Adduné - the Vampire's Game (33 page)

He was in remarkably good condition. She couldn’t help but notice the washboard, flattened stomach and sinewy thighs that showed strong and true through his tan cotton pants. He was an attractive man, but Miranda wasn’t attracted. In her quick assessment, she pegged him for being the responsible and reliable type. A strong, silent type that was much too steady and true blue for her tastes. She always had a penchant for dangerous, undependable types like Jake. There was something about amoral, bad boys that she always found exciting. Maybe it was the challenge or maybe she just didn’t want to get too involved. She held out her hand.

“
I’m Miranda. Miranda Perry. And you are?”

“
Stroker.”

“
Stroker? Is that it?”

He laughed out loud. He had a bellowing, explosive-type of laugh, diametrically opposed to his low-key manner. He looked as if he enjoyed laughing as much as the joke itself. Miranda relaxed – rapidly regaining her composure. She was on the plane sitting next to someone reliable, and no longer locked into that dream.

She was beginning to warm up to the man who apparently had only one name. She noted the appealing expression lines around his eyes. Miranda wondered how old he was. She guessed that he must be in his mid-thirties, but it was hard to tell. With his strong bone structure, he’d probably looked older when young, but would undoubtedly reverse that when mature. His bone structure would allow him to look youthful well into his advanced years. While he didn’t interest her sexually, he had more than captured her imagination. There was an oddly mysterious quality about him that made Miranda intent on wanting to know more about him. She detected a slight accent, but it wasn’t definitive in identifying his heritage. It was just one more card in the deck – and one step closer to getting to know this man Stroker.

Miranda mulled over his general demeanor and mannerisms. He seemed more American than European, but there was that trace of something else in his pronunciation of some words and his manner of speech. That clue pointed her in a different direction. It was possible that he acquired the affectation through being an inveterate traveler – nationality or birth need not be involved nor responsible. She’d found that happened with people living in other countries for a while. They’d subconsciously pick up inflections, adding them to their vocabulary and thereby helping themselves to a slight accent. She’d even done it herself. Her English accent sometimes flattened out to the point that people mistook her for American.

He let his head roll back her way.

“
That’s it. For now, anyway. I hope your dream wasn’t prompted by this, although I could see why. Looks pretty terrifying if read alone.”

He was pointing to the pink cover of her newest romance novel. It was still safely perched on her lap. It being in place reassured her and meant that she couldn’t have been physically active during the nightmare – no writhing and churning around in her seat. Miranda was happy about that at least. She knew she didn’t need to apologize for her eccentric reading habits, but she did feel that she needed to explain. The fact that he had a sense of humor did not go unnoticed nor unappreciated. She liked men that possessed it.

“
If the truth be known, I make my selection on the tawdriness of the cover,” she said, tapping her finger on the glossy card stock of the cover. The illustration showed a woman in a bodice that was unlaced and undone. Her face was in a state of ecstasy possibly because one bosom was being cupped by a tall, dark hulk of man simmering behind her.

“
That is some pose, Mademoiselle,” he quipped. He sat looking amused and Miranda wondered if it was because of the drawing or because of her. She tucked the book away to the side of her closest to the window.

“
Yes, it was quite painful holding that position and my right breast was hurting me from being squeezed like a melon all day,” she wryly responded.

At first, Stroker’s face was blank, but slowly he got Miranda’s humor. His face dissolved into another smile, but did not elicit another trumpeting burst of laughter. Everything was kept understated and withheld, like a cool lake that you had to jump in to find out the depth.

“
Anyway,” Miranda said unsure about how to approach the subject of her sordid dream. “It was silly really. I was …”

Miranda pulled up short of revealing more. She hadn’t thought things through and didn’t know what she wanted him to know. She was feeling much better, but still troubled by it. The more she thought it through, the more she realized she was being foolish. What harm would it do to tell him? He was a stranger and who better than a stranger to tell private things to? It wasn’t as if he was in her circle of friends. He wouldn’t be able to repeat it to anybody she knew, so what difference did it make? And she did need to talk … a little, anyway.

“…
I had a dream, nightmare actually, about my father.”

“
Your father?”

“
Yes, he died … in a car accident. It happened a little over four months ago. I guess I’m still getting over it.”

Stroker exhaled loudly. He faced straight ahead, uncomfortable with what he’d done.

“
I am very sorry about your loss. I shouldn’t have pried.”

“
No, it’s fine. Really it is.”

He rolled his head to the side, scrutinizing her face. He seemed to be trying to assess if she were being polite or sincere. Miranda held his eye and nodded. It was enough for him to trust it was the latter.

“
Well, if it’s any consolation, I know what you’re going through. I lost my father … mother also … a very long time ago.”

“
How dreadful!” Miranda said, giving his arm a sympathetic touch.

“
Yes, it was. I was raised in an orphanage,” he explained in a muffled voice.

“
That must have been hard.”

“
Very, but then life is hard, Mademoiselle.”

