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ELIZABETH
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I UNLOCKED THE DOOR and stepped aside to let him in. “Make yourself comfortable,” I said motioning toward the sitting room. “I’ll bring you a drink.”
I found a bottle of scotch that’d been sitting unopened in the kitchen cupboard for who knew how long. I filled a glass for Christian and, after a short debate, one for me as well.
Christian sat on the sofa, arm draped over its back, long legs stretched and crossed at the ankles. He was dressed in casual, expensive elegance: light green sweater, dark slacks, socks with a green and purple rhomboid pattern, expensive loafers. He smelled of some subtle, expensive cologne.
I passed him his drink. “Welcome to Rosenthal,” I said, and touched his glass with mine. “For our future cooperation.”
“For the future.”
The first swallow burned my throat but pleasantly warmed my stomach, releasing a knot I wasn’t even aware was there.
“Why did you continue to play this game?” I asked.
He took a sip of his scotch. “Because it wasn’t a game.” I was just pondering how to get involved in this project without raising any suspicion, when Brian offered me the job.”
“Why did you want to be involved?” I said.
“Among other things, it seemed that the Baker Block renovation was a way to help Brian Canagan re-establish his life. I felt a moral obligation to support him, if I could, for all he had done for us. Besides, this project is candy for any restoration architect.”
“But you double-played Brian nonetheless.”
“Well, he deserved it.” His eyes briefly locked with mine. “He invaded my cyber-privacy, so I just returned the favor.”
“He didn’t know your true identity.”
He shrugged. “That’s irrelevant. I’m not upset anymore. Canagan will be, I imagine, when he discovers I’m not an overweight fifty-eight-year-old man, and gay, which I made Lily believe.”
“You did not!”
“Oh, I did. You think Canagan would otherwise let me near you?”
“And Lily didn’t find anything suspicious with your profile?”
“She couldn’t anticipate every single detail, such as that I had several identities. Christian Enescu is a Swiss architect. That’s my real name, well, a part of my real name, that is. Armand St. Mère is the name Brian Canagan might recognize.”
“This is your Tel-Urugh name?”
“Yes. When I became a Tel-Urugh, I changed my name. Sort of. My middle name is Armand; St. Mère comes from my mother’s side of the family. She was French, from the House of St. Mère.”
“So, you planted the evidence?” I said.
“I had to. I had a thorough look into Lily Falconer’s hard drive. It was amazing what she was able to dig out and how quickly. She’s good, that girl.”
I wondered if there was a file about me as well but then realized I really didn’t want to know.
“Do you still keep an eye on them? Electronically or otherwise?”
He smiled. “Otherwise, yes. Hacking’s never been my thing. See, you’ve been a part of this game, unwillingly, at least at the beginning. As well as Rick and Alain, so I had three strong reasons to stay close. It puzzled and worried me why Canagan wanted to bring you to Copper Ridge until I learned he and his friends believed what Charlotte Fontaine was telling them—that you were a vardanni. Not that it was his only reason, I’m afraid, but after that everything made sense.” He took a swallow, looking at me over his glass. “Well, almost everything.”
A husky undertone in his voice had stopped me from further inquiring. “You made Brian believe you’d planned to move to the States. Was it only a bite?”
“No, that part was true. According to my current Swiss papers, I’m forty-six. I have to adjust my look every morning. That’s tiring.”
“How old are you?” I said, preparing myself for another little shock.
“A bit older than Brian Canagan,” he said with a lopsided smile. “I’m an early renaissance man.”
“Oh.”
With a little bit of help from the scotch, or maybe because I had been recently exposed to quite a few things out-of-the-ordinary, I’d developed some kind of resistance, my brain didn’t find Christian’s age statement traumatizing.
“Why did you become a Tel-Urugh? What happened?”
A flash of pain ran across his face. It lasted for the blink of an eye, but I sensed he didn’t want to talk about it. “Isn’t immortality a good enough reason?”
“No. Not for you.”
“How do you know? You don’t know me.” There was an edge to his voice, something dark, yet still humorous, as if he was making a joke at his own expense.
I didn’t know how I knew. I just knew. He wouldn’t tell me more, though; I hadn’t earned that level of trust yet. Maybe I never would, but it was fine. “I knew,” I said, “because I’m a vardanni.”
He smiled, and all seemed normal again.
My cell phone buzzed, cutting through the heavy silence. I checked the time: eight o’clock, the time for Brian’s evening call. And then, with a sense of relief (and guilt that followed), I remembered that Brian had gone with his friends on a five-day fishing trip to a lake deep in the mountains.
It was Lottie, asking if I’d like to come to dinner.
“Bring Mr. Enescu with you,” she said. “If you like, Ned can come to pick you up.”
Ah, there we were. Rosenthal had already heard about my noteworthy assistant. As well as about his current whereabouts.
I caught Christian’s smile. He had come to the same conclusion. “Thanks, Lottie, but I’m tired. Perhaps some other time. I was about to make Christian and myself something to eat.”
“Oh, okay. I understand,” she said, sounding a tad disappointed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
I disconnected and placed my phone on the table. “Are you hungry?” I asked.
