Twice Bitten (23 page)

The deep chasms Racco had advised to watch for along the four-mile winding run to the peak’s base turned out to be a hell of a lot more frightening than I anticipated. One of my skis briefly lost connection with anything but empty air, and I nearly tumbled to what I believe would’ve been certain death. At least he waited for me to catch up when it happened, smiling devilishly, as if my survival had been some sort of passage rite that needed to happen. 

I could’ve strangled him right then.

Thankfully, the chalet was everything he said it would be. Otherwise, I might’ve chewed his ass out and left, willing to take my chances in finding my way back to the castle. Opulent and rustic, and nearly buried in snowdrifts, he told me the chalet was constructed from the very pines that crowded the property back in the mid-eighteenth century. The place had undergone frequent updates since then. 

After removing my snowsuit in the foyer, I found Racco waiting for me near the stairs to the master suite on the second floor. Clad in only his Body Armor, the contours of his well-toned muscles were clearly revealed. I know…a nice body is not the key to a woman’s heart. Seeing men in what amounts to glorified leotards does little for most of us, unless that body belongs to a Greek god. Add in a gorgeous smile, intense blue eyes, and the powerful charisma exuding from Racco, and I was completely overmatched. A schoolgirl with an insane crush on this master of life—a perfect man.

“Follow me, Txema…another fire burns upstairs,” he said, noting my momentary fascination with the roaring blaze inside a tall fireplace in the main living area. “My personal chef has prepared a little feast on the veranda.”

He waited for me to give him my hand, which I worried might be clammy from my nervousness. But, he didn’t seem to notice, offering a seductive wink as he led me up the stairs. The bed looked inviting, with the covers pulled down slightly, and he was right about the fire burning in another large fireplace across from the bed. Heavy oak furniture in a Black Forrest motif brought a strong masculine feel to the room.

“Our sources have told us that you have a fondness for crepes and waffles,” Racco advised. He motioned for me to move out to the veranda, where Mercel and the chef, a pretty blonde female named Annette, waited next to a table set for two. In addition to the batter varieties were roasted potatoes, bacon, and an assortment of fruit. “Have you made a decision as to having more champagne, or would you prefer something warmer, like cocoa or cider?”

I noticed another fireplace outside on the veranda, and the room felt comfortable, despite the French doors standing wide open. The view beyond was indeed spectacular, reminding me of a vacation with my family to Vermont several years ago, although these hills were more majestic.

“Champagne will be fine,” I told him, following his lead outside. We sat across from each other, and Annette placed a crepe and a waffle on my plate. Meanwhile, Racco settled for a few strips of bacon. It occurred to me then that I had yet to see him dine heavy—always taking small portions. I suddenly worried that he might view me as a cow in comparison. But the appetite suppressant from the earlier pill had worn off. I was starving again. Perhaps sensing the awkwardness, Racco asked Annette to make him a fresh crepe.

“Go ahead and leave another bottle for later, Mercel,” said Racco, after we had finished our meal. “We will call for you and Annette to remove this before we return to the castle.”

He motioned for them both to leave, and once they had returned downstairs, Racco turned his attention to me.

“Come, let us sit near the fire inside,” he said. “I believe we both have some unfinished business to attend to.”

Racco got up and pulled out my chair for me. He then gently grasped my hand and led me back inside the chalet, walking over to a black bear rug laid out in front of the fireplace.

“Perhaps it is a little warm over here, but once our body heat matches the fire then we can move elsewhere.”

I had nothing to say, offering subtle nods to acknowledge my eager agreement to whatever he wanted. Racco’s smooth seduction skills had already made it clear that he would decide how the rest of the afternoon would progress, leaving me as a passive participant. Truth be told, all I could think of was his powerful arms wrapped around me again, and I eagerly anticipated picking up from where we left off the other day.

The rest of what happened quickly became a blur…a passionate jaunt to ecstasy! His hands roamed freely while his lips caressed mine, and I felt myself melt in his embrace, barely aware that he was removing my clothes and his.

It took only a few minutes to be fully ready for him to take me, although I was grateful for the extended foreplay. It just goes to show, I guess, that older males have a better understanding of what it takes to get a woman to full orgasm. His lips continued to caress mine and moved down my neck and to my breasts while his fingers massaged my sex to full readiness. 

Yes, I was ready—
more
than ready, and I begged him to enter me. He raised himself up, preparing to do just that when all of a sudden a loud thud shook the entire chalet.

“What in the hell was that?” I murmured between gasps, while he looked warily around him.

“Racco get away from HER!!! Txema, no! NO!!”

We both heard the voice…a female, shrieking in anger. But, there was something unnatural about the voice, as well. A muffled crackling sound accompanied it as it floated throughout the room. Difficult to pinpoint where it came from, it resounded again, only this time the voice emanated from the fireplace. The shriek louder and clearer the second time around, the fire grew stronger, as if a bucket filled with gasoline had just been launched onto the flames.

We looked in that direction, and this time both of us gasped.

An enlarged face glared at us, ethereal, with green eyes ablaze and menacing fangs fully bared. A face I had come to know fairly well. 

The face of Chanson de I’Eternelle.

Chapter 20

Talk about a mood-buster. 

Chanson’s unexpected intrusion into Racco’s and my afternoon bedroom romp utterly destroyed the mood. Even before the image dissipated into the flames, it was ‘diver down’ for Racco. For the first time that day, his incredible charisma and unflappable self-confidence had been dimmed. The exaggerated face of my ancestral cousin seemed to focus mostly on him—at least while it glared at us—and it definitely had the effect her words demanded.

And here I thought vampires slept during the day.  Obviously, they could still sense the nefarious activities of the mortals they took an interest in. At least Chanson could, anyway.

