Fairy Bride Ch10: The Spartan (Patreon)

<- previous

Levanto, Italy
One Week Later…

Daphne looks past the grape being held by her mouth, letting it fade to a fuzzy purple oblong.  She gazes over the crashing waves, up from their picnic blanket, all the way to the cliffs high above, topped with beautifully painted homes in a misty haze.  It’s a fitting metaphor for her thoughts - shrouded and so very far out of reach.

“Bite!”

Her jaw opens, uncaring of the rage boiling to life inside her.  From the moment she wakes up frozen to the second he orders her to sleep, that voice dominates her existence.  Spencer spends hours cuddling her, then drags her around through these tiny towns to pose for photos.  Schedules, food, even the books he has her pretend to read - she’s given no input for any of them.  And he never admits it.  Not even when he orders her to laugh at the jokes he tells.

She bites into the grape, though she’d like nothing more than to starve herself.  It tastes like sawdust.  Spencer giggles and offers another.  That’s the worst part; the utter lack of relief.  She’s always surrounded.  If it wasn’t for the clear discomfort of Guy and any poor service workers they meet, she’d have already been driven mad.

“Come on, let’s read!”  Spencer hands her back the copy of Metamorphoses, opened to a random page.  “The week flew by so quickly, Daphles!  And you’ve been amazing through all of it.”

Daphne stares at the text distantly.  She couldn’t turn the page on her own, even if he had handed it to her right-side-up.

“I have no idea how I’ll get through Strasbourg without you.”  Spencer positions himself so that she leans against his chest like a backrest.  “But I know you’ll love Provence!  All the flowers are just in bloom.  And there’s tons of neat critters, in case you ever felt like, heheheh, bug-catching.  I’ll even lend you my equipment!”

Provence.  Daphne couldn’t believe it when he told her.  For the first time since this nightmare started, she’ll be free of Spencer for five glorious days.  Surely, he can’t leave her trapped like this.  She can sob into her bed, move her toes.  Maybe even plan.

But right now, plans feel futile . Spencer’s power has never been so total, her chances of escape never so weak.  Her thoughts are a jumbled, confusing mess, and she’s terrified that even with a five-days head start, he’ll still be a step ahead.

Spencer lowers his phone.  He’d begun to speak on it without her noticing - whether for a minute or an hour, she can no longer tell.  “That was Guy.  Time to get going.  Strasbourg’s a long way away, and your playmate is already waiting.”

That was another reason not to trust the five days.  Spencer won't leave her unchaperoned, not anymore.  And she knows that whoever Spencer trusts now won’t be like Henri.  No, they’ll be as carefully chosen as anything else on this trip.

“Come on, Daphne.”  He plucks the book from her fingers.  “It’s time that you met Lianna.”

Verdon, France

She can feel the roar of the Maserati’s engine, even through the closed windows.  Guy Mallory drives it like a maniac, careening through the mountain roads, staring at Daphne through the rearview mirror whenever he thinks she isn’t looking.  The landscape around them is stunning, at least: snow-capped peaks, glacial blue rivers, towering pines and fields of amber.  Daphne has no choice but to gaze out at the Alpine valley below them.  Strokes of violet cut through the soil in rows - fields and fields of lavender, waving in the breeze.

Lavender.  Of course he thought she’d like them.

She feels a tug on her shoulder, and soon her face is pressed into Spencer’s shirt.  The closer they get to their destination, the touchier he gets.

“So, how to describe Lianna Stirling?  Well…”  Spencer bites his lip.  “... she’s a very strong woman.  Nobody denies that.  It’s more, heh, where she puts that strength that riles people.  She has a… controversial perspective.”

Absently, Daphne tries to stop smiling.  After a straight week, her muscles are constantly aching.  It’s just as unsuccessful as she predicted.

“Well, gotta say, I’m not finding any controversy in her choice of ride.”  Guy tightens his knuckles around the leather steering wheel.  “Why aren’t we taking this rental to Strasbourg?”

“You want us to show up to the Commission looking like a bunch of frat boys?”  Spencer asks incredulously.

