Vampire illusion a sophi.., p.4
Vampire Illusion: A Sophie Vickers Thing, page 4
She padded over to the cubicle, stepping close to the shower head. It switched on automatically. Lost to everything but the bliss of hot pulsing water, her mind wandered onto pleasant, less stressful scenarios.
Time passed slowly in Sophie’s world but not in Frey’s. Hints of sandalwood and vetiver drifted through the steam and she reluctantly moved away from the warm seclusion of the shower.
He pushed a snowy white bath sheet into her hands as she fumbled about trying to reach the heated towel rail without stepping out of the cubicle. By the time she’d wrapped herself up, all that remained of him was his masculine scent.
With a towelling turban wrapped around her head, and an inordinately soft fleecy bathrobe encasing the rest of her, she slipped her feet into a pair of bath mules and shuffled into the bedroom.
Sophie eyed the clothes scattered across the bed. Frey must have picked them off the bathroom floor while she showered. Had he watched? For some peculiar reason the thought didn’t disgust her. He wasn’t a voyeur, she knew that without being told.
It was late, so there didn’t seem any point in putting everything back on. What she wore was decent – it covered her body at least twice over.
‘Any luck?’ Frey had his back to her, re-filling the glasses.
‘Nope - couldn’t find anything that shouldn’t be there.’
Sophie felt like a white duck waddling on tin as the mules flapped against the bottom of her feet. She took the glass he offered, thanked him and sat on the settee, carefully arranging the robe to cover every inch of skin below her neck.
He tried not to look - she could see him inspecting the walls, the ceiling, in fact, every aspect of the room. A shy vampire? Not in the films and books she was accustomed to.
With a sharp dip of wretchedness, Sophie saw herself as others must see her. A scruffy, lazy recluse who lived in a fantasy world, only leaving her delusional state long enough to go to the office or buy food and clothes.
She stifled a gasp as her stomach contracted painfully. This was a wake-up call and she definitely needed it. Whilst she continued to watch Frey, her abdominal muscles unclenched. He was genuine. When he said something, it was with the intention of helping.
His voice broke into her epiphany.
‘Maybe we should leave it until another time. If you can’t find the mark it must be something else. I need to check with a few contacts first to see if what’s happening to you is an anomaly that’s so rare it’s been forgotten.’
He turned towards the telephone, pressed two buttons and requested room service. There was a slight pause before he ordered sandwiches and coffee, with brown molasses sugar and single cream.
‘That was kind of you, Frey, thanks. I’m sorry if I’ve behaved like a fractious bitch over the rooms, you didn’t deserve that reaction at all.’
He sat next to her, one arm resting along the back of the settee, behind her head.
‘Sophie, it’s not that I don’t want to sleep with you, it’s just that it seems to be happening so fast. I’m not a man who can be rushed into anything, regardless of how it appears.’ He kissed the top of her head, lingering a little.
She could swear he was inhaling her through the turban. This was torture. Her grip on the highball glass tightened and the whole thing shattered, scattering shards everywhere. Her bath robe absorbed some of the drink but most of it spilt onto the furniture and carpet.
Drops of red mingled with the water, turning it pink. She heard a hiss, followed by a draught of warm air, then her hand was encased in clean towels.
‘Press down hard, Sophie, and don’t remove the pressure until I say so.’
‘Okay…’ she answered thin air.
Her hand began to ache. Sophie eased the pressure just a bit. Big mistake – red seeped through the towels. She swore and pressed down again. What a way to spend a night with Mr. I Just Want To Gaze At You Because You’re Gorgeous. He wasn’t even in the room at the moment. She glanced at the clock – 2.15 a.m. Time seemed to whizz by when she was with him.
‘Let me look at that.’ He sat beside her, holding out his hands: waiting for her to release her death grip on the wound.
Sophie shrieked and jumped. If she’d been more alert he couldn’t have sneaked up on her. Ya think? Damn the voice in her head.
