Page 1 of Your Coffin or Mine
Prologue
VLAD
“You won’t even knowthey’re here.”
I scoff, leaning back in my favorite chair as I point a bony finger at my one and only friend in the world. Although, I can’t say I won’t be reconsidering our relationship after this. “Doyle, it’s a construction crew. I’m going to know they’re here.”
“It is necessary.” Doyle’s brows furrow above his scowl.
“Necessary? You’re turning my ancestral home into some cheap, tawdry hotel,” I grumble. “You know how I hate inns.”
He runs his fingers through his cropped brown hair, pushing it away from his handsome, bearded face. His chiseled features are often twisted into a smirk, though, which ignites in me the desire to punch them.
Doyle glances up to the heavens, muttering to himself, complaining about how much of a righteous ass he believes me to be. The sorry sod should know better. Those pearly gates are forever out of reach for the both of us, damned as we are. Doomed to be alone forever.
“You didn’t like your ancestors when they were still breathing, and it’s not aninn,Vlad.” He waves his hands in a circle before shrugging. “It’s more like a hotel, a bed andbreakfast where guests can stay in a real castle and feel better about their mundane existence.”
The House Tepesh has survived centuries of war and famine, and Doyle wants to make it into some pleasant holiday stay for brainless humans. If only I had a smidge less ancestral pride, I would’ve been done with the crumbling heap ages ago and traveled the world—but no. Instead, I’m rotting here, and for what?
It is a question I’ve pondered for centuries and I’m still no closer to an answer.
“Breakfast? You’d turn my ancestral home into some common lodging house?” I grimace, wishing he would leave me in peace. I rub at my head, growing more annoyed by the second as coarse white strands pass through my fingers.How long have I been sitting here?
“The financial advisor says the best way to generate income is to glam up our assets,” he continues, and I blink in horror as I take in each and every dreadful word.
It’s blatantly obvious what is happening to his mental state. Each time Doyle intrudes on my solitude with hisideas, it becomes clear his mind has been defiled and deteriorated by humans. Years of interactions have affected my protégé and made him more like one ofthem. Brainless.
“Glam?” I’ve never heard of such a ridiculous word.
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say, like an imbecile?” He throws up his hands in despair, as ifIhave done something inherently wrong. Me.
Three hundred years and he has learned nothing.
“It means make it chic. You know, give it a makeover. Glam it up so people will want to stay here. Apparently, we could rent a room for several thousand pounds a night with just a little investment.”
My gaze slips across the weathered stone walls of my dimly lit bedroom. Then it drifts over the ornate hand-carved wooden wardrobe, the soothing fireplace, and the aged, embroidered curtains that have been here for decades. Suddenly I fear it being covered in gaudy wallpaper, cheap sheets, and commercial soap.
“Chic?” I turn my head back to him, my eyes widening in alarm. “When did we employ a financial advisor?He,who?”
Doyle sighs heavily, rubbing his hand down his tan face. “It’s a human.”
“Iknewit. What the hell is glamming it up supposed to mean? It’s a castle, not some cheap prostitute you can just throw rouge on. I will have to respectfully decline.”
“You can disrespectfully decline if you like, but it won’t change anything.” Unbuttoning his double-breasted suit, the pompous bastard rolls his eyes and heads to the sideboard to pour a glass of brandy.
“He’s very good at what he does, and I trust him. The castle could use some renovations, anyway. The electricity doesn’t always work, and it doesn’t even have proper plumbing. It means updating things. Making them look nice. Maybe returning the castle to its former glory. The crew is already on their way.”
“This is beyond humiliating,” I huff out. “And where did you get your suit made? You look like a fucking peacock.”
He squares his ostentatious tie. “Frank had it made for me, and stop changing the subject. This is important.”
Important to a man who dresses like apeacock. “I wonder how much mercenaries are paid these days?”
Doyle shakes his head, letting out an exasperated sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let me level with you, ancient one. You don’t have a pot to piss in. You’re not eating, sleeping, or even bathing from the smell of it. You’re one step away froma shallow grave except you can’t die. Don’t you see the problem here?”
I straighten as his words sink through the thick walls of my skull and my spine pops into place. I glare at him because that’s the only thing I’m capable of. “I’ll have you know I bathed only last week.”
“Falling into a pond doesn’t count,” he says in an annoying, sing-song voice that makes me want to push him out the window. “We’re not hiring a damn mercenary. Look at yourself, Vlad, you look like the Crypt-Keeper.”
