They are made only to protect. If they fail, they are sent to the afterlife." She comes close, adjusting the fabric around my waist. "Father thought he was too much of an asset to let him die. This is why he allowed Abigail's punishment. This is why the Elders do not push for his death. He was too powerful a force to lose. Maybe also, because he did manage to save you."

Claudette glides around adjusting my dress and hair as she continues--I'm not sure how to respond, so I remain silent. "He was mine and my sister's Guardian, before he left to live with our family in Florida."

"You have a sister?"

"Had," Claudette says. "She passed a long time ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, her death held meaning." She smiles small, only one corner of her mouth turning up. "Aydin is easy to fall in love with. I believed I was when he was my Guardian. He has already shown he will do anything for you, Charlotte. Please stay away from him. You could quite possibly get him killed."

I don't want to see this. This compassionate Claudette who loves Aydin, who loves Henri. She is easier to hate when she was outing me on my poor behavior, yet, she never told anyone of catching Aydin and me in the rose garden. She also seems to think that Aydin cares for me. I shouldn't be this excited about hearing her say so since it may well get him killed.

"Come, Ludari is waiting to meet you in the study," she says.

"I thought we were doing dinner."

"He wanted to meet you in private first. He can be a tad intense."

Great.

***

Something is wrong. Claudette left me here, what seems like forever ago. It is getting late, or early. My body is tired, but my thoughts are everywhere. Not a single one will take center long enough for me to concentrate. I am lit within, a fire inspired by terror, energizing me. I know something is off, but I have no idea what is going on.

I stand in the study--the same room Henri told me of our picnic--waiting to meet this Ludari. There is a sick twist in my stomach, and I start to pace the room. Ancient vampires don't want to meet in private unless they have some rather unsavory ideas in mind. At least I assume. Aydin tried to meet with me earlier, but that was disastrous. I have no idea what he wanted to tell me. My damn temper got the better of me.

The study door bursts open and my mother walks in. No, almost runs. When she sees me, she freezes. "Why are you in here?"

I'm not sure if it is the strained look on her face, the wild eyes, or the fact that I'm already on edge that makes me run to her. She wraps her arms around me and pulls me close. I melt into her. Tears try to break free, but she holds me away and makes me look at her.

"Claudette said Ludari wanted to meet me before dinner," I tell her. Her jaw clenches and I fight the urge to run.

"Is everything alright, my love?" Ashur asks from the doorway.

Abigail backs away and smooths her hands down her dress. She is stressed to the max, and it's obvious. "I am curious as to why Ludari wants to meet Charlotte before dinner, is all," she says. Her voice is smooth and velvety.

"You know how he is." Ashur takes my mother's hand and leads her to the door. "I will be here with Charlotte, my love. Everything will be fine."

Why Abigail needs reassurance, is beyond me. But, I don't like it. I take a deep breath and try to relax. Ashur will be here. The same Ashur that forced my mother to come live with him as his mate so Emily and I could live in Florida longer. My stomach drops.

Abigail leaves the room, and the door shuts quietly behind her. Silence envelops us. I look to see Ashur watching me. I have yet to spend much time with him, seeing him up close and alone, I'm glad I haven't.

Ashur moves, suddenly in front of me, taking up my entire line of vision. His dark as night eyes seem to move in the dim light. Long black hair falls around his face making the bone structure seem too severe. "When Ludari comes, you do not speak. If he seems like he is saying something, simply smile." He backs away but only just barely. "You do not move, you stand here, and you stay here until he leaves."

I have no idea what I'm in for. I nod my head like I understand, which of course I don't. Why I am being given instructions, is beyond me.

"I thought you were going to be here." My voice sounds weak and full of fear. I take some deep breaths. I don't want them to know how scared they are all making me.

Metal. I am made of metal.

"No," Ashur says and walks from the room.

I am once again left alone with my racing thoughts. My metal armor keeps slipping, I am terrified. No matter how many times I weld the seams, add solder to my bones, it cracks. My fear is hot and alive, melting it back, exposing me. Norm comes to mind, his nightmare and his warnings. Henri has already tried to eat me alive. I worry this meeting will leave me tied up by the devil and devoured.

The door opens, and I freeze. Long fingers snake around my throat, and panic threatens to choke me. Ice nails of fear claw at my back tearing into my spine making my legs heavy.

Steel. I am made of steel. Don't let him feel your terror.

His body appears in the doorway, his head almost reaching the top of the frame. His skin is pale, not sickly as I imagined, but soft and smooth as marble. A giant, created by hands that came before me, well before modern man unearthed it from its tomb. His hair is red, the deep color of blood. A long beard covers his face and small braids weave in its thick fire highlights. Long arms and legs are covered in a flowing creamy robe, a corded rope tied around his waist.

Ludari walks into the room, a whisper, his feet falling so softly I am left wondering if he touches the floor. I am unable to move, welded to the ground, my metal insides keeping me on my feet. He smiles, and I see it.

He is old. So old that no human eyes should ever have to see him. He is something that is meant to be kept in the dark, in the corners of nightmares, too old to be real. His movements are fluid, snakelike. My nose fills with his scent, a deep sour smell. Reptilian. My stomach twists. His eyes capture mine, and I am stuck, held prisoner. They are colorless like water, but flat. His face is angular, similar to Ashur's, the ancient bone structure of the original people of the Middle East. He speaks, his voice rough, like sand pouring over stones. I don't know his language. Ears haven't heard it in thousands of years. I am mesmerized. Frozen. Ensnared in his trap.

And I know why he is here.

To claim his territory.

Sweat covers my body, I stink of terror. Suddenly, Henri doesn't seem so bad. His mean hands would be welcomed. I would rather give myself entirely to Henri, or have him take me if that is what he wants. He can tear at my dress, he can tear at my skin, he can hurt me. I don't care, just not this. Not this creature in front of me. I would rather die and be sent to hell. I could play in the depths, in the burning fires with Emily. Dance and sing songs of pain and fear. Anything, anything would be better than what Ludari is going to do.

Metal, I am made of steel.

Ludari speaks again, asking me something, a long finger points to the dress I wear. His eyes flash, a ripple in the dead water. His face remains even. I have no idea what the hell he means. Courage comes from somewhere, and I walk forward, smoothing my hands over my red dress, wiping the sweat from my palms.

"Do you like it?" I ask. My voice doesn't shake. I don't know this woman who has taken over my body. She is brave, or stupid.

A smile spreads over his lips, exposing small fangs. They are sharp, mean, and catch the light of the lamp. I expected bigger, though I keep that to myself.

Ludari is on me so fast I almost scream. Only demons move faster than the shadows they cast. He holds my wrist close to his mouth, and his nostrils flare, smelling my skin. A dry tongue flickers out, touching the flesh, tracing the veins. The end is not split like the snake he is. I swallow my terror, but it sticks, thick in my throat. The evil glint in his eyes as he licks my wrist tells me what is in store.

I sink back into the desk behind me. Ludari follows, his giant body pressing into mine. His thigh separates my legs, and he presses himself to me. He is flaccid, I don't appeal to him. I try to hide my relief, but it is short lived.

Skeletal fingers pull at my dress, pushing the soft fabric up, exposing me. My stomach sinks and bile rises in my throat. I can't breathe. My hands move, shaking, over the desk behind me, and I feel something sharp and cold. I wrap my fingers around it, arching my back, his pelvis presses into mine. I gulp down the sour taste of terror. He can't feel my horror. He can't know. I won't let him.

Ludari moves his fingers up my inner thigh, scraping roughly at the skin. Thick nails scratch at the flesh with hard snake-like patterns. His hand slips under my panties, and rough fingers push into me, deep. I bite my tongue, forcing the tears to stay behind my eyes, catching my scream behind my teeth. He brings his hand to his mouth, his tongue flickers out, tasting.

My armor slips. Terror breaks free as the metal structure collapses, and he is on mem crushing me against the desk. My heart beats wildly, the pulse in my throat threatening to explode. One of his hands grabs my hair, jerking my head to the side, exposing my neck. His cold tongue glides over my skin pressing into the pulse. His teeth dig deep and violent, ripping screams from my throat.

My ears fill with the sounds of my flesh tearing. The pain sears through me, unlike any other. Each pull of his teeth drawing out more pain, more screams. It draws from my belly, ripping through my heart and scorches where his mouth clasps my neck--a thorny dagger. I scream, grabbing at his robe.