“Can you imagine the pissy look on those bureaucrats’ whiny, electric-car-driving faces?”  Guy grins.

“I can.  On the front pages.  And we’ve got enough scandals already.”  Spencer folds his arms over his wife.  “Scandals you were supposed to contain.”

“I kept you off TV, didn’t I?”

“Our fight was all over the tabloids!  There’s a photographer selling our pictures to the highest bidder!

“Jeremy Lyson.  Slippery bastard snuck out of Monaco before I could deal with him.  I’m fixing that,” Guy explains.  “You can’t expect me to wrap up every serpent that’s not in my network.”

“Then what good is it?”  Spencer hisses.

“Look, you want these people off your scent?  Then follow my advice and have Daphne do some PR.”

“No,” Spencer squeezes her.  “She’s too young, Mallory.  Fragile.”

“I’m not suggesting anything big.  A couple Twitter posts, Tik-Toks that show you two happy.  We could even do it old-fashioned.  Find a neutral outlet, write out questions to some pre-paid reporter, and have Daphne give an interview that-”

“No interviews,” Spencer scowls.  “I’m not having this discussion in front of my wife again.”

Daphne wishes she could laugh.  What does he think she’ll do with it?  She can only speak in places where no one can hear.

A moment’s silence.  Eventually, she hears Guy squeeze on the leather.  “Fine.  No interviews.  I’ll deal with Lyson.”

“Thank you,” Spencer pulls Daphne back.  “Where was I?  Right, her opinions.  Lianna can be really chatty, Daph, and trust me, that’s rarely a good thing.  My advice?  Make her change topics before she can start ranting.  I usually bring up bugs!  They disgust her so much that she’ll forget whatever was making her so angry in the first place!”

She can feel his palms getting sweaty.

“We go way back, you see.  Remember the Keeping, Daph?  That glass full of aether I drank to perform the Rite?”  He pretends to wait for an answer.  “It came from her bloodstream!  She offered it for free after I told her about our plans, said it might ‘teach me dominance.’”  He puts on a voice.  “Isn’t that so sweet, darling?  We have a lot to thank her for!”

Oh.  Indeed.  Daphne can’t wait to show that gratitude in person.

“She was one of my very first contacts, before Parliament, back when I was just the Defense Minister’s son.  Though, heh, I must say, our politics never…” He stops, blinking several times.  “Oh, shit.”

Suddenly, he lifts her head.  There’s something frantic in his eyes.  “Nod or shake.  During Brexit, did you vote Remain?”

She nods, her eyes going vacant.  Spencer winces. “Shit.  Okay, mmm, that’s probably fine, just don’t bring it up.  She’s not a big fan of the EU, you see.  Or anything Labour.”  He stares blankly out the window as he thinks.  “Or the Tories, come to think of it.  Or… any party… she likes Enoch Powell, though!  Whoever that is!”

Daphne’s confusion is hidden by her forced dull smile.  Mallory lifts an eyebrow and glances in the mirror again - for once, not checking her out.  Spence squirms uncomfortably.  “Okay, okay, this is going to sound awkward, I know, but… you don’t have any African or Asian ancestry, right?”

She shakes her head.  Spencer breathes a sigh of relief.  “Oh, thank God, that’s good.  Er, I mean… it’s not ‘bad’ either, it’s meaningless, but… you know, it matters a lot to her.  Best to duck the subject if she brings it up.  Same with eugenics!  And religion, and international finance, just treat them all like the plague.”

“Spence, mate,” Mallory calls out, brows furrowed.  “You’re making this woman out like a total Nazi.”

A silence fills the car.  Spencer nervously tugs at his collar.  Mallory actually turns his head around in a double-take.

“No.”

“She prefers the term ‘white identitarian.’”  Spencer anxiously giggles.  “Look, it’s not that bad!  It’s not like she can support the Holocaust if she doesn't think it happened!”

For once, Daphne’s as speechless as his magic makes her.  How?  How does Spencer always manage to find the worst people on Earth to associate with?

