Page 8 of Kept 3
“Did you believe vampires really existed before me, Josephine. Before all this,” he waves his hand around the room.
“No.”
“Then put two and two together; you are not senseless. My kind live in secrecy, we hunt, we kill, we feed on humans.”
I screw up my nose and shake my head.
“So what?”
“So,” he continues, “when we have sex, when we bite, we are opening our secrets to a human, a person who may or may not reveal that secret when the tryst, relationship, one-night-stand, whatever circumstance in which sexual contact occurred, ends. And no, I can’t hypnotise women. I am handsome, my smell attracts, as does, no doubt, my wealth,” he sneers. “I draw people to me. I have some other, small skills,” he shrugs, and I can see he is hiding something, but he smooths over this quickly, “but I cannot simply beguile women into my bed or into giving blood. And I cannot erase their memory of me; only a Kept would keep my secret.”
“So, you can’t have sex without biting.”
He pauses, considering my question carefully.
“No – but sex with a vampire is not something a woman would ever forget, or ever get enough of, biting or no biting.”
I stare at him. Frankly, he is the most striking man I had ever met, and in my dreams, regardless of the fact he is a blood-sucking freak, he is a star attraction between the sheets. I blush as I think about what it must be like sharing his bed.
Swallowing hard, I take a long sip of my wine, as he watches me, a faint smile on his face.
‘Get a grip, girl, he is a killer.’
“But eventually you kill your partners. You enjoy killing.”
“Oh, yes. But Josephine, if you are so concerned about saving the human race from my predation, then being kept is something you should consider – after all, if I feed a little from you daily, I don’t need to hunt as often.”
I sip my drink; I’d pretty much figured this out for myself already. I just wanted to hear him confirm it.
“You only take a Kept every 30 years. Why now? Why me?”
He sighs.
“I only ‘marry’ a Kept every 30 years to ensure my lineage continues to be perceived as carrying on – but I take a Kept for company when the mood strikes me. I am not a celibate or a monk. I have the same needs as any man. As for why you? I like you, Josephine, is that so very hard to believe? I enjoy your conversation; I desire your body. I want to keep you.”
I frown. No man had ever told me he desired me before. Sure, they’d shown it with their eyes or their actions, but to actually say ‘I desire you’ – that was a first and frankly, a bit of a turn on. Still, I have to remind myself; he is not a man, he’s a monster.
“I already know you are a vampire,” I frown, “I won’t reveal your secret. I gave back your journals. Just let me go. Let me live my life.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says quietly.
I grit my teeth, my head is starting to really pound now, I want to scream, but I also want to find a way to escape. I know I need to accept his offer to cook for him if I am to gain any opportunity to run.
“OK. I would like a chef. But I don’t want you to eat anyone just because I don’t work well with them. And I don’t want you to think this means I am in any way happy to be held prisoner, or even in your wildest fantasies believe I will warm to you and become your Kept.”
He smirks and raises his glass.
“How will you find someone?”
“I have my ways.”
“I could interview chefs for the position?” I know my voice sounds hopeful, and I’m trying very hard to keep it neutral, but he sees right through me.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
I don’t even argue, we both know I would have used the interviews as a means of trying to escape. At the very least I would have slipped one of the interviewees a note for the police, or for James. It has occurred to me that perhaps he is still out there, looking for this vampire, and maybe, just maybe, he and his hunter buddies could rescue me. And I don’t care if the vampire thinks he can read me like a book, thinks he can see through my plans. Because if he allows me to cook, that means I will be out of my room. And this means I will have other opportunities for escape, because the kitchen wasn’t the only room I’d spent a fair bit of time in when I was in the manor previously. And if the germ of an idea that is forming in my head works, I may not need rescuing.
“Are you ready for dessert?” he asks, nodding at my barely touched plate.
