Your Coffin or Mine, page 15
“I told her you needed to check the castle foundations and that we sometimes get tremors, but they’re harmless,” he continues, ignoring that I’ve even spoken.
My nose wrinkles and I level a piercing stare at him. “It’s astonishing, really, your inability to see how very badly things could have gone wrong. I could control myself just fine if I hadn’t been stabbed with fucking adrenaline! What the fuck were you thinking? I could have hurt her.”
“Keep your voice down.” He heads down into the cellar, and his voice grows muffled in the dark space. “Honestly, I was thinking you had lost your mind attempting to eat garlic, but my job is to keep you alive, remember? I told you not to, if you will recall.”
He climbs the stairs with a bottle of cognac in hand. He gives me his side as he reaches for two glasses to pour us both a drink. Good man, I’d say we both need a stiff one.
“Hmm. What other foods does she like, I wonder?”
I pick up an apple from a fruit-filled plate on the counter and toss it into the air, before floating it with my gaze. I like that I’m truly getting my strength back.
“How should I know? I only wish I could have gotten a picture—it was great! I especially liked when you hid your face with a napkin like a blushing bride.”
I put my hands into my pockets, watching the apple spin in midair before slapping the back of Doyle’s head, hard, with my ability.
He winces, rubbing where I hit him, but continues pouring one handed. “Hey, watch it. Do you want a drink or not? I’ll have both if you keep it up.”
“Since when is stabbing someone protection, Doyle?”
“Today actually. I reported our findings to Frank, and he’s going to add them to the trial notes.”
“I am sure he was overjoyed to hear it,” I say sarcastically.
He laughs and shoots me a look. “Actually, he questioned what would give you cause to go near garlic. I threw him off, but no more human dishes for you.”
“Do you think she’s starting to suspect?” Garlic and the sun are practically the only things that can harm a vampire, and the sunscreen increases my chances of avoiding detection considerably.
“I’m not sure. You left so quickly, I had no idea what to tell her.”
I rap my fingers across the cold countertop. “You are the most annoying person in existence.”
“Therein lies the problem. You don’t even have a proper basis for what is and isn’t annoying in existence anymore. It’s been a hundred years, there are new annoying things. Like getting cut off while driving and helping older relatives with technology.” He grins. “Now, that’s annoying.”
My eye begins to twitch, and he laughs, shaking his head. “Truly though, what is most concerning to me is that we may need to send Hilda to Jekyll. He’s been asking for centuries, and it wouldn’t hurt her. She may even be happier there.”
I take a deep swallow of the cognac he slid across the counter moments ago, while I place the apple back where it belongs using my powers. “You don’t know that. I refuse to let the woman who raised me suffer at the hands of idiotic scientists.”
“It could be good for her, a new venue, one that isn’t underground.”
“This was your idea, not mine. It’s not as if she’s holed away,” I retort. “You make it sound as if I’ve imprisoned her.”
“She can’t even come upstairs, Vlad.”
“The catacombs are as big as the castle and twice as dirty. You know she’s been trying to get me to let her clean down there for centuries, so she’s enjoying herself.”
I arch a brow when Doyle collapses dramatically in his chair. “You basically use the woman’s obsessive cleaning habits against her.”
I point my finger at him, squinting and pursing my lips. “You know I’ve seen this somewhere. Petulant children whining across the internet. There are memes about this.”
He stiffens and levels a pointed finger at me in return. “Fuck you. I’m serious about Hilda—it would be better for everyone.” His palm opens as his brows furrow. “And where are you watching these things?”
“YouTube obviously, and you let me worry about Hilda. You worry about finding the sunblock Frank concocted, so I don’t blister tomorrow.” There is no way in hell I’m letting one insignificant—albeit exquisite—woman discover the supernatural exists.
His chair scrapes the wooden floor of the kitchen as he moves to find the lotion.
A thought occurs to me. “How did he ever figure out how to allow vampires to walk in the sun, I wonder?”
“The same way he can mask his scent from everyone. Remove your shirt. You’re going to need to stand with your arms out and I’ll spray you down. What is the plan with Aubrey?”
“Prove to her I’m not a vampire?”
“And you plan on doing that how?”
I finish off my drink in one swallow and walk to the table. “I’m adaptable, Doyle. I no longer feed from humans. I’m walking in the sun, and soon, Frank will come up with something more permanent. She doesn’t need to know. She must never know.”
She’s a delightful ray of sunshine and I am the damned. Humans are fearful creatures. They fear what they do not understand and attempt to eradicate it. Learning that the supernatural exists is a death sentence. If she ever looked at me like a monster . . . My stomach sinks. I wouldn’t recover.
He opens the box under his arm and grins. “Remember Celeste? Oh, and Angelique, wasn’t she burned for being a witch?”
My gaze slips away, and I glance at the light hitting the pots and pans before landing on the small spray tanning machine he has acquired from somewhere. I hang my shirt over the back of Doyle’s chair. “Aubrey isn’t Angelique, and times are different now, or I wouldn’t be subjecting myself to this humiliating bullshit.”
He grins. “Good. Now stop acting like an infant and hold your arms out.”
