Forbidden - The Claim Part 1

FORBIDDEN: THE CLAIM.

SAMANTHA SOMMERSBY.

Chapter 1.

It started out as a perfect day, the kind of day that it was worth staying up to enjoy. The sky was completely clouded over and the rain was pouring down in torrents. It was barely 8:00 a.m. when I dragged my favorite black leather chair over to the large picture window so I could enjoy my merlot and watch the storm. Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking he drinks at eight o'clock in the morning? The answer is yes. I drink what I want, when I want. I eat what I want, when I want. And, except for a short list of prohibited items, I do what I want, when I want. You see... I am immortal... I am a vampire.

It was early evening. Lightning split the darkened sky, illuminating the rocky coastline of the island. My island. I leaned my head back, released a sigh, draped my hand over the armrest of the chair, and let the last of Violet's letters flutter to the floor to join the others. I'd discovered them among Grace's belongings shortly after her death, and I'd spent the last few weeks reading them.

Each pa.s.sage seemed to reveal something else to me, some nuance, some detail. I felt like a bit of a voyeur. It was as if I were staring into the window of her very soul. She'd laid it all bare. Not for me, of course, but it was there nonetheless. Her hopes and dreams, her fears and doubts, her longings. In her delicate hand she'd written to Grace more than a hundred letters over the years. During the course of their correspondence, Grace had clearly become her friend and confidant.

I stood up and stretched, then made my way over to my new iMAC G5. I was determined to give writing to Violet just one more try before turning in and getting a few hours of sleep. The high pitched hum sounded, the monitor came to life, and I pulled up a new doc.u.ment. In the past month I'd tried to write to her more than a dozen times to tell her of Grace's death. Tried and failed. I just...couldn't seem to find the right words.

Violet.

Dear Violet.

My dearest Violet.

It was no use. I didn't even know how to begin. I picked up the snapshot of her that Grace had kept in her wallet, a young girl in cap and gown, sunlight bouncing off her fiery red hair. Her bright green eyes full of mirth. She had jumped up into the air, diploma in hand, and someone had captured the moment. My throat tightened and my chest constricted. I reminded myself for the thousandth time that I was grieving and that the sadness was natural.

But this was more than sadness, more than grief for the loss of Fred and Grace. This was discontentment. And I shouldn't be feeling it. I have everything I've ever wanted, after all. So why am I sitting here torn apart by this sense of hunger, yearning for what I can't have and shouldn't want?

It was clearly her fault, Violet's. Her letters had touched me. And her face... Her face had managed to etch itself deep within my subconscious, weaving itself into my dreams. Unwittingly, unknowingly, she had awakened something in me, making me realize a depth of loneliness and an emptiness that I hadn't wanted to admit to. Until recently my resolve had been steadfast, my path certain. I had been content with my life up until now. It was a n.o.ble life, one of service and honor, one my father would have been proud of. Now? Now I felt riddled with self-doubt.

I'd always been somewhat of a loner, but since my elevation to Dominie, I hadn't left the island and I received few guests. I didn't want the distraction, the temptation. I didn't want to take the risk of repeating the sins of my father.

I hadn't been completely alone during my self-imposed confinement. There had been visits from Fred and Grace, there had been the occasional visit from other Dominie, and then there were my weeks with Rita.

Rita was my consort, presented to me by one of the elders. When I first met her she was fresh and sweet and satisfying...to a degree. She'd never really been my lover, although we f.u.c.ked with some regularity, at least early on. Over the past fifty years, Rita had become more and more of a friend, perhaps the only one I'd ever had. I knew that she wanted more, but I couldn't offer it and she understood that. Not to her. Not to anyone.

I pulled up instant messaging so that I could check to see if Rita was on-line. She wasn't. I felt desperate to talk to someone. I never felt desperate. It had turned out to be a banner day for Byron Renfield-desperation and discontentment.

I walked to the window that overlooked the coastline and peered outside. The sky was a dark grey and the temperature was dropping. I expected the rain would be turning to snow soon. "Now is the winter of my discontent," I murmured, staring down into my now empty wine gla.s.s.

A knock at the door roused me from my self-pitying stupor. I wasn't expecting anyone and no one came uninvited. That's one of the advantages of living on an island. My heart skipped a beat and the palms of my hands began to sweat. Yes, my heart beats and my hands sweat. I'm immortal, I'm not dead.

