Page 20 of Blood and Magic
I reported the message as junk and deleted it from my inbox, feeling no less despondent that the only person blowing up my phone was someone I didn’t even know.
When I went to bed, I left the French doors to my balcony open so the summer air could clear out the musky, stale atmosphere from the day. Just as I’d been about to climb into bed, the sounds of jeering and country music echoed in from behind the house. Dressed in my silky white nightgown, I walked to the patio and glanced toward the ranchers’ quarters.
Chris Stapleton blasted from the brightly lit windows, accentuating male laughter and the clinking of beer bottles hitting each other. The workers were gearing up for a party.
I tried to imagine Mill cutting loose. Years ago, maybe he’d have partaken. But now, it took all of my comedic chops just to get a smile. Was he out there now, carrying on with the rest of them?
It wasn’t a huge dormitory, and the workers slept in bunks. Since Mill was lead and Orion had moved into a different house with Sol months ago, I suspected my favorite tall, blond, and grumpy biker was staying in a separate cabin afforded to someone in the head position.
Go out there with them, that reckless part of me whispered, the part that had died and come back to life and never wanted to waste another opportunity. Go party and have fun.
It would certainly be better than staying cooped up here with no one to talk to. But I had a lot of work to do tomorrow, and I didn’t want to cross any boundaries. My father had been adamant about keeping the workers separate from the family for a reason. We were their employer. We were the Vanderbilts. Most of them were drifters, and more recently, members of the Royal Bastards.
Never the twain shall meet.
I snorted at that outdated elitist mentality and went back inside, settling into bed with a hot chamomile tea and a smutty romance novel before drifting off to sleep.
The next morning, I ate breakfast alone. Uncomfortable and wanting to fill the silence, I called Ava to see how her first day in Paris went. She reported that the conference was going well.
“It’s just like we remember from boarding school,” she said, recalling the class trip we’d taken overseas in eleventh year. She’d spent the whole time brooding in museums and visiting historical sites. I’d hooked up with as many French boys and girls as possible. “Artsy and beautiful, and the people?” She sighed. “The same.”
I laughed. “Does this mean you’re finally going to let someone between your legs?”
She gasped. “Maeve Eleanor Vanderbilt, I would never.”
I shook my head. Sometimes, I couldn’t believe we shared the same DNA.
“How are things there?” she asked. “Are you keeping everything afloat?”
“It’s only been one day. I can’t do that much damage.”
“Uh-huh.” I could almost see her eye roll from across the ocean. “And what about Vermillion?”
“What about Vermillion?” I stuffed a piece of strawberry into my mouth and choked it down. Despite not drinking last night, my hangover was taking its grand ole time in dissipating.
“Don’t feign ignorance. Everyone saw how you two stared at each other at the wedding.”
“It was nothing,” I said. “Truly.”
I meant it. Especially after breakfast yesterday. He’d been grumpy and distant, and even if I didn’t remember him being that way seventeen years ago, a lot had changed for him in that time. A lot had changed for me, too.
Christ, get a grip.
He’s just a man. A stupid, growly man.
She hummed, as if to suggest I could keep my secrets if I must. “Be good. Don’t get into trouble.”
We said our love and goodbyes before hanging up.
Three days went by like this. If I was feeling up to it, I rode Molly in the mornings, and if I happened to see Mill in the pastures, we ignored each other. I ate alone. I worked alone. Then I listened to the boys partying every night from my bedroom balcony, a solemn part of me working up the courage to join them. What would they do if I did? The Vanderbilts never mingled with the help...but weren’t we about starting something new? Wasn’t that what Sol and Guin were working toward?
On day seven in captivity, the dream came again.
I raced through the woods on the balls of my feet, exhilaration in my blood, the wind in my hair. I was running from something… no, someone. And they gained on me quicker than I’d thought they would. When they caught me, they tackled me to the ground face up, and I stared into fiendish crimson eyes. No, not crimson.
Vermillion.
He smiled, holding my wrists above my head, pressing his hips between my thighs. My nightgown had pooled around my waist, now soiled with sweat and undergrowth.