His body reacts, and his excitement grows. He presses it against me threatening, feeding off my terror. A promise that I still have more, terrible things in store. I push hard, away from the desk, my hand holding the thin, long object pulls free, and I stab. The letter opener sinks into his neck, sick gushing sounds as blood sprays out. His teeth release and I dig it deeper, twisting. Dark blood spills from him, his hand goes to the blade, and he steps back. His eyes stare, unblinking. Cold. Empty.

H steps back, a demented smile twists over his mouth, covered in my blood. I glance to the blade and the blood gushing from his neck, pouring down his collarbone, and collecting in the thick fabric of his robe. I have made a terrible mistake and will pay dearly for it. The flat, vacant look in his eyes tell me he will make sure I remember never to defy him. My screams stop, and tears pour out as I realize, there is nothing to keep him from me.

The door flies open, and feral screams fill the air. My mother is on him, a monstrous, wild beast, unleashed and tearing at his throat. Blood splatters over her chest, her fingers clawing at Ludari's neck. Screams rip through the room. They fill my head. One word, over and over.

Run.

Out the door, down the corridor. Warm sticky blood oozes from my neck, I press my hand, trying to stop it, but it flows slowly, covering my chest, my hand, blending into the red dress.

Claudette appears in front of me, an apparition. She smiles sharply--the entire world is focused and clear, slow-motion horror. No sound exists. She reaches for me, but she stops. Her body flies, hitting the wall like a rag doll. She crashes with such force, the wall cracks and I duck expecting the ceiling to crumble, my steps faltering and I almost fall.

Lucius stands before me, pointing. He grabs Claudette again and yells at me. My ears ring with a hollow sound, but I can't hear, there is too much noise and too much fear, and I run toward where Lucius points. Toward the servant's passage as hungry wolves chase, their hot breath licking at my heels. My heart beats so fast, my breaths short and ragged. The front of me is covered in blood. My blood.

The doors to the Great Hall are stuck. I grab and pull, my fingers slipping, covering the gold handles in red. My screams stick in my throat, choking on terror. They finally give way, and I run blindly, through the room toward the large French doors.

He is standing in the center of the room. Waiting for me.

Aydin.

His arms wrap around me. My vision blurs and my head aches. The pain in my neck throbs. Fear pulsates in my head making my breaths short and fast. Darkness weaves silken threads around the corners of my eyes before they are swallowed by it.

I blink, and we are outside. Aydin's movements are so fast I think my neck might break, and my jaw will snap. I clench my teeth and wrap my arms around his neck as he runs crashing through the vineyards, towards the town. Horrendous sounds, screams, ripped straight from hell come from behind us. I grip him tighter.

Hills and the small town stretch out before us. Rows of vineyards blur past. The sound of wood breaking, crashing around us. The ink night sky fades into a stark aquamarine, blending into bright amethyst, turning the edges of the clouds pink. Golden rays peek out, over the tips of the distant hills. Night begins to surrender slowly to the bright white of the morning sun. The tips of the mountains turn pink, the sun casting long shadows over the crevices. Flat tiled roofs glow in the early morning light. I grip tighter at him. Panic sets in. Aydin is exposed. He has nowhere to go, but the village that is too far way.

The smell of burning flesh hits my nose. Tears run down my face, and I choke. I want to cover him, but I have nothing. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest. We are so close, so far. The sun peeks out over the horizon. The light and warmth hit my face. Beautiful. Glorious. Deadly.

For a moment, there is nothing but silence. My eyelids droop, I lose my grip. A velvet layer of black falls over my eyes. I blink, trying to keep them open.

We crash into doors, the wood splintering around us. Picture frames fall, the glass shattering on the floor. Shadows touch the corners of my eyes. Darkness tries to edge in again. I hear a voice, it is urgent and coarse, and I lift my face from Aydin's chest. Pierre. He waves his hands, pointing.

We are in the sign shop. Pierre leads us to a door, and stairs carry us down into a cold and dark passageway. There is no light, no flicker of candles as Aydin runs farther into the tunnels. Only complete blackness, only the echoing of his feet hitting the floor and the scent of his burnt skin.

Aydin finally stops. He holds me close, his breath near my face. He whispers in my ear, soothing sounds, but I don't know what he says, the throbbing in my ears has become too loud. His skin sticks to me as he moves me to sit. I am in his lap, enveloped by his body. My fingers are weak, trying to hold to his clothes. There are things I want to say, but I can barely breathe, my entire body feels numb, my head dizzy. Aydin calls to me, but it is distant. Warmth falls over me and my pulse slows. His hand finds the open wound on my neck, he rubs gently, and the pain fades.

His scream breaks through the darkness, a roar of fury. It comes from his soul, filled with such angst. It echoes off the walls, into my head and crashes into me, through my skin and crushes my bones.

I can feel it, a collar, tight around my neck.

I understand.

I am marked.

# Chapter Thirty-nine

Screams fill my ears, and the dull eyes rip me from my sleep. My breaths are coming fast, my heart pounds in my chest, terror grips my throat. Pain sears the side of my neck, like small needles. My hand shoots up grabbing at the skin. Ludari. His teeth still cling to me.

I look around with a sick twist in my gut. A candle, burnt to a short nub, sits in a carved out nook in the stone walls lending only a small flicker of light to the small room. Damp air fills my nostrils, thick with mildew. I sit a small bed made of bright pillows and blankets. A wooden crate sits next to me, small books and a glass of water on top. The fluttering in my heart slows, but my head feels full of cotton.

Images crash back: Ludari's snake tongue, his cruel hard body pressed to mine. My mother's crazed screams as she tore through his neck, Lucius, Aydin.

Aydin.

His burning skin. His anguish. I stand and crash into the wall, my legs weak and my head spinning. My hands shake as I sit back down. I reach for the glass and drink. The cold water feels good in my dry throat. I stand again, this time, prepared and place my hand for balance on the wall. A large metal door with a small window up high is the only entrance to the cell. There is no handle, no latch. The candle flickers, the light dims and sputters out. The cell is thrown into complete darkness.

"Aydin." I can't keep the panic out of my voice. "Aydin!" This time, I scream. I pound at the metal door, hollow sounds ring out.

"Calm down." Aydin's voice sounds far away. "It's not locked."

I almost collapse in relief. The door opens finally after I push my entire body against it. My head rushes, and I almost fall again, but catch myself on the door frame. It is so dark I'm almost blind. I walk down a narrow hall toward a faint yellow light. The hall opens into an enormous cavern, jagged, rough walls, the ceiling curved. A pale light flickers, a small dot in the far corner, barely casting any light into the space. It is something from a nightmare, my palms start to sweat. Chains hang from the walls, the links beaten into the thick stone, metal cuffs at the ends. There are more objects around, but I can't make them out in the low light. A faint sound, dripping water, like voices, echo off the walls and tickle my ears. I swear I can hear distant screams, lost souls trapped in the cavern. Scattering sounds come from near my feet, making me jump.

A table sits in the corner where the dim light shines. I can see Aydin's shape, his thin body sprawled out in a wooden chair next to it. I walk slowly toward him, my steps unsteady.

As I walk closer, his face comes into view. My hand flies to my mouth, and I freeze. Angry blisters and burns cover his face. The skin peeling off in places, revealing the light pink raw skin underneath. His eyes pale and watery look back at me.

"It looks worse than it actually is," he says. He is a liar. It is bad. Worse.

I can't find my voice, there are no words. I close my eyes and sink to the ground in front of him. He risked his life to get me away from Ludari. He has gone against his creator, his family. I am glad I'm almost blind in the darkness of the cavern. There is no way I can bear to see just how badly hurt he is. I wouldn't be able to carry the weight of it. I'm not that important. Not for this. Not for his sacrifice. Not again.

"You've lost a lot of blood," Aydin says. I want to lay my head on the floor and weep. "You need to eat and rest."

"I'm not the one who is injured."

"Lucius will be here soon," he tells me. "Then I can leave to hunt."

My stomach churns and the memory of Ludari's bite assaults me. The searing pain and terror that it invoked. The image of Aydin inflicting the same pain on someone is unwelcome.

