The Key (Sanguinem Emere) by Carmen Taxer Read Free Book Online Page A

see,” He mutters. “Well I can’t make you stay, but I do wish you would. At least for a few days. My home is open to you. I’ll provide you with clothing, toiletries, whatever else you desire. If we are without something you need, you can always instruct my man, Julian, to collect it for you.”
    He stands and makes to leave, but he reaches out a hand to me as he goes, hoping I’ll take it to stand, I assume, “I really do hope you choose to stay.”
    I ignore his hand and stand in the small space between us, neatly pressed to his chest, “You promised me a story, Mr Kron.”
    He winces at the formal title, but takes the range opportunity to place a very chaste kiss on my forehead before I can move away, “Tomorrow night.
    “If you’re still here.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    MONDAY 17 November 2008… 11:03
    I woke up with twelve roses on the bed beside me this morning and I called in to work sick.
    And in a way, I’m beginning to think that I am. Behaving just like a beaten wife. The promise of his story was just too good to pass up. At least that’s the reason I’m defecting to when it comes to a plausible explanation as to why I am still here. See, I think I know what he’s doing – keeping me here with tiny flashes of a story, assuring me that he will give me the scoop I have so desperately wanted ever since the opportunity to meet him became a reality. But maybe it’s just a means to keep me from going home.
    But to what end? What can holding me here in the throes of anticipation possibly accomplish that he could want? And what does he care if I go home now and refuse any further contact with him?
    I won’t do that, but it is nice to think I’m capable of it.
    Delilah sashays towards me from the doorway, a smile on her face and two very green drinks in her hands. I have to admit, it is good to have this time with them in what feels like their natural element. Her and Cecily. Though the urge to rip into my baby sister has definitely not abated entirely.
    I touch the bracelet on my wrist and think wistfully of him.
    It’s pouring down buckets outside, casting the upstairs room we’ve congregated in into comforting darkness - lit with the familiar lamps and candelabra - but the killer summer heat hasn’t died in the storm’s wake. If anything, the air’s just become more stifling, hunkering under the suffocating humidity of the season.
    Well, at least he has an air cooling system.
    Cecily, her one leg draped over my less at-ease lower half, has curled herself under the arm of one of the young guys that arrived a couple of hours ago. I think his name is Cameron.
    If I understand it correctly, Dimitri has friends just about everywhere and sometimes they randomly show up at his home, whether by invitation, or the hell of it, and make themselves at welcome.
    Which roughly translates into drink and make merry.
    On this particular occasion, Delilah sent a single text out, and within an hour, we were sequestered in the cosiest ‘living’ room available, availing ourselves of our host’s extensive liquor selection, as well as other, drier, smokier treats.
    Cecily’s hand wafts the joint up to me and I take it gratefully. It’s nothing new. Not to me. This is the way the other half lives.
    Haven’t seen Dimitri at all since last night, though. He certainly wasn’t lying about having everything I may need. I took a peek inside the closets. Yes, that was a plural. Three huge, pretty mahogany cabinets, full to bursting with clothing I never thought I would be wearing. Fabrics I can’t name and in colours that make me giddy with excitement to try them on. Curiously, they all seem to be of the appropriate size. And with shoes to match. And in styles that I am rather fond of. It makes me wonder, did he have clothing purchased just for me? For such an occasion when I would find myself in his home without