Peeling off the towels, he flinched at the sight of so many deep cuts peppering the palm of her hand. In the mound beneath her thumb, the deepest one oozed blood like an artesian well. Embedded in it was a spike of glass.
‘This may sting a bit, but I know you’ll be a brave little soldier.’
Hooray, old Frey was back!
‘Just call me Tommy.’ Her attempt at nonchalance failed at the quick look he gave her.
She heard the rustle of paper; the slap of latex gloves being released over skilled hands. A cold, damp swab brushed against the damaged area, spreading blood away.
A syringe appeared out of nowhere, along with the sting he’d promised as the needle penetrated her skin, releasing anaesthetic into her hand. Sophie’s eyes watered.
‘You’re coping well, sweet Sophie, almost finished.’
His voice calmed her.
After tugging out the splinters, it was left to nature to heal the lacerations. In five minutes her hand, still numb, was perfectly smooth and pink.
*
The smell of coffee permeated the room. Sophie hadn’t been aware of room service knocking and entering, but then she had been a little preoccupied. She also realised there was nothing left of the First Aid materials or broken glass. Even the damp patches were drying. Somehow, it had all been dealt with while she sat there.
‘Here, drink this and try to relax.’
Her hands trembled as she grasped the cup of coffee but managed to get it to her mouth without losing any over the side. It tasted rich and sweet. The heat left a trail across her tongue and down her throat. She shivered slightly and sipped again.
‘Would you like a sandwich?’
The plate was offered. She accepted gratefully. Her stomach gurgled. Embarrassed, she glanced up at him. He winked and bit into one of his own sandwiches.
The atmosphere in the room was peaceful, relaxed, like spending time with an old friend. An Ormolu clock tinkled out three chimes from its setting on the cream marble mantelpiece. All was well in Sophie’s world.
Frey sat in a chair just a few feet away. If he stretched out his arm he could actually touch her - which is what he did from time to time.
The comfort factor surrounded Sophie with the warmth of a zephyr on a summer evening. She nestled back against the cushions, closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 7
Waking up in a strange room was new to Sophie. Not knowing on which day, wasn’t.
She didn’t remember much after falling asleep on the settee, except being moved and laid down, which, she’d assumed, was part of her dream. A really nice one in which Frey stretched out beside her, stroking and kissing her face and, er…other parts.
Nature called. Sophie forced her thoughts onto a saner track, struggled out of bed and into the bathroom. She stood in front of the full length mirror, bathrobe puddled around her feet, frowning at her still blemish-free torso. Frey hadn’t made love to her last night - instead it appeared he’d been a perfect gentleman.
Sophie paid her visit and stepped into the shower. Slathering on more of the complimentary toiletries, she ran through previous events. Was she really a vampire? Apart from the brief onslaught of heightened senses yesterday morning, the only thing different was the change in her nails. They’d come in handy for opening tins but could cause problems when scratching an itch. Although, she healed quickly without scarring, so cutting herself wasn’t an issue. The only itch she couldn’t scratch had carried her to bed and left. No, nothing had really changed.
She emerged from her room fully-clothed, hair dry and bouncy, and with an appetite eating itself through her stomach lining.
Frey looked up from the newspaper he’d been reading for the past hour to give an appraising once over. His smile told her she’d passed muster.
That smile. It was all she could do not to run to him and throw her arms around his neck, even though he’d made it perfectly clear he wanted to take things slowly.
She’d behave: for a while at least.
‘Ready to eat?’ He got up and walked to the door.
‘Starving as it happens.’ Her stomach did its usual song and dance.
Most of the dining tables were deserted. Two remained set; both next to large, rectangular windows overlooking the gardens. Sophie’s attention was drawn to the mosaic hedges and topiary.
‘Would you prefer to have breakfast out there?’
‘Is that possible?’ She tore her gaze away for a moment. It would be wonderful to eat in the fresh air - all this wood panelling was beginning to make her feel claustrophobic. Rather like sitting in a large crate.
