fresh air as she glanced at the high walls that surrounded the castle. There must be a gate. Maybe she had missed it the first time she’d looked. Starting at the corner nearest the house, she made a slow exploration of the wall, but there was no gate, no trellis, no way out. If only she had a ladder.
With a shrug, Elena found the gloves she had worn before and set to work on another patch of weeds. She tried to keep her mind blank as she knelt in the dirt, but, perhaps inevitably, Drake intruded on her thoughts. He was a vampire. It was impossible but true. Try as she might, Elena couldn’t decide how she felt about him now, although, in truth, she had never been certain what to think of him. He was unlike any man she had ever met. Of course, she hadn’t met very many men, especially men who were five hundred years old.
She wasn’t surprised when the cat appeared. Sitting in the shade of an old oak tree, it watched her with a faintly bored expression.
“Too bad you can’t make yourself useful,” Elena muttered. “This would go a lot faster if I had some help.”
With a flick of his tail, the cat curled up and closed its eyes.
An hour or so later, Elena decided she needed a rest. Rising, she stretched her back and shoulders. The exercise had done her good. Feeling suddenly hungry, she peeled off her gloves and dropped them on the iron bench.
Smoke trailed her into the house.
Elena glared at the cat. “You are such a pest. Can’t you find something else to do besides follow me around?”
A loud “meow” was her only answer.
In the kitchen, Elena washed and dried her hands. As always, Drake had provided her with a tasty meal. Whatever faults he might have, he always made sure she had plenty to eat. Sometimes he left her prepared meals; sometimes just the ingredients.
Munching on a slice of bread smothered in butter and honey, she wondered if he ever missed real food—meat and potatoes, fresh peas and corn, hamburgers and hot dogs, potato salad, freshly baked bread warm from the oven, cakes and cookies, pie and ice cream, grapes and strawberries, malts and sodas and all the other good things to eat and drink that she took for granted.
She lingered at the table, her thoughts drifting. She wondered how long Drake was going to keep her here. Now that she knew what he was, would he ever let her out of the castle again? Take her to the city again?
She lifted a hand to her throat. He had admitted to tasting her. Was that why he kept her here? How much was “a taste”? How could she sleep through such a thing?
So many unanswered questions. She pushed them out of her mind. She would think about all that later. Right now, she was going back outside.
Rising, she headed for the garden, the cat at her heels.
Muttering, “Silly beast,” Elena made her way toward the iron bench. Grabbing her gloves, she pulled them on while she regarded the ground she had cleared earlier. It looked barren now.
Returning to the shed, she found a shovel and began to dig up one of the rosebushes, intending to replant it in the newly turned plot of ground.
She dug a wide hole around the bush, then reached down and gently pulled the roots out of the earth. A bit of blue-and-white striped cloth was tangled in the roots. Taking hold of the cloth, she gave it a yank. . . .
And screamed when a desiccated hand appeared, tangled in the material.
Elena stared at the skeletal hand and at the small blue stone ring on one finger for several seconds, then dropped to her knees, retching. Jenica had been wearing a dress made from that very same cloth the last time Elena had seen her.
Smoke padded up beside her. The cat took one look at the contents of the hole, hissed softly, and ran into the castle.
Moments later, Drake appeared at her side. “Elena, what is it?”
She looked up at him, sobbing, then pointed at the grisly find. “It’s . . . it’s . . . Jenica. . . .”
Lifting Elena to her feet, Drake drew her into his arms. He
With a shrug, Elena found the gloves she had worn before and set to work on another patch of weeds. She tried to keep her mind blank as she knelt in the dirt, but, perhaps inevitably, Drake intruded on her thoughts. He was a vampire. It was impossible but true. Try as she might, Elena couldn’t decide how she felt about him now, although, in truth, she had never been certain what to think of him. He was unlike any man she had ever met. Of course, she hadn’t met very many men, especially men who were five hundred years old.
She wasn’t surprised when the cat appeared. Sitting in the shade of an old oak tree, it watched her with a faintly bored expression.
“Too bad you can’t make yourself useful,” Elena muttered. “This would go a lot faster if I had some help.”
With a flick of his tail, the cat curled up and closed its eyes.
An hour or so later, Elena decided she needed a rest. Rising, she stretched her back and shoulders. The exercise had done her good. Feeling suddenly hungry, she peeled off her gloves and dropped them on the iron bench.
Smoke trailed her into the house.
Elena glared at the cat. “You are such a pest. Can’t you find something else to do besides follow me around?”
A loud “meow” was her only answer.
In the kitchen, Elena washed and dried her hands. As always, Drake had provided her with a tasty meal. Whatever faults he might have, he always made sure she had plenty to eat. Sometimes he left her prepared meals; sometimes just the ingredients.
Munching on a slice of bread smothered in butter and honey, she wondered if he ever missed real food—meat and potatoes, fresh peas and corn, hamburgers and hot dogs, potato salad, freshly baked bread warm from the oven, cakes and cookies, pie and ice cream, grapes and strawberries, malts and sodas and all the other good things to eat and drink that she took for granted.
She lingered at the table, her thoughts drifting. She wondered how long Drake was going to keep her here. Now that she knew what he was, would he ever let her out of the castle again? Take her to the city again?
She lifted a hand to her throat. He had admitted to tasting her. Was that why he kept her here? How much was “a taste”? How could she sleep through such a thing?
So many unanswered questions. She pushed them out of her mind. She would think about all that later. Right now, she was going back outside.
Rising, she headed for the garden, the cat at her heels.
Muttering, “Silly beast,” Elena made her way toward the iron bench. Grabbing her gloves, she pulled them on while she regarded the ground she had cleared earlier. It looked barren now.
Returning to the shed, she found a shovel and began to dig up one of the rosebushes, intending to replant it in the newly turned plot of ground.
She dug a wide hole around the bush, then reached down and gently pulled the roots out of the earth. A bit of blue-and-white striped cloth was tangled in the roots. Taking hold of the cloth, she gave it a yank. . . .
And screamed when a desiccated hand appeared, tangled in the material.
Elena stared at the skeletal hand and at the small blue stone ring on one finger for several seconds, then dropped to her knees, retching. Jenica had been wearing a dress made from that very same cloth the last time Elena had seen her.
Smoke padded up beside her. The cat took one look at the contents of the hole, hissed softly, and ran into the castle.
Moments later, Drake appeared at her side. “Elena, what is it?”
She looked up at him, sobbing, then pointed at the grisly find. “It’s . . . it’s . . . Jenica. . . .”
Lifting Elena to her feet, Drake drew her into his arms. He
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