“Are you really sure we should drop her off here?”  Guy asks.  “I mean, not that I have a problem with Nazis, I’m a tolerant guy, but… fuck, Spence, you’re a social democrat!”

“It’s fine!  Look at her!”  Spencer turns Daphne around to show Mallory.  “She’ll be a far-right darling!  What could possibly - oh fuck!”

Spencer spins her back around, poking into her lips.

“Do not, and I mean ever, mention that you were a boy.”  His voice sounds pleading.  “I don’t know why, but she really, really, really hates transgender people.  You cannot be silly with this, promise?”

As if she needed Spencer to tell her.  Fucking hell, how is she going to plan anything if-

The car slows down.  “Maps says we’re here,” Mallory notes.  “Welcome to the Château de Sainte Croix.”

It takes Spencer several nervous swipes of his hand to finally open the car door.

Cool Alpine air pulls on Daphne’s eggshell dress.  She can feel it tighten her breathing, clinging to her lungs.  Before her stand tall stone walls, turned ragged by the weather.  High above on the battlements fly French tricolours, with a twist; through each white stripe cuts an axe with blood-red blades.  A plaque reading ‘Travail, Familie, Patrie,’ introduces the drawbridge in front of them.

Guy eyes it dubiously.  “Um, Spence, I’m not a history buff, but… who exactly built this castle?”

“I believe that’s why they can rent it for such low prices!”  Spencer answers, a sickly smile on his face.

A pair of shapes move into view on the battlements - muscular men dressed in black jackets and trousers, scowling beneath their sunglasses.  Each of them hefts a bulky-looking rifle.  Mallory steps back, one hand on the car.  Daphne’s frozen in place, her heart in her mouth.

“Hello! Er - Salut!”  Spencer waves awkwardly.  “Vous avez une grande place! Pourriez-vous nous aider-”

One of the guards laughs, and they both disappear.  A few moments later, the gate rattles open.  Spencer squeezes his wife like a stress ball, peering at the darkness beyond.  “Well, um, guess we’ll find her on our own!  She’s gotta be inside the castle…”

“I’ll be waiting by the car.”  Guy takes a few steps back.  “Are you sure about this, Spence?  Shouldn’t she meet you?”

“Oh, not at all,” Spencer giggles.  “Sunlight, you see, it’s… bad for her complexion.”

The back of Daphne’s neck prickles.

Just how many vampires does Spencer know?

Spencer prefers not to try and ask for directions again, instead leading Daphne on a meandering route through the castle’s labyrinthine halls.  She trudges through rooms covered in tacky, peeling wallpaper, glancing sceptically at the antique ice boxes and rotary phones.  The courtyard is filled with military tents and supply crates, and dozens more of those armed, black-clad men.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’re harmless!”  Spencer whispers as he hides her from a passing pair.  “Lianna has her bouts of paranoia, but-”

“HRAH!  HYAH!  RRRRAH!”

“- you’ll see,” Spencer quietly finishes as they approach a large door.  “I… really think you can find some common ground.”

The screams are muffled by the stone walls.  It’s only one voice, but with erratic shifts in distance, like it was a thousand places at once.  After each cry comes a horrible, squelching sound.

“Daphne…”  Spencer swallows.  “In case this woman tries to kill me, I wanted to say-”

A wet, heavy object impacts the door from the other side, rattling the handle.  Spencer closes his eyes.  Daphne stares at him, her smile fixed and terrified.  “Fuck it!  Here goes.”

He pushes the door into a large gymnasium, filled with practice mats and punching bags.  Its only decor is a large portrait of a uniformed bold man labelled, ‘Le Maréchal.’  Bronze weapons lie scattered in heaps, swords and shields and spears, and the walls are splattered with red. Not blood, to Daphne’s relief - just the remnants of a hundred watermelons, speckled with bits of seed and bright green rind.

More of the fruits dangle from ropes or display on small pedestals.  Each has a photo stapled to it: smiling men, dancing children, too many to name.  They’re labelled with such charming terms as ‘mongrel,’ ‘vagrant,’ ‘traitor.’  Suddenly, she feels a blur.  A rush of wind.