Aydin shifts next to me, small squeaking sounds come from my left, too close. I grab at Aydin's leg and stifle a scream. I hate rodents. All rodents. Especially ones that scurry in dark corners in a dungeon. That is where we are, a dark, hideous dungeon.

"Where exactly is here?" I ask. The floor is barely visible around me in the darkness, almost unable to see my hand inches from my face. Aydin's leg feels thin through his pants, and I cling to him. I want to stand and act brave, but my skin is crawling. He is the only anchor in the vast darkness.

"We are on the coast, near Italy. You slept a long time. I may have helped with that." He sounds strong. I find a small amount of comfort in that. Even though his face is so badly burned, the rest of him is still solid. "This is one of the safe-houses."

I look back at the dark opening behind me, the outline of the chains on the walls. "You mean torture chamber."

"I prefer safe-house. This is temporary. Until the threat dies down."

The threat. Like a really pissed, really old vampire. I wonder how much damage my mother had inflicted. My mother. Oh no.

"My mother, is she alive?" I grip his leg. She had attacked viciously. There is no way she would have escaped Ludari's wrath.

"Your mother is ingenious, I have a feeling she is just fine." He speaks with confidence. I want to believe him. "Abigail has a way with words."

"What about Lucius?"

Aydin stands, he feels like solid steel. Nothing comes from him. He is blocking the pain of his burns no doubt. He holds his hand out, and I can see faintly in the light that they are not burned. There is a faint charge as I take his hand, but nothing like the fire of before. He pulls me up fast and my head swims, making me stagger against him.

The small sounds of tiny rodent feet and a light tickle over my bare toes makes me scream. I grab Aydin's suit, gripping heavy material. I see now, the dark splotches of blood on the front of his suit, my blood. Stepping back, I look down at my dress as if seeing it for the first time. Blood is caked thick to the fabric, covering my chest and flowing down into the space between my breasts. My stomach lurches into my throat.

"You need to bathe." Aydin's voice breaks through the panic settling in my limbs. He leads me by the hand to a large metal door near where we are standing. It opens into another small room lined with wooden boxes and large trunks. A tall hand pump stands in the corner over a raised stone sink. The room comes to life as he lights a hurricane lamp sitting on one of the boxes. "There are several supplies here--it should be everything you need. Enough to last at least a few months."

"Months?" I almost scream again.

Aydin ignores me and walks to another door that sits further into the room. "There is a small tub, and everything else you will need is in here." He points to the hand pump. "Water comes from the cisterns below. I checked it earlier, and there is plenty of fresh, clean water. We can't risk a fire so your baths will be cold."

"Why can't we risk a fire? Why do we have supplies for months, Aydin?" I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to look at his face. It is too horrific.

"There are some more clothes for you in the trunks. I don't imagine you will want to stay in that dress much longer. And, quite frankly, you stink," he says, again ignoring my questions.

Before I can ask any more, he backs out of the room and shuts the door. I stand for a few minutes, looking at the boxes trying to absorb everything he said. It's useless. I walk to the crates and open one, inside are dry and canned foods, another holds jugs of water. One trunk contains several articles of clothing and other items that tell me a woman had packed. I pull a small bottle out and smile when I see the label reads sandalwood soap.

The entire room holds everything I will need, indeed, for several months. The realization of my situation finally comes to me. My escape had been planned. All the way down to where I was to be kept. My mother's attack wasn't a fit of rage over her daughter being hurt. Lucius' prompt and perfect timing outside the drawing room was no coincidence. Aydin had stood waiting for me, right where he knew I would run. I can't think further. I simply act, grabbing my supplies and walk to the small door.

The bathroom, if that's what it can be called, holds what is the smallest wooden tub I have ever seen, complete with a bucket to carry the water. In the corner is a raised stone crevice covered in a wooden seat, a hole in the center. The sight brings tears, my life and my freedom I value, it just really sucks I am stuck with no plumbing.

After I take what is probably the coldest bath in my entire life, I dress in the clothes from the trunks, the hint of sandalwood on my hair and skin. A small mirror hangs on the wall, held up by a thick metal peg rusted by time. Large blue eyes, filled with fear, look back at me. I blink and look away.

The cavern is dark, so I carry the lamp with me. Aydin has disappeared, the cavern empty. My steps echo in the open space as I make my way toward the hallway lined with cells. Another door stands open in the back of the chamber--faint sounds come from beyond it. I follow the sounds as they grow louder, through a narrow tunnel. Thunder deafens me and lightning flashes as I round a sharp corner. The crashing sound of waves fill the large opening, the wild ocean and dark night spread out before me. Aydin stands, his body in silhouette in the mouth of the cave. The blue light of the moon and the lightning flashes off him.

"Leave the lamp back there." His voice drifts back, over the roar of the ocean.

Thunder echoes off the walls, making my ears ring. Aydin turns and walks toward me. He takes my hand and leads me to the ledge. Wind whips at my face and the smell of the sea fills my nose. A light spray of water washes over us as the waves crash violently below. My fingers intertwine in his and I lean out, looking over the ledge to see how far up we are. My heart beats fast, and he pulls me back. We are up high, maybe as much as a hundred feet above the ocean.

Aydin's hand slips from mine, and he crosses his arms, leaning against the rock wall. My hand feels empty. I hate how scared I am, how much reassurance I need.

"When the prisoners died they would throw their bodies out to sea," he says. And, that is the simple horror of life. People die. Tragedies happen. Souls are lost and forgotten. I don't want to be forgotten. Most of all, I don't want to forget.

# Chapter Forty

Food sits in front of me in a metal bowl. The clanking of tin echoes on the stone walls as the spoon hits the sides of the dish. I can't eat. Every time I try my stomach revolts, churning and threatening to release the meager bits I manage to swallow.

It is so dark, I can barely make out his features. Aydin sits just outside the small circle of light around me. He lets the oil lamp burn continually, knowing I am scared of the dark. The tendrils that slither in and take hold, leaving me shaking. Emily had started by chiseling at me. Henri had cracked it open, revealing the soft insides, tearing at me, desperate to leave my body in ruin.

Ludari. I can't let his name pass my lips.

He has stolen my freedom. Violated me in ways I never knew a person could be. He has marked me and left me tugging at the noose around my neck, tightening the grip. It is he who stalks my nightmares, his eyes I dig at, his lips that snarl, sand pouring out, filling my throat and threatening to suffocate.

My body shudders. We have been in the dungeon for maybe two days. I don't know how long I slept after Aydin took me from the chateau. The days are lost to me, swallowed up in the darkness.

"You need to eat," Aydin tells me. He doesn't seem to understand that I simply can't. I know I need food to regain my strength. I spoon another bit of cold soup into my mouth and fight back the nausea that grips me. I force it down, eyes watering, over the lump in my throat.

"Why did you do this?" I ask.

"It is my job to keep you safe."

"I'm pretty sure you have been fired at this point."

Aydin sighs, loudly. He runs his hand through the thick black hair. It must have covered his scalp enough to have kept it from being burned. It is only his face that has been scorched.

"It doesn't matter. This was the only way to get you away from him."

"Why would you risk your life?"

Aydin sits forward. I look at him, finally. The burns have faded some, and new skin covers the deep wounds, though it still looks raw and painful. "I made Abigail a promise."

"You risked your life for a promise?"

"No, Charlotte, for your mother."

His honesty silences me. I didn't realize how much he cares for her.

"You are not the first woman I was Guardian to. I've lived for almost two thousand years. There have been many before you." His voice turns callous like he can read my thoughts.

"Did you make promises to their mothers as well?"

Aydin turns his face away. No. He didn't. He releases another long sigh and sits back in his chair. "I was Abigail's Guardian. Unlike you, she knew of our existence."

I let that sink in for a while, and we sit again in silence. He had been Claudette's as well. Just how long he has been around has yet to completely register. I doubt that I can ever grasp it.

"Abigail asked me to keep you and Emily from the life she lived," Aydin finally says, breaking the dark air that has settled. "Abigail grew up surrounded by greed. She asked me to make sure that you and Emily be spared, at any cost."

"Spared from what?"

"Ashur. Ludari," he says. "A Keeper is created to track the records of the ancient bloodlines. That is it. Guardians are placed, to watch over them, and make sure no evil falls on them."

