The full moon gave the newly fallen snow a soft blue cast; the chill air causing Branwen’s breath to cloud so thickly it was difficult to see through. She closed her mouth, breathing through her nose in dragonlike puffs, fighting to keep eye contact with the dark figure just inside the tree line.
He was tall, over six feet, wearing a long black duster, a wide-brimmed black hat, and high black leather boots. He might have seemed out of place, but his posture suggested that he was the only one at home with where he was, and everybody else was the anachronism. Half-lidded, slitted red eyes held hers through tinted sunglasses, and his hair was shaggy, long, and black as a raven’s wing over his shoulders. A cruel smile twisted his thin lips, suggesting just the hint of wickedly overlong canines.
His voice was soft, seductive, slightly accented and altogether alluring. “You’ve followed me a long way to just stand there, now, Branwen. You think I hold the answers… Well, maybe I do, but you will never find them out standing out in the snow like a fool. Come with me.”
Branwen shivered, not just with the cold. She noticed that the man’s breath did not cloud, and the chill seemed not to affect him. Where she hunched over and stumbled, he seemed relaxed and at ease. The cruel smile altered little, but now his alien eyes seemed to warm just a touch behind the tinted glasses. “You’ll never learn anything if you freeze to death, girl. I’m not going to kill you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” He held out his gloved hand in invitation to her. “Come with me.”
With one last, delicate shudder, she reached out and took his hand. She expected cold, hard, unyielding flesh, and was met with warmth as the long fingers curled around her hand and gently pulled her closer. She felt her resolve melting away in that warm contact, her eyes recaptured by his, and any will she may have had left was no longer stopping her in her inexorable approach.
The stranger wrapped his long duster around her shoulders, holding her close to him, and his warmth was soothing like slipping into a hot bath. She sighed wordlessly, and nearly swooned for the relief. His body against her felt hard muscled and smooth beneath the silk shirt he wore, his hands large and strong where he held her shoulder, trapping her. Her breath hitched in her throat, and he smiled again, this time gentle, soothing, seductive. He hushed her quietly and gathered her up in his arms as though she were a child, and carried her through the snowy night.
She was lulled by his soft tones and comforting warmth, and slept with her head against his chest… in her entranced state she did not notice that her paramour had no heartbeat…
She awoke languidly, a soft voice calling her up from her deep lethargy. Calling her name. She opened her eyes to see the stone-walled chamber, lit by a fire in a large fireplace and long black taper candles in brass sconces along the tapestry-covered walls. A tall cheval mirror stood off to one side, dusty from lack of use, though beautiful, antiquely ornate. The door looked heavy, oaken and the hinges were of thick cast-iron in a very old style she had not seen except in history books. A narrow window overlooked a moonlit courtyard far below; an English teagarden delicately traced in rosebushes. The bed beneath her was large and soft, covered in deep velvet down comforters and fluffy pillows. Above her rose the canopy, draped in dark burgundy velvet curtains. It was immaculately beautiful.
As she pulled herself up to sitting, she noticed that she was no longer wearing her street clothes, instead clad in a silken black gown that exposed much of her neck and cleavage.
She gazed around her in amazement and was met again by the stranger’s red eyes, this time uncovered. With a start she attempted to cover herself. He was draped over a nearby high-backed chair, looking cool with a slight, nasty grin. He was stripped down to just the white silk shirt, opened to the waist, tight black leather pants and high boots, his hair falling freely over his slim shoulders in night black splendor. He raised a high arched eyebrow, bemused. “Sleep well, my dear?” he drawled.
Now, fear closed her mouth. She could not speak for the constriction of her throat around her pounding pulse. She backed away across the bed, winding up with her back against the elaborate mahogany headboard, shaking her head and trembling.
He cocked his head, looking intrigued, and sat up straighter, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his chin on his long, steepled fingers. Her lower lip quivered, even as the thought of running her fingers through his silken black hair crossed her terrified mind. She wondered idly what kissing those pale cruel lips would be like, and shook her head to clear her mind. This was insane! Her life was forfeit! What had she done? He didn’t move, but captured her eyes again, easy as a cat captures a mouse in a corner, and she felt a lump rise in her throat.
His eyes warmed, his brows knitting in sweet concern, his lips pursing slightly. When he spoke his voice was tender, soothing. “What frightens you so much, girl? I already said I would not kill you, unless you asked me to…”
“Y-y-you’re a…a… vampire!” she gasped finally, tears streaming down her cheeks, her hands flying up to cover her exposed throat. She began to sob, terrified.
He nodded, his eyebrows raised, looking down with a slight smile, “Indeed, I am just that. But, I am also a man of my word. I promised that I would not kill you, and I hold to that. You wanted answers, and I will give them to you. But nothing is free; there will be a price. Not your life, mind. Just now, for saving your life, the price is: a kiss.”
Branwen’s eyes widened, her tears startled clean away. “A kiss? That’s it?”
A hungry look crossed his handsome face, and he cocked his eyebrow at her again. “For now,” he replied softly, “the more you ask, the more I take. Understand?”