“Starving!” he said, looking at me over the rim of his glasses, a hint of a smile on his face. “Are you afraid?”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on, I know you guys eat regular food,” I said, ignoring the hint of a different kind of hunger in his dark, hypnotic eyes. “By the way, why are you wearing glasses? I can’t imagine you need them.”
“Of course not, but they make me look older. Back to food, we can make something together, or I can take you out for dinner.”
I rose. “I don’t feel like going anywhere. Let’s move to the kitchen. How about a cheese omelet and salad? There’s a bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge as well.”
“Perfect,” Christian said and stood up. “You do the omelet and I’ll do the salad.”
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“TELL ME MORE ABOUT your kind,” I said to Christian as we prepared our dinner. “What I’ve learned so far only scratched the surface.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How old are you? Where did you come from?”
Fascinated, I listened to the story of the Tel-Urughs, from their origins in Mesopotamia, long before the first human civilization settled there. About their main city-state, called Uruk, in which, one day, Gilgamesh, the Sumerian king, would rule. They had helped humans to make the quantum leap from nomads to settlers. In return, the humans had preserved the memory of the Tel-Urughs in their legends, mythology, religions.
The Tel-Urugh story was not unlike that of other Langaer: the human civilization had expanded, forcing the Tel-Urughs into retreat. They’d left their ancient homeland and spread all around the world, blending among humans.
“About blood. How long can you stay without it?”
“We don’t die without blood,” he said, neatly slicing cherry tomatoes in halves. “We just feel unwell and lose our strength and become vulnerable. Abstinence is unlikely, though, given the powers we possess.”
“What about animal blood?”
He grimaced. “That helps only in contemporary vampire fiction. A clever twist, though, I’ll give it that. The synthetic blood the Blakes are working on sounds promising, however.”
“I understand you don’t take it directly from humans,” I said.
“Not anymore. Most of us now use it bottled, pre-made. Very convenient stuff. And portable. Certainly more civilized. Although,” he paused, twiddling a baby cucumber between his fingers before he lay it on the cutting board and rested his dark eyes on me, “the pleasure of taking it from the right human is extremely intense, especially if it happens during intercourse with a willing partner. For some of us, it’s hard to give this part up.”
Heat rose from my neck to my hairline. I crouched down and stuck my head into the kitchen cupboard in search of a cheese grater. “I see. The famous vampire sexuality isn’t just a human myth.”
“The same applies to human sexuality,” he said in a low voice, keeping his gaze on his task. “You’re irresistible to us.”
“That’s only fair.”
I sprinkled the omelet with grated cheese, divided it and transferred each half to the plates. Christian uncorked the wine and poured it into two glasses then opened a drawer and took out the forks and knives. I popped two frozen buns into the microwave oven and set the timer for thirty seconds.
Christian finished setting the table. I fetched salt and pepper from the cupboard, took the buns out of the microwave oven and grabbed the butter from the fridge.
“Our perception of your kind is wrong in many aspects, your dietary habits included,” I said as we took our seats. “I’m sorry.”
The corner of his lips tugged up. “Are you apologizing to my people in the name of yours?”
“I wish I could.”
We ate in silence, more companionable than it should’ve been. I searched for the origins of my feeling that Christian was exactly where he should be at this moment. Something was telling me his reappearance in my life had some unknown purpose.
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“I’M IMPRESSED HOW YOU’RE handling things,” Christian said as we finished. “You’re a true vardanni.”
The last sentence was accompanied with a slight bow of his head, the same as earlier that day.
“It’s given to me. It’s a privilege and an honor.”
“It must’ve been quite a shock.”
“At the beginning, yes. They tried to prepare me, giving me little clues, setting the stage, so to say, but still. I saw Brian as a werewolf, and I recognized him, yet I fainted. Then I ran away.”
“But you were already in love with him, weren’t you? He should’ve told you who he was before messing with your feelings. He didn’t leave you lots of choices.”
He said it in a seemingly neutral tone, but I recognized the undercurrent of emotions in his voice: regret, anger, sorrow.
He shook his head, dark eyes fixed somewhere behind me. “I wish I was ... Never mind. I’d be grateful if you don’t tell Brian who I am until I go to Copper Ridge and talk to him myself. Do I ask for too much?”
I didn’t answer immediately. I’d promised Brian I’d call him only in case of emergency. I wanted him to relax and enjoy his time with his friends.
He would probably disagree, but I didn’t consider this an emergency.
“I know he’s gone fishing with his friends,” Christian said. “All I ask is that you don’t mention my true identity to anyone for a few more days.”
“When do you plan to go to Copper Ridge?”
“On Friday, with you.”
I slowly nodded. “I won’t tell him, but to be honest, mostly because I’m not going to talk to him before Thursday night.”
He smirked. “Works for me.”
“By the way, how do you know he’s been away? You’re still hacking his computer? Or perhaps you have an informant in Copper Ridge?”
He lifted two fingers. “The Blakes. I wouldn’t call them informants, though. I spoke to them a few days ago and told them I was coming here. I asked them not to blow my cover until I have a chance to talk to Brian.”
“He’s going to be pissed off big time, at you, at me, at the Blakes.”
