Page 30 of Mongrel
“No, thank you, this is all.”
Anna departs, and the door clicks shut. I’m gazing longingly at the enormous tub. A hot bath is a luxury to which I’m unaccustomed. I tug off my hat and shake my ears free. They twitch in appreciation.
Noticing a covered tray of shining silver upon a low wooden table, I suspect that’s my dinner waiting for me.
Bowie takes off his coat and hangs it on a rack. He rolls his shirtsleeves up and takes the writing utensils to a desk on the other side of the room. He puts them down but doesn’t sit.
“Andras, why don’t I speak with Ivaz now? You can enjoy your meal and a bath in privacy, and I’ll have a turn when you’re finished?”
I don’t want him to leave, but don’t so. I nod instead.
He steps forward and peels the wine glass I’ve mostly ignored from my fingers. “I promise you’ll be safe here. Try to relax.” A dazzling smile. “The bath will help.”
“Bowie, how old are you?” I blurt out of the blue.
His smile fades. “Forty-three.”
“And how many years a vampire?”
“Twenty-three.”
“And Ivaz?”
“Older.”
“How much older?”
“I’m sorry. It’s not my place to say. Shall I ask him if it’s all right to tell you?”
“No.” I don’t want Bowie’s intimidating brother to know I’ve asked about him.
“Andras, would you prefer I stay?”
Yes.“No, I’m all right. A bath will be good.”
“And supper.”
“Yes, that too.”
“When you’re done with your bath, pull that cord”—he indicates a gold rope hanging from the ceiling near the bed—“and staff will come to drain and refill the tub for me.”
Such luxury. “I will.”
“I won’t be long,” says Bowie. He sets my wine glass next to the silver tray and glides from the room, leaving me alone.
I kick off my shoes and peel away my clothes, wondering how old the vampire who made both Bowie and Ivaz might be. Bettina. Though Bowie would like her assistance, I can’t help but be glad she isn’t here. I’m not sure I want to meet a creature older than Ivaz.
As I climb into the tub, the heat encases my body like a forbidden embrace. Such luxury for the likes of a mongrel seems an illicit pleasure, one that might never happen again, so I might as well enjoy it now.
I stare at the ceiling as my muscles release their tension. A large archway of dark stone. I’ve no idea how such a thing was constructed so deep within the earth. It makes me glad to be a wolf and not a vampire. Wolves need no fancy dwelling. A pile of fresh pine needles and the shade of the tree from which they came is enough for their comfort.
I close my eyes and duck my entire head beneath the surface. Sound is muted to a dull ripple, lulling me to relax. I feel weightless, my body light, my mind, well, not tranquil exactly but less anxious.
My thoughts stray to Bowie, naked and wet, his dark hair soaked and clinging around his shoulders. Bowie smiling, his fangs on display. Bowie on one of those velvet couches, lounging with fresh blood on his lips from a recent meal, legs open so I could sit between them.
My cock plumps to hardness.
I’m alone. As if possessing a will of its own, my hand reaches down and strokes. A moment passes where I worry I shouldn’t, but I dismiss the concern. No one will know. Bowie said himself the bath will be drained and refilled. And I haven’t been alone for days. Nights. I need this.
