07

Chapter 6 Question and Answer

True to his word, Ian left with Isabelle the next morning. The only redeeming factor in the whole incident with his father and Isabelle was that it triggered a memory of a secret cubby behind the shelves with the skulls. Simon had been ecstatic. Here were the books that he had been looking for; five of them. This would jumpstart what Cullen had been researching and if he had kept a journal or log, it might provide clues to the number and identity of his victims.

Isabelle was fairly quiet for the first part of the trip. Ian was just glad she was talking at all.

"What kind of art were you studying at the university," he asked quietly.

"Art history and fine arts," she replied after a moment. "I love my art classes but I don't know what I will do with a degree yet. I thought about teaching, or maybe getting into museum work. I think I would like painting restoration work too. I have two years left until I graduate so there is plenty of time to decide."

Ian chuckled. Isabelle glanced at him curiously from under her lashes.

"I own several art galleries," he replied to her unspoken question. "I can't draw a straight line to save my life but I love everything about the art world. Especially finding new artists and helping promote their talent."

"Historical and antique pieces too, or just the more modern artists?" She asked her curiosity piqued.

"Everything," he said smiling. "Paintings, sculpture, modern art, you name it and I've bought and sold pretty much all of it. Each gallery is a little different. I don't think that my father ever really understood me. He is much more a 'keep your feet on the ground and make yourself useful' kind of a person. Having a non artistic child obsessed with the art world just confused him." He grinned. "I thought he would have an apoplectic fit when I told him I wanted to study art. I think he pictured me running off to Europe to 'find myself' like some sort of art crazed hippie."

Isabelle laughed out loud at that. "I just can't see you with long hair and paint on your face."

"Neither could I," he laughed. "He was very relieved when I went to a local university for my B.A. in business and art. I studied abroad for a while too before I opened my first gallery. I still travel all over looking for pieces for my collection and to keep my galleries a bit eclectic."

Isabelle sat back with a smile. "My grandfather was a bit like that. I inherited my artistic abilities from my grandmother's side of the family. My mother was a professional photographer. She and dad died when I was eight, so grandpa and gran pretty much raised me. I think he was a bit disappointed that I didn't take after him, in more ways than one."

"What do you mean?" He asked, giving her a sideways glance.

"Nothing," she shook her head.

"Is he still alive?" Asked Ian, recalling that she had said that she didn't have much family.

"I don't know," she replied, her smile disappearing. "My last year of high school he started going off for longer and longer periods of time. He didn't adjust well to losing gran. He made sure that I had things all set up for college and the money to go and then he just disappeared. I haven't seen him since March of that year."

She appeared lost in thought and Ian didn't push. God, every time the woman opened her mouth she became more appealing. Her intelligence and flashes of humor were making him enjoy the time that he was spending with her. He gave her another quick glance.

She was even more beautiful than he had first thought. She was fine boned and somehow had seemed small and helpless. He had been surprised at how tall she was once she was up and moving around. He was 6' and if he had to guess, he would put her at 5'7" or so. Her black hair rippled with an iridescent blue sheen where the sun hit it. Deep blue eyes and even features made her attractive but it was her personality that hit him like a ton of bricks on the head.

"Can I ask you a question?" Queried Isabelle a bit later.

"Sure."

"Don't vampires have a thing about sunlight? Why doesn't it bother you?"

He was surprised. "You know what I am?"

"Yes," Isabelle gave him the 'do you think I am completely clueless?' look. "I knew the minute I laid eyes on you."

"Well," he hesitated, trying to find words to explain. "For one thing there are different, well, types I guess you would call it. I was born a vampire. It is not unusual when both parents are vampires to have a child, although it is pretty rare to have more than one or two. Having been born a vampire gives one a leg up so to speak. I can tolerate several hours of sun or on an overcast day I can be out for quite a while. My father is a 6th generation vampire. We can trace the lineage back to the middle Ages. The longer it has been in the family lineage the greater the resistance to the traditional things like sunshine. Each generation gets a little more tolerant. This starts right from birth and makes it much easier to hide what we are."

"Can vampires and humans have kids?" she asked curiously.

