The Vampire King's Mate

Chapter 3: Nymphs in the Bedroom

Matthias

I could not believe that after all these centuries, I had found my flower... and she was here, beside me in the back of the Escalade. She had slid as far away from me as she could, her body pressed against the door, her head leaning against the cold glass. Her face was set into an expressionless mask that showed no emotion, not even fear. Instead her eyes stared unseeing out the window. I couldn't help myself, I reached over and picked up a lock of her long hair, and drank deeply of her scent. It was so delicious, the sweetest aphrodisiac, the most heavenly perfume on earth. And she had no idea. She had no idea the power she wielded in her body.

In a little over two hours, we had pulled up to the Fortress. I had begun construction on the fortress more than a hundred years ago. It was a blend of medieval strength and modern security, stone towers and state of the art surveillance systems. It was built into the side of the side of the mountain, and the walled-in grounds covered nearly 1000 acres. It had provided a home and a sanctuary for my family for more than a century. And after a hundred lifetimes, I was finally bringing my bride home.

Well, it wasn't exactly as I had envisioned it.  We drove around to the private entrance, so that we could go directly to my personal tower, the rooms I had been preparing for her since her birth. She was stiff and reluctant as I pulled her out of the vehicle. She looked up at the massive towers with unreadable eyes.  Her fingers trailed over the stone walls, the carved doors... she had an interesting habit of touching everything... everything except for me it seemed, as she did her best to avoid any contact with my body. I brought her up to the tower door. I pushed it open and stood aside for her to enter. She looked lost and out of place, standing there in her ratty tank top and sagging shorts. 

"Come, let me give you the tour." I used that as an excuse to take her hand again. At least she did not pull away. She seemed a bit dazed and overwhelmed as her eyes grazed over the plush couches, the modern entertainment center, the marble-topped bar in the corner, the table and chairs arranged under a hanging Tiffany lamp. The way she looked at the lamp, tipped her head inquisitively, and wrinkled her brow made me suspect that she knew it was a genuine artifact. I knew things about her, snippets and ideas I had picked up from my dreams of her life. I knew her favorite colors, I knew her fondness for fine art and books, for plants. I motioned to an antique table in front of the window. "Perhaps, my dear, you would like to set the plant down there."

"Oh. Right." She was still hugging that plant in its plastic pot. She carried it over to the window and set it down, smoothing out the leaves that had gotten rumpled in chaos and struggle of the night. I watched her fingers and felt a pang of jealousy. Good lord, jealous of a plant! But truly, she stroked the leaves with love and tenderness, and I longed for her to touch me like that.

"Okay, come, let me show you upstairs."

I lead the way up the curving staircase, she paused to admire the stained glass windows as she climbed up. The second story was the bedroom. The king size master bed, with its four, intricately carved posts dominated the round room. But she hardly glanced at the bed, though. "Oh... oh my God." She had walked straight to the almost life-size painting, her mouth open. "Nymphs and Satyr" she murmured, her eyes raking over the huge painting. "Its amazing... it looks just like the original."

"It is the original."

"No... I've seen the original." She whispered, her hand reaching out, hovering over the canvas, but NOT touching the precious painting. "I saw it once, it the Sterling Clark Art Institute."

I came and stood beside her, clasping my hands behind my back. "This is the original. I commissioned a copy for the Clark Institute four years ago, and bought the original copy."

"No! They would never agree... this was one of Sterling Clark's personal favorites." Rose argued, but as she scrutinized the painting, she couldn't find any flaw. Because there was no flaw. It really was the original. I had seen her in my dreams, sitting in front of the painting for hours, staring at it, sketching it in her sketchpad. It had been one of the few dreams I'd had of her over the years which had given away a location... but the timing of the dreams wasn't entirely accurate. It could have been yesterday, it could have been weeks ago. And when I flew to Massachusetts to the Art Institute, and questioned the tour managers, they couldn't give me any information. Hundreds of tour groups went through each week. Schools from all over the region visited every day. Although they had granted me access to the security footage, I couldn't find her. Always, I was too late, three steps behind her. But I had brokered a deal to buy the painting that same day. If my flower loved the painting, she was going to have it, no matter the cost. I had commissioned an exact copy to replace it, and bought the original Bouguereau for an outrageous sum of money. I could have bought the Mona Lisa for the amount I had paid, but in this moment, looking at her staring at the huge painting with such an expression of awe... it was worth every penny.

"This is the original Rose. I bought it for you."

Her mouth dropped open as she looked at me. "You're kidding, right?"  She turned back to the painting, studying the figures of the nude nymph women who were dragging the satyr into the water.  It was a very sensual painting to hang in a bedchamber.

"No madam, I am dead serious." I offered her my hand. "Shall I show you the study?" She was very reluctant to leave the painting. I could tell she wanted to stay and study it, but there would be time enough for her to enjoy it. For now, I wanted to get on with the tour. I lead her up to the third, and final story of the tower. I called this the "study" for lack of a better word. I had lined every wall floor to ceiling with books. All of the finest works throughout history, many of them the original manuscripts or first editions. Her wide eyes traveled across the walls. An antique oak desk was situated on one side, and the opposite side had been converted into an art studio. I had done my best to supply it with everything an artist would want, the best paints, sable brushes, pre-stretched canvases, easels. A small electric kiln and a counter-top and sink. She turned around, her face pale, taking everything in.

"What is this? Who are you? What is going on?"

"I am Matthias Black," I said with a slight bow. "And this is your home. Please feel welcome, and let me know if there is anything else you need or require."

She walked right up to me, standing toe-to-toe, but she was so short in comparison to me that she had to tip her head way back to look into my face. "Am I dead? Did I... did I jump off the building?" She squinted at me suspiciously. "Is this heaven?

"No my dear..." I slid my hand around her neck. I knew I was rushing things, but I couldn't help myself. I leaned down and kissed those luscious red lips. She was so warm, so full of life, I could feel the heat radiating off her body, feel her warm breath as she gasped against my lips. She didn't pull away, but she didn't kiss me back either. "Welcome home Rose."

She wiped her hands across her lips and looked even more dazed and confused.