Authors: A.J. Lewis
Paranormal Romance: Chosen By Two Vampires (New Adult Threesome Vampire Romance Short Stories MFM Menage MMF Alpha)
Chosen by Two Vampires
Vampire Romance
Copyright 2014 by A.J. Lewis - All rights reserved.
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Contents
“Ah, now I understand,” said Jenny. “Gosh, how was I so stupid not to get that.”
She checked in the mirror at the line of cars behind her all heading to the coast.
“I thought it was strange,” she continued. “I couldn't quite work out why you wanted to go to a traditional seaside resort. Seemed like the most boring place in the world. I mean, I couldn't imagine you'd be wanting to sit in a deck chair all day look at the sea. You don't even like fish and chips.”
Jenny paused as they came to a roundabout and like all the other traffic, they took the coast road.
“Do you know,” she asked, “I even thought you might have picked Whitby because of me. Because I was talking about the holidays at the seaside when I was a child. I almost invited your grandparents.”
Jenny unwrapped a boiled sweet and popped it in her mouth.
“So it's right then, is it? That's the reason you wanted to have a holiday here, is it? Bloody Dracula.”
There was no answer and Jenny turned to look at daughter to see she had her headphones on and was absorbed in her phone.
Jenny tapped her knee. “Ana,” she said, “I'm talking to you.”
Ana looked up and scowled. She took her earphones out.
“What do you want?”
“Dracula,” said Jenny. “That's why you wanted to come to Whitby, isn't it?”
Ana looked at the line of traffic ahead. “Maybe,” she said.
Jenny laughed. “I knew it. I can't believe we are even having a Goth holiday.”
“It's not Goth,” said Ana.
“Well, Emo, or whatever. It looks like Goth to me.”
“Mum,” said Ana, the frustration rising in her voice, “I've told you, its steam punk.”
“Steam punk,” said Jenny. “What on Earth is that?” But Ana was no longer listening.
__
Jenny went back to her earphones and Jenny turned up the radio. The local station was playing a 90s hour and she sang along as the wound their way closer to the coast. At one point they played The Cure and she thought about mentioning it to Ana but changed her mind.
The traffic thinned and they began to make good time. They sped over the moors, purple in the August sunlight. Sheep roamed in gangs and Jenny realized she felt happy with the window open and the music playing. It was an unusual sensation and it almost made her nostalgic for a time when happiness came easily. Perhaps the holiday wouldn't be all that bad.
No, she thought, it was no good getting sentimental or getting her hopes up. She had learned that well enough.
Still, when they crested the brow of the hill and the sea came into view, a gray-blue line against the sky, Jenny couldn't help but smile.
“Hurray!” she said,” the sea. Ana look.”
But Ana ignored her and continued jabbing out a message to someone else in another place entirely.
As they came into the town Jenny pulled over and said, “Ok sweetheart, can you give me the map of the bed and breakfast.”
“It's on my phone,” said Ana and Jenny held out her hand. “I'll direct you,” said Ana.
“It would be easier if I have a look. It's not easy to drive around here. The streets are really narrow.”
“If you just drive, I'll tell you which way to go.”
Jenny sighed. “Alright, have it your way.” She drove on through the narrow winding streets of the town. The houses were all painted white and seagulls stationed themselves on chimney tops. Jenny had forgotten how pretty it was.
“You need to be over there,” said Ana, pointing across her to the right.
“That's not really possible, honey,” said Jenny.
“You need to be over there,” repeated Ana.
“If you took your nose out of your phone, you'd see there was a river in the way.”
They drove back to bridge and Jenny looked over the River Esk with the fishing boats tied to the dock and the blue and white cottages and the tourists eating ice cream.
“Isn't it lovely,” she said.
“Turn left,” said Ana.
They turned left and went up the hill, winding between the old stone houses, avoiding the tourists who climbed slowly with their backpacks and red sunburned shoulders.
“Take a right here,” said Ana.
“It's one-way.”
“Well, it's to the right of us, so you need to turn right.”
“Well, I can't because it's a one-way street.”
“Mum, it's just there. You can see it.”
“It doesn't matter, I can't turn into that street.”
“Don't be stupid, it's ten yards away.”
“Hey,” said Jenny. “That's enough.”
She drove on to the top of hill and turned right along a main street and then took the first right back down again.
“Is this the street?” Jenny asked.
