“Can I show you the rest of the house now?” he asks.
“I would love to see it,” I answer and slide off the bed to get dressed.
“I really should find Devon,” I murmur after an hour of touring the new house and generally just being in the company of my sire. I can feel that our Vampire bond has strengthened immeasurably and that makes me happy. CK will be less than enthused, but he will just have to live with it.
“Hm,” Remiel says, “I do not like that you feel for him, what I feel for you.”
“It’s part of being a Vampire,” I chide him, not really prepared to have this conversation with him as I once did with Cole. He is old enough to figure this shit out for himself.
“I know, but it causes me to be jealous and, Aefre, I do not need to tell you what I am capable of,” he warns me.
“Don’t,” I say, putting up my hand. “I said live with it and I will find a place for you in my life. If you won’t then I’m sorry but this isn’t going to work.” I am blowing so much smoke up his arse right now it isn’t even funny. It is a completely empty threat as there is no way I would leave him now. I couldn’t; I am becoming dependent on being near him. But he doesn’t know that and as long as he doesn’t this threat can be used to keep him on a short leash.
“Don’t threaten me,” he says darkly, but that’s all he says. Plus, he takes my hand and it kind of ruins the menace.
“Don’t make me then,” I say with a smirk and he smiles down at me.
“You are so much less frightening than you appear to think you are,” he remarks.
I narrow my eyes at him, but then wrap my arms around him so that he can take me home. He chuckles at my silence, but he has hit a bit of a nerve. Yeah, I probably am now that I can’t turn into thirty feet of terrifying Black Dragon to back up my words. Is that what he meant? Or was he just being ‘I’m-so-powerful-no-one-can-touch-me’ Remiel?
We land back at Ponte and I leave him to go off in search of Devon. Unfortunately, on my way up to his room, I bump into Marguerite exiting with a broom and a dustpan accompanied by a black bag full of something. She gives me a shy smile and ducks her head but doesn’t stop to talk.
It suddenly hits me what is in the bag.
Carlotta.
“No!” I say forcefully, causing her to halt at the top of the stairs. “That is not your job,” I add stiffly.
She shrugs and mutters, “I don’t mind. It needed to be cleared away.”
“Not by you. That was my responsibility.” And I blew it. As usual, all of my shit came before that of others. I didn’t even give Carlotta’s ashes a second thought once I came out of my shock-induced coma, or whatever it was.
Of course, neither did anyone else in my absence which makes me pissed off at them.
Leaving poor Marguerite to clean up my dirty work was bad form. By all of us.
“I’ll take it from here,” I say, extending my hand for the bag.
“I am happy to take care of it,” Marguerite says.
“Absolutely not. You have done too much already,” I insist, suddenly wondering what in the Hell happened to Jess’s body.
She gingerly hands me the bag and I, equally as gingerly, take it from her. I hold it between my index finger and thumb in front of me as I make my way downstairs, promising myself I will find Devon soon, and very probably Lincoln as well, at the rate time is ticking away.
Chapter 4
Ponte, Italy, January 2015 - Aefre
I head directly towards the outhouse. Don’t ask me how I know about this place, I just do. It houses all the tools necessary for the upkeep of these vast grounds, so finding a shovel is a piece of cake. I pull it off the wall and then exit the dank, brick building back into the lowering sunlight. I pause, wondering where to bury her, when inspiration strikes. There is a small spot in the far corner of the grounds that is pretty and bathed in sunlight during the daylight hours. She would like that.
I head over the sprawling grounds into the corner to the left of the gates. I place the bag down gently and then I start to dig. I wonder briefly why I am doing this for her. I should just scatter her to the four corners of the Earth, but that doesn’t seem right somehow. I don’t feel guilty-which is cause enough for concern-just slightly sad for her. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person she screwed over. That’s all.
I ram the shovel into the ground beside me once the hole is big enough and stoop to pick up the bag. I drop it lightly into the hole, then jump a mile when a figure appears next to me in the blink of an eye.
“What are you doing?” Frederick asks, peering into the hole.
“Burying Carlotta,” I reply shortly.