And in an instant, the closest watermelon explodes all over Spencer’s nice suit.

“Yrah!”  The woman moves faster than Daphne can see, leaving sliced ropes and demolished fruit in her wake.  Weapons seem to vanish from the piles, only to lodge themselves in melons on the other side of the room.

“DUCK!”  Spencer pulls Daphne down, narrowly avoiding the spear that sails over their heads.  It slams so forcefully into a watermelon that it pins it to the wall, juice spilling over the word ‘whore.’

When they look up, glowing red eyes bore into them.  The woman’s finally come to a stop, red-tinged sweat dripping through her blonde hair and trickling to her fangs.  She wears a black uniform, just like her men, coupled with knee high boots, rumpled brown trousers, and a large black beret.

She’s standing on the portrait, sideways, a whole five metres above them.

“Harcourt.”  She pronounces the name like she’s picking it up with tweezers.  “That outfit is detestably cosmopolitan.”

“Lee-Lee!”  Spencer waves.  “Gosh, has it been years already?  I have to say, you haven’t aged a-”

FWOOMP!  Spencer squeals as another blur whizzes past and a throwing axe wedges into a melon dangling overhead.  Lianna leaps to the ground, pulling an identical weapon from a rack.

Spencer sputters.  “... you’ve kept in shape!”

“Spartan discipline demands constant diligence.”  Lianna takes confident strides towards them.  “If I weaken my body, I disgrace our blood.”

“Really?”  Spencer pretends to smile.  “You know, I’ve been working out too!  Maybe we can trade tips?”

Lianna growls, steam rising from her nostrils.  “The Kept.  Show me.”

“Yes ma’am!”  Spencer tucks himself behind his wife and pushes her two steps forward.  “Go on, Daphne!  Say hello!”

“Hello.”  Daphne chirps out, leaning back as far as the magic will let her.  She’s unable to turn as Lianna begins to stalk around her, scowling.

“She’s Glamoured.  Placant.  HRAH!”  Abruptly, she swings an axe near the nymph’s face, blowing her sun hat askew.  The closest Daphne can come to a scream is a slight widening of her smile.  “Completely unfazed by her environment…”

Spencer blinks.  “Oh, that’s just the command!  Daphne’s having a quiet spell, you see, after-”

“She needs restraints?”  Lianna sounds unamused.

“I prefer ‘time-out!’”

“Hmph.”  Lianna chuckles.  “Nymphs are the bed-slaves of the Groves.  I’m not surprised you met your match in conquering one.”

Spencer peeps out over her shoulder.  “‘Met my match?’  No, no!  Daphne’s completely under control!  Tell her, Daph!”

“I’m completely under control.”

“End this immediately,” Lianna points at Daphne.  “This farce seems high-maintenance, and my Kepts don’t expect to be coddled.”

“Done!”  Spencer says immediately.

Daphne gasps.  Twitching muscles finally respond, and she backs away a half-step, her smile still plastered in place.  Of course Spencer never listens to her, but won’t raise a fuss when the Nazi-

“I admire her dress,” Lianna continues.  “Modest.  Comely.  Too many of this generation’s women are obsessed with a feckless attack on the masculine sphere.”

Daphne blinks, staring confusedly at Lianna’s outfit.  Maybe in her world, vampires get freebies.

“Thanks!”  Spencer pats his wife’s head.  “You know Keepings!  Important to remember tradition!”

“Indeed,” Lianna licks her lips.  “I’m always impressed by men willing to put their spouses in place.”

An awkward silence hangs over them.  Spencer looks like he’s swallowed a frog.  “Er, NO!  Fae traditions, Lee-Lee!  Wouldn’t want people to think… I fully support women’s liberation!”

Daphne turns around, slipping out of his grip, and fixes him with the most incredulous look she can muster.

“What?” he asks.  She scowls.

“Ah!  Daphne, it doesn’t make me a misogynist!”  He pouts.  “It’s very important that you’re equal to me in…”

She scowls even harder.