“Next one,” muttered Ana.
They found the guest house at the end of the street. It was a grand old terraced building made from stone, warmly lit by the afternoon sunlight.
“Oh,” said Jenny, “good choice, honey. Looks very traditional. Hope we get an old-fashioned guest house owner with her hair in curlers and a cigarette in her mouth.”
She parked at the end of the street and stepped out of the car and stood stretching, breathing in the fresh air.
“Feels nice,” she said. “The sea air.”
Ana stayed in the car and Jenny leaned in through the window and said, “Did you print out the booking?”
“On my phone,” said Ana.
“Well, come on then,” said Jenny.
They walked up the path through a neatly tended rose garden tot he front door and Jenny pressed the doorbell. She moved down her sunglasses to survey the street and as she turned back to the door she looked at the large bay window next to her and involuntarily jumped backwards, feeling Ana jump back with her.
Staring back at her, not three feet away was a white face, peering between the red velvet curtains. It had extravagant black eyebrows that curved over large eyes either side of a long sharp nose. The chin was similarly sharp and upturned. The face was framed by lank, black hair that was slicked into a parting that Jenny couldn't say was either very fashionable, or really the very opposite.
The curtain was opened and two hands pulled up the window and the head ducked out. The man was wearing a black roll-neck sweater that exaggerated the whiteness of his face and hands, with their long, bony fingers. Jenny thought he looked like a mime artist.
“Good afternoon,” the man said with a heavy European accent. He laughed. “My apologies, I think I may have frightened you a little.”
He grinned at them. Taking his time to look at them, first at Jenny and then at Ana. Jenny felt Ana shift a little, uneasily.
“I trust you had a pleasant journey,” he said.
“Very good,” said Jenny. “Traffic wasn't too bad at all.”
“Excellent,” said the man. “Excuse me,” he said and unexpectedly took out a cigarette and lit it, exhaling smoke into the street. “Ahhh,” he said, with obvious satisfaction. “Excellent,” he said, nodding. “Excellent. The traffic in England can be very tiresome, can it not?”
“Sometimes,” said Jenny, “but we didn't have too far to come.”
“You are English?” the man asked, pointing the cigarette at both of them. “Hmm,” he said, not waiting for their answer. “I see.” He considered them and smiled as if to say, yes, it was acceptable to be English. “Excuse me,” he said, “I am Razvan.” He said this as if they should have been impressed and for a moment Jenny wondered whether she had seen him before. He seemed familiar, as if she had seen him on a reality television show about odd people.
Razvan held out his hand to her and she shook it. The fingers really were very long. They wrapped around her hand completely and she could feel the bones not very far below the translucent skin.
Then he held his hand out for Ana too, which Jenny was unsure about. Ana took it and shook it limply, as if she were being made to touch a dead fish. His hands were so white they even put Ana's to shame, making her look tawny by comparison. Ana was probably impressed by this, she reflected.
Razvan inhaled from his cigarette again and held it in front of him, peering down the length of his nose at it, as if it were an interesting specimen.
“You have brought the weather,” he observed raising his eyes to the sun, suspiciously, like a man scared of skin cancer. “Glorious,” he said extending the word, languidly.
“It's beautiful,” agreed Jenny.
“We don't often have days like this,” he said, “in England.” He spoke as if England were something small that continually failed to meet his expectations. “Even in the summer.”
Just when Jenny began to wonder how long this doorstop conversation could possibly go on for, Razvan gently extinguished the cigarette on the window sill. He then produced a clear plastic pouch and popped the remains of the cigarette inside, before concealing it and his lighter about his person and making loose-wristed flapping motions to disperse the smoke.
“No smoking,” he said. “No smoking everywhere in England. But we must all enjoy our little pleasures, mustn't we not?” He said smiling at Jenny, showing a sharp set of teeth. Jenny made a forced smile as if to agree with him.
He grinned at Ana. “Our little secret. Don't tell Bruce.”
Ana scowled back, which appeared to delight him.
“Bruce is my partner,” he declared. “Anyway, you should come in,” said Razvan and pulled down the window.
“I can't believe it,” muttered Ana. “It's a dosshouse for illegal immigrants.”
“Don't be rude,” said Jenny. “You don't know anything about him.”
It was then that Jenny realized the door was actually slightly open. She pushed at it and walked into the hallway and Ana followed.