I know all this, Lucius explained. My mother told me the story.

"We are meant to protect from a distance, but Ludari was interfering," Aydin says. "He was taking girls, too young, barely old enough to bear children and forcing them into lives as virtual slaves. He found the ones he believed were direct descendants, and arranged marriages. The families had no choice. He was powerful and covered up what he was doing by making it seem like the parents of the girls were the ones making all the arrangements. By the time I was created, he had established several family lines. The 'Golden One's' he called them. It was insanity."

My stomach roils. "You kept girls for him? For Ludari? So they couldn't escape?"

"Do you think you are the first girl I stole from him?"

"I don't know Aydin! I have no idea what is going on."

"I was created to be a Guardian, but when I saw what Ludari and Ashur were doing, I knew I could not be a part of it. But, if I tried to escape they would have killed me. How could I help any of those lives if I were dead? So, I waited. Protecting the girls as asked, and when I could, only when I knew that I wouldn't be caught, I took them and sent the girls away to live in safe-houses."

Aydin stands and starts to pace. "As time went on, more people, humans, vampire, became involved. Lucius helped me, even though I didn't want him to. We would sneak girls through the channels I set up. I don't even know where they end up. No one does."

"Why is he doing this?" I ask. "Why take girls and force them to have children?"

"In short, purifying the bloodlines. Breeding humans like dogs," he says, looking away. "Ludari believes if he had a pure line of human descendants from the Twins, he would, in turn, be able to harness the power of them."

"What power?"

"Of the bloodlines. The stories say that the Gods of ancient times, well before any of us, are true. Of Goddesses walking the Earth, of Seers, Demons, and Monsters. Ancient powers of empathy and the ability to see the future."

"That's insane," I say.

"Is it?" Asks the nineteen-hundred-year-old vampire who sits in front of me. I laugh, simply because I might cry if I don't.

"Why didn't you take my mother?"

He rakes his fingers through his hair again. "I couldn't, Ashur was obsessed with her."

I know a few things about having someone obsessed with you. They grab hold and refuse to let go, even if it means it will destroy the very person they crave. "I'm sure she understood that Aydin."

"She does. I think she does. Hope she does. When she asked me to take you and Emily, she knew that it would be the end of everything I had set up."

"Why me?" I ask. "Why does everyone think I am so important?"

"Ludari thinks you will be very valuable because of what you can do," he says. "Abigail made the deal to come to France to give you and Emily more time. Ashur convinced him to wait until you both were older and then, Abigail was to be the one to turn you."

Wait. What?

"You mean, Ludari's plan was to bring me here and turn me. The entire time?"

"Yes, from the moment they discovered what you could do. If Ludari got his hands on you, Charlotte, you never would have survived. So we formed a plan."

"This had been planned, from the time I was a child? Why on earth would you send me to France before you decided to snatch me?" I yell.

"I sent someone to get you in Florida," Aydin says. "But, your neighbor was watching."

"You sent someone to kidnap me from my house?"

"I changed my mind. It would have traumatized you being taken from your home by strangers."

"Traumatized? Are you kidding me?"

"I didn't plan on Ludari acting so quickly," Aydin snarls. "The man I sent to watch you in Florida said it was too risky to take you. Ashur's men would have caught him."

"You had a man watching me in Florida?"

"I couldn't very well leave you unattended. Not with Ashur keeping such a close eye on you."

"Ashur had men besides Lucius?"

"Yes, Charlotte. You know Guardians rely on humans."

I sag into my chair. "You were cutting it really close. Why didn't you take me before Henri..."

"I'm going to kill him," Aydin says. It isn't a threat. I look up and manage to look past the inflamed skin to see his eyes, the steel color rages. "Next time I lay eyes on him, I'm going to kill him."

I look away. The expression on his face leaves little room for doubt. "What is Henri in all of this?"

"I'm not sure. Henri, like his father, is brilliant," Aydin says and looks away. "My guess is to do exactly what he has been doing. Research. That is what Ashur has had him do the last twelve years."

"Ashur has been forcing Henri to research genes?"

"I don't know how forceful Ashur had to be," Aydin says. "It doesn't matter, you are more important. Abigail wasn't concerned over Henri. Just you."

"So my mother basically asked you to kidnap me?"

Aydin runs his fingers slowly through his hair again, "Abigail planned everything. I was supposed to take you the night Emily died. You weren't ever to go home again. And then, it was all ruined." Everything spills out of him like he has to release the weight of it all. "Abigail came up with a way to keep me alive. She had made the deal with Ashur, and we waited. When it was time, you were to come to France, and when Ashur gave the orders for Abigail to turn you, I was to take you and send you away. No one was to know where you were. We knew that the stakes were high. It risked everyone's life. Then Ludari changed everything. We had to act and fast. This was the only way."

My mother planned it all. I hated her for leaving and she had risked everyone she cared for to try to keep Emily and I safe. The number of people involved and the scope of what he says is incomprehensible. It has been years of work, of trying to undermine an ancient evil. Years of secrecy, a constant threat of discovery. The hardest to understand, are the choices Aydin has made. The idea to choose to save one life and let another go. How they must weigh on him. It is in his eyes, the lives that have been lost, the ones he couldn't save. I can understand, almost. Never have I been faced with a decision that would alter the lives of others. I have only concerned myself with my own.

"I don't understand what the Organization has to do with any of this."

"I told them of what Ludari was doing, but he kept everything well hidden. They couldn't charge him with anything. On the outside, he was guarding and recording families, just as he is supposed to."

"So they did nothing?"

"Ludari has made friends, some at the top, a few of the Elders. They know what he is doing, and are working alongside him. They're funding Henri's research, providing not only finances but different ways for Henri to experiment."

My stomach twists. I don't want to know what Henri has been doing. "The corrupt members of the Organization are Ludari and Ashur?"

"Yes, and a few Elders, though I still don't know who."

"It's become, what? Split in half?"

"Yes."

"How do you know all this?"

"Because I work for the Organization," Aydin says.

Why am I not surprised?

"Then, the powers in the Organization that Ashur and Henri fear, the ones that they worry were going to take me, and Henri's research, is in fact, you?"

Aydin spreads his hands out in front of him. "The one and only."

I shake my head. I'm beginning to think my mere mortal brain can't hold all this information. Everything has been flipped, topsy-turvy. "So now what?"

"We wait for Lucius, then we move you."

"Where?"

"The next safe-house is in Italy," Aydin says, he stands again and walks to where I sit. I look away.

"Looks like we are stuck here for a while," I say.

"Yes. Unfortunately, I am stuck with you until Lucius shows." He sounds annoyed, but I turn to see the corner of his mouth turned down, the telltale sign he is hiding his smile.

"What if he doesn't?"

"He will."

I wish I had his faith.

# Chapter Forty-one

We have been here maybe a week, probably less. I have lost track of time, sitting idle in the darkness. During the day, Aydin refuses to allow me to go the cave opening overlooking the ocean. He can't protect me there. I don't complain or put up a fight. Instead, I sleep the days away or lie reading a few of the poetry books that are in my cell. Most of the time I sit with Aydin in the vast cavern, ignoring the items the oil lamp reveal. The heavy chains and metal cages that hang above my head whisper to me, but I refuse to listen.

Aydin occasionally tells stories of his childhood, of him and Lucius, mischievous boys, stealing bread from the kitchen. They were big, tall, lanky children, and the girls who worked in the house often used them as mules or to help them clean. They were the youngest in the ludus, favored by Ashur and the doctore.

He paints a bright picture of two boys that grew into strong men, taught to fight, but were loved and respected. Aydin never calls Ashur his owner, or his master, or makes any reference to his life as a slave. He doesn't have to. I know it was that very life that drove him to steal away the girls Ludari was using.

He keeps the truth from me, the darkness that he lived in and the pain he endured. He doesn't tell me of the things he was forced to do, or the men he killed. The life he led in the ludus is what shaped him, the words he never speaks and the stories he leaves out. Aydin keeps it all clean, covered in a veil of light. Maybe it's easier for him to remember it this way. Or maybe he doesn't want me to know how ugly it really was.

I love his stories and sit in awe at the life he chooses to tell. I push for more, and he gives me bits to shut me up. Aydin's stories keep me from having to look at my own. I can't think of Abigail, of Henri, or how at any moment, we could be discovered hiding in a filthy dungeon. Aydin's life would end, mine as well, but not nearly as merciful as death itself would be. I know what Ludari wanted me for.