Spencer folds his arms.  “Fine.  Two can play at this!  They're called ‘human rights’, Daph n’ Dots.  So there’s some debate about whether nymphs could apply-”

“There’s nothing humane about race-mixing, Spencer,” Lianna butts in.  “Your urges to breed with an inferior perplex.  The Harcourts are one of Britain’s preeminent Nordic bloodlines.  Have you forgotten your stock?”

Spencer blinks.  “... ‘Nordic?’”

“Do you even know why I’m here?”  Lianna growls.  “Why I’ve left our divine homeland for this den of degeneracy they call Marseille?”

“Seeing the sigh-?”

“I had to witness the enemy with my own eyes,” she interrupts him.  “Remind myself why I fight this war.”

Spencer’s eyes go wide.  “Oh no.”

“Enemy?”  Daphne asks.  “Who are you - hrrmpphh.”

Spencer covers his wife’s mouth, but it’s already too late.

“The Jews.”  Lianna’s eyes glow.  “And the Arab hordes they’re using to replace us.  Have you heard the reports, Harcourt?  Whole neighbourhoods abandoned to the Jihadists?  Beautiful white children mutilated by the ‘gender ideology’ at the age of ten?”

“Heh, funny, have you heard of Guy Mallory?  He’s right in the yard!”  Spencer pulls Daphne back, pointing to the door.  “He actually paid for a lot of those stories last election cycle!  He’ll gladly inform you that it’s all right-wing hogwash-”

“It’s even worse than I could possibly imagine,” Lianna’s skin takes on a ghastly pallor.  “You pass schools without hearing a word of French.  Streets filled with Moslems wearing their…”  She struggles for the word. “... things.  I was alive when this nation had not been sullied by Marxists, Spencer.  When it still knew pride, when there were still men who remembered what brought her greatness.”

She points to the portrait.

“Purity.”

Daphne swallows.  Somehow, Spencer’s warning of ‘rants’ doesn’t quite encapsulate what she’s hearing.

“It is exactly as the old scholars once warned us.  We’ve muddied our blood, and the floodgates have opened!  Now, we are almost too weak to stop them.”  Lianna raises her voice, squeezing her axe.  Absently, Spencer covers his wife’s ears.  “But do you know what most angers me?  The lies.  The globalist vermin, they smile and laugh and say everything’s normal!  They punish me for seeing the truth, Harcourt!  Tie me down with red tape, gag me with laws against hate.  They call ME the villain - “

“Lianna…”  Spencer lifts his hands.  “I think it’d be best if we focus on being calm…”

“I will not be calm!”  She brandishes the axe, hands trembling.  Spencer and Daphne both start backing away.  “That’s what they WANT me to be!  ‘It is kind to accept others,’ they whisper.  ‘It is good to allow all kinds of love.’  Using our morals against us, that’s how insidious they are!  This world knows nothing of kindness and love!  It knows only strength and weakness!”

“Lianna…”

“I will not be weak!  I will not give up!  I will fight, and scream, even if mine is the only sane voice in this world!”  Her skin begins to glow, fangs inching out through her lips.  “I WILL TEAR THEM ALL TO PIECES, AND - ”

Lianna’s voice dissolves into a demented shriek, and she blurs into motion, hacking apart another dozen watermelons before trampling the remains.  Her axe crashes over and over into the last intact fruit as the Harcourts watch in stunned silence.

Eventually, Lianna looks up, tossing the dulled axe aside and wiping red-tinted tears from her cheeks.

“My apologies.”  Her voice is uncomfortably serene.  “The Wilds took me.  You were saying?”

Spencer blinks.  “Babysitting?”

“Right.”  Lianna chuckles, rising to her feet.  “You mentioned a list?”

“Yes!”  Nervously, Spencer pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket.  Daphne grimaces; she can see bits of the lettering smudge through the page.  Spencer apparently wrote it with colourful markers.  “Everything’s in there!  Let me know if you have questions!”