“He’ll survive. I also have plenty of reasons to be pissed off, don’t I, so we’re even. More wine?”
I declined. A scotch before dinner and two small glasses of wine after could prove to be too much for me. I hadn’t had a single migraine since I went to Copper Ridge, but I still didn’t want to push my luck.
“How do you know the Blakes?” I asked as I collected our empty plates and silverware.
“Mostly from the wars and battles we fought together,” he said. “Including the last-year one.”
“You were in Copper Ridge?”
He chuckled. “At Livia’s invitation. Long story short, the Blakes trust me enough to know you’ll be safe in my company.”
“I’ve never felt I wasn’t safe. Not for a moment.”
“How about your feelings? Can you trust them?” he said in a voice that again revealed multiple emotions: resignation, sadness, lightness, challenge. Then he took a deep breath and stood up. “Let me help you with the dishes.”
He took the plates from me, rinsed them and loaded them neatly in the dishwasher, while I folded and unfolded the kitchen towel, pondering his words and my own little emotional whirlpool they had caused and wondering if my feeling of rightness had been deceiving. What if Christian’s arrival further tangled up my already knotted life?
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BRIAN WAS ON HIS WAY home when Christian and I arrived in Copper Ridge. Christian had spoken to him the night before and had expressed his desire to come to meet him, still not revealing his identity. Brian said he’d be more than welcome.
I kept my word to Christian. When Brian asked me about him, I’d said that now I was grateful he had hired Christian and stirred the conversation toward our renovation plans. Satisfied that he’d soon see Christian in person, Brian hadn’t further inquired about him.
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AT CHRISTIAN’S SUGGESTION, Livia and Tristan waited for us at the house, “to diffuse the situation before things get out of control,” as he explained with a smirk.
I thought Christian was exaggerating until I saw Brian’s face when he looked at Christian and put two and two together. A deep growl came out of his chest and his eyes narrowed. His broad shoulders squared, making him look even more formidable. Driven by instincts rather than reason, he shoved me behind him, and took a threatening step toward Christian, ready to leap at him.
Christian let out a low menacing sound, a deep, scary rumble, like a tiger’s roar, baring ever so slightly his teeth and also taking a step forward. He looked taller than he was, beautiful and terrible, dark, predatory and immensely powerful. Brian and Christian saturated the atmosphere with fury and dangerous tension, and the great parlor where we all stood suddenly looked too small.
Oh, for Pete’s sake!
I glanced at the Blakes. Arms folded, Tristan stood aside, looking amused, but ready to intervene, if necessary. Livia looked at me and rolled her eyes.
We should stop this stupid testosterone contest, the two of us agreed without saying a word.
Before Brian and Christian were at each other’s throats, we stepped between them.
“Brian, it’s okay,” I said in the firmest voice I could muster and placed my hand on his upper arm. Under my palm, his bulging muscles felt like stone.
“Christian, calm down,” Liv said.
Tristan decided it was time for him to intervene. “Brian, meet Christian Enescu, the Duke of Alba. Seventh or eighth, I always forget.”
“Seventh. I’m the eighth Count of Brasov if you insist on formalities. My titles are defunct, though,” Christian said with a lopsided smile, his eyes still on Brian. “Alas, I don’t think my noble heritage can impress one Brian Canagan.”
Brian managed a smirk that was more tooth baring than a smile. “It bloody can’t, you’re right.”
“I am sure that, under better circumstances, you’d be glad to meet me,” Christian said.
“Why would I?”
“I’m Armand St. Mère.”
“Armand the Axeman?” Brian exclaimed.
Armand the Axeman? What?
Catching my puzzled look, Christian turned to me. “A part of the story I didn’t have a chance to tell you. I had a reputation as a ruthless pursuer of war criminals. De Burgos’s Tel-Urughs, mostly. Hence my charming nickname.”
“A reputation well deserved,” Brian said dryly.
As if thanking Brian for the compliment, Christian bowed his head, in a slow, noble movement that made him look very ducal indeed. “I worked hard to earn it, I admit,” he said without a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
Brian cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming to help us last year.”
Christian nodded. “You’re welcome.”
The atmosphere was still electrified, but the crisis was over.
Visibly calmed but still angry, Brian motioned toward the sitting area. “Now, if you please, Your Grace, would you mind telling me what’s going on?”
As Christian explained the reasons for his involvement, Brian’s shoulders relaxed more and more. He was finally convinced that Christian was not a threat.
At least not physically.
I sat on the sofa tucked beside Brian, his arm possessively around my shoulder, a clear message to Christian. Not that he needed one, but I guessed the level of testosterone still hadn’t dropped down to normal.
Brian’s inner sensors picked up the same vibes I’d sensed the previous day. Christian was attracted to me and couldn’t completely hide it. Or he didn’t want to. He seemed determined to throw down the gauntlet, his genuine respect for Brian notwithstanding. And Brian Canagan was the last man who would ignore the challenge. Even more because, reluctantly or not, he had to consider Christian a worthy opponent.
Oh, yes. My unexpected acquaintance with Christian Enescu was definitely going to complicate my life.