Page 26 of Kept 3
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I am back at Ereston.
Last night was horrendous and wonderful on many levels.
I have much to think about.
When I arrived in the village I knew Ms Bernshire to be staying in, it was very easy to find her – I simply followed her scent. But when I entered the apartment, I smelled someone else, someone familiar, someone I scarcely acknowledged even to myself who I had missed very much over the past weeks; Josephine.
And I smelled something else – blood.
My heart in my mouth, I took the steps leading to the upper storey of the silent apartment two at a time, and for the first time in nearly 500 years, I thought my world might come to an end, because the body on the floor, at first, I thought was my Josephine.
Two heartbeats later I looked to the windowsill and realised it was just the hunter. But in those seconds a realisation hit me, a feeling that I had thought never to have known again – I care for Josephine. The thought that she might have been dead had caused such instantaneous pain, such terror in my soul, that I know now there is only one reparation – I must have her.
Spinning from the room, I followed her scent down the hallway but found only an empty bedroom. I paused, I confess, to smell her pillow and open her drawers, to touch her belongings and revel in being so close to her, so intimate.
Hearing a noise, a faint scream, I turned and walked back towards the kitchen, only to see the object of my obsession meet my eyes and fall backwards down the stairs.
I rushed to catch her, but even my great speed was no match for socks on timber treads, and I caught her just as her head hit the floor.
I knew, as soon as I lifted her into my arms, that I would never let her go.
New Entry
She will not consent to be my Kept.
Her injuries heal well, and I thrill in the knowledge she is in my home sleeping not four doors down from me. Her very presence nearby makes me happy. But her distrust and fear of me is evident in every look and word.
I have tried to reassure her that I did not kill her chef, that I am working hard to find out who did – but in the absence of evidence to the contrary, who could blame her for not believing me?
She wants me to set her free. I would if that would make her happy, but I cannot because I believe whoever killed Ms Bernshire may have actually been trying to kill my Josephine. As soon as I saw her hair colour I felt strongly this was the case – unless you knew either of them, they could easily be mistaken for each other.
And yet, who wanted Josephine dead, other than myself and Gerald? I cannot let her go until I know who sought to kill her in Sicily, and also, if I am honest, it would not make me happy to release her. I concede I am a selfish creature holding her my captive, but if she will just get to know me, accept all I offer… I desire her. I like her. I want to give her the world, and yet, I want to give her more, too – I want to offer her the protection that only my blood can provide. I want her to agree to be mine. I want to know every feeling she has behind those deep, thoughtful eyes. I want to keep her.
New Entry
Weeks now, she has been here. She has healed well, and I have tried every way possible to convince her to be mine.
I have installed her in the best room, bought her everything she could desire, hired a chef to train her in the kitchen, and confessed my attraction to her. Nightly we sit across from each other and I eat her amazing food, and every night her scent draws me to her in such a way that, were I not a gentleman, I would throw her onto the table and ravish her.
But that is not my way. She must come willingly.
I know she desires me too, I feel it, I sense it – not just because of what I am, but I feel a connection with her on an intellectual level. She is amusing, witty and challenging, something I enjoy more than I imagined I would. And yet, she does not want my bite.
Tonight, seeing her with her new haircut, dressed in that tight, black gown, I was almost undone. I need to get to London and feed, and I want to meet with my security team to discuss their findings re: Sicily, and there is something else I need to try – perhaps some distance will do us both some good.
But I shall miss her.
I close the journal and put it down. I don’t want to read any more about how much he likes me and wants me. It makes me uncomfortable for many reasons, and if I’m honest, his war with himself is not dissimilar to the feelings I have when I’m around him. I put my hand momentarily to my mouth as I remember his soft kiss and take it hastily away, reminding myself that I am locked in a bedroom because of this man.
Dropping his journal to the floor, I curl up, hungry, and fall to sleep.
8
I stare back at him and chew slowly, thinking through what I am going to say, how I am going to broach the subject of what I want.
The hairdresser returned this week, bringing with her a very welcome note from James. He is here to save me. He will be waiting for me in Constance’s empty manor at noon this Friday.