As Lianna scowls through the chicken-scratch, Daphne gawks at Spencer.  “List?”

“Oh, you know, favourite foods, bedtimes, those sorts of things.”  Spencer smiles.

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Are the tablets before or after she eats fish?”  Lianna asks without looking up.

“After!  They’re high in iron, you see.  She’s allergic!”

Daphne seethes.  “That’s not how it - “

“Don’t fret, Daphy-doo, I’ll make sure my moth’s taken care of.”

“I’m not your pet!”

“I never said you were!”

“Ah, Harcourt,” Lianna taps the page.  “These… chains.  Do I attach them to her wrists, or did you bring some sort of collar?”

Spencer’s smile fades as Daphne’s glare heats up.  “Uh… Lee-Lee?  Can Daphne and I have a moment outside?”

“No.”

“Why not?”  Spencer whines.

Daphne sputters incoherently, waving at the doors behind them.

“Daphne, please.  I can’t take you to Strasbourg now!  The press will be all over!”  Spencer sighs, folding his hands. “We just came at a bad time.  She’s being so generous-”

“She’s calling for a pogrom!”  Daphne finally manages.

“But it’s not against you, so it’s fine!”  Spencer stops, realising his error.  “Well, not fine, but - I trust her with you, shouldn’t that be enough?”

It is the exact opposite of enough.  Daphne’s eyes narrow.  “Why?”

“She tells you exactly what she thinks - no, no, I-I didn’t mean it that way!”  Spencer raises his arms.  “I don’t agree with her, but she doesn’t hide what’s on her mind.  Does that make sense?”

“No.”  Daphne folds her arms.  “I’m not staying with the Nazi axe lady, Spencer.  I can’t believe the press didn’t catch you at whatever rally you dug her up at. Heh, just my luck.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.”  Spencer snorts.  “We never discussed politics if I could avoid it, and it wasn’t like we were public with our - “

He stops, cutting himself off.  Daphne stares at him.

“With your what?”

Spencer giggles, shaking a little.  “Um… heh.  That’s a… really silly question - ”

Daphne lifts her head.  “With.  Your.  What?”

Spencer closes his eyes.  “With our…ah…relationship?”

Daphne concentrates on breathing.  In, and out.  Every few months, Spencer will say something truly idiotic, like demanding she wear white at someone else’s wedding, and she’ll think, ‘this is the one.’  This is the single stupidest thing she will ever hear her husband say.

And every single time, she’s been proven wrong.  “Are you serious?”

“It’s ancient history, don’t worry!  I don’t think she’s jealous!”

“Jealous?”  Daphne laughs.  “Oh, well, that’s good to know, that’s what I was worried about!  God, Spence, how’d you ever manage to lose her!?”

“I-I showed her the bug collection.” Spencer smiles desperately.

“Oh my God.”

“Hey, she didn’t kill me then!  That’s a point for her, isn’t it?”

“I must be the dumbest woman alive,” Daphne says blankly.  “I actually managed to get abducted by you.”

“Have you two finished?”  The door creaks open, and Lianna’s head pops out.  “The RG has spy planes on our perimeter.  Your bickering will alert them to my - ”  She pauses, scowling at Daphne.  “Do you ever stop doing that?”

“Doing…what?”  Daphne asks cautiously, tensing in case the vampire comes charging down the hall.

“Smiling.”  Lianna frowns.  “Are you high on those Jew-imported narcotics, or just as much of an airhead as this list makes you out to be?”

Daphne pales, her eye twitching.  Lianna watches for a moment, then rounds on Spencer. “This is your work, isn’t it?”

Spencer chuckles nervously.  “I have no idea what - ”

“Don’t play the fool, Spencer.”  Lianna snaps.  “This reeks of your insecurities.  End it.”

Spencer eventually coughs up a response.  “Lee-Lee, I puh-puh-promise, I’ll leave Daph a buh-buh-blank slate when I-”

“NOW!”

“YES MA’AM!”  Spencer’s eyes immediately flash gold.  “You can stop smiling, Daph!”