Nothing was impossible for the hotel staff it seemed, and in minutes she and Frey sat on a tartan blanket, spread out on the lawn, surrounded by birdsong and trees. There was still a smattering of dew on some of the leaves and in a far corner, near a white painted gazebo, a pale grey haze floated above the ground.
The sound of a ghostly ‘moo’ from somewhere in the distance, drifted in on an early morning breeze and with it the sweet freshness of cut grass.
Sophie bit into a warm croissant, sighing contentedly. Frey sipped his orange juice and enjoyed the view. This was what normal life should consist of. Both of them relished the chance to taste it, if only for a few hours.
Having finished the croissants, orange juice and coffee, it seemed the only thing left was to inspect the gardens in detail. She began peering at the bushes, discovering more shapes inside. It was these which gave the illusion of 3D.
‘Amazing, Frey: how on earth do they remain in one piece?’
‘Magic I expect. Either that or an extremely skilled gardener.’
‘Maybe it’s both.’ Sophie was ready to believe anything after her recent experiences.
He moved closer, slipped an arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head. At last, contact.
They toured the grounds, stopping behind a discreetly placed modern sculpture.
‘Nothing to see here,’ she teased.
‘I beg to differ…’
He drew her slowly against his body, brushing her nose with his.
Sophie wondered if that was all he intended doing until his lips pressed against her ear, her jaw and finally, her mouth. He dropped his hold lower, pulling her hips close to his own, moulding their bodies together.
Through the fog in her mind, she heard him groan before stepping away.
‘If you only knew how difficult this is for me.’ His eyes were half closed as he struggled to stop himself saying more.
Framing his face in her hands, she wanted to let him know it wasn’t easy for her either. Instead, she kissed his cheek and left.
Sophie walked towards the hotel, blinking back tears of frustration. It wasn’t fair.
Frey waited on the top step, his emotions under control again, watching her approach. He shook his head as she bumbled her way through a patch of lavender.
‘So, Sophie Vickers rhymes with knickers, what am I going to do with you?’
She stopped dead on the step below his and clenched her hands into fists – he had to stop doing this or she’d be a drivelling wreck by the end of the day.
‘You could teach me how to do the magic wallet trick for starters.’
He frowned for a moment.
‘Magicians don’t reveal their secrets. Not on a first date anyway.’
Stepping back, he held the door open for her; touching a fingertip to her cheek as she pushed past.
*
The journey home was leisurely and uneventful. Nobody threw themselves in front of the car, although two crows picking at the latest roadkill refused to budge until the very last moment.
Having taken a few detours, ostensibly to show Sophie some of the magnificent views but in truth to keep her by his side for as long as possible, Frey drew to a halt outside the block of flats and switched off the ignition. He turned in his seat to look at her, an expectant eyebrow poised for whatever word she might throw at him.
‘Would you like to come up? I can cook something for lunch.’ She was dreading this part. Holding her breath, she waited for his answer.
‘Hmm… Why don’t I buy us “something” at The Drum? We can talk about the possibility of how not to move on to the second stage.’
‘What second stage?’ She blinked at him, baffled. Did he mean in their relationship?
‘Of your transition – remember?’
‘Ah.’
CHAPTER 8
The Drum heaved with business. Frey nudged his way to the bar, finally catching the attention of the barman. Sophie stayed back, pressed against the wall just inside the entrance. She was partially hidden by a tall leafy plant which seemed to like her as it kept tapping her right shoulder. She side-stepped: a body blocked her escape.
‘Well, this is nice.’ Damien smirked and moved away a little bit.
‘Amazing how you seem to be in the wrong place and all that...’ She felt relief at recognising someone other than Frey.
‘It’s a skill people like me hone over the years.’
His hazel eyes were doing that…thing with the twinkle. Sophie made a mental note to ask Frey what it signified. For now, she decided to accept Damien’s company and engage in idle chit chat until her man reappeared.