A mist sprays across my chest and I stiffen, the smell invading my senses. “Why in the fuck does it smell like cookies, Doyle?”
“Well, this definitely isn’t what I expected.” The low sound of a female voice has us both turning toward the door.
A brown-haired woman is standing in the kitchen with her hands on her wide hips and an incredulous expression on her face.
“Who are you?” I ask.
She pauses, and her heart rate increases. Her dark eyes flick to Doyle and she smiles warmly. “Whitley. The office sent me around for the chef position. This is Tepesh Castle, right?”
“The chef,” Doyle says stiffly.
“Yeah, can’t say that I’m sorry I’m arriving so late at the night, though.” She breaks into a cheeky grin as she saunters closer and plops down into a chair.
I arch a brow as she crosses her legs and bites her lip while she eyes Doyle like he’s a snack. Doyle’s face darkens, and he snaps out a curse about sunscreen, and I realize the issue. The sunscreen was coating the air, making it harder for him to smell. The poor chap cannot stand being caught off-guard.
Doyle clears his throat and bows, looking ridiculous with his sleeves rolled up like a handyman. “I am Doyle, the proprietor. If you wait in the dining hall, I will meet you shortly.”
“You look ridiculous,” I whisper, enjoying his discomfort.
The woman’s smile spreads. “Oh, you mean I can’t stay and watch? I’ve seen less interesting porn than this. I’ll stay if it’s all the same to you.”
What is it about this era where spirited women seem to be around every corner?
I laugh, but Doyle’s face reddens, and I can see the hairs rise on his arms the closer he gets to her. I grab my shirt and pull it on, uncaring that it will be ruined.
“How did you get onto the grounds, madam?” Doyle asks, obviously agitated. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“The gate was open and a layout of the castle was provided with the post. Umm, did I do something wrong?”
Doyle stops and crosses his arms over his chest. “You should have let someone know of your arrival.”
She raises a brow. “Well, no one was at the door when I knocked, and it’s dark and cold outside. Since I couldn’t find you, I wanted to get acquainted with the kitchen. I didn’t know what to expect, what with the ad stipulations of being in good health and the location. Trust me when I say, you’re lucky I’m here. Not many chefs qualify.”
Doyle frowns. “Is that so?”
Her eyes narrow. “It is. Which is what I’m doing here. First, I want to be assured I won’t get murdered in this creepy place.”
I stare at her in confusion. “Creepy?”
She blinks and looks at me like I’ve grown another head. “Yes, emphasis on creepy. As in, I saw something move in that lake around this place on the drive up. It was huge.”
Neither Doyle nor I react to her apparently having seen Nessie in the moat outside. Yet another issue we haven’t discussed. I’m surprised he broke through the top layer of ice. He’s probably hungry.
Doyle looks at her and frowns. “Alligators.”
She mirrors him and a determined glint flashes in her eyes. “Right, alligators, not creepy at all. Wait . . . alligators in Romania in the middle of winter?”
Blithering idiot! If he’s going to lie, couldn’t he come up with something more believable? He’s not usually this daft.
The frown on his face transforms into a cold and calculating smile. “Rest assured, you and all the guests are perfectly safe here.”
Her eyes flit between us as if to gauge our sincerity. Doyle, oddly enough, looks like he’s wishing for her quick and imminent death. I like her.
She uncrosses her arms and leans across the table. “Fine. But let’s get this straight here and now. I am the chef in this kitchen, and you two will stay out of it.” She jabs a finger at Doyle, her face alighting in anger swiftly. “Do you know how disgusting it is to be doing that here?”
I blink in confusion just as he turns to look at me.
“Most airborne sprays shouldn’t mix with food, and by the smell of it, it’s toxic. Get out. For real, just get out,” she says as she grabs a washcloth and begins cleaning and wiping the counter like a madwoman.
“Are you, an employee, telling us what to do?” Doyle stares at her like an idiot and the anger on his face clears. I bite back a smile and pull him from the room.
“Yes. I take food safety very seriously. I’m surprised you haven’t poisoned yourself yet, if this is what you get up to in here.” Then she mutters under her breath, “Should I hide the oil from these two, so they don’t start rubbing it on each other?”
“I can’t just leave you here until you sign a contract and speak with me properly,” Doyle insists.
“This should be interesting,” I drawl, letting my grin fly.
Doyle eyes me with disgust. “Oh, you think that was funny, do you? Take care of Nessie and Hilda tonight,” he says under his breath. “The guests will be here in the morning, and so will the new hotel manager. We can’t have this happening again.”
“I’ll have a talk with the alligators,” I say as I walk away.
He sighs and I grin. Alligators indeed.
Chapter 20
AUBREY
I twirl the rose in my hand, grappling with my emotions. This feels like a first crush, the kind where you’re skipping on the clouds, and the possibilities are endless because the person you like actually likes you back and . . . I am scared shitless.
I stare out, unseeing the grandeur before me, sitting in one of the bloodred antique chairs in the hallway near my room. Whoever came up with this color scheme really went all in with the burgundy walls, gold sconces, and dark wooden furniture. It truly is like a gothic fairytale castle around here, a fairytale just like the castle’s owner.