“Excellent. That was pathetic, even for you.”  Lianna turns back towards the gymnasium, hissing over her shoulder.  “And if you stutter out that insipid pet name again, I will ram your head against the wall.”

The door slams closed.  Spencer’s smile struggles to keep from collapsing, but Daphne’s eyes sparkle.  Her finally relieved lips open with awe.

Did she just…

… and he…

… she even called out the names?

“Ruh-ruh-ruh-right…”  Spencer turns around.  “Look, if you give Lianna a chance, I’m sure…sure…”  He pauses, looking at Daphne’s smirk.  “What’s that about?”

“I think I’m finding common ground.”  Her voice is filled with wonder.

Spencer frowns.  “Really?  Aren’t you worried about that pogrom?”

“Oh, absolutely.  But I’m hoping that you end up like those watermelons first.”

“And remember, the Glamour goes back in its little box the second - ”

“- I take it off, I know, Spencer.  We’ve been over this three times.”

Spencer hesitates, lip quivering.  “Okay.  But… did you remember to pack your toothbrush?  Toothpaste, too?”

“Spencer, you packed them.  I couldn’t move.”

“Oh.  Oops.”

Near the car, Mallory snickers.  They’ve been going on like this for the past five minutes, while Lianna watches them from the shadows of the gates.  Spencer looks at her little hands, squeezes them in his own.  “It’s just… are you sure you’ll be okay?  It’s such a long time.”

“It’s only five days, I’ll be alright.”

“I’m right in your pocket if you miss me.  Just a call away!”

Right.  Because Daphne will be the one calling.  She squeezes his hands in turn.  There’s a certain giddiness at the thought of his departure, despite the rest of it.  “I’ll try to limit myself.  You’re doing such important work.”

He smiles.  “Not nearly as important as-”

“Spence, come on!”  Mallory honks the rental car’s horn.

“Coming!”  Spencer takes a single step, before looking back worriedly.  “And you have your goggles, right?  Your helmet?”

“Harcourt, if you dawdle any longer, the Sun’s light will sink into this alcove.”  Lianna gestures to the shaded part of the wall she’s secluded herself in.  “And then I’ll be very peeved.”

“Alright, I’m moving!”  Spencer sighs and looks into Daphne’s eyes.  “Stay safe, darling.  Can I have a farewell kiss?”

Her expression falls.  He’s not going to leave until he gets it.  She balances on her toes and pecks him on the lips, quickly, before he can get his tongue anywhere.  As she retreats, she waves.

“Bye, Spencer!  Hope you have fun!”

Spencer opens the car door, his smile growing sad.  “I won’t.”

Mallory makes sure they leave with a roar.  Daphne stands in silence, watching the car recede.  She was planning on leaping for joy, but in the moment, her excitement is… strangely drained.

Why does she feel so tired?  The absence of that constant presence beside her suddenly feels hollow instead of uplifting.  Is she… missing him?

Or was this just another mind game he’s playing?

There’s a tearing sound behind her.  Daphne turns around to see Lianna gnawing into a piece of jerky.

Lianna swallows. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Stare out all… wistfully, like some beleaguered housewife?  Spencer must adore it.”

There it is.  The familiar pit in her gut.  Daphne frowns.  “I don’t much care if he does.”

“Mmm.”  Lianna holds the bag of jerky out.  “Want a bite?  It’s a little processed for my taste, but real meat is quite hard to find in daylight.”

“Don’t vampires usually drink blood?”  Daphne asks quietly, looking suspiciously at the meat.  There’s no telling what it came from.

“Care to offer your neck?”  Lianna tilts her head.  Daphne quickly takes two steps back.  “Then I must rely on substitutes.”

The vampire points around the castle.  “The largest tent is our mess, meals are signalled when the bugle sounds ‘Assembly.’  You’d best be on time; we don’t snack.  I’m having your belongings placed at the top of that tower, there.  Feel free to fly to it, if that’s more convenient.”

“Fly?”  Daphne touches her hair.  “Shouldn’t I wear my Glamour?”

