He is so cold, I lay my body on top of him. “Are you in pain?”

He opens his eyes and looks at me. “Oh, Autumn. Oh, my little Autumn. It is nothing. Just a back ache,” he gasps.

“Wait a moment,” I say and go to the en-suite bathroom. I find a towel which I use to wipe away the cold sweat on his forehead.

When William comes back with blankets and two hot water bottles I put them on his chest and stomach and cover him in the blankets. Then I lie next to him and listen to the faint beat of his heart.

“You should go home, Autumn,” he mutters feverishly. “It’s not safe here for you while I am like this. I cannot protect you.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me. I promise I will leave when you go to sleep.”

His hand finds mine, and it is just as cold and clammy as it had been before the hot water bottles and extra blankets. I wrap my hands around it, bury my nose in his neck, and breathe in the scent of him. A feral, yes entirely feral, sensation fills my chest. I feel the way I imagine a mother would feel about her newborn child. As if she alone is solely responsible for the helpless thing. As if she has been sent to earth to protect, guard, and save it from any who would seek to harm the vulnerable thing in her arms. And God help anyone who tries to hurt it.

He mumbles something restlessly.

“Shhh… it’s okay. Sleep, Rocco. Sleep,” I try to soothe.

“You must leave,” he growls, but there is no power in his voice.

“I’ll go home when you go to sleep.”

He draws a shuddering breath. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Minutes pass, and his breathing slowly becomes less fraught, less frightening. Where his skin touches mine or the hot water bottles it is warm, but everywhere else it remains scarily cold.

Sometimes moans of pain escape out of his mouth, and it hurts my heart to hear it, but finally, he falls into a light sleep. I dare not even breathe because I do not want to wake him up. So it irritates me when I hear a noise from the doorway. William is standing there.

Quickly, I put my finger to my lips. He motions for me to come to him. As gently as I can I slide off the bed. Rocco makes a sound in his throat, but his eyes remain closed. I tip toe towards William.

“The Count’s sister is here. She wishes to speak to you,” he says quietly.

I feel a cold shiver go through me, and I glance back uneasily at the sleeping figure on the bed. I don’t want to, but I know I must face her. Clearly, she’s part of Rocco’s life and therefore mine too.

Squaring my shoulders, I follow William out of the room.

Chapter 29

Autumn

She is even more beautiful in the bright lights of the chandelier. Her hips are as slender as a snake and her legs are long and slim. There is a smile on her lips. “Please, sit down,” she invites, gesturing towards a sofa patterned with soft-blue birds on a white background.

There is an open bottle of wine and two glasses on the low table next to it. I walk stiffly towards the sofa and perch uncomfortably on the edge of it.

“How is the poor lamb?” she asks, taking a seat on the sofa opposite. She seems supremely confident.

“William says he will be better tomorrow,” I say carefully.

She twists her mouth downwards, a curiously flirtatious gesture. “Yes, these horrible bouts come, but thankfully they do go away pretty quickly.”

“What are they?” I ask curiously.

She shrugs. “You must ask my brother.”

I nod. I do not know what it is about her, but my skin is actually crawling with revulsion.

“We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Isadora.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reply automatically.

“So you’re an artist.”

“I work at an art gallery, but you already know that.”

She smiles. “Yes. It’s a small town and I’ve seen you there.”

“You don’t live around here, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

She doesn’t elaborate further and I realize I don’t want to make small talk with her. “Why did you want to see me?”

“Well, to start with I know my brother really likes you, and I wanted to welcome you into our family. We are a family with many problems, but we all love Rocco and want what’s best for him.”

At that point, I have a strange impression. She is being kind, but what she really wants to be is cruel. I push the impression away, but it stays at the fringes of my mind not as something I imagined, but something real. There is something risky, dangerous even about her. If I’m being unkind then, the word I would use is repulsive.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you,” I say, even though I am mentally putting distance between us.

Tags: Georgia Le Carre Vampires
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