The times Aydin isn't lost in memories, he is quiet, refusing to speak. These are the worst. The darkness and silence is driving me insane. Images of my mother creep into my thoughts, and I know if I focus too long on them, I will be chiseled down to nothing.

Aydin can sit so still, I have to check to make sure he is still with me, glancing over to see his blank face and distant stare. The burns are healing, very slowly. His eyes have cleared, and I can look into the metal color again, and see the cruelty he cages in them. There are times I am scared of him, when he grows mean and impatient at my questions.

The stories he does reveal about the gladiatorial fights are the ones where his opponent didn't die. His voice rings with pride as he speaks, I can see it in his eyes. He watches my reaction as he tells me that the gladiators were often paid with the gift of a woman.

"You must have had a line out your door," I joke. Aydin is taller, with broader shoulders than Lucius, I can only imagine what he must have looked like.

"I did."

"Don't be modest for my sake." I laugh. "How long did you live there, at the ludus?"

"Until I was turned, for many years after."

"It must have been amazing," I say.

"It was hardly glamorous, Miss Charlotte. Don't get what you see on TV confused with history." His tones changes, turning mean. If I'm not careful, he'll sink into one of his moods again.

"So how long was this line of yours?"

"What line?"

"Of women, Aydin. Stop being coy with me." I shove his arm.

"It stretched for miles." He laughs. "Almost as long as yours."

What? Jerk.

"I'm going to guess your number is in the millions, Aydin," I snarl. "You can stop insinuating I'm some harlot."

"I have a lot of time on my hands, but not that much," Aydin says. "I certainly do not think you are a harlot, though even by today's standards your double digits are quite impressive."

"Seriously? You know my number?"

"No, I do not, nor do I want to." Aydin looks away.

"I guess if I had to sit around while people had sex, I'd be judgmental too."

"I didn't sit around and listen to you," Aydin says, shaking his head, but I think he's laughing. "I do not mean to hurt your feelings," he says, dryly. He stands and leaves. I am left alone. I worry that he is angry, but know he leaves so he can rest in his cell. Yet, when he leaves, it is for hours. He so is easily riled, moody, and temperamental. It drives me mad. He is my only constant. Everything I have ever known has been taken away.

***

I sit at the thick wooden table, again, trying to eat. Aydin is in one of his moods. My fork makes scraping sounds as I scoop up bits to force in my mouth. It's cold canned soup, my new damn favorite. My fingers trace the long grooves that run through the wood at oddly spaced intervals. Metal brackets hang at the end of each groove. I have spent most of my dinner time and the better part of a week or more, trying to figure out what the table was used for.

"Can you stop?"

I look over at Aydin, who stares at me with cold eyes. His face in the light of the lamp is mean, his jaw tight.

"Stop what?" I look around, then down at my food.

"Will you stop scraping your bowl and just eat your fucking food?" He stands quickly, and I sit upright surprised. He is tense, far more tense than I have seen him before.

"I'm trying, I don't have an appetite."

"I see. Would you prefer something else?" Aydin's voice grows unnecessarily loud. "Would you like me to fly out and pick you up something different?"

"I never said you could fly," I snap. My heart pounds in my ears. He is scaring me, and he knows it. "This is just a lot to take in."

"I'm so sorry, Miss Charlotte," he mocks. "Do you need to talk? Have a nice therapeutic session to sort out your feelings?"

"Stop," I say and turn back to my bowl. My breath rushes out as he sits back down and puts his head in his hands. "Seems like your bad moods would have made you a poor Guardian."

There I go, pushing buttons again.

My bowl flies off the table. The clanking of metal on stone echoes off the chamber walls. My hands fly to my face to cover my scream. He stands inches from me, his face twisted in rage. I hadn't even felt him move.

"You are right, I made a terrible Guardian. I hated listening to silly little girl's chatter like fucking mice all day! The sounds of your voices made me cringe!"

"How dare you!" I stand, and my chair falls loudly to the floor.

"Yours worst of all, cooing over Henri all the time!" Aydin screams so loud I think my ears may bleed. I cover my ears and fight the tears that have sprung up. My entire body starts to shake.

Aydin grabs my wrists and everything stops. My vision blurs and my heart starts to beat wildly. My stomach drops as one of his hands wrap around the back of my neck, his other at my waist, pulling me to him. A cool hand slips up under my shirt, and fingers dig roughly into my back. My breath sucks in at the sensation. Aydin lowers his face to mine, and a wide array of emotions passes over him before he settles on mean.

He releases me suddenly and sits my chair upright. Aydin points indicating for me to sit. I quickly follow his orders unsure what has just happened. It is pretty obvious he had wanted to do... something but decided against it. At this moment, I realize, he has the power to make me do whatever he chooses. If he had wanted me to feel pain, I would have. Yet, he chose not to, even in his anger.

"Don't push me, Charlotte," he threatens and walks away.

***

It has been almost a day since I have seen him. I could hear the locks on the door in the room at the end of the cell hall when he locked me out. His violent outburst was so unexpected, I know I pushed too far. After he had left, I sat alone in the cavern, the darkness creeping in on me before I finally went to my room.

My chest is tight, and anxiety spreads out, taking over. Everything in me wants to run and pound on the door, to scream for him to let me in. I don't. I sit in my little cell and lie on the blankets, waiting. He is fighting his demons. I have to be patient.

"You are going to use up all of our candles."

My breath rushes out, and I push back the tears. Aydin's calm voice washes over me, and I put down the book I am trying to read. "I can't sleep when there are bugs crawling all over me."

"There are no bugs in here," he says.

"There are bugs everywhere, Aydin."

He walks into the room and sets a small box on the crate next to my bed. He looks around and makes a big show out of inspecting the room, lifting up the blankets and pushing the crate from the wall. "See, no bugs."

"There are bugs, I can feel them crawling on me when the light's out."

"That is your imagination."

"Unless you are going to sit here and make sure no creepy things crawl on me in the dark, the candles stay lit." I bring the book back to my face.

"That sounds like an invitation. Are you flirting with me, Miss Charlotte?"

"No." I laugh. "Sorry to disappoint you. I've had my share of abusive men and nefarious vampires."

"Oh, I like that. Nefarious," he says the word smoothly, tasting it. His smile grows even bigger, showing his teeth. The metal glow of his eyes gleams dangerously in the flickering light. The burns are fainter, completely healed over his lips. Only a few patches of where it had burned deeper still remain raw. He looks like his usual thin mean self. I'm glad, I'll take this version over the last one I saw.

He has changed into another suit. I am beginning to think he owns nothing more than different tailored suits. Not that he has many options where we are. I am wearing my usual attire, a t-shirt, and boxer shorts. I don't bother dressing anymore. There's no point.

Aydin moves again toward me, he sits down closer than he usually does and the faint scent of sandalwood hits my nose. My heart starts beating heavy, giving me away, as it always does, when he is close. I know he can hear it and am pretty sure he enjoys that he has this effect on me.

"Open it." He points to the thin cardboard box he had placed next to me.

I eye him suspiciously and pick it up. It isn't very big, and I shake it lightly, smiling at him. "What is it?"

"Just open it."

Grinning like a fool, I open the top. Inside is a black and silver vintage camera and several rolls of film. Pinpricks of tears sting my eyes, and I pull the gift from the box.

"It is a Hasselblad made in the 1970s," Aydin says, his eyes soft in the candlelight, but he shifts, uncomfortably next to me. This is new, uncomfortable Aydin.

"How long has this been here?" Has he really kept this? Waiting for me?

"I brought it here when I went on my trip to Milan."

"I don't know what to say, Aydin."

"Nothing." Aydin smooths my hair down, running his hand over my back. "Do you want to see her?" he asks.

My heart stammers. "Who?"

"Emily. I can show her to you."

"I don't know." I shake my head.