"It happens," admitted Ian. "And it is pretty rare. But it is not encouraged. You can have all sorts of complications for the mother as well as the baby. You also get some strange combinations of genetics sometimes. Sometimes the oddities don't show up until after they are adults. Jack the Ripper for example was one of those. Human mother, vampire father, he grew up seemingly a completely normal human. He didn't seem to inherit any of his father's characteristics. The blood lust didn't hit until he was in his twenties, and apparently he just sort of slid into complete insanity. It took the vampires of London quite a while to track him down and take care of him."

"So the legends aren't true then?"

"A human that has been made into a vampire is more like the traditional version. They have extreme sensitivity to sunlight, silver and all the rest. They also have the body temperature drop and the sleep that you can't wake them from. That tapers off with age but it can take hundreds of years to build a small amount of resistance. It depends too, on who made you. If a human was turned by someone in my family they would start off with less sensitivity right off the bat, almost like they inherit part of the bloodline with the blood exchange."

"Then, too, you have human's that can't be turned even when all the conditions are right. No one is exactly sure why."

"Does it bother you that I am a vampire?" He asked after a moment.

"No," she replied, "Why would it?"

"After what happened I could easily see why it might freak you out a little."

Isabelle looked at him with a small smile. "Considering the fact that you saved my life after I killed your brother, I figured you were an ok guy even if you were a vampire."

Ian didn't quite know how to respond to that and so he didn't.

"What about," Isabelle paused, "Ummm."

"Eating," Ian finished for her.

"Yeah."

"Most vampires can't take more than about a cup at a time. I can eat real food, and I do from time to time, just not a lot." He glanced at her. "It has to be fresh, blood I mean. The donated stuff is useless. Vampires don't have to kill to feed. Most of us have enough, well... psychic powers I guess you could call them, to cloud the minds of our, donors, for lack of a better term."

"Psychic powers?"

"A bit of mind to mind," he explained. "I've never used it for anything other than clouding the mind a bit, leaving them a pleasant memory and erasing my feeding. I suppose the whole hypnotic mind control thing is possible, but even using a small bit is tiring and takes a lot out of me."

"Oh," Isabelle replied.

Ian stole another glance at her, afraid he had frightened her, but she just appeared lost in thought.

"So do you have any favorites?" she asked curiously, "food I mean."

He grinned. "I love wine and I am very fond of seafood. Liquid things are a bit easier on the system, broth, juice, things like that."

Silence filled the car for a while, but a comfortable silence. Isabelle wrestled a bit with the fact that when Ian had talked about "donors" she had had to control a stab of jealousy at the thought of another woman in his arms. She was smart enough to realize that he probably used sex to feed and was left with mixed emotions. Was she truly going crazy? Ian had never shown even the slightest interest in her as anything other than someone who needed his help. Besides, she would be the last person that he would be interested in, in any sense of the word. She wasn't interested in him romantically, was she?

Isabelle dozed off and she woke as they turned into a long driveway, gasping when she saw the house. It was three stories of mansion, not a house. The grounds were immaculate with most of the flowerbeds empty and mulched for the fall.

"It's huge," she gasped.

Ian just smiled. "I thought about taking you to my apartment but I thought that you might want to spend some out in the garden with the grass between your toes, so to speak." Parking at the front door, he carried Isabelle up the shallow stairs. She didn't really need to be carried but Ian's actions had been a bit automatic and she liked the feeling of being held by him. Right on cue, the front door opened to admit them.

"Good afternoon Master Ian," said an older man, stepping back to allow entry. He had faint traces of an English accent and his hair was entirely white.

"Hello Charles," said Ian. "This is Isabelle, the guest I called you about."

"Hello Miss Isabelle," came the stately greeting. "The Rose Room has been prepared here on the ground floor." Then directly to Isabelle, "The Rose Room has an outside door leading to a small patio and the gardens."

"Thank you," replied Isabelle quietly, "it sounds lovely."

"I must admit it is one of my favorite rooms in the house," smiled Charles, leading the way down a long hallway. He opened the door for Ian and stood back. "If you need anything at all Miss Isabelle please pull the bell cord on the right side of the bed. I will have Mrs. Jorgen bring a light tea tray for you shortly."

"Thank you Charles."