The knock came again.

"Mr. Renfield?"

I picked up my discarded black cashmere sweater, pulled it on over my head, and hastily combed my fingers through my hair. It was time for a trim, I thought, before running my hand over my chin to check for stubble. I needed a shave, too.

I padded barefoot over towards the front door, trying to remain calm even though my heart rate was increasing with each step. After confirming that the door was locked, I laid my hand on the surface of it and closed my eyes. On the other side I detected a human, a woman. And her pull seemed unusually strong. I s.h.i.+vered. I could already feel her effects. All human women were dangerous, but this one...

"Mr. Renfield?"

"Yes?"

What on earth possessed me to answer? I should have just stood there. She probably would have gone away...eventually.

"It's Violet. Violet Deeds," she shouted out over the din of the storm. "Could you let me in, Mr. Renfield? It's awfully cold and wet out here. Grace invited me up for the weekend. She said you wouldn't mind one more. It was so nice of you to-"

Before I was able to talk myself out of it, I opened the door. I told myself that it was just idle curiosity. That I just wanted to get a glimpse of her, maybe chat a bit, nothing more.

"Come in," I said, stepping back.

She rushed in and quickly closed the door. Then she turned and smiled up at me. My breath caught in my throat. She was simply dazzling. Despite the cold, warmth radiated from her body. Her scent surrounded me, enveloping me in an aroma so intoxicatingly delicious that it was almost dizzying. It had been so long since I'd been in the presence of a woman, a human woman that is; I had forgotten how enticing they could be.

I swallowed; perhaps opening the door had been a mistake. "Grace invited you, here?" I asked as she collapsed her umbrella and leaned it against the corner.

"Yes!" she replied nodding enthusiastically and extending her hand. "I received her letter about six weeks ago. Grace said that she and Fred were going to be with you for a while and she invited me up. I wrote back to confirm. I would have called you personally as well, but..."

Her hand was small and delicate and it was waiting for me to grasp it. I reached out, slowly, and encircled it in mine. The tips of my fingers began to tingle. A hum spread throughout my body. Her skin was soft, but her handshake was firm and confident. My toes curled, digging into the lush oriental carpet of the entryway in an attempt to anchor me.

"I don't have a phone," I finished, looking into her eyes.

"Right," she said, softly.

Seconds pa.s.sed. Violet looked down and I realized that her hand was still in mine. I cleared my throat, loosened my grip, and watched as her hand slid from mine. The loss was registered deep in my belly.

"Sorry. You must be freezing. I have a fire in the living room. Can I take your coat, Miss Deeds?" I asked. Then I watched, like a starving man, as she unfastened the b.u.t.tons and pealed the leather off of one shoulder, then the other. I was absolutely riveted. The supple looking black cowhide slid down the length of her long slender arms gradually revealing them to me. I noticed immediately how translucent her skin was. The pale blue cast to her flesh reminded me of the blue moon that followed the eruption of Krakatau back in 1883. I remembered how surreal that night had seemed, too. I had stood in the streets of Singapore, ash raining down upon me. That moon had been a spectacular sight...but not as spectacular as the vision before me.

Violet's rain-soaked hair hung in loose rivulets, framing her delicate features. Drops of water ran down her face and neck, glistening like jewels, making her flesh s.h.i.+mmer and making my mouth water. I imagined reaching out, touching her, gliding my hand over her exquisitely sculpted collarbone-better yet-my tongue. I imagined gliding my tongue over her collarbone, dipping it into the hollow of her throat before continuing the pleasurable journey downward, down to her warm, firm, perfectly round- My eyes lifted to meet hers; they were green and clearly conveyed her annoyance.

"Sorry. Did you say something? I seem to be a bit distracted today."

"You were staring."

"You have lovely eyes, quite like your Aunt Grace's."

"You were staring at my b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

Well, what the h.e.l.l was I supposed to say to that? The last time a human woman caught me staring must have been a century ago, and that young lady had been far more gracious ignoring my brief indiscretion. Women today prefer the direct approach, right? That's what Rita always says. So, I went for direct. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and looked her in the eye.

"They're lovely, too."

