Page 27 of Obsessed in Blood
“You can use the single-serve pods.” Mrs. Newbridge pointed to the far corner of the kitchen.
That’s when I noticed everyone had dropped their gazes. Maybe it wasn’t that everyone hated me. They were just following Mrs. Newbridge’s orders. Or perhaps her general feelings. The more loyal one was to Lorenzo, the less they liked me.
They went back to their menus and lists while I strolled to the coffee maker. It was on a counter at the back of the kitchen near a delivery door. I grabbed a clean cup from a nearby stack and popped a pod into the machine, tapping my fingers while I waited.
There was a corkboard above the little island, and I read announcements, calendar reminders, staff rotations, and a delivery schedule. I don’t know why I did it, but I reviewed the schedule, which listed mobile containers that were moved on and off the island. Supplies coming in and garbage going out. It made sense. What else would they do with garbage on an island?
I grabbed my coffee when it was done and spent the next hour bored out of my mind as the group continued with their menu planning.
The next stop was the laundry. I trailed behind Mrs. Newbridge like a good little soldier, occasionally asking questions when I thought it was appropriate and remaining respectful. The time spent in this area was short as most of the laundry—bed linens, towels, and staff uniforms—were sent off-site. However, I had the opportunity to review more schedules—staff rotations and deliveries that involved industrial liquids required to clean and maintain the manor. What I hadn’t expected, and took note of, were the multiple outbuildings—cottages, maintenance buildings, the pool area, and barracks for Lorenzo’s large security staff.
I memorized the map of the island while Mrs. Newbridge reviewed the cleaning schedule that was divided into daily chores, weekly chores, or special requirements when guests were due to arrive.
When I was finally released before dinner, I requested to have coffee in my room so I could rest, claiming my bruises were still painful. They weren’t. Not really. I’d had worse, though the incidents of previous recoveries were vague at best.
Once I was in my room, I took out a pad of notepaper and a pen I’d swiped from a desk we’d passed by and copied down all the delivery details I could remember from the kitchen and laundry. Then I drew two maps. The inside map was everything I remembered of the floor plan and the second what I remembered of the island, including the location of the boat dock.
What I needed was to get outside and see the island for myself. And there didn’t seem to be a reason for Mrs. Newbridge to be agreeable to that, which left Lorenzo. But that would be a dangerous ask.
It was obvious from everyone that was allowed to associate with me, that I was supposed to be his mistress. He’d certainly made that veiled threat obvious with his comment about the upcoming dinner party, which was only three days away.
I stared down at the pieces of notepaper in front of me. Why would I have collected all this data? There was an innate need burning within me to have a clear understanding of my environment in addition to all possible exits. I just didn’t know why.
I grabbed the papers and took them to the walk-in closet. I circled the room, considering it from various angles before dropping to my knees and pulling out the lowest drawers in a corner cabinet. The third drawer down held an array of belts and had weak points along the edges where the bottom met the sides. I tucked each piece of paper along the edges. The bottom drawer held winter scarves, and I exchanged them for the belts, placing each one in the exact order I removed them. Then I slid the drawer back into the third cabinet slot. I replaced the scarves that neatly covered the notes and slid the drawer into the bottom slot.
If I only understood what I was doing or why.
Five minutes later, Millie rushed in.
“We must get you ready for dinner. The master is home, and he brought a friend for dinner. He wants you dressed appropriately.”
Great. I could hardly wait. This time I followed her into the closet. I might not be able to vote on what to wear but I’d be damned if I didn’t get to pick the color.
ChapterNine
Devon wokeand glanced at the bedside clock. Four a.m. Just as he’d planned. He reached for the medallion resting on the bedside table and pulled the necklace over his head. This probably wasn’t the best of ideas, but he had to try again. He settled back into the pillow and stared at the ceiling, his fingers running over the medallion, feeling the ridges of the imprint that formed the Blood Poppy, ibis, and Dagger of Omar.
He didn’t believe in magic, except perhaps for the mysticism of the shifters and their ability to morph between man and animal. But that wasn’t any different than the beast that lived inside him and all vampires. He’d be foolish to ignore the power he sensed in the medallion. While he might not have been aware of it the first time he’d held it, he was convinced of it now.
Maybe Colantha had something to do with that. Not in giving him the ability to possess the power, but to awaken to it. Every construct he’d been in was as real as the bed and room around him. That was true power. A magical energy so intense it would send tendrils of fear throughout vampire society.
Was that why they’d been persecuted, their entire society all but erased, and their very existence hidden from all vampire knowledge? What had happened for the Council to make such a horrific decision? More importantly, he had to learn the truth of why the two races had once shared a symbiotic relationship.
He closed his eyes, his fingers still wrapped around the medallion. He thought of his private garden at Oasis. The scent of roses and honeysuckle. The sound of bubbling water from a fountain surrounded by ferns and white camellias.
He turned around, searching for the path that would take him to the grotto. The sharp edges of the gravel path bit into the soles of his bare feet. He ignored the pain as he ducked under the branch of a young maple tree.
There was no one at the grotto. The blood-red roses that cascaded around the lone stone bench were in full bloom. Their scent permeated the air, and he stepped closer, gently running his hand over the fragile petals until their fragrant smell washed over him. He found a new bloom and picked it. He’d lifted it to his nose and froze.
A presence drew closer. He was almost scared to turn around. Would it be her? Would she still be nothing more than a ghost?
He released a breath and turned.
She wasn’t in full color, but neither was she the transparent aberration. The answer was that she was somewhere in the middle, like one of those black-and-white pictures that was remade into color. Her once vibrant persona nothing more than a muted duplicate.
But she was here, and that was more than he could have hoped for.
She’d been gazing at the foliage and flowers, her hand reaching out but not quite touching. Her expression was one of awe until she lifted her head and saw him. She stopped and took a step back.