Racco avoided looking at me until we both were fully clothed again. Intense awkwardness followed, and it seemed his warmth—that passionate attention he had shown to me since we first met on his yacht four days earlier—was no longer there. I admit, I bristled when he flashed his gorgeous smile for the chef, Annette, when we boarded the helicopter to return to the castle, and only glanced at me. For the rest of our ride, he and I looked out separate windows to avoid eye contact with each other.

I should’ve said something about it, or at least asked him what was wrong. After all, what in the hell did Chanson’s rude interruption have to do with the budding romance between him and I? But the stubbornness that is my hallmark prevented me from talking to him about it or anything else…at least for the time being.

By the time we arrived at the castle, it was nearing four o’clock, and sunset in the mountains had already started. Within the next couple of hours, the vampires would awaken. I could hardly wait for an additional scowl and tongue–lashing from my vampire protectors. Especially from Chanson.

The chilliness between Racco and me remained, and once inside the castle I could tell the servants felt the awkward air surrounding us. They barely made eye contact with either Racco or myself.

Getting more perturbed by the minute, I waved off Mercel’s offer to escort me to my room, climbing the stairs alone. I needed the solitude…to think, and to reassess my situation, and especially my ‘incarceration’. Really, it was more that than anything else, since I couldn’t go home when I wanted to do so. Hell, I had already seen how the vampires guarded my every move, as if waiting for me to take flight.

When I arrived at my bedchamber, the door was slightly ajar. I cautiously entered my room.

“Hello?” I called out, loud enough to hear a slight echo bounce off the walls. “Is anybody here?”

I received no response.  

“Hello?” I repeated. But, after tiptoeing through the entire room and adjacent bathroom, I soon confirmed no one else was there. 

Maybe one of Racco’s servants had visited my room and forgot to close the door when they left, since another evening outfit had been laid out on the bed. This time it was a Vera Wang pantsuit featuring a beautiful white satin blouse with gold orchids against the suit’s gray pinstripes, along with black satin Dolce and Gabbana high heels. It seemed like something Raquel would pick out and put together.

I allowed myself another luxurious bath to sooth my muscles that were reacting to the workout I put them through, trying to keep up with Racco as we skied down the mountainside. Or, maybe this was really an effort to wash away the physical memory of our heavy foreplay on the bearskin rug in his chalet. If the awkwardness between us continued, I might as well get a head start on eradicating the remnants of our intimacy to help ease any withdrawal pain.

Alas, infatuation’s tenuous reality.

I almost fell asleep in the bathtub, gasping for a moment on perfumed soap bubbles that covered my face and damn near went up my nose! I guess I should be grateful I didn’t somehow drown. It made me wonder if this was an energy-crash aftereffect from the strange pill I ingested that morning.

Finally, just before 6:00 p.m., I was fully dressed and ready to face the vampire world. Not knowing what to expect, I left my room and headed downstairs. The place seemed almost as quiet as it had earlier that day, at least until I approached the dining hall. 

It sounded like a Mardi Gras parade moved through the castle just beyond the pair of heavy oak doors that marked the dining hall’s entrance. Since they were open last night, I had no idea the doors contained detailed engravings. Each door bore the image of a muscular angel with gilded wings that appeared to be made from real gold. Perhaps gold leaf foil had been overlaid upon the carved images. Or, maybe the wings were created from solid gold. Impressive either way, I briefly chuckled at the thought that if silver had been used instead, perhaps the hall that lay behind the doors would sit empty. A vampire-less chapel, perhaps? Or, maybe just a dining hall for the living.

“Hel-lo Txema!” said a familiar voice from behind me, as I debated whether to step up and knock loudly on the door, or simply walk right into the hall unannounced. “Why do you dally so much?”

“Because it could seem rude to just barge in there!” I retorted while whirling around. Armando stood, waiting, dressed in a traditional tux. Beaming with delight, either at his own witty comment or my self-imposed predicament, he looked even more regal than usual. “You do expect common manners to be adhered to…. Correct?”

“Ah, but what is polite to mankind could be deemed unnecessary, or even offensive, by the race of immortals!” he chided me, laughing at my expense while he threw his hands toward the doors. They flew open as if he carried a magic wand. “Ladies first—that is a rule for both the undead and those destined to be dust!”

Mean words delivered with a silver tongue and jester’s smile. At least he succeeded in getting me to snicker.

A party was indeed in full swing inside the dining hall.  Balloons and streamers hung from the ceiling, and it seemed like more vampires joined the event tonight. Almost like a costume ball, although by then I understood that every waking moment for these vampires was an opportunity for fun and excess. A good number of the vamps were dressed in eighteenth century French aristocracy gowns and suits. But, unlike these revelers of the bloodiest era in French history, Garvan and Franz approached from across the room, dressed in twenty-first century apocalypse black garb, including gothic capes, mirror sunglasses and they wore their hair spiked. Their black stiletto boots were equipped with steel chains that hung silent as they floated toward me through the air.

Unlike last night, they were both smiling. Not immediately seeing Racco anywhere in the room, I assumed they must’ve learned about the afternoon’s amorous disaster. 

“You look ravishing, my chérie!” Garvan enthused, after he and Franz joined us.

By then, I was already looking toward the roasted fowl on the table, ready to be carved by one of the few warm-blooded human beings in the room. It didn’t matter if the bird was turkey, chicken, or some sort of local pheasant. I felt hungry enough to eat the very carving tray it sat upon.

“You two could pass for Linkin Park’s bodyguards,” I replied. “Do you guys party like this every night?”

“Who is ‘Linkin Park’?” asked Franz, his expression perplexed.

“A rock band, no?” offered Armando, his tone impish.  “Next time they come to Paris you should join us at the Theatre du Chatelet. We can hang out in the rafters, and maybe share a nice young boy before we leave!”