Miranda felt a pang of pathos for him. She was starting to bond with this Stroker person. She wasn’t quite sure why she felt close to him after knowing him such a short amount of time, but she did. It could be because of his honestly and forthrightness about his circumstances. He had stated his history without regrets or pandering for sympathy. It showed he was accepting of what he was rather than hiding from it. His confidence and well-being about who he was as a person carried through to his appearance – including the way he dressed. No frills – just utilitarian, stylish clothing that suited him. Everything was just enough. He cared about himself, but not too much. It was another very appealing characteristic. And his open face spoke of having no secrets and always being there to lend a hand. Had he learned to be responsible the hard way? It was like that sometimes, but in the end he had. Some people never did and those were the ones to watch out for.

“
Yes, it is,” Miranda said gazing out the window again. He was starting her thinking. Tugging on her heartstrings and making her want to confide.

“
There’s more.”

“
More?”

“
More to the dream.”

She turned to see his response. He seemed genuinely interested to hear more. If he hadn’t, she would have ended things there. She didn’t like opening up to people that didn’t respect her feelings. She had a hard time with trust and yet here she was, talking to him about things that she would have fought to keep secret. She wondered why she was still talking. She realized it was because he wasn’t pushing to know. He was letting her set her own boundaries. That implied respect.

“
Yes, it’s all jumbled, but basically I was riding a horse.”

Stroker raised a brow and lifted his hand off the armrest.

“
Doesn’t sound too upsetting.”

“
Yes, well, that’s because I haven’t gotten to the good part. I was in a cemetery, jumping over graves. Fancy that! There was a huge storm threatening, but there I was. I came to the last one. It was my … my father’s grave. For some reason, the horse refused to jump at the last moment. I was thrown off of him … into the air. I thought I would land on the grave, but while I was falling, I discovered the grave was open. I fell right into it – onto my father who grabbed me from behind and kept me pinned down. I heard someone above – on the outside. He was shoveling dirt onto my face.”

There was no change of expression on Stroker’s face, except for his eyes. Miranda couldn’t tell what it was about them that looked different, but they seemed colder. In the silence that followed her last words, she realized it wasn’t Stroker that had changed – she was just seeing him differently – through a new perspective. She had changed the dynamics of the relationship by revealing her personal thoughts to a stranger. It meant she couldn’t be sure how her words would be handled. She hoped he didn’t say something stupid. If he did, it would mean she was wrong to open up to him and that he was just another superficial asshole. She’d met so many. It was why it was so hard for her to trust.

Stroker shook his head as if brushing off cobwebs.

“
I am truly sorry about that. I really was listening. It’s just that what you said reminded me of an old legend.”

Miranda breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been wrong. And one look at his face told her that she had been right in her evaluation – his face hadn’t morphed into some hard, cold monster. It was still a face that evinced trustworthiness. She felt silly for going through unneeded consternation. She’d make sure she wouldn’t go through a series of baseless misgivings again.

Miranda leaned towards him, putting her elbow on the armrest between them and placing her chin on top of her hand. She was curious to find out more about what he had said.

“
A legend? What sort of legend?”

“
About vampires.”

The word startled Miranda. She withdrew back into her seat. She was a bundle of raw nerves after the talk with Reginald. She was doing everything to forget what he said and here was this man she’d just met using that word. She was flustered, but determined not to let him notice. She clasped her hands in her lap as he continued.

“
Horses will refuse to jump over the grave of a vampire. It’s how they used to tell if a newly-buried corpse was human or cursed. If the horse refused to jump, they would open the grave, and pound a stake into the heart to make sure the corpse stayed dead.”

Miranda blinked her eyes several times. She wasn’t sure what context to give to what he just said. Maybe she had been wrong to tell him about the dream, but for entirely different reasons than she had first assigned. The legend was too close for comfort. In the dream, her father’s grave was open. Did that mean he was being dug up? Or that he hadn’t been buried? It had to mean that they were digging him up. And since he had grabbed her, it meant he was still alive. And if he were still alive …

She felt like she was back in Weatherly Manor, and Reginald was telling her more ghost stories. She was scared and chilled to her marrow even contemplating her father could be a vampire. She remained calm and took deep, even breaths. He didn’t say it to scare her – he’d only told it as an interesting aside. The legend and the dream were similar. Miranda could well see how he would have been reminded of the curious old tale. He had no way of knowing she was spooked by the subject of ghosts, goblins, and vampires. He had just innocently related a dark tale.

“
Really?” was all she could muster.

“
I know this doesn’t have anything to do with your dream. It’s a silly, old legend that I came across. It just popped into my head. I hope I didn’t alarm you.”

“
Alarm me? With such a
charming
tale?”

Stroker shrugged his shoulders.

“
Whichever way you chose to react would not have surprised me. People love to believe they’re civilized, but too often underneath beats the heart of ignorant, superstitious peasants.”

Miranda didn’t want to admit it, but what he said was all too true. People could be vicious. Starting rumors, tearing others down. If given the chance, they’d probably love to drive a stake through someone’s heart.

“
You have a point.”

Miranda let the conversation die right there. She couldn’t keep up the pretense of not being scared any longer and certainly didn’t want to learn any more about ancient barbaric customs. She appreciated him sharing the story with her, but it hadn’t helped. It was why he could be a friend, but nothing more. For while someone should speak whatever was on their mind, Miranda wanted someone who could read her mind. Further, they needed to be able to switch their psychic ability on and off so as to not read into areas that were off-limits. Stroker was too earthy for that sort of sensitivity.