Page 66 of Chain Me
The air left my lungs, driven out by the formidable silhouette he cut. His suit was black, crowned by a silver tie that made his eyes nearly unbearable to meet head-on. So I stared at his chest instead, noticing a ruby-red corner pocket.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as I descended the final step.
A quick, disinterested glance in his direction was the only response he received. In silence, he extended his arm for me anyway. As we exited through the manor’s main door, flecks of rain fell from an indigo sky and I shuddered.
It was colder here than in the city. My teeth were chattering within seconds, lending an eerie backdrop to the howling wind playing through swaying trees. Where exactly were we?
Dublin provided no explanation. Using my grip on his arm, he guided me down a paved stone path toward a circular driveway where a car waited. A new driver stood at the ready, and I felt more disoriented than ever.
“Where are we?” I finally asked.
While I couldn’t see Dublin’s face from this angle, I recognized the subtle clenching to his jaw just fine. I wasn’t the only one capable of giving the silent treatment. Fine. Biting my lip, I withheld any further questions as he guided me into the back seat of the car and climbed in beside me.
He leaned forward to mutter something to the driver and the man nodded, flicking a dial on the console. Then he sat back, staring in any direction but mine. It wasn’t long into the drive that I realized we weren’t far from civilization after all.
Though one very different from the world I’d grown up in. Judging from the few street signs we passed—all written in the same obscure language—I seriously doubted that we were still in the country. Beautiful renaissance-style architecture cemented that suspicion. Buildings framed in Romanesque columns, and ruby tiled roofs cast a surreal atmosphere, almost as though we’d stepped back in time.
“Can I ask where we are now?” Awe colored my voice, but I struggled to swallow my irritation as Dublin remained silent. The hostility between us felt as palpable as the heat flooding the car’s interior from the vents.
Later, I’d let myself mull over the fact that he must have requested as much for my benefit—it wasn’t like he was the one shivering. At the moment, I didn’t even bother to thank him but stoically faced ahead.
Until the driver finally pulled up before a grand building made of tan stone, built in a stunning mixture of classic and renaissance architecture. My mouth fell open. As Dublin circled around to my side of the car and helped me out, I still gaped.
“I plan on meeting someone here.” He finally spoke, lowering his mouth to my ear as we joined a throng of beautifully dressed patrons queuing up to enter the building. “Stay close to me.”
The venue was a theater—a fact that became obvious the moment we passed through the grand entrance and entered a lobby draped in hues of red and gold. It was a luxurious sight far beyond that of even the vaulted theaters my family frequented.
Without bothering to stop near the box office, Dublin led me up a set of stairs, draped in scarlet runners, that deposited us within a secluded hallway. Gilded doorways lined it, shrouded by hanging ruby curtains. Near the very end of the corridor, Dublin pulled me through one, revealing a small, enclosed space with a breathtaking view of a circular stage below.
It was a private box. Four red velvet chairs lined in gold were positioned near the balcony. Placed on each cushion was a cream-colored program revealing the details of tonight’s show—written in the unknown language.
“Have a seat,” Dublin commanded, pulling out the nearest chair for me. “He should be here soon.”
He didn’t look very excited for this meeting. I wasn’t the sole reason for his thunderous expression, apparently. Though before I dared to ask, his clenched jaw warned that he wouldn’t divulge any details of our mysterious guest. Rather than press him for any, I busied myself with perusing a program I couldn’t even read.
Eventually, Dublin settled onto the chair beside mine, and beyond us, the theater began to fill. One by one, nearly every seat became occupied with a beautifully dressed patron—all but the two empty ones beside us. By the time the curtained entrance to our box finally shifted, the main lights had already begun to dim.
The man who entered—with a chilling smile and blood-red hair—was a vampire. I knew even before his grin widened to reveal sharpened fangs. A poisonous chill proceeded him, setting every nerve in my body on edge. In his wake stood a tall, blond woman wearing a floor-length navy gown. A thick strip of black velvet obscured her throat, forming a fashionable choker, and a matching headband held the curls back from her face. But the style only enhanced her lifeless, glassy eyes as they drifted aimlessly around the room.
“Dmitri,” Dublin said gruffly. He stood and shook the hand the man had extended in his direction—but his shoulder flexed as if he were applying far more strength to the gesture than protocol called for.
“Dearest Dublin! I was surprised to receive your invite.” Surprisingly lilting, the other man’s voice betrayed a distinct accent. Russian? “And I must say that I’m even more intrigued to find you have your own guest. I was intending to share.” He gestured absently toward the blond.
She staggered, giggling at nothing.
“There’s no need to share tonight,” Dublin said, but even I didn’t miss the subtle warning in his tone. He extended his hand to me and I took it—but even I had enough sense to realize that it wasn’t a loving gesture, but a possessive one.
“Relax, Dublin,” Dmitri urged with another hearty chuckle. “Do sit. We have so much to discuss. You as well.” He gestured to an empty chair and snapped his fingers before his companion’s nose.
The dazed blond stumbled forward and obediently claimed the seat beside him. At the same time, a hum from the orchestra warned that the show was starting.
The four of us watched in unnatural silence as the curtains lifted and the actors took their places. It was an opera. One performed by singers who bared their souls upon the stage—but it wasn’t the typical tragedy.
A young girl lamented her fate—doomed to love a man she could not have. Her anguish easily translated the language barrier, and I could follow the plot as easily as if someone were whispering it to me in my ear.
Her lover belonged to a faction far beyond her station. Their love was all but impossible, yet he had been willing to forsake it all.
For her.
