I Bite She Sucks, Bloom, Penelope [recommended reading TXT] 📗

Coven's interest in you, I'm obligated to advise that you and your friends don't wander beyond our grounds. For your own good," he added.

Riggs made no response. "For your own good, I'll advise that you don't tell me what to do."

Victor smiled as if Riggs had thanked him and shook his hand. "Enjoy your stay, Riggs."

"Fuck," Vlad said loudly when Victor turned and the three of them started to leave. "If that went much longer, I wasn't sure the virgin I had in the torture chamber was going to survive. I forgot to plug up a few holes I poked in him."

The woman made a disapproving noise, and then they were out of earshot.

"Asshole," Riggs muttered under his breath.

"For once, I agree with you," I said. "I don't trust that Victor guy."

"Congratulations. You possess at least an ounce of common sense."

I glared at his back as he reached in the truck to grab our things.

"Come on.” Riggs waved for me over his shoulder. “Our rooms await."

I looked up at the building again, then shook my head in disbelief. I'd literally stepped into one of my stories, hadn't I? A school for vampires? A werewolf bodyguard? Scheming vampire princes and warring factions trying to claim my life?

It was all so adventurous, but the only thing I could really think about was how badly I already needed to pee again. I guess that was the difference between real life and the books. Inconvenient bathroom breaks.

23

Sylvie

Riggs and I were led into the building by the man dressed in paint-stained overalls that looked terribly out of place in the posh mansion with its well-dressed vampire students and staff. Despite the grungy clothes, he had the upright, proper bearing of a butler.

"Casual Friday?" Riggs asked when the man introduced himself to us as Faraday, the groundskeeper. He had salt and pepper hair that he wore pushed back from a smooth forehead. Like most vampires, it seemed, he was above average in terms of good looks. I wondered if something about the transformation enhanced people's facial features, or if something about being good looking simply made them more likely to be chosen in the first place.

Faraday sneered. "Most of my day is spent crawling into godforsaken crevices, wrestling dusty old furniture, or cleaning shit from toilet seats. It's hardly work made for fine clothing."

"Who did you piss off to land this gig?" Riggs asked.

“I was a rival of Miss Black’s former lover. What began as a punishment became a passion,” he said, shrugging as he wasn’t bothered if we completely understood what that even meant.

I'd been gawking at the grounds while we followed, and I lagged a little behind. A group of three young men roughly my age were lounging on the stone wall surrounding the main building. One of them met my eyes and I felt that same tingling presence in my head. I found myself stepping in their direction before I knew what was happening.

Riggs was there suddenly, strong arm around my waist as he pulled me to himself. "Stay with me, Sylvie." He ducked his chin and tapped his temple, giving me a meaningful nod.

There was a tenderness I didn't expect in his voice or his touch. Both made me feel like I was about to melt, but I reminded myself not to give into his royal assholeness. Protecting me had about the same emotional value to him as cooking up a batch of fries did to a fast food worker. For the tenth time, I reminded myself not to be an idiot and tried to shove the interaction into the “not important” trash bin in my head.

But I didn't shake off his arm, which was pleasantly firm and wrapped around my back while his hand had a grip on the small of my waist.

"This building is four hundred years old," Faraday explained as we entered through the main double doors, which had to be at least fifteen feet high. The main entry was all wood paneled, hand carved luxury with a backdrop of gorgeous, but haunting stained glass. The images depicted what looked like fallen angels, crying women, and fields of bodies. "It has survived two fires, a near miss from a tornado, vandalism, and even a direct attack from a particularly angry pack of werewolves." He gave Riggs a lingering eyebrow raise at the last.

"Wasn't my pack," he muttered.

"All the same," Faraday said, gesturing for us to follow him up one of two curved staircases. Groups of students were moving about the building in what must've been a changeover period between classes. "The building has endured. My job is to keep it standing. I’ve repaired nearly half of the woodwork, personally restored several of the portraits in the smoking room and seen to updating many decorations and furniture pieces to be in keeping with the original style of the home. I’ve never had children, but I do have Blackridge. That means if you and yours decide to make a ruckus, it'll be me you're dealing with."

Riggs grinned. "Noted."

"These windows are original. Two hundred and forty-four years old. They were commissioned by Robert the White as a wedding gift for his misses. Of course she died before they were finished and he was beheaded by a town mob a year after that."

"Lovely," Riggs said. "You can spare us the tour guide act. Just show us where our rooms are and leave us be."

"Actually," I said. "I find it interesting."

Riggs sighed, but didn't stop Faraday when he jumped back into explaining every detail of the things we passed.

"This wainscoting was actually done by Henry the Pink himself. Lived here three hundred years back and had a bit of a woodworking hobby. He cut the walnut trees, milled them, and did this all on his own for a winter project one year."

"Henry the Pink?" I asked.

"Working with your hands isn't the most respected pastime among vampires. It especially wasn't in his day. The name was intended as an insult from his fellows,