Page 2

“The wee shite.”I bite back a chuckle as I carefully remove the drawing pin from the eighteenth century wood panelling, making a mental note to ask Hector to look into effecting an invisible repair. I pick up the offending cardboard box and relocate it to my study, along with the paper that had been pinned to the wall. The cartoon panels on the paper consist of five pictures. They’re of a worried woman attempting to remove a bat from her cat’s mouth, tucking the rescued critter into a box, then returning to check up on it to discover a dazed and worse for wear-looking vampire sitting in the remains of the box. I sincerely hope Charley doesn’t think the cartoon vampire resembles me, or we will be having words. For one thing, I might have three hundred years under my belt, but I still don’t look older than thirty, thanks to the blood magic of my kind. Life has not been so kind to my cartoon counterpart.

Underneath the pictures are a couple of sentences in Charley’s surprisingly neat Gothic script.

Could we get a kitten though? Please? It would be a brilliant asset to the household.

I’m never entirely sure of my son’s thought processes, but this is an argument I don’t understand at all. In my opinion, there are no benefits to introducing several vulnerable ounces of fur with needle teeth and claws to a vampire-shifter home, but this latest plea has given me an idea.

For now though, I set the box and paper aside while I catch up on some important emails, sign off on a building extension proposal from my project manager on the west coast — I bought a little castle and it needs a lot of work to become a viable hideaway — then call Eleanor on her mobile. She went off to Edinburgh early this morning to scour the shops for ideas. I had the notion to redecorate the staff recreation rooms, and my trusty PA offered to window shop. I don’t think the others mind too much what happens — apart from Stephen, but he spends so little time in the main house, he was happy to go along with the majority vote anyway.

Eleanor sounds muffled, as if she might be desperately trying to swallow a mouthful of food at the same time as answering. But she’s quick to inform me that she has a notebook and a photo gallery full of ideas for the refurbishment, and will shortly be on her way home.

I ask her if she has time to make a quick detour before she leaves the main shopping precincts, and she quickly assures me it will be no problem. She sounds a little taken aback by my request, but promises to keep the item securely wrapped up before she delivers it to my office. She reminds me she will be taking tomorrow morning off as she’s been working more hours than a human should. I swallow the retort that springs to mind because I know she’s a wonderful woman and a superb employee, and it’s not her fault she requires sleep in order to function. Telling Eleanor I’ll see her later, I cut the connection.

I set my phone aside and pull a pad of notepaper and a fountain pen from a drawer in my desk. This calls for my best handwriting and some quality thinking time. I catch myself chewing the end of the pen and grimace. Some habits apparently never leave you, even if in your former life you’d have been gnawing on the end of a grotty twig.

* * *

While Charley and Luc sleep,I force myself to remain awake during the hours I normally reserve for my own repose. I laid some of the clues last night — I had to, they were outside of the house — but the remainder have to be done when most folk are resting and unaware. It feels somehow unlawful to be creeping about my own property in such a clandestine manner, but I’m enjoying myself.

The clues all secreted away and the parcel Eleanor brought stashed at the end of the trail, I take myself back to the wing of the house that contains my bedroom. I hesitate, then continue along the corridor to Pavel’s room. I’ve been distracted by matters outside the home and haven’t fed for four nights. I know he’s resting, but I also don’t think he’ll turn me away. I chap the door.

He opens up in seconds, pyjamas askew and his pale hair a messy halo that suggests he was lying down. I should feel guilty, but he smells too good as his blood calls to me, so I don’t care anymore.

“My room, five minutes. Bring anything you need for a few hours,” I rasp at him. His pupils darken and he nods. I leave and go to my room where I strip down to my underwear, leaving my dirty clothes on the floor.

Pavel enters without knocking, as he knows to do when summoned, and after setting a few items on the top of a chest, sits silently on the edge of the bed, his hands folded in his lap. He’s the perfect sub, which is at once pleasing and highly frustrating. I’m not good Dom material, far from it, but he’s easy-going, so I do my best and he overlooks my shortcomings in favour of feeling secure, as he often tells me he does under my protection.

“I wish you to stay while I rest,” I begin. His eyes flick up and I see they are soft and warm. “You will feed me.” I pause. “And I want to hold you while I sleep.” I really do; but every time I state my desires in this way, I can feel I’m holding my unneeded breath and waiting for Pavel to safeword. He’s only done it once in the whole time we’ve been together, but I’m also aware that his asexual nature can be touch defensive.

