Page 33 of Red Captive

“Wow! That’s impressive. I have to say, you clean up really nicely.” She gives me the once-over.

“You’d better keep your eyes up ahead. I don’t want you tripping over your feet again. I might not be able to save you this time.”

“I think you would. I saw how fast you moved. It was impressive.”

I don’t answer. I don’t like all the compliments.

She smells really good, but I prefer her natural scent. Warm sunshine and cinnamon dreams. I’m not too sure where that corny crap came from, but it’s all true. It is how she smells. After a week, it’s how the whole apartment has started to scent…namely, of her. I’m not sure how someone with such bad intentions can smell so damned good. It’s wrong.

We navigate our way through the castle, arriving at the reception area. I nod to the male who greets us there. His eyes go wide when he sees Miss Harris. I have to hold back a teeth-bared growl.

The human is in my care. Since I’m not a caveman, I keep my decorum, but only just.

Then we walk outside, and I keep a firm grip on Miss Harris’s elbow. She keeps up despite the high heels, which clack on the tiles of the porte-cochere. The shoes, coupled with the slits up the side of her long, billowing dress, give hints at her legs that are enough to make a male’s mouth water.

I keep my eyes up ahead. It’s better that way. I note that some of the males around us are looking damned hard at her. I’m pretty sure one or two of them drool as they do. I tighten my grip on the human’s arm, holding back a snarl. She is my charge, and therefore, I’m feeling protective. It is normal behavior. These males need to watch themselves. Have they gone soft on the training since I left? That must be it.

There are three black SUVs waiting for us in a line right outside. I open the door to the back seat of the vehicle in the middle. Males dressed in sleek, black suits stand waiting. They all have communication devices in their ears. I am handed one such device as I round the SUV.

I nod my thanks and take a seat next to Miss Harris, putting the device in my ear where it belongs. All I have to do is to press the side to speak. There will be no comms unless warranted. I’m hoping for a silent trip.

“Buckle up,” I tell Miss Harris as I lean back in the comfortable soft leather seat.

She does as I ask without question. Then we’re pulling out in a convoy.

The vehicle is cool. There is a light whir as air blasts from the vent, offering respite from the outside humidity.

The sky is a deep shade of royal blue, speckled with dark clouds that gather together as I watch. There is a distant rumble of thunder. A storm is rolling in.

“I didn’t bring an umbrella,” the human grumbles, her gaze on the sky as well. “Or a raincoat or my wellies.” She holds up a foot. Her dress falls away, revealing toned calves and those damned high heels.

I look away, adjusting my tie. “I think you’ll be okay,” I tell her. I’ve seen the houses these rich pricks live in. They don’t get their expensive shoes dirty…ever. They have large garages with multiple vehicles and elevators and shit. They have grand covered entrances. There is no mud.

Although I am acutely aware of Miss Harris, I find myself falling into my familiar routine. My eyes track each and every female we pass. I study their faces. I look for her. I’m always looking and one day I will find her and so help me, I’ll bring her to justice, even if I have to do it myself.

Thankfully, the trip doesn’t take too long; we soon enter one of the well-to-do neighborhoods. The clouds above seem to darken the further we drive, and the distant rumble in the sky grows louder. We drive past mansions that stand behind high walls and gates.

As we pull up to one particular estate, I can’t help but notice fear flash in the human’s eyes as she takes in the place. Her breathing increases, and she swallows thickly. The gates open slowly, groaning in protest as they reveal the imposing stone structure down a long, tree-lined driveway.

The rain starts to fall in earnest as we pull up to the front of the mansion. As suspected, the entrance is completely covered, so Miss Harris won’t get wet.

Large double doors open, and a male walks out. He is well-dressed in a sharp, pin-striped suit with a matching waistcoat. Gold cufflinks glint under the light spilling from the large hallway. His hair is short and styled, with strands of gray at his temples that speak of his age, contrasting with the youthful appearance of his face. This isn’t unusual for us shifters. We generally age well and live longer than your average human. As he approaches, I can see a certain crispness in his demeanor, the way his eyes narrow with scrutiny.

I get out and go around, helping the human out of the vehicle, steadying her as the rain picks up. I can’t help but notice her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are wide. I can scent the nervous energy radiating off her.

The male’s eyes narrow further as he appraises the human as if she were a piece of furniture or a fancy car.

He must like what he sees because he smiles. “Welcome,” he says. “You must be Miss Harris. I’ve heard so much about you.” When we reach him, he takes her hand and kisses it.

Hand kissing? Really?

How old is he, anyway?

“Um…hi…yes, please call me Jen…it’s Jennifer, but Jen will work,” she babbles, sounding as nervous as she looks.

The male is still holding her hand in his. “I’m Count Augustine. You may call me August.” He beams. “It’s wonderfulto finally meet you. Come with me; let me show you around my humble abode.”

Humble, my ass.

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