Aydin takes the camera from my hand and places it on the crate. He pulls me toward him, forcing me into his lap. His arm wraps around my shoulder, and I lean into him. His body is so thin beneath me, I can feel the lean muscle through his suit. I have never been this close to him. So close, I can see every detail on his skin and the deep burns that won't heal over his cheeks. The small amount of new skin looks smooth, with small pores in them. The hair over his cheeks and jaw look soft. There are faint scars on one side, under his beard, and I wonder what they are from. The silver flecks in his eyes glint alive in the flickering light. They almost flow, like liquid. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. And that is what he is, what he was before he became the dark creature he believes himself to be. A man, a kind and giving one. I want to run my fingers through his hair, but I keep my hands tight in my lap.

I know he can hear my heart beating too fast and how shallow my breaths are. He takes a deep breath of his own and smooths my hair down. The scent of him hits my nose, and the metallic taste of lightning fills my mouth. He leans back against the stone wall behind him pulling me closer.

"Close your eyes."

I hesitate but close them. My hands start to shake, and he puts his over mine. I take a deep breath and relax. He slips one of my hands under the buttons of his suit, placing it on his cool skin, over his heart. I feel the smooth beat under my palm, and I take a deep breath again, trying to stop the shaking in my body. His hand goes under the front of my shirt, I tense and my breath hitches, but he places it lightly over my chest, right at my heart. His other arm slips under my shirt and wraps around my waist. He grips me tighter and I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Breathe," he says into my ear, his lips moving against the skin. My breath releases and I relax into him. "Keep your eyes closed."

Aydin places his lips to my temple. Light flashes behind my eyes, my heart jumps up, and he grips me tighter. His breaths are slow and deep, his chest rising and falling. Another light flashes, a picture, tries to focus, but the edges fade, and it disappears.

Bright sparks appear in the corners of my eyes, it slowly brightens, and an image forms, the edges blurred. It moves, flickering like film on an old movie reel, unsteady. Color bleeds in and brightens. There are two girls sitting close together. The sky around them is dark, the trees in the background a silhouette with small flecks of green hidden in them against the dark blue of the night. Stars dot into focus, glowing like bokeh lights. Complete silence envelops me and the picture forms brightly. Light kisses the edges of everything, like every life-form glows with the stars.

I know instantly it is Emily and I. We are ten years old and sit in the garden behind our home. The porch light makes a small circle around us, reaching out into the night. The smell of damp earth fills my nose and something else, warm and airy, it reminds me of the ocean. Emily sits behind me, braiding my hair. We wear thin white nightgowns that stick to our skin, the air so humid and thick.

I remember this night. I couldn't sleep, and we had crept outside to sit in the garden. I was restless, too excited by the lightning in the air. Emily sits behind me, trying to calm me, smoothing my hair down and twisting the strands. My head rests down on my knees, hiding my face. She had asked me to tell her a story. This is the night I made up the tale of the ghosts in the woods. How they charged the air we breathed and watched us, their eyes peeking out behind the skinny pines and low ferns.

Every time she speaks, encouraging me to continue, she presses her hand to her mouth, catching the words in a kiss, before rubbing them over my hair and back. We used the do this so that no matter if we were apart, we only had to look in the mirror to see each other's promises over our skin.

Emily turns, and she looks directly to where Aydin must have sat as if she can see him in the darkness. She turns back to me, and I can hear her voice, sweet, but insistent. "It is not ghosts. It is the Beast, but he is kind. He is waiting for the one he loves."

The pieces start breaking, and the picture fades. I don't want it to go. This was how she was. There was good in her, Emily was kind. From a distance, Aydin had loved us, so much, he risked his life to keep the memory of ours from being stained. I know now my life had been beautiful. My childhood was as golden and peaceful as I remembered. We were loved and treasured by everyone around us. Most of all, Emily was what I had remembered her to be. She was my other half, and she loved me, cherished me, as her friend, her confidant. She was my sister. Her actions the night she crashed Daddy's car don't shape who she really was. Emily was life, vibrant and so full of love she shined, guiding me through my own darkness.

Aydin presses his lips harder to my temple. My entire body shakes, consumed with the pain of remembering. His hands leave my skin and smooth my shirt down, leaving my heart aching. He places me back on the bed next to him. Pain slices through me, tearing at my chest. Tears fall down my face. When I finally look at Aydin, he is smiling, and the pain eases. He takes it away, and I know that he will hold pieces for me. I don't have to carry it alone.

Aydin reaches around his neck, and he pulls the metal links from inside his shirt. The candle catches the links as he closes his hand around the charm. He clasps the chain around my neck, his hands grazing the skin, rubbing the links between his fingers as he places the angel charm at my throat. His eyes land on the small scar. His face changes subtly, only a faint glimmer of sadness. The cool skin of his fingers grazes over my collarbone, feeling the raised skin, the only visible evidence of the night Emily died.

His jaw clenches and he releases a shallow breath. "I think five years has been long enough," Aydin says. He cups my face, and he leans in, kissing my nose before he stands and walks out.

It is my birthday. I had thought we skipped it over in silence. I feel the charm around my neck and swallow around the ache in my throat. Five years is enough time to heal. Long enough to let Emily go.

# Chapter Forty-two

The things that happen to us in life make us who we are. They stay with us, they haunt our dreams and pull at the corners of our mouths, turning them down. If we let them. We carry the memories around, cradled in our minds, but they won't stain us, if we wash them away.

I am not that strong. No matter how many times I bathe, the marks are there. Ludari's teeth cling to me, making me weak. I despise myself that I let it invoke such fear. It doesn't matter, I lie in the dark and promise my soul I will be stronger. I will awake the next day and be changed, by my sheer will alone, I will let go of the fear. But as the nights grow long, the darkness settles in, and I shake. My will breaks. They have cracked it. Stole the nuts and bolts that keep me going. They have become what defines me. I let them. I'm not strong enough. Not yet, maybe not ever.

Aydin chases Ludari away. His presence helps keep the images locked in their box. It isn't something I can dwell on. My mother may not be alive. She had spent my entire life scheming to protect me. Lucius may lay in shreds, torn apart in his efforts to help the brother he clearly loves. I can't think of Henri. Every time he weasels his way in, I have to shove him back. His whispers and kisses. They weren't stemmed from love, but of lies and his yearning for power. The thoughts crack my mind, I push them back and add more locks to the boxes that I hold his memories in.

There are powers beyond me, ones I don't understand, a fight happening with Aydin at its center. He is determined to keep me from them. Aydin is the only thing I focus on. He has welded himself to me, cared for me since I was a child. I don't know what any of it means. I don't know why I need him so desperately. When he leaves to rest in his room, I am lost and scared.

My future is unclear, and I have no idea when, if ever, I will return to a life that resembles some sort of normal. I take every waking moment as it comes. I don't think long enough to form questions. The events of the last month are too vast in size and reach out with too many threads. I know he hasn't told me it all, and there is more to come.

Ludari and Ashur become the focus of my rage. Claudette's cruel laugh embeds itself in with them. They feed my nightmares, Ludari always at the center. Aydin comes before the screams can leave my mouth and wakes me. His gray eyes rescuing me as he has always done. He chases them all away, and I am safe with him. Even though his body is still weak, the few small burns deep and still not healing, I know he would fight to his death to protect me. I look to him now, he was watching me, but has looked away.

"Are you in pain?" I ask. We sit in the open cavern of the dungeon. I am on the pile of blankets I have drug out. My cell is too small, haunted by the many lives that have passed through it. The damp stone walls have seen too much death and too much suffering. I lie on top of the deep blue throws, the red velvet pillows, and plush comforter. It is a bright little nest, where I sleep, while Aydin sits watch at night, sometimes during the day. I ignore the chains on the walls. They try to remind me of the lives of men that have wasted away in the dark.

"No," Aydin lies.

Too much time has passed. Lucius still hasn't shown up. Aydin doesn't speak of him. When he tells me stories, they focus mostly on Lucius, his brother. That is what he is to him, but I can tell there is more. A deep bond of trust, more than a simple childhood would create. Maybe out of sharing a hard and brutal life. I don't know. He refuses to tell me those parts. But, I know Aydin's worry and the deep sickening fear. I have at least two months worth of supplies left, but the time in the cavern is wearing on us both. Aydin needs nothing, he keeps telling me.

Except blood.

"You're not getting better," I state the obvious.

"I'm fine, Charlotte. Go to sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"Then let me be, woman," he says, his tone mean. A razor sharpened by his pain.

"You don't have to yell," I sulk. "I'm not a child."

"Then stop acting like one."