Violet laughed and shook a scolding finger at me.

I shrugged, giving her my best sheepish smile. I must have been forgiven, because she walked past me and into the living room. I rubbed the back of my neck and followed at a distance that allowed me to enjoy the view without looking obvious.

Violet Deeds may have been small boned, but she walked with determination. She was poised, self-a.s.sured, and she had a spectacular a.s.s. She was wearing a plain black t-s.h.i.+rt, well-worn, form-fitting blue jeans, and what appeared to be a pair of very expensive black leather boots. I watched as she stopped in front of the fire, then shook out her damp ma.s.s of curly red hair, sending droplets everywhere.

"I'm hoping that Grace has some clothes I can borrow, it seems that the airlines sent my luggage to Bora Bora. Bora Bora. Bella Bella. I guess it's an understandable mistake."

"I'm afraid my manners are rusty. Can I get you a towel?"

"Nah," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "And, please, call me Violet. May I call you Ren?"

It had been a month since I'd heard that name, since I'd even thought of it. "My sister called me Ren."

"As did Aunt Grace," she said as she extracted an envelope from the back pocket of her jeans. "So, where is she?"

"Grace wrote to you about me?" I asked, approaching her, curious about what Grace might have said.

"Yes, she's mentioned you from time to time. You're younger than I imagined. So, you and Fred are related?"

I felt the void again. Whenever I thought of Fred I felt it: the sadness, the loneliness, the anger.

"Oh, Fred! Don't leave me!" I cried as I held her frail and withered hand in mine.

"It's the way of things, Ren. We mate. We die. I wouldn't have given up the time I've

shared with Grace for anything, not anything. Where she goes, I go. It won't be long now, Ren."

"Don't talk like that. You know how time moves. It could be a year, maybe a decade-"

"No. Not for me. I must go. She's waiting for me."

"Fred!"

"Shh, I need you to promise me something."

"Anything."

"When they talk of me I want you to tell them that with my last breath I said I had no regrets, welcomed death, and expressed my unwavering devotion to the woman I loved.

Promise me, Ren. I won't have people scaring their children with tales of my mistake.

My life wasn't a mistake."

"But you're dying, Winifred!"

She reached out and wiped the tears from my face. "I'm just off to join Grace," she said.

Then she closed her eyes and turned to dust before me.

"Are you feeling all right? You're looking a bit pale."

My eyes snapped open and connected with hers. Violet was standing right in front of me, gazing intently, searching. Her scent swirled around me and G.o.d help me I let my lungs fill with it. I could smell the rain in her hair, the soap in her clothes, and the lavender and vanilla that she had used to wash her body. And then, beneath it all, there was that unmistakable base note. The scent that was uniquely her-Violet.

"I'm fine," I managed to choke out.

"The flu's been going around. I had a touch of it myself a couple weeks ago," she said as she reached up and placed the palm of one hand over my forehead. I felt the fingers of her other hand wrap halfway around my wrist, settling over my pulse point. I stood there, resisting the urge to abruptly pull away.

"Your pulse is quite rapid and you're diaph.o.r.etic."

"Really, I'm all right," I replied. "It's just...I wasn't expecting you. And, I'm afraid I'm not very good with words, Violet. So, I'm just going to come out with it."

She stepped back. Worry clouded her face and I loathed being the one to place it there, to have to cause this pain.

"Something's happened to Grace?" she asked.

I nodded, "Grace pa.s.sed away. It happened about a month ago."

"No!" she gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she sat down heavily on the sofa.

"I'm sorry."

"How is Uncle Fred?" she asked, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears.

For this I was going to have to sit down. "Fred isn't your uncle," I told her, reaching for the box of tissues that sat on the coffee table and offering her one. She didn't seem to notice.

"I guess I just always a.s.sumed that they were married."

"Actually, Fred was a woman and...she's dead. She...she pa.s.sed away an hour after Grace."

"What?"

"Fred was a woman and she's dead-"

"I heard you. I-I guess that I'm stunned. Are you sure?"

Was she kidding? Of course I was sure. I pulled a tissue from the box and gently wiped

the tears from her face.

"All these years... I just a.s.sumed that Fred and Grace were...married."

"Not legally, of course. But in every other way, Violet, they were. Winifred was a