Her Vampire Master Book two

Chapter Nine

Ciaran's head tilted towards Matilda, he lifted it just a bit to look at Mary. She was wearing a dark blue silk gown, it had a severely modest cut, it reminded him of a nun's habit. He smiled, thinking about the first time he saw her, her mouth pinched in terror, transcendent dark haunted eyes seeking his own. Despite the severity of the dress, she looked like a little girl with a big secret that she was eager to share. He smiled at her, feeling tender. "Tell Mr. Bran what you would prefer, Princess," he told her, his eyes hungry.

In a move too fast to follow, Charles picked up the blunt knife that rested by the edge of his plate and brought it down hard, through the back of Harold's hand, pinning it to the table.

Mary clapped gleefully. “Rude, naughty boy. Hands aren’t meant to be on the table,” she told their host, whose mouth had fallen open on a gurgling gasp of pain.

At the moment between understanding what she was seeing and seeing it, Matilda was simply puzzled by what she had seen. Ciaran had turned back to her, unconcerned. “It’s a game, darling,” he said.

The startled footman waiting to serve the next course had stepped toward the table, still holding a wine bottle to refill glasses. Charles left his chair and feinted left. The footman saw not a man but a man-shaped thing wearing the face of a monster, eyes glowing like a cat's in the soft candlelit room. He swung the wine bottle like a bludgeon and was blocked. Absorbing a punch that snapped his head back, he tried to shake it off with no thought of fighting. Turning away from that face was instinctive, and he had a moment to realize that it was also foolish as impossibly strong arms pinned his to his sides seconds before his throat was ripped out.

Matilda’s hysteria edged scream was all the signal Milos, in the kitchen needed. He had been whiling away the time chatting with the servants who were not occupied with the meal that was being served in the dining room.

He watched the reactions of the servants, who froze, and then started moving. The English butler who had been with the Hamiltons for over ten years, rushed to the dining room followed more slowly by the lady’s maid. The cook was a locally hired servant and had not been with the Bran’s long enough to have any notion of whether this behavior was special or alarming.

“Probably a mouse,” the footman shrugged standing by the door said.

“It’s not a mouse,” Milos told him. “Listen,” he nodded to the hall. Matilda Bran’s undulating scream had been abruptly cut off. A brief moment of silence before the maid screamed.

“That’s not surprise, or anger. That’s absolute terror you are hearing,” he explained to the two men left in the kitchen. He finished his bottle of beer, sitting it onto the counter.

The cook picked up a long, sturdy looking butcher knife.

Milos let his face change into that of his demon. He launched himself across the table and on the footman in a matter of seconds, taking his face in his hands and then snapping his neck with a ruthless twist that he had seen both Ciaran and Charles use in their kills.

He advanced on the cook holding the knife in front of him like he knew how to use it. For a fat man, he was unexpectedly swift, darting around a workbench to grab a poker from the cold kitchen hearth.

“Bad choice,” he observed. “I didn’t run when I had the chance, either.”

Charles strolled through the door, blood splattered his crisp white shirt. He wiped his mouth. He paused to nudged the dead body at his feet, and then looked at Milos. “Ah, a happy trip down memory lane?” he said with a smirk on his lips. His attention switched to the cook, “Just kill him, will you? Nothing worse than naive vampires waxing philosophical.”

The cook was armed with a poker, knife, and arms that were accustomed to lifting heavy sacks of wheat and cutting meat. The man was proving to be more of a challenge than Milos had anticipated. Charles hoped up onto the counter, he took a long swallow from the opened bottle of wine as he offered suggestions, mostly to the cook, who was sweating very heavily but still fighting.

The poker from the fireplace hurt as it hit his side, but Milos wasn't going to let anything slow him down, or so he thought. That was until the cook started to let Charles' suggestions sink in, and the tide started to turn.

"Go for the eyes, throat, groin, and even going for his legs will work," Charles called out with a smile, "He's faster than you, you've got to slow him down." He turned at the waist to open the cabinet door to check out its contents.

The cook changed his tactics, he dropped his head and Charged at Milos, hitting him squarely in the chest while using the knife to stab him in the side. He twisted the blade in, and Milos let out an angry howl of rage.

"Got him good with that one," Charles congratulated the cook, the cook used the poker to hit Milos in the head until he let go of him. The cook staggered back, bent over, panting as he watched Milos, clearly waiting on the vampire to do something.

"Oh no, you hurt him." Charles deadpanned, "Ouch, he's a vampire, hurting him won't stop him."

"Now," he said jumping off the counter, strolling towards the two men, "Heard of them? Vampires? Fast, strong, bloodsuckers," he smirked, "though some of do like to eat. The asparagus was awful, you know,” he chided the cook.

Milos moved forward, starting to approach the cook again, Charles held up his hand, "Don't interrupt me, I had to eat the over-cooked asparagus. The beef was very rare, so it wasn't that bad, but that thick mushroom sauce?"