"Not at all Master Ian," replied Charles with a smile.

Ian set Isabelle gently on the bed and she glanced around at the gorgeous room she was in. The walls were done in creams and deep pinks, the wood furniture a deep brown mahogany. There were roses carved into the four-poster bed and the theme was repeated in the framed prints hanging on the walls.

"I am going to go and get my laptop so we can order you some cloths," said Ian. "I'll be right back. I should see if Finn is here, too. You will love him, he is quite the card."

"Okay," responded Isabelle, still taking in the beauty and quiet elegance of the room. He had told her quite a bit about his younger brother.

She felt a quiet sense of peace in this room. Crossing over to the French doors on the south wall she pulled back the curtain and saw the small patio and garden as promised. She curled up in an oversize chair next to an unlit fireplace and waited for Ian to return.

Chapter 7 Meeting Finn and Looking For Answers

Isabelle was stretched out on top of her new bed, shopping. With a laptop and Ian's credit card, she was actually having fun. True she wasn't going overboard; socks, underwear and some outfits that would be soft on her healing back. Her back was pretty much healed but the scaring had left it very sensitive to textures. She was very tired of the oversize sweats that Ian had picked up for her. It was fun to have access to unlimited funds for once and look at all of the things she COULD buy if she really wanted to.

There was a soft knock on the door and she sat up, pulling the soft, knit throw closer around her.

"Come in," she called.

A very blonde head was stuck through the door along with a pair of sparkling brown eyes the exact shade of Ian's, and a smile that wouldn't stop. "Hi, you must be Isabelle," he said. "I'm Finn. Mind if I come in?"

"Sure," said Isabelle. She wasn't, but this must be the brother that Ian had been talking about.

Finn stepped in and crossed to the bed. He was handsome and she could see a resemblance to Ian. He was leaner than Ian's rather bulky build, but still well defined, like a swimmer or a runner. His pale blonde hair was gelled into the latest spike top fashion. His lean but muscular arms that extending from his red polo had veins that stood out even though he wasn't flexing. It was his smile that won her over though. Wide open and genuine it was reflected in his deep brown eyes and promised fun and pranks. She found herself returning the smile.

"What are you up to?" He leaned over to check out the computer screen. "Shopping," he gave a snort of laughter. "It is a good thing that Ian isn't helping you. I love my brother but his idea of the perfect outfit generally revolves around matching a tie that cuts off all circulation to the brain."

Isabelle giggled, surprising herself. "I haven't seen Ian in a shirt and tie yet."

"Gotta go more casually than that," he replied, grinning at her. "Otherwise people take you way too seriously."

The next half hour was quite enjoyable as Finn helped her shop and encouraged her to spend more than she had planned on. When he found out she was an art student he insisted that she order some art supplies and had everything sent next day where it was available. No comment was made on the reason she was here, just playful banter and teasing.

"So I heard that you have met Simon," he said.

Something about the way he said it gave her a sudden flash of insight. "Yes, I didn't see a whole lot of him though. He was pretty busy with his researching. I was kind of surprised to find out that he was a scholar, he looks a lot more like a model or a football player."

Finn grinned again. "He gets that a lot. He gets seriously underestimated because first impressions like that. He is one of the smartest guys I know."

That cinched it. Finn definitely had a thing for Simon. "Ian said he would be taking a break shortly and come for a few days," said Isabelle. "There was some kind of council that he had to make a preliminary report to as well as just kicking back for a couple of days before going back."

"He can be a lot of fun when he is not neck deep in a project. He tends to be one of those absent minded professor types when he's working. Bombs could be falling on his head and he wouldn't notice."

Finn's face definitely changed when he talked about Simon, that and the ever so slight blush gave it away. Isabelle wondered if Simon knew that Finn was 'crushing' on him. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask but she held back. It wasn't really any of her business and she didn't want to mess with the budding friendship that was starting.

"Let me know when you feel up to getting some work out time in and I'll show you the gym and pool area," said Finn, changing the subject. "You look beat; I should let you get some rest."

Isabelle would have loved to chat some more but Finn was right; she was definitely ready for some sleep.