‘And people like you would be…?’
‘In the way…’ Frey’s voice, harsh and menacing interrupted, but when he looked from Damien to her, his expression softened.
‘Just leaving...’ Damien didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the threat. He sauntered off to join a group of people who greeted him like an old friend.
‘Keep your distance from him, Sophie, everything he touches turns into something unhealthy.’
Frey linked her arm through his and led her further in, to a vacant table in the private club area. No-one acknowledged him – they appeared too intent with their own conversations.
‘Is something wrong, Frey? You seem…different.’ She didn’t want to pry but did need to know what pissed him off to such a degree.
He stared at her until she flinched; the pressure in her head, uncomfortable. Frey closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.
‘Sorry. I needed to check you were okay, that’s all.’ He gave a small hiss of annoyance.
‘Am I?’ Her voice was quiet, trembling slightly. If he was concerned she knew it was serious.
‘For now...’ He patted her clasped hands. They felt cold. ‘Don’t come in here on your own. It’s not the kind of pub someone like you should visit.’
‘Someone like me?’ She shook her head in exasperation. ‘Would you please come clean and tell me what the hell is actually going on? I’m freaking out here Frey. And while you’re at it, explain the twinkly eye thing to me.’
The answers to her questions were put on hold while a young waitress placed cutlery and serviettes on their table, assuring them their roast dinner was on its way.
‘Well?’ The question was out of her mouth before the waitress reached the next table.
‘Prey!’
‘Really?’ He was full of surprises. She closed her eyes and began, ‘For what we are about to receive…’
‘Not that version. Try thinking of hunted then you’ll be on the right track.’ His face was deadpan again.
Sophie swallowed audibly as her eyes snapped open. Her appetite vanished - the smell of food suddenly nauseating. Several thoughts ran through her mind at once. Apart from the main one – to run, the next one down asked why he’d brought her here if she was on someone’s hit list, unless he’d been softening her up in order to… No. Frey wasn’t the hunter. He was helping her come to terms with her new problem.
A look of amusement replaced his non-expression. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, watching her emotions play out.
Sophie’s eyes darted from side to side as each new idea occurred to her; fear, rationalising - until finally the reality of her situation presented itself.
Frey didn’t need to probe her mind – it showed on her face.
The silence stretched on. This was her time. She would say something, eventually.
A nervous cough was the first indication Sophie was recovering from the shock of finding herself a victim. She exhaled slowly, testing her ability to remain sitting where she was – in the lion’s den. A sympathetic touch on her wrist, from him, was all it took to shatter her nerves.
Frey was out of his chair and beside her before the scream left her lips. His mouth covered hers in a kiss, with enough pressure to ensure she knew he meant it. When her body lost some of its tension, he pulled away, no more than an inch from her lips, kissing her again with a quick peck of reassurance.
He sat beside her so he could, if necessary, hold her hand - hopefully without scaring her to death next time.
Sophie could feel the tension coming off him - too bad - the damage was done.
The plates of food arrived as promised. They both pretended to appreciate the meal, although Sophie’s hand trembled when lifting the fork to her mouth.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ He tried to remain upbeat.
‘I’d like to leave if that’s permitted.’ She tilted her head downwards, fiddling with her serviette whilst speaking.
‘Of course. I’ll take you home.’
Frey stood behind her, pulled the chair back, and waited. He attempted to hold her hand, but she avoided him, making her own way through the pathway of tables until reaching the entrance foyer.
Sophie needed the day to end; to forget everything that had just happened. This wasn’t a world she belonged in – it was wrong. She felt rather than saw Frey approach and fought not to look at him. He was part of that world.
*
There was no easy conversation, no touching, as they walked side by side to his car. Frey opened the door for her. She paused. He indicated with his hand that she get in. It was the familiarity of the gesture that broke through her floodgates.
