Page 82 of Vampire's Breath

“Who was that woman?”

“What can I get you to drink?” The man’s voice was low, almost seductive, as he appeared to ignore my question.

“Oh, um.” I clenched my jaw, closing my eyes and shaking my head, unable to even think of a drink.

The man set my bag down next to the coffee table before he moved to a drinks cart in the corner, pouring some amber liquid into a glass. Next to him, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor broke up the off-white walls. I couldn’t see the beach from where I stood, couldn’t see if the vampire still stood there, but I could see the waves of the harbor. The man brought the drink to me. Did I imagine he twisted his hand to ensure his fingers skimmed mine as he handed it to me?

I lifted it to my nose. The scent was smoky and rich. I took a small sip.

“There. Now… that’s better, isn’t it?” His voice was soothing, almost hypnotic.

The warmth of the drink spread through me, loosening something. I didn’t want to relax, but I was. “Thank you,” I murmured, watching as the tremor in my hands died away. I took another sip, relishing the heat it brought to my chest. “Thank you for saving me from her. I don’t even know why she attacked me.”

He sat down next to me, only inches away. The space between us was too small. My body tensed, every instinct urging me to move. I shifted as far as I could into the corner of the couch, increasing the space between us by a few millimeters.

“She attacks often. It’s not something we like to think about.”

I looked around, shifting slightly, uncomfortable with his closeness. “And who is ‘we’?”

“Well, myself. And the members of the staff here.”

I tilted my head. “And who are you?”

“You can just call me Aodh.”

“Like the first letter of the alphabet?” I couldn’t help but smile.

He turned to look at me, his elbows resting on his knees. “Yes, but spelled A-o-d-h. It means fire.”

“Well,” I said, inserting a bit of formality into my tone and forcing myself to stand, putting some space between Aodh and me. “Thank you again. I really should head back. Would there be a way you could help me find a cab?”

I set my drink down on the table between the couches. My body felt numb, my mind wanting to forget what I had seen and what I knew to be true. I needed to get out of this house.

“Why would you want to leave so soon?” He looked up at me with a flirtatious smile creeping across his lips, making my skin crawl. “You came here with questions about Lady Isobel. And from the sound of your accent, you’ve come a long way to find answers.”

“I simply wanted to see the manor.” The words tumbled out as my pulse sped up. How did he know I had questions about Lady Isobel?

He stood and came close to me, invading my space again. “You’re her descendant, aren’t you?”

I tilted my head. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “Cormac told us a woman may come by researching Isobel, and if you did, I was to give you as much information as possible. And I wouldn’t want to disappoint him, so please, allow me.”

He stood and extended a hand to me. I looked at it, the same hand that had helped me from the beach. Part of me recoiled from him, yet something in his demeanor commanded trust.

A soft smile spread across his lips. “You were also looking for information on Lord Lorcan, if I understand correctly.”

A dull throb settled beneath my breastbone. “Not exactly. I know he helped her. That he tried to save her from her fate.”

“Yes, he did,” said Aodh, the smile never faltering as he dropped his hand. “This way.”

I followed him through the doorway to the left of the massive fireplace into a space rivaling Harrowmont Hall’s rooms. Fourarchways mirrored each other on opposing walls. Two large chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow on every rich detail—the intricate wood beams and plasterwork—a masterpiece of a time long gone. It felt untouched, preserved, as if time hadn’t dared to lay a hand on it.

“Now, please,” he said, holding his arm bent at the elbow as if expecting me to take it like a lady of old. “Let me introduce you to the Marquesses of Dún Na Farraige.”

We walked deeper into the room. On each side, three paintings hung in careful arrangement.

“The paintings here,” he said, “are all original artwork of each Marquess.”

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