Me:
Thank you for the rose. It’s beautiful.
How can such a grump be this sweet?
Vlad couldn’t know, but this simple rose actually means a lot to me. I thought Chad had ruined flowers for me forever with the endless romantic scenes he would construct. Even after the first, when I realized it was all an act, I still somehow found it adorable. Then it quickly became an annoying situation where he would show up late to wherever he wanted to go live, then push a bouquet of flowers into my hands a few seconds before the camera was rolling—the jerk.
In the end, I couldn’t argue against making more because he wasn’t wrong; they did get a lot of views.
My phone buzzes, and I look down to see a message from Bernadette.
Burnie:
You are going to have to hold me back from destroying this man. I want to reach out and slap his bitch ass upside the head. Tell me you have seen this before I kill maim destroy!
Me:
Who?
Dots go across the screen seemingly forever and I growl in frustration. Stupid slow internet.
Burnie:
Chad! It’s not looking so hot out there my dude. Hmu when u can
I look down at the screen shot she has sent me and can’t help but grin, before reality sets in that this is what the world is looking at. Shit.
I’m wearing a sequin bikini in it, tits almost on display, in the middle of a keg stand with two dudes holding my ankles. Not my best moment, but what never fails to make me grin is Bernadette below me, with her tongue hanging from her mouth in one corner of the photo, excitement bleeding from her eyes. My only excuse is we were three drinks in when I agreed to do the keg stand. It was a cool memory we talk about sometimes and laugh over, but Chad just made it ugly.
Two comments are captured in the screenshot.
One says, “OMG Chad are you #single? Pick me,” and the other says, “Always knew she was a slut #youcandobetter.”
Ugh, of all the petty things, this is what he chooses?
It’s rare that Burnie and I go out at all, and he grabs the one photo that looks inappropriate. This was taken right after Chad had gone to jail for the first time, and I can remember just wanting to drink and have a good time—feel normal for once when life felt upended.
I stare at the photo and waves of anger pour over me. Anger that he would do this, anger that he would reduce me to this. Years of me taking care of him, through all the binges, the partying, handling his bills, appointments, everything, and he would show this to the world?
“Why is he such an asshole?”
He has been in jail three times for drunken conduct, and twice for drinking and driving. There is no way I don’t have some shit that will ruin him worse than he has me.
I click on my photos, speeding past the recent ones of Vlad and me, not wanting to see his face right before I have to find some disgusting photo of Chad. I will murder him via social media and make him crawl into some cave and then shit on his cave!
My brow furrows when I remember I never once took a photo of him behaving badly, and I always demanded for anyone who did to delete it. In reality, I asked each person nicely, my embarrassment motivator enough for them to take pity on me, which they always did. But it means I have fuck all for my split-second toxic photo revenge idea.
Stomach rolling with sadness and nausea, I slump against the chair cushions, tossing my phone beside me.
All it takes is one video to go viral with that kind of content and everything I have worked for is gone. Why would he do this? But I know why. He has never cared about what kind of publicity we would get, just that we got some.
I have talked to him about this in the past; this is basically my one fear come to life, and he knows it. That’s why. He knows the social media idea was just a starting point for me.
But this . . . this could end it all.
After college, social media really kicked off, and I thought, why not? What I wasn’t expecting was how quickly my page would grow, then grow again after Chad decided to help me. Not that being a social media influencer doesn’t have some perks, but the tide can turn oh so swiftly.
I have a healthy stash of funds I have been building up with small investments, but the little wedding fund I am currently tapping into won’t last forever.
It will be okay. Even if I have to quit social media altogether, I will find another way to travel the world. I can totally work and travel, just not at the same time.
Me:
Thanks for the heads up.
Standing up, I rotate my shoulders and shake myself out, trying to let go of my anxiety over it all. Deep breaths. A scraping sound I recognize reaches my ears—the huge front doors are always loud when opened. Probably the guests Doyle was talking about.
I head toward the grand staircase that overlooks the foyer, but frown as soon as I peer over the railing. Vlad has a beautiful blonde woman on his arm who is staring up at him like he invented calorie deficits. My stomach flips with nausea when I notice a rose in her hand, the same color as the one I’m holding.
So much for it being special. My stomach drops at the sight, and irrational jealousy floods throughout my being.
“What do you mean, you walked here?” Vlad murmurs down at her, the sound carrying.
She giggles and I have this weird urge to go down there and rip her hair out. The entire drive is on a sharp incline uphill. She is so full of shit. I take in her Jimmy Choo pumps and handbag, and roll my eyes. Walked here, my ass.
I head downstairs, not liking the way Vlad is still letting her touch him, and vice versa.
“What is that smell?” an older guy calls out loudly, pulling my attention from the bimbo Barbie on Vlad’s arm.
But before anyone can say another word, a sharp yip comes from the man’s luggage he’s holding at his side.
The man glances at me and his eyebrows lift to his hairline, and that’s how his expression stays as he turns to Vlad. “Can we speak to the manager? I need to know where to let him out. There wasn’t any information on the webpage.” The dog gets louder, and the man heaves the luggage up higher. “Shhhh, Fifi!”
