Pretty When They Collide (Pretty When She Dies 0.5)(19)

Frank’s bedroom was black and red, filled with heavy antiques from his home country of France, and always smelled of incense and blood. Still in his black silk pajamas, Frank was greedily sipping from the wrist of one of his blood minions. The young woman’s eyes were closed in rapture, and beneath her silk teddy, her body was trembling with pleasure.

Aimee turned away so she wouldn’t have to witness the woman’s erect nipples pressing against the fine silk of her garment and her hands moving between her thighs. Instead of watching, she occupied herself by surveying the vast array of cologne Frank had arranged on his bureau. He was obsessed with smelling like anything other than death. There were a few new bottles and she once again contemplated the possibility of slipping a spell into one of them.

A reluctant moan and slap on the rump indicated the feeding was over. Aimee returned her gaze to Frank as the blood minion scurried out of the room. Aimee no longer learned their names. She’d tried befriending the few who had been living with Frank when she had first become his companion, but those blood minions had either died, or been sold to other vampires. Frank kept them sequestered in a small guest house off the main one, so it was easy to deliberately ignore them. Also, it was disquieting how they always looked remarkably alike. Frank definitely had a type. They were all dark haired, blue eyed, and pale.

“Good afternoon, sunshine,” Frank said, nestling against the bank of red silk pillows resting against the ornate headboard. He picked up a tumbler filled with ice and scotch and sipped it. “How’s my surly witch?”

“Sweaty,” Aimee answered.

“Yuck.” Frank gestured toward the bathroom. “Take a shower. I can’t stand the smell of sweat and dirt. It makes me think of peasants. And you, my witch, are not a peasant.” Dismissing her with the flick of his hand, he immediately started working on his iPad.

With reluctance, Aimee followed his command. The bathroom was all black tile and stainless steel fixtures. The only color was the blood red towels. Aimee stood amidst the cold sterility of the room and wished she could just scream until the walls cracked and broke apart around her. Even as her insubordinate thoughts boiled up within her, the blood tie to Frank smothered them. There was always a tipping point where her rebellious thoughts gave birth to torrential rage which immediately triggered the blood bond, stifling her. Taking deep breaths, she fought through the numbness.

Wiping a tear away, Aimee undressed. She hated that even her mind was tethered to Frank. It was a struggle to keep herself from drowning under his constant attempts to completely subjugate her. If not for her witch nature, he’d have her completely in his thrall.

The shower refreshed her mind as it cleansed her body. For most of the decade she had been with Frank, she had not fought against his supernatural influence over her. Once she had realized the monster he truly was, she’d struggled to balance her emotions and thoughts so as not to activate the blood bond. Now she was fairly adept at maintaining her calm, but tonight she was aggravated by emotions she had never experienced before.

Once out of the shower, she donned one of Frank’s robes and returned to his bedroom. He was on his phone and typing furiously on his iPad at the same time. Spotting her, he waved her over to the bed.

“No, no, you don’t get it, Scott. I want her on the job as soon as possible. I’m not a patient man. Once I have my eyes set on something, I want it immediately. Not in a f*cking week, or two, or a month. Now!” Crossing his arms over his chest, Frank listened with a furious expression on his face while the broker on the other end spoke. “That’s acceptable. Now make it happen.” Clicking off the call, Frank studied Aimee where she sat perched on the end of the bed. “Why is everyone in this world a f*cking incompetent except for you? I ask you to do something, it’s done. No worries. Last night you wiped the floor with those assassins. But anyone else...” Frank flung the phone to the opposite side of the bed.

“Still trying to acquire the dhamphir, I see.”

“I want her. Not just because she ripped me off, but because of her rarity. Do you understand, my witch, just how rare a dhamphir is?” Frank’s dark eyes flashed dangerously. “I tried to make one, you know. Years ago. This one vampire in Italy had a son by a mortal. He was a twisted little fiend. The son, I mean. Well, the vampire father was, too, but that’s not my point. The dhamphir could venture out in the daylight and wield his father’s will like an avenging angel...or demon. Everyone wanted one. The vampire women were barren, but the vampire men were f*cking every mortal woman in sight just about.”

Aimee stifled a shiver. “So what happened?”

“Well, no one got any of those wenches pregnant and the dhamphir sliced off his father’s head and vanished.” Frank sighed. “And that was the end of that little fad.”

“So if you actually manage to capture this dhamphir, what will you do with her?”

Frank crawled across the bed to Aimee’s side and wrapped one wet lock of her long hair around his hand. “Maybe keep her. I could forcibly bond her to me. Chain her up, feed her my blood until she’s loyal. Maybe she could be my new companion.”

Frank’s eyes were dark and searching. Aimee rested her hand against his cheek and leaned toward him. “No, you won’t.”

“Bah!” Frank pulled her closer by her hair. “Why do I want you so? Why do I dread the thought of you not being at my side, when at the same time I wonder if I shouldn’t just kill you?”