“I want that too, master,” he states with the same quiet assurance he does most things. My breath escapes me in a muted whoosh.

“Dalziel,” I correct him sternly.

“Dalziel.” His eyes now dance with a hint of mischief and I find myself relaxing. I want to savour Pavel tonight, not rough him up as I attack his veins. If he was a different kind of man, I’d say I want to romance him, but that’s not appropriate. I don’t even feel about Pavel that way, but it’s been too long since I held a lover, and I know I can trust him without complications developing. So, here we are.

“Get into bed and keep your veins warm. I’m going to shower.” He nods, and I hear the rustle of fabric as I head into my adjoining bathroom. I take a quick shower, dry off, then dress in a warm onesie. Even my feet are encased. It makes sense and is good manners not to chill any human, especially not a shadow. My blood slave is the most important person in my life after Charley. Taking blood from anyone when their temperature has dropped is, I guess, roughly comparable to discovering some fool put red wine into the fridge instead of letting it breathe. I am not a fool. On top of this, with me dressed in such a ridiculous outfit, I know it has the added benefit of reminding Pavel I will never try to turn our encounters into sexual ones.

Later, when I’ve fed, and we’ve slept, I lie awake and watch Pavel as he struggles back to the surface. He’s always most like the man I met all those years ago when he’s sleepy-eyed and unaware. I grin down at him.

“Cup of coffee?” I keep a machine in my room just for him, along with a diminutive fridge, barely worthy of the name, that holds a pint of milk — I went downstairs to fetch it while he was dreaming.

“You’re good to me, Dalziel.” Pale blue eyes blink open after he rubs his knuckles into his sockets. “Yes, please.”

I pass him the cup. “Reminds me of Prague,” I say conversationally. “You and me waking in a room that smells of coffee.”

He snorts and sits up properly. “Hardly. That was a shithole masquerading as a staff room in that damned hotel. Still,” he slurps a deep gulp and sighs, “I can’t argue about the smell of coffee. About the only decent part of the entire mess. Well,” his smile crinkles up his eyes, “that, and the fact you rescued me.”

I join him back in the bed, itching to get out of the onesie but happy to reminisce. “You were so obviously unsuited to that job. Even the best professional manner couldn’t have disguised the bone-deep anxiety you exuded from every pore the night we met.” Pavel had taken a job as a junior chef in a large hotel in the city, a far cry from the tiny village bakery where he’d learned his trade. He’d confessed to me in a drunken moment that he was out of his depth, too proud to go home, and too scared of the noisy Russian delegation clogging up the hotel’s many reception rooms to chance heading to the kitchen for some dinner, or back to his room to pass out for a few hours.

Pavel sighed. “The Becherovka was such a mistake. I still can’t believe I stole it.”

“They owed you a damn sight more than one bottle of spirits.” I’d found him when I too was hiding from one of the Russian delegation, in my case a buxom blonde who had decided she wanted a whole night with me. In desperation, I squeezed into a cupboard. A space that contained a frightened and inebriated Pavel. The rest, as they say, is history.

Pavel nods, finishing his coffee while I dress. Then he uses the facilities before gathering up his belongings into a tidy pile. He goes to sit back on the bed but I prevent him with a hand on his arm. “Stay where you are, please.”

I cup his face in my hands and press a simple kiss to both his cheeks. “Thank you, Pavel, for your company and your blood. As always, you make me very happy.” I feel his muscles quiver and step back a pace. “Off you go. I know you’re desperate to get to the kitchen. Do not take any crap from anyone who whines about being hungry. Everyone in this house is capable of feeding themselves if necessary.”

He nods, but turns away so I don’t see if he’s listening. He spoils Charley, and Luc too, as well as Isher, the young Fae who Lord Volik and the Lady Neele foisted on me, for reasons I’m still waiting to fully discover. Eleanor doesn’t allow herself to be spoiled in the same way, but she’s older and was used to total independence before taking the job working for me. Pavel regards her as an equal, which pleases me. My life would be considerably more onerous without these people. They’re no longer staff; they’re family.

I send Charley a text.

As reparation for the bat prank, I have set you a task. You will find the first instruction tucked into the letter box at the end of the drive by the main gate. Do not ask for help from others. Do not use your motorbike to speed up the task. Do not use magic!!!

Report back when you have completed the task.

D.

I add a heart emoji because I’m soft in the heid and don’t want him to think he’s actually being punished.

Whistling a tune I no longer remember the lyrics for, I head downstairs to see what the afternoon has in store.