I sigh, irritated. Fine, he can be mean if he wants.

"I can feel it, you know," I say.

"What?" He looks at me, his eyes searching.

We haven't spoken of it. Not since we arrived in our sanctuary. I am scared to bring it up after hearing his anger, worried about his reaction. I'm not supposed to feel it, but I know what it means. Aydin's eyes tell me, the times I catch him watching. I belong to Ludari.

"Ludari's mark."

"That is because you are traumatized," he says, but he can't look at my face. "You just think you can."

I shake my head. "I don't know why you try to pretend like it doesn't bother you."

Aydin's eyes flash in rage. I really am a child. Always pushing him, trying to get a reaction, anything from him. He has let me see under his mask, given me a glimpse and I'm always greedy for more. Even if it is the form of his anger. I take it, hungry.

"He is cruel, of course it is upsetting." Aydin stands. He can't sit for long, not anymore, this alone tells me the depth of his worry.

"What do I do?" I ask, ignoring the dismissive tone. "To get rid of it?"

"You can't. Once a human is marked, there is nothing that can be done."

"Well, what happens if another vampire marks a person after they have already been?" I ask him.

"They don't. They are not to be touched." He talks like I should have known this, and I do, I have already been told.

"What? Like they can't? There is some magic force that keeps them from biting someone who is marked? Like a shield?"

"No. It's just an unwritten law." Aydin shakes his head at my stupidity. "Don't be silly."

"We've already established how silly I am." I watch as his lips turn up, and he smiles. Finally. It has been days since I have seen his smile. Aydin returns to his chair. "What do I do to help you?"

"Nothing, Lucius will be here soon, and then I can leave to hunt," he says simply. He still believes it.

"He's late," I remind him. Not that he needs it. "What if he doesn't come, what then?"

"He'll be here."

"He's not coming, Aydin. He would be here by now."

Aydin puts his head in his hands. I wish I could take my words back.

"I'm here, I'm human." I don't know what I am saying. I haven't planned it. The words just spill out from my lips unchecked. "You helped me, let me help you."

"How can you help me?"

"My blood, Aydin," I say, exasperated. "Are you being purposely obtuse?"

"You're not an option."

"Why not?"

"I can't." Aydin refuses to look at me, but the walls of the room become charged.

A disgusted sound comes from my throat. "You have broken every vampire rule I know of and then probably some I don't. You have betrayed your father. Gave me your blood, and then, as if that wasn't enough, you stole me from the oldest vampire in the world. After he marked me. I say what's one more?"

His light laugh echoes around us. I love his laugh. But he turns away, refusing my offer.

"It's a leash around my neck like it calls to him." That, I know, will get a response.

His eyes move to my neck, his face twists in rage, and he looks scary, almost demented. "You can really feel it?"

"Yes," I say, quietly.

"You are not supposed too."

"Let me help you," I plead, desperate. I hate the idea of being chained to someone. I'm not supposed to feel it, just like I'm not supposed to feel him. If I have to carry around marks and feel their teeth, Aydin's at least will be welcome. Maybe. "I want you to."

"That is a very manipulative statement."

"I prefer the word, persuasive."

Aydin's shoulders shake as he laughs quietly. He unfolds himself from the chair and moves forward. I feel his hunger grow, it is monstrous and fills the entire space. That was easier than I thought it was going to be. By a lot, and my pulse starts to race. Ludari had hurt me. He had made sure I felt every inch of his teeth, maybe even made it worse than it was.

"I'll kill you." Aydin starts to pace the room, running both hands roughly through his hair. "I've not had human blood in too long."

"No, you won't." My words make him stop. I have lost my damn mind.

Aydin stands still and looks at me for a while. I don't know what he is thinking, though, at this moment, I really wish I could. There are things I want to tell him. I want-- no need--to do something to help him. He has given me too much. I want his touch and his power. I trust him, completely. He has no idea what he has done to me. I am bound to him, and he doesn't even know it. But I sit mute, my voice stolen.

His face changes, his eyes soften, and he settles down on the little nest. The steel gray of his eyes catches mine, forcing me still. Aydin reaches out and takes my wrist in his hand. He turns my arm exposing the thin veins under the skin and brushes his thumb over them. My arm looks so small and fragile in his massive hand. My heart beats faster, my breaths quicken.

"You're scared," Aydin says, quietly.

"Yes." My heart pounds, thumping in my ears. How can he be so calm? I am leaning over a ledge, my feet barely keeping me grounded. The pull of him threatens to throw me over.

"Then why are you offering yourself to me?" His eyes never leave mine.

"I offer for selfish reasons." I swallow. "The mark is for protection."

"Among other things," he says with a breathy, small laugh.

"I prefer this mark belong to you." My breaths rush out, and my voice shakes. I am scared, and nothing can hide it.

"Do you know what you offer, Charlotte?"

I nod, terrified to say the words, their meaning too heavy. I am placing my life, my trust in his hands. He has proven that he will do anything to protect me. I know what I offer. His mark will bind me to him, and in his world, I will be his alone. But, he will be mine as well.

"Say it out loud."

My mouth opens, but I can't get the words out. I swallow. "Yes. I know what I offer."

Aydin smiles, and I see it--a flash of possessiveness that makes my stomach clench. "I don't want to hurt you," he says, and it is gone. So fast, I question if it was there.

"You won't hurt me."

His eyes cloud and close, he takes long breaths trying to calm himself, trying to keep control. I focus on his lips. They part and sharp, mean teeth are exposed. Long and hard, just as I knew they would be. His tongue glides over the tips before he speaks.

"Do you want me to calm you?"

I can't take my eyes from his mouth. His teeth look cruel, glistening in the flicker of the oil lamp. Deadly.

"No," I say, my voice shaking and pull my wrist away, settling closer so that our legs touch. Mesmerized, I reach with a trembling hand and press the tip of my finger into one elongated tooth. Somewhere I am terrified. Somewhere I feel drawn to him. "They are big."

The laugh that comes from him is quiet, a rush of air that gives him away. It tingles over my skin, claiming me. I straighten and pull my hair back exposing my neck, the pulse throbs. His eyes darken, wild, but he keeps it caged. I wonder how long he has wanted this.

Aydin brings me closer so that our foreheads touch. My eyes close and I can smell the charged, spicy scent of him. My entire body starts to shake. He brushes his cheek against mine, his hand caressing my face, pulling me closer. Soft lips brush my skin, deliberate small kisses over my eyes, my brows. Touching my nose and cheeks. I swallow hard, past the lump in my throat, fighting the pressure in my chest. His mouth moves to my neck and presses against the pulse, first soft, then harder, with need. Teeth graze my flesh, a light scrape. My breath sucks in.

"Are you sure?" His mouth moves against my neck, a quiet plead.

"Yes," I say, breathlessly. My fingers dig into his forearms, my pulse races as pressure builds inside me.

The first twinge of pain hits me hard, and I gasp. It is white hot, a lit match to the skin. Fear starts to take over, and I clutch at him, holding on. The slow burn sinks deeper, and warmth spills out slowly, smooth over my neck and collarbone. His tongue touches, cool over the heat of my skin. Hot air rushes from him, releasing a soft moan in my ear.

Aydin's fingers weave in my hair, bringing me even closer. His teeth sink deeper, a hard burn that just barely doesn't hurt. His mouth pulls, his want dragging up from my core and toward him. My blood burns neon red, rushing to the surface. My breaths burst out, hard and fast. Everything fades. Nothing exists in the black space behind my eyes. Nothing but his hands in my hair, the smell of his skin, and the faint pain of his mouth against my neck.

I moan, this deep, desperate sound. I twist, and he almost lets go, but I grip his hair and keep his mouth pressed against my neck. The air charges, igniting my skin as he starts to come unhinged. His mouth pulls ... taking ... possessing. I press harder, groaning and force his teeth deeper. Aydin grips my hair, yanking my head back. I cry out as his mouth pulls harder. A cool hand moves under my shirt, around my waist, pulling me into his lap.

Faint sucking sounds and his breaths fill my head. Images flash behind my eyes: full moist lips, soft, pale skin, stark blue eyes. Erotic pictures. A flash of thighs and the hollow of a neck--the skin pulsing.

