Wuthering Frights (26 page)

"How much farther?" I asked. "I forgot my walking shoes."

The troll just "humphed" as if laughing at a joke, stupid though mine might have been, was entirely beyond him. He said nothing, but paused in front of another door before rapping his beefy knuckles against it, panting as he tried to catch his breath.

"Announce yourself," came Bram's voice from the other side.

"Your visitor is here," the troll breathed back, his tone of voice reminding me of Rensfield, Dracula's servant. Hmmm, how fitting.

"You may enter," Bram responded and the troll groaned as he turned the doorknob and opened the door, leaning against it for support. Immediately, I recognized Bram's office—the white, red and black motif being hard to forget. Twin red velvet armchairs sat atop the plush white carpet in the middle of the room. Both the walls and ceiling were painted black, making it feel like I was actually standing outside, under the night sky.
The only things
missing were some twinkling lights to act the part of the stars.

Bram was sitting on one of the red velvet armchairs, his right leg crossed over his left knee and his hands clasped beneath his chin as if he were Madonna, striking a pose.

I walked through the door and turned around to watch the troll close and lock it behind me. Only then did I realize the reason I'd never noticed this door before—it was conveniently disguised as a bookcase. Clever, Bram, really clever.

"If you're going for Rodin’s Thinker, your posture is a little off," I said as I glanced over at him again, my hands on my hips. He was always predictable in his attempts to appear important.

He stood up and approached me, frowning as he observed my newly dyed hair. "Dulcie, sweet, you have done this to yourself again?" Then he shook his head as if he thought it was a damn pity. "It is not a good look."

"I didn't do it for looks, dumbass," I grumbled back, not wanting to get into a long, drawn-out explanation. He ran a strand of my hair through his fingers, "tsking" at it with obvious displeasure. I didn't pull away.

"Then why did you do it?" he asked glumly, maybe taking offense to being called a “dumbass.”

"It's all part of the game," I said simply.

"I do not care for it," Bram replied as he arched his eyebrows as if to further emphasize his disapproval.

"Well I don't care that you don't care so I guess we're even."

Bram threw his head back and chuckled heartily, not making any attempt to maintain personal space between the two of us. Instead, he looked at me with amused eyes, a smile pulling at his plump lips. "I believe it must be your distinctive scent that so intoxicates me."

I shook my head with a deep sigh, desperately searching for the patience to deal with him, but coming up short. "Bram, why is it that every time I see you, we have to go through this song and dance? Haven't we been through it enough times now that we can just bypass it?"

"I am always hopeful, my sweet," he started, while circling me as if he were inspecting a horse to purchase. He stopped walking when he was directly behind me and I could feel his gaze on my ass. I never encouraged this behavior and tonight was no different. I wasn't dressed up for the occasion, wearing fitted blue jeans and a v-necked, long-sleeved white T-shirt.

"Hopeful for what?" I snapped, even though I really wasn't looking forward to his answer. Things with Bram never seemed to change. I always had to play his little game of cat and mouse before he'd open up and tell me what I really needed to know.

Patience, Dulcie, patience
.

I felt him grab a handful of my hair tightly at first, then loosening his grip, he draped it over my shoulder. At the touch of his fingertips along the sensitive skin of my shoulders, I got goose bumps.

"Hopeful that you will give in to me," he whispered into my ear, his fingertips following the line of my T-shirt to my front, before trailing down to the cleavage of my breasts. I grabbed his fingers once it seemed they were intent on further exploration.

"A for your effort, Bram," I said, turning around to face him. "Whatever acting classes you've been taking, they're paying off. I bet you could even outdo Brando in
A Streetcar Named Desire
."

He frowned and sighed loudly to show his lack of amusement. "One night with you, sweet, would cure me of this insatiable hunger." His gaze moved from my eyes to my bust and back up to my eyes again as he smiled broadly. "Of that I am certain."

It almost sounded worthwhile. Just one night of sex (which would probably result in a wham, bam, thank you, Bram) and he'd no doubt get over me, relegating me to all his other conquests he grew bored with. Yes, it all sounded fine and good until I got to the sex part. "Sorry, can't help you there," I said with an apologetic smile. "Now how about you tell me why you wanted to see me? And what's with that maze of hallways?"

Bram pouted but at the steely expression in my eyes, he dropped the pout. "I have been thinking about you, sweet," he said as he led us to the red chairs in the center of the room again. He sat in the one he'd previously occupied and motioned for me to take the other. I did and faced him expectantly.

"And what's with all the secretive stuff?"

He shrugged as if it should be obvious. "I didn't want your presence here known." Then he nodded as if he were seeking more time to say whatever he intended to say. "I have been quite worried about you."

