Part 1 (1/2)
IVONA KNIGHT, VAMPYRESS.
by Shannon Leigh.
CHAPTER ONE
As the others darted about the dimly lit bar, Ivona leaned back in her burgundy leather armchair. She gracefully slipped one long, lithe leg over the other, crossing them at the knees. She folded her hands on her lap in a pose of tranquility, casually watching the handful of men and women as they fussed about the old rustic room.
Completely at ease within the midst of darkness, she reveled in its comfort as it lurked around the borders of the limited candlelight and gently kissed her cheeks with glacial lips.
Smelling fear permeate the air, Ivona couldn't help but smile.
The hammering storm cut off the electricity and continued to blast the tavern's walls outside with torrential waves of rain, wind, and hair-raising thunder, obviously unnerving her skittish cohabitants. The long, drawn out bawls crackled and snapped like the splintering of a ma.s.sive plank of wood. Each spark of lightning sent eerie shadows crawling along the pub's walls and floor, their sinister fingers seemingly groping for the room's terrified inhabitants, fervently reaching with sharp, black claws in hopes of ensnaring fresh victims. Undaunted by themenacing weather or baleful gloom, Ivona merely relaxed in her chair and smiled pleasantly at the others.
Unlike his wary patrons, the gray-haired bartender seemed unaffected by the threatening squall. As though he were completely sure of the aged tavern's ability to ward off the pummeling blows of the raging tempest outside, he merely continued to dry several tankards with a faded white towel, then gingerly placed them upon their designated resting spots on a shelf behind the bar. After completing his task, he slowly sauntered his meaty frame to the front door, glanced out the tattered brown curtains, then turned to address the room's anxious inhabitants.
”The bridge is washed out,” he yelled above the growing roar of nervous chatter. ”I'm afraid no one will be leavin'
tonight.”
A pet.i.te blonde in the back of the room jumped up from her seat. ”But I have to get back home before my husband discovers-”
”I'm sorry, ma'am. There's no other way out of here,” he cut in, holding up his hands apologetically. ”Unless you're willin' to brave the forest out back. Wouldn't advise it though, nearest town is two miles away. An' the woods are not safe to travel at night. All kinds of nasty critters in there.”
Ivona chuckled to herself. What of the 'critters' in here?
Truly, they are equally wicked.
”How long is this storm gonna last?”The question came from the man seated next to the woman. With his graying temples and smart, navy suit, his age likely doubled hers. It was your typical affair-older man with a younger woman. Ivona snorted in disgust.
The bartender glared at him, disbelief hardening his features. ”An' how the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l am I supposed to know?” he roared back. ”From the looks of things, it's gonna be a while.”
”What do you suppose we do for the next several hours?” The deep voice had a strong southern drawl, the rich baritone suddenly filling the cold room with all the warmth of vibrant suns.h.i.+ne on a lazy summer day.
Ivona barely remembered the sun. It had been so long since she'd felt its welcoming rays upon her skin. Just the sound of this man's voice was enough to bring forth some of those ancient and precious memories.
Although posed to the bartender, Ivona had the distinct feeling the question held a silent proposition for her as well.
She casually glanced toward the bar. Sure enough, her inquisitive gaze met a pair of striking blue eyes, overshadowed with thick, but neat, black brows.
The man's firm, sensual mouth pulled into an appealing grin, his straight white teeth were a stark contrast in the dim light. He lifted his shot gla.s.s in mock salute, then downed the amber colored contents in one gulp. But before either one could acknowledge the other's attraction, another question drew their attention.”What about food?” an elderly man called. ”I don't know about the rest of ya, but I'm starvin'!”
Several others nodded their heads in mute agreement.
The bartender stroked his stubbled chin between a thick thumb and forefinger. ”Well, I've got a sandwich an' chips in the back, but it's hardly enough to feed all of ya.”
Then, as though forgetting the roaring wind and thunderous blasts outside, the paltry meal became the center of everyone's attention-everyone, excluding Ivona and the blue jean-clad man lounging at the bar. Voices once again rose in excitement as the patrons argued over how to divide the bartender's offering.
Several moments pa.s.sed and the chaos only seemed to grow as opposite s.e.xes formed sides against the other. The guys favored purchasing a share, but the women disagreed, claiming the men should be chivalrous and donate their portion to them. Some poor soul even suggested drawing straws, and they nearly tossed him outside to the tempest.