I groan, pulling at his clothes, slipping my hands under his shirt. I dig my fingers into his chest and clench my teeth, sliding my hands down, tugging the button of his pants. Every suck of his mouth draws up from between my legs, pulling at this terrible ache in me. I need him, deep and hard. It builds higher. Painful and oh so exquisite.

He breaks away, and I'm thrown back. I gasp for air, my vision clouded and my heart racing. Aydin's lips gleam red with my blood. His hands tremble as he pierces the tips of his fingers and leans forward, rubbing them to my neck, sealing the puncture marks. The burning stops but the air in the room burns with lightning, sizzling over my skin.

Aydin stands, his breaths heavy, and leaves. I hear the lock clasp on his cell door, keeping me out, or maybe him in. I suck in air trying to regain my control. Velvet kisses that stroke my neck. Soft and sweet. My body has been cleansed, a blanket of warmth draped over me.

***

The water in the wooden bath is cold. I sit, my knees to my chest, completely numb. The thin cloth is stained bright red as I pull it away. Shivers run through me as I stare at the pink water dripping from it. Everything around me is in slow motion, surreal like I am looking through the eyes of someone else.

There's a lot more blood than I thought there was going to be. My breaths are shallow and tears sting. Whatever happened in the cavern was nothing like I have experienced before. It seems like we should be cuddling, or talking, anything, after that. I shouldn't be left alone, in awe over what had passed between us. Aydin was not cruel, if anything, he was loving and passionate. I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering. The pulse throbs deep in between my legs. There is no distinguishing if the crazed desire I had felt was my own or if it belonged to him. Maybe it was both of ours.

His scent is all over me, making my stomach twist. I rub soap over my skin, feeling the mark. The skin is smooth, like Aydin's teeth had never touched me. But I can feel them, and in a strange way, it is comforting. I keep conjuring up the images of what we had done. Is that what the experience was supposed to feel like? Wild and lustful? My face heats remembering my reaction. That was certainly no kiss. No kiss has ever felt so sensual and possessive.

It is unclear if he shared the erotic images with me. The crystal blue eyes, the lips, and skin. Pictures of me. It feels like I have stolen them from him and maybe I have, they were too personal. I rub my face and stand.

The distant dripping water and my breathing are the only sounds when I return to the cavern. There is a drop of blood, my blood, on the satin blanket on my little bed. I gather everything up and take it back to my cell. I can't stay in there, not after what just happened. I don't know how I am going to face him again.

Sleep won't come, I feel energized and edgy. It's going to be a long time before my mind will settle long enough to rest. Aydin, I worry, will regret this. He's so cold and collected, only allowing small glimpses of who he really is. What we just shared, was far more intimate than any encounter I've ever had. I wonder if he lies in his cell, replaying the same images. Part of me hopes he is.

***

When I wake, I drag myself to the mouth of the cave where bodies were cast out to the sea, their souls forever lost on the rocks below. My legs tremble as I walk, Aydin had taken a lot of blood, hopefully enough to heal him. I sit down putting the oil lamp behind me, away from the opening and watch the sunset. I can't see the burning ball, just the faint colors as it settles out of view. I stare out at the sea. I haven't realized how much I missed it. The threat of violence beneath the calm waters, the slightest provocation stirs the waves, and they will crash and destroy everything in their path. Just like Aydin.

Pure energy fills the cave opening. My head grows light and my pulse races. Aydin is awake. I breathe deep, trying to adjust to the new sensation. This is different. It is calm and serene, but somehow intense and consuming. He is everywhere, tingling over my skin, filling my nose with his smell. Do his marks make me feel his presence even more? The idea of having to live with this is unnerving. I could barely handle being around him before.

"Are you feeling alright?" Aydin asks from behind me. The sound of his soft voice spreads a blush over my chest and cheeks. Oh no, this is terrible. So much worse than I thought it was going to be. I can't turn to look at him. If I do, he will see the horror in my wide eyes, and wildly beating heart. He already feels it.

"I'm fine." I place my hand where his mouth had been. The skin heats and pulls toward him. I stand, finally mustering enough courage to face him. I'm stuck here after all, until further notice. I turn and stop, frozen in place. My hand flies to my mouth, and I back up to the cave wall to steady myself.

Sweet mother of Hades.

Aydin stands before me, but like I have never imagined, a massive, formidable presence. The burned skin is gone, replaced by vibrant, healthy flesh. It glows in the low light, its olive tone glistening in the flicker of the oil lamp. The shirt he wears is a cool gray matching the platinum of his eyes. The sleeves are rolled up over his large forearms, showing thin black hairs covering the thick muscles. The buttons are undone revealing his chest, the skin smooth and carved with thick slabs of muscle. His entire body is made of it, created from years of fighting for survival in a bloody ring. The legs of his pants form around his thighs, showing every muscle and hard curve. Gone are the gaunt bones, his cheeks soft. His face is sensual, beautiful and kind. His clear gray eyes warm and calm, holding something--a flicker. Pride. He has been restored. Freed of his failures.

"Aydin?" I ask, just to make sure he's real. He is glorious, hideous, a beautiful, deadly creature. Aydin pulls me to him, and I almost pull back. The air around us is heavy; I suck it in, absorbing his strength. I can imagine how men had quivered at his feet, how Ashur had seen in him a beast.

Aydin brushes his fingers lightly over my neck, the skin heating under his touch. My entire body pulls toward him, a magnetic force drawing me in, wanting. He has removed the mark that bound me to evil and replaced it with his own. No one can touch me. Aydin has made sure of it. His deep marks will keep the monsters at bay, binding me to him. He brushes the hair from my face, leaning down to kiss the tip of my nose, his cool breath falls over me in a rush, and my breath catches in my throat.

Aydin smiles. His smile. The one I know he saves just for me. "Hello, Miss Charlotte."

Book Two Available Now

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# Other Books by Fanny Lee Savage

Paranormal Romance

The Guardian Series:

In the Shadow of Monsters, Book 2

Coming Soon...

The Youngblood Chronicles:

Book 1

Erotic Romance

Madam Jolie Books:

Seven Days - The Beginning, Jess & Liam, Book 1

Four Days - Jess and Liam, Book 2

Coming Soon

FOR HIRE

Meet Evren Rockwell

# Acknowledgments

The idea for this novel came to me long ago. What started as a simple story of a woman who finds her true love in France, grew into a complex tale, filled with colorful characters and places. I have always loved mythology, history, and how it bleeds together, painting pictures of the people who walked before us. It is this love, which created this book and the characters in it.

Thank you, to my sister Rachel. For trying to convince me, repeatedly, that I really could write, and that you weren't lying. To my beta readers: Kendra, for re-teaching me proper grammar, laughing when I hoped readers would, and for pointing out my silly errors. Barbara, thank you for your amazing feedback and for believing this story. Jade, a big thank you for all your commentary, helping me with proper French, and for enjoying Aydin and his story as much as I do.

A huge thank you to my daughter. She put up with a boring summer break, eating fast food and frozen dinners while I sat at the computer, typing words she wasn't allowed to read. And, for thinking I am clever, not crazy, from all the times she caught me talking to myself.

Thank you to my mom, for being excited for me when I embarked on this crazy journey, and for encouraging me to continue.

Last, I am indebted to my ex-husband. He listened to every bit of information I discovered (thanks to Wikipedia, which, by the way, is a very reliable source) about vampires, gladiators, Sumerian gods, the origins of man, Roman emperors and the daily lives of people who lived then. How they spoke and what curse words they used.... The list of info dumps he endured is endless, and he listened patiently to every single one. Thank you for putting up with my vague descriptions, for pointing out my mistakes, and giving me the idea that Charlotte needed to be a hotel maid. Thank you for holding me up and keeping me sane when I thought I would fall over the edge of reason.

Thank you all for believing in me when I doubted myself. 

# About the Author

Fanny Lee Savage was born in Florida where she became enchanted by its diverse culture and rich history. She spent most of her early childhood living in the central part of the state before moving to Colorado.

Some of her hobbies include, photography, drawing, digital art, and 3D model making. She loves to learn about history, science and of course mythology, and vampires.

Fanny Lee now resides in Florida with her daughter, collection of five four cats, and a dog. She devotes herself to her family and spends her free time writing down all the stories that fill her head.

For more information about this book and the author, visit her website: fannyleesavage.com

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