Where A Witch Goeth

Chapter Twenty Seven: The Hits Keep Comin'

Van's apartment was entirely gold and black, from the black furniture with gold knobs in the sitting room down to a large canopied bed draped in black velvet curtains held back by gold tassels in the adjoining bedroom. Even the silk wallpaper and the large double doors between the sitting room and the boudoir were black, with greek key gold trim. Beyond the color scheme, I had very little attention for the details of his rooms because I couldn't take my eyes off Van.

He was starving, and his meal approached, and his dark, alluring vampire magic made my glamour look like an adolescent attempt at sex appeal. I don't think he was intentionally enthralling me. It was as he had explained before—his natural predatory skill rising to the surface when he needed it.

His eyes glittered with need, and his skin was lit with a soft otherwordly glow. Every movement he made was a graceful allusion to foreplay. He reached for a glass of water for me, and I imagined him caressing me. He smiled and I imagined those sensuous lips coasting my most sensitive skin. He raked back his hair—and I imagined it falling in my face as he made love to me.

But it was the hair that allowed me to snap out of his unintentional thrall. I startled with amazement as I realized it had grown or had appeared to grow, at least five inches in length since I had seen him an hour ago. It was not curly or even wavy, but it parted in the middle and hung in graceful sleek arcs, framing his cheekbones and jaw. I imagined he had worn his hair long like this in colonial times, but at the same time, he looked much like Abraham in the twenty-first century—dangerous, edgy, timeless.

There were five other guests who had arrived prior to me, but I could hardly look away from Van to greet them.

Troy, Thacker, Mrs. Rothschild—who was Ace's regular benefactor—a beautiful young woman, and one of the possibly fraudulent Vanderbilt cousins. They were all drinking large glasses of orange juice. The twins looked resigned, Mrs. Rothschild serene, the young woman and the young man nervous.

"What's this? A party?" I said as I smiled at Van. God, I wanted him. Just once, I thought. Just once and then I will go back to my time and learn to live without him.

"Of sorts. I thought I'd let you choose—" Evander faded away, taking in my glamour, just as Ace as had been. He bit his lip, then turned from me abruptly. "Will you excuse us a moment, Ladies? Gentleman?"

He extended an arm, gesturing that I should move ahead of him into his bedroom. Behind me, he closed the double doors. When he turned around he thrust his hands in his pockets and looked me over thoughtfully.

"You look lovely," he said softly.

Lovely was not really how I looked. I had the benefit of knowing what twenty-first-century models looked like, with all their secret style tricks. I had the craft to make a glamour that could apply all those tricks plus appear to widen my eyes, plump my lips, hollow my cheekbones, shine my hair and slenderize me to the perfect figure of the times. I was the best-looking flapper in the joint tonight. And still, my beauty was nothing but normal compared to his striking appearance. No one that saw him at this moment could possibly think he was human. They would think he was an angel. A terrible, lusting, avenging angel. Lucifer himself, perhaps—the moment before his fall.

"Thank you," I swallowed hoarsely. "You look hot."

He looked confused and I realized I had done it again. "Hot" was not really a phrase to describe attractiveness in this decade. But since vampires were usually ice-cold, Van took the term as a compliment.

He advanced toward me, eyes roving over my enhanced features. "I shall be after I feed properly. Hot-blooded and soft as a mundane man. Perhaps we should spend those few hours of my restoration alone together. I like the idea of holding you, warming you with my touch, instead of making you shiver."