When we reached the third floor, he led me to the end of the hall and then opened a heavy wooden door.
I gasped, branching away from him toward the stone railing to my right. A wide interior balcony overlooked the property out front. The balcony didn’t protrude from the house but was built-in, covered, and yet completely open in the front. I could see everything from this vantage point: the front gate at the end of the driveway, the tops of the trees, how green the grounds were. A light breeze picked up the ends of my hair, and I leaned forward, taking it all in. Imagining how it must look moments before dawn simply stole my breath away.
“I didn’t know places like this existed.”
He half turned on his way to the opposite door, remaining quiet and watchful.
A series of stone arches ran along the railing, creating dividers between the openings.
“We have another that overlooks the courtyard,” he said absently.
Courtyard? I almost had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dead. Maybe I hadn’t survived the attack in the bathroom a few nights ago.
Thunder rolled, and the clouds opened up, rain falling like a heavy curtain and obscuring my view of the front gate.
“How many acres does he own?”
“Hundreds.”
A gust of wind slapped me in the face with a spray of rain.
Christian chuckled and carried on, hands clasped behind his back.
We moved through the opposite door and then turned left down a narrow hall with windows along the left side. It confused me since it was the central part of the house.
“That’s the courtyard,” he said, catching the direction of my gaze.
We passed a quaint sitting room on the right, no more than six by six with a long bench on the back wall and two chairs that faced each other. Most of the doors in the hall were closed until we reached a large open room on the right. I caught a glimpse of one of those giant globes on a stand. This place probably had secret passageways and a labyrinth made from hedges.
After making another turn with more windows overlooking the courtyard, he fell back a step and entered a room on the right.
“Let me give you a piece of advice,” he began as I moved past him. “Don’t go exploring and sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Viktor laid out the offer, but you’re not an official member of the club until he says so. Some of these rooms are private, and the doors are closed for a reason.”
I turned on my heel. “Afraid I’m going to discover your My Little Pony collection? Don’t worry about me. Just go back to your coffin and let me settle in.”
“You’re an insufferable child,” he grumbled, exiting the room in a swift movement. “And for feck’s sake, put on a bra.”
“It’s not my fault you don’t have a heater.”
I wiggled my fingers in a farewell when the door slammed. Annoying Christian might actually be kind of fun. He seemed offended by my very existence. Most Vampires were loners, and women were merely a recreational pastime. They probably could have made more women among their kind, but they didn’t. Their elders had laws that frowned upon making new younglings without approval—although I’m sure they made exceptions—but most Vampires didn’t seem to want the responsibility. Younglings were impulsive and slaves to bloodlust, the insatiable desire to drink blood. Thankfully I’d never had that problem, and maybe that was why I didn’t understand it. I’d targeted a few young Vampires who’d purchased slaves off the black market to feed on.
Sickos.
I stood with my back to the wooden door and took a moment to look at my room. The ceilings were high, the walls and floor made from grey stone, and there was a fireplace on the left with no mantel. This wasn’t the penthouse suite by any means. The furniture was rustic and made of wood, from the armoire on my right to the end tables by the bed. Not a four-poster or even a sleigh bed, just a plain wooden headboard on a frame that was lower to the ground than modern ones. A small desk and chair filled the far right corner. I turned to my left and looked at the large floor mirror leaning against the corner wall.
“Do I really look like that?” I whispered, approaching my reflection.
A weary-eyed girl gazed back at me, her black hair unkempt and tangled from the rain. She looked haggard in her baggy shirt and ripped jeans. When I’d first turned, men found me attractive, but now I could see why it had become harder to lure some of them into private rooms. Most bathroom mirrors just showed the top half, so seeing the full scope of what I’d devolved into was rather depressing. I still had my long legs going for me, and I played up my features with dark lipstick and a little eyeliner. But I looked malnourished, my skin was pallid, my clothes stained, and there was even dirt beneath my fingernails.
Or was it blood?
“Disastrous,” I muttered, wondering if I smelled as bad as I looked.