No matter how much they fussed and argued, no one could agree on how to part.i.tion the food.
”I have an idea,” a slight feminine voice b.u.t.ted into the midst of the maelstrom. At first, no one paid her any heed.
”I said, I have an idea,” she repeated louder, seemingly determined for them to listen. Everyone suddenly stopped their bickering and turned all eyes toward the middle-aged woman seated in the far, left-hand corner.”I propose we play a game. The winner will get the entire sandwich and the chips. Everyone has an equal opportunity of winning, and since we're obviously stuck here a while, it will also pa.s.s the time.”
Seemingly intrigued by the suggestion, the others began settling back into their seats. A look of triumph pasted on her otherwise plain features, the woman stood up next to her chair. Then she explained the rules of the game.
Each partic.i.p.ant would have a chance to tell a story without interruption by any of the others. It could be real or fictional. When all anecdotes were finished, the bartender would judge which was best, with the winner taking the spoils.
Surprisingly, everyone liked the idea. The men quickly moved tables out of the way and rearranged the chairs into a big circle in the middle of the room. Once accomplished, the next task was deciding who should go first.
”Now what?” the young blonde asked with obvious excitement, apparently forgetting her waiting husband at home.
”I'd like to hear from the lady in red, if there's no objection.”
The smooth baritone sung through Ivona's veins like a bow across a well-tuned cello. A strange shudder worked its way up her legs and centered at the juncture of her thighs, followed by a flash of moisture, a rush of heat. She glanced back at the bar, taking in his attractive physique from thetop of his dark head to the rounded toes of his black Harley boots.
This man was straightforward. She liked that. No beating around the bush.
He was tall, lean, and well proportioned. His shoulders were broad, seemingly filling his black T-s.h.i.+rt to just the point of full without pressing the seams unnecessarily. His worn jeans hung well on his trim waist and long legs, molding along his muscled thighs, and outlining the form at his groin with expertise.
Ivona's gaze lingered on his crotch precariously, boldly a.s.sessing his potential with little concern for her bawdy behavior. Nice. Then she moved her inspection upward.
His rugged features were pleasantly appealing-face beardless and sharp, profile strong and rigid. She could tell he came from good stock. There was a lot of history within his genes. And perhaps, quite a bit within his jeans as well.
Seemingly amused by her careful scrutiny, he winked, then s.h.i.+fted to lean back against the bar, one elbow propping up his pleasing form. The movement drew her gaze to his muscled chest and flat abs. All this man needed was a leather coat and he'd be the perfect bad boy. She wondered if a motorcycle waited out back.
Ivona shrugged with feigned indifference. ”Fine with me,” she replied, and then swiveled in her seat, quickly turning away lest he think himself too tempting to pa.s.s by.
When no one else disputed his request, Ivona resolved herself to going first and silently waited for everyone to find a seat. It didn't surprise her when Mr. Bad Boy chose the chair directly across from her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she did her best to ignore him.
When several of the others continued to s.h.i.+ft from one spot to another or talk to their partners, her patience quickly grew thin. With strained annoyance, she loudly cleared her throat, announcing that she was ready to start whenever they were. As if on command, the room suddenly grew quiet, and all eyes became focused on her.
Dipping her head slightly, ”My name is Ivona Valeriu Knight,” she began. ”I was born in Targoviste, Romania, in the year fourteen hundred and forty-six.”
Ivona sat motionless for a long moment, quietly studying the reactions of the others. Some wore expressions of disbelief, their brows furrowing together above their noses in frowns of skepticism, while others became instantly attentive to what she had to say, little sparks of curiosity glistening in their shocked stares.
She could see the calculations taking place across the features of her more intelligent listeners, counting, configuring, subtracting. These were the accomplished folk; they had acquired elite status and engineered success through their resourcefulness. The others-the ones who followed their intellectual leaders like faithful puppies, eagerly lapping at their heels for any sc.r.a.ps of coveted acknowledgment-merely stared back at her in dumbfounded silence, their simple minds seemingly hesitant and torn by conflicting thoughts and uncertain emotions.***
Romania...my homeland as well.
Lucian carefully hid his shock as he settled back into his chair and studied the intriguing woman across from him.
Her figure was curving and regal, seemingly perfect in form.