A short time later she was snuggled down in the covers, a small lamp on in the corner of the room. She was hoping that Ian would join her. He had left to run some errands and had said that he would be back shortly. She didn't want to be alone with her dreams in a strange house. He hadn't said whether or not he would stay with her at night now that they were back to 'civilization' so to speak. She had felt very self-conscious about asking him, so she hadn't. Now she was wishing that she had.

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She woke slowly, drifting in between sleep and wakefulness until she realized her eyes were open and she was in total darkness. There was no light at all, not from the windows on either side of the bed, or the French doors that were only covered with their gauzy curtains.

Hands grabbed at her and she shrieked as she was dragged by her arm and her hair across the cold floor. Momentarily blinded by the bright light in the next room her eyes watered and blinked as she felt her arms stretched over her head and secured with cold metal. She sobbed in disbelief as her legs were spread and secured on the floor.

"Hello slut," came the taunting voice that haunted her dreams. "It's been a while. How about I fuck you till you scream and bleed for me?" He laughed and spreading her ass, thrust hard into her unprepared body. She screamed and the lash came down hard across hers shoulders and she screamed again......

........screaming and clawing at the blankets Isabelle jerked awake.

Ian wrapped her in his arms and she clung to him as if he was the last link to safety in the world. Incoherent and shaking she felt him pull her into his lap and held her. She could feel his large hands stroking her hair and back, trying to soothe her even as she tried to burrow deeper into his chest. As she calmed down she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her ear. He was shirtless she noticed, rather surprised. She nuzzled his soft, crinkly chest hair, liking the way it felt against her cheek. Curled up in his arms she felt safe again. She let herself relax, enjoying the feeling of strong arms holding her close.

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Isabelle was sleeping deeply when Ian drifted into wakefulness, tangled in the covers with Isabelle's scent surrounding him. Her slender body was wrapped in his arms. Her shirt had ridden up and his arm was around her naked waist, her legs entwined with his.

Ian kissed Isabelle gently; he just couldn't control the sudden impulse. He feathered kisses over the corners of her mouth, the tip of her nose, the delicate sweep of black brows. He knew that he shouldn't, but he had fighting his attraction to her for a while and just couldn't help himself. She smelled so good, of soap and clean woman.

,

Isabelle moaned softly in her sleep, moving restlessly against him. He paused briefly until she quieted and continued to press gentle kisses across her cheek and over to her ear. Biting ever so gently at her earlobe his tongue snaked out to taste her. Sweet, so sweet, he slid down slightly and began soft licks down the tendon along her neck until he reached the dip in her throat where her delicate collarbones met. Her scars were white pinpricks on her smooth creamy skin. You wouldn't be able to see them if you didn't know they were there. He could feel them though. Tiny, smooth scars, he followed them up the other side of her neck with one smooth lick. Her taste was intoxicating and waves of heat flooded him. God, he wanted to pleasure her. He wanted to hear her call his name as she climaxed around him.

He slipped the sheet down and pushed the t-shirt she was wearing further up her body. She was so beautiful. Ever so gently he leaned down and took a pale pink nipple in his mouth and began to lave it with his tongue. Isabelle arched slightly and moaned as his fingers began their gentle play with her other breast, his mouth still occupied with the first. He could feel her pulse beginning to speed up, her sweet blood coursing through the veins and capillaries just under her skin. He could feel his fangs thickening and lengthening with his hunger. His cock was so hard he could feel it pulsing with need. He could smell her arousal now, musky heat from between her legs. He was making her hot for him, wet for him. Trembling he slid his hand down until his finger reached the edge of her moist slit. Isabelle made an indistinct noise in the back of her throat and moved her hips up into his hand. His cock jumped as he gently parted her and his finger slid easily into her slick opening. Involuntarily he groaned and gasped imagining his hard cock sliding into that slick heat.

Panting with need, he jerked violently awake and realized with horror that Isabelle's slender body was naked under him. His fingers were caressing her slick opening and his mouth was open, licking the tender junction between neck and chin. He thirsted for her, he could smell her blood. He wanted nothing more than to bury his cock deep in her soft body while he sank his fangs into her neck. Desperately trying not to awaken her, he disentangled himself from her and pulled the sheets and blankets up, covering her.