I frowned, not buying this story for one second. Emotions like worry and caring had no place in Bram's world. "Well, you couldn't have been that worried, considering you're just broaching this subject now," I said as I arched one brow at him skeptically. I'd been up to my eyes in chaos for at least the last two weeks, so Bram's timing was definitely tardy.

He nodded as if I had a point. "Yes, sweet, I was quite overcome by the fact that I was experiencing any human emotion at all. It took a few days for me to come to terms with it."

I just shook my head and rolled my eyes. "You are truly one of a kind, Bram." He smiled with fangs and I couldn't help shrinking back into my seat. Sometimes Bram could be ... slightly intimidating. But it was never wise to reveal one’s fear to a vampire, especially this one. I sat up straight and glared at him. "Why did you want me to come here?"

Bram nodded and eyed me narrowly, his jaw tight. "I have been battling myself over whether or not to reach out to you ... dare I say it? To help you."

"Really? Let me guess, you looked inward and discovered you actually had a heart, after all."

He frowned as if he didn’t find my comment amusing and looked down his nose at me. "I do care for you, more than I prefer to say."

"Well, I care for you too, Bram," I said, feeling a little forced to reciprocate. I mean, it was obvious he had information for me and the best way to obtain it was by being nice and appreciative. I had to admit that a part of me, (albeit a very small part), actually felt sorry for Bram because he seemed so helplessly infatuated with me. Furthermore, it wasn’t like him to go out on a limb like he always did for me, especially since he was the most narcissistic, self-centered, egomaniacal person I'd ever met.

He smiled broadly at that, and almost looked innocent. Almost. Then the smile on his lips dropped and he inhaled dramatically, which was ridiculous, considering he had no respiratory system. "All hope is not lost," he said simply.

It was my turn to take a deep breath and count to ten before I lost my temper. "What does that mean?"

"Last we spoke, you intimated that you were ‘in deep,’ is how I believe you termed it, with your father's business?" he asked as I nodded, eager for him to continue, which he did. "There is a way out."

I felt my eyes go wide as my heart sped up. "A way out ... of what?"

"Your situation with Melchior O'Neil."

I didn't say anything for a few seconds, my surprise overwhelming me. "And what is the way out?" I asked finally.

Bram arched a brow, but remained quiet as if he were still debating over whether or not to tell me what was on his mind. "It is called The Resistance," he said simply. His silence told me if I sought any more information, he wanted me to dig for it. It was like trying to have a serious conversation with the Sphinx, who only offered riddles.

I reminded myself to keep my cool since I should have expected this. Conversations with Bram amounted to playing the game of Twenty Questions—me asking the questions and his answers amounting to no more than tidbits of what basically seemed like nonsense. "What is The Resistance?"

"An underground movement," he started, and when I hoped he'd expound, he simply stopped talking again. Yep, my work was cut out for me and this was going to be tiring.

I sighed. "What underground?"

He shook his head, as if irritated that he had to go back to the beginning. "There is an underground ..."

"Where?"

"It does not exist anywhere," he snapped. "The underground is
termed so
because it is a hush-hush society. And in this underground, there has arisen a group who call themselves The Resistance."

"And what are they resisting?" I asked, although I had a pretty good guess where Bram was going with this explanation.

"They resist your father's rule," he said simply. "They resist servitude, dictatorship and tyranny." All the things my father advocated.

Although I sort of had been half expecting to hear the words from his lips, I still couldn't conceal the shock that made me inhale sharply. "How many are there?"

Bram shook his head. "I do not know."

"Are you part of
T
he
R
esistance, Bram?"

He eyed me hungrily, arching one of his brows. "No, although I have their ear."

That was how Bram did most things in his life—he was always on the periphery, never quite involved enough to get his hands dirty, and far enough away to avoid reprisals.

"Then who is the leader?"

Bram shook his head. "I am not at liberty to say."

"Okay then, what can The Resistance do about my father? Are they actually a legitimate threat?" Bram studied me for a moment or two, and it was almost as if he were sizing me up, trying to judge whether or not he could trust me. "Bram, I want nothing more than to put this lifestyle and the tyranny of my father behind me. You should know me well enough by now to realize that."

He dropped his suspicious expression and merely nodded, apparently convinced of my loyalty.

"Are they a real threat to my father?" I repeated. "Can they take him down?"

Bram simply nodded. "They continue to recruit sympathizers to the cause daily. The Resistance is stronger now than it has ever been and, yes, I consider them a compelling threat."

And that was when I realized Bram was right—there was a way out of this mess and I had a feeling this Resistance was just the ticket. As to Knight's safety? I'd already worked that one out. When I met with Caressa, that would be the first topic I discussed. And once Knight's safety was
secured
, I believed The Resistance would be the best force to dethrone my father and strip him of his power permanently. Well, that is, as long as their army was large enough to take on my father's.

"I need to meet with them," I said urgently. "I need to tell them everything I know so we can stop my father together."