“My men are familiar with our ways.”  Lianna snorts.  “You have no reason to hide from them.”

Daphne can think of several extremely compelling reasons, but she nods anyway.

“Perfect.  Enjoy your stay…”   Lianna glances at the list.  “Daphne.  This mentions a midnight curfew.  I’ll check in then.”

Daphne blinks in confusion as the vampire nonchalantly walks up the wall, at a perfect right angle.  She only sticks to the shadows, sliding around any sunlight.

“WAIT!”  Daphne calls.  “That’s it?  What about rules?”

Lianna pauses, looking down.  “Rules?”

Daphne fiddles.  “I…thought you’d have more of them.”

“I already told you, my Kepts are not coddled.  Do you want them?”  Lianna studies the paper  “Are you one of those degenerates who use the Keeping to sate their deviant urges?”

Daphne pales.  “No! I just…” she looks back, fidgeting.  “... I don’t know what to do.”

Lianna stares at her for a moment, then drops down from the wall, landing on her feet.  It’s as if gravity doesn’t fully apply to her.

“I have a question for you.  One…”  She purses her lips on the word.  “...Ebonic to another.  What sort of Kept are you?”

Daphne hesitates.  Is this some sort of test?  It sounds like she’s working her way up to another ‘rant’.

Lianna notes her silence.  “The ancient Spartans lived a brutal life, unfathomable to modern man.  Sickly infants were left on the cliffs to die, and could only be considered Spartiate if they returned.  Each found some method to survive that environment, and the Keeping demands much the same.  So how are you?”

“My husband’s list should give enough clues.”

Lianna snickers, then holds the paper up.  To Daphne’s astonishment, she tears it in half.

“No Keeper admits the truth of his Keeping.”  The vampire says, letting the strips sail from her hand.  “This list shows only what he wants me to see.  I am far more curious about my guest.”

Daphne folds her arms.  “I don’t think I’ve had the option to do anything, thanks.”

“Oh, but you have.  Each Keeping creates a new Kept,” Lianna furrows her brows.  “Some try to make themselves unseen.  Others weasel out of whatever work they can.  Once I had a Kept who insisted on becoming my friend.  God forgive, he would never stop talking.”

Daphne hesitates.  Lianna only started acting friendly when Spencer was gone, and she’s not stupid enough to take her at her word.  “What if I told you I wasn’t sure?”

Lianna pops more meat into her mouth.  “You’d be lying.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, both waiting on the other to move first.  Eventually, Lianna leans back, relenting.

“Very well.  I won’t pry.  How about I offer some… basic regulations to sate your lust for service, instead?”

Daphne nods, not hiding her frown at the words.

“Under my house, you follow my rules.  I believe your volk calls that hospitality,” Lianna smirks.  “Try to avoid hurting yourself, attend meals, and get permission before you fly above the castle grounds, I don’t care who from.  The rest is yours.”

Daphne lifts a brow. “No commands?”

“None.”

“And if I just… leave you alone?”

The vampire’s eyes glisten.  “Look at that.  Some intelligence.  I suppose your husband makes you hide it.  Wouldn’t want others to see how easily he’s outclassed.”

Despite herself, Daphne lets out a snort of laughter.  Lianna nods and steps back onto the wall, weaving between streaks of sunlight.  A sudden thought strikes Daphne, and she clears her throat.

“What exactly is stopping me from leaving?”

The vampire doesn’t pause.  “Nothing.”

“So what happens if I do?”

Lianna smirks, taking another bite of the ‘jerky’.

“You won’t.”

continue reading -> 

Howdy everyone!  Lehanna here to talk about my… rather awkward namesake!

To start, I want to make clear that HeartWorks endorses practically nothing that spews out of that vampire’s mouth… but she is extremely fun to write, and I hope she entertains you all as much as she’s entertained the team.  What are your thoughts?  Could the crazed Nazi join Daphne’s side?  Are parts of her not as comically evil as she might appear?

Find out in Chapter 11: Tending Flames, coming out next Friday, September 22nd! I’ll see y’all there!