Anne Brontë Nightwalker

Chapter 34

"On that note," Vander says, holding a silver tray lightly aloft like a waiter from Café de Flore, "let us have a touch of sustenance." A large, heavy chalice and a dusty bottle of wine rests on the tray Vander places upon the table. Opening a great cabinet, he pulls out crystal glasses, dusts off the wine bottle with an embroidered cloth draped over his arm, and proceeds to pour William some wine. Then he turns to me.

From the silver chalice, he fills my glass with hot crimson blood. It shimmers in the light, still steaming with warmth, like a newly fallen doe in the snow.

"Don't be alarmed, my dear. There are no virgins chained in my dungeon. This comes from rabbits I lovingly raise and painlessly kill myself. I promise you they live a life of luxury and ease and" —he gives me a wicked wink— "it's true what they say about their breeding habits. I can't dispatch them fast enough."

My mouth waters. Vander slides the glass before me and I almost faint. My hands clench the seat of my chair to steady myself and I glance at William, ashamed of my hunger.

"It's okay, Anne," he says, with a grave blue gaze. "I'm quite used to it. Drink so that you may live. You were put here for a reason, but you will never decipher it if you are too weak to think straight."

Trembling, I reach for the glass and, holding it with both hands, sip. The blood touches my tongue, jolting me. It's fresh and hot. I taste grass and wildflowers. Sunlight. It's free of pain and fear, those remnants of stress that taint hunted blood. It's so sweet I could cry.

"All of it," Vander says sternly.

Eagerly I drain my glass, then set it down, chagrined while warmth flows over my skin and across my chest.

William watches, amazed. "Already, there is color in your face. Your lips are turning pink as I speak." I blush and Vander smiles.

"It will give you strength," he says, refilling my glass.

This is more sustenance than I've had in weeks. I fear I may get sick if I drink too much. Gingerly, I take a small sip, relishing the sweetness on my tongue. Not so delicious as William's blood, but enjoyable nevertheless.

Vanderbilt fills his glass then says, "Now that we have refreshment before us and a council of three, let us begin."

"These are the facts," William says. "Two young girls have been killed. One 12-years-old. The second, 18. Both had their throats cut and were exsanguinated. I had the opportunity to examine the first body and saw no evidence of bite, but it could be that the cutting was designed to camouflage the teeth marks."

"That was the case with the girl I saw," I say, newly energized. "No evidence of a bite, but her throat was cut in such a way as to erase evidence. I did distinctly smell the scent of an Alpha."

"Did you ever see the first body?" Vander asks me. I shake my head. "Well, it would not be unreasonable to assume that she is the victim of the predator who killed the second. So what can we do?"

"Alphas are too dangerous to fight, unless you" —I look at Vander— "think you can take him. But if he was turned in his prime, I don't see how it's possible at your age. No offense."

"No offense taken. Also, I do not leave these grounds."

"Surely," William says, "for this, you would make an exception."

"Biltmore is my creation and my world. She is my raison d'être and I am her guardian. My leaving renders her vulnerable. I will only do so if her protection requires it."