After Midnight Read Online Free
Author: Colleen Faulkner
what?" she whispered, feeling herself drawn in, against her will, to his delusion.
"Or I will die an agonizing death."
Emily felt herself shudder. Then she realized what he was saying… and how ridiculous it was. She smiled tenderly. "Mr. Fraser, I don't know who has filled your head with this nonsense, but you are not a vampire."
He strode toward her. "But I am. Ye must believe me. And ye must flee as soon as ye can."
She decided to play along, rather than argue. She
still wanted to lay her hands—her restorative touch—on the Gutenberg. "But the mail steamer won't be here for another month. Won't my companion and I be safe until then?"
He reached out his hand, as if he were going to touch her, then pulled away. "Aye." He went on with more confidence. "Aye, ye should be… ye
will be
. But you must go on the next steamer. My anniversary is but a month and a day from today." He returned to his seat at the head of the table, and Angus appeared toting covered plates.
Emily leaned back so that the manservant could serve her. Wondering if she should expect raw liver or worse, she was pleasantly surprised to see what he revealed beneath the cover. Apparently vampires not only drank the blood of humans, but also dined on poached fish, boiled new potatoes, and fresh green beans.
She returned her napkin to her lap. "Out of curiosity, Mr. Fraser, what had you intended to do with the man you thought you had hired?"
He passed her a wooden trencher of fresh bread. "To allow him to restore the Gutenberg, of course."
"And then?"
"Drink his blood."
Ruth picked up her fork with a shrug. "Of course."
"And when he did not return to the mainland?"
The Scottish laird took a bite of the fish. "A fishing boat accident." He shook his head. "Tragic."
Emily sampled the fish. The amazing thing was, Gordon Fraser didn't sound crazy, just what he said was crazy. "And how old are you… in vampire years?"
"The calendar is the same, I assure you," he said loftily. "Roughly six hundred."
Emily nearly dropped her fork. "Years?"
Ruth made a sound that distinctly resembled a snort of laughter.
"Aye." The Scotsman lifted the trencher. "Another bit of bread? Angus is a better baker than a fisherman."
Emily shook her head. "No, thank you." She grimaced. "So if every one hundred years you must take a life, the next one… in one month and one day will be your—"
"My sixth." He nodded. "Precisely."
Emily leaned toward her host, the vampire. "And what explanation did you offer for their deaths?"
"Fishing accident, of course."
"Of course," Ruth echoed.
"Because I am forced to partake only once every century," Gordon shrugged, "no mortals live to realize a man dies of a fishing accident off my island every one hundred years."
She smiled patronizingly, as fascinated by the man as by his delusion. "What of your manservant? Why have you not eaten him?"
Gordon grimaced. "Please, Miss MacDougal, we are dining." He took a swallow of water from a Venetian crystal goblet, as if to wash away the gruesome thought. "I am a vampire, not a cannibal. I do not
eat
my victims. I merely drink every drop of blood from their bodies."
"Phew." Ruth reached for the wine bottle again. "You had me frightened there for a minute, Gordy."
He flashed a handsome smile at Ruth. "You're very funny." He looked back at Emily. "Your friend is very funny."
"Thank you," Emily said, at a loss as how else to answer.
"You're welcome." He smiled again, but this time the smile was all for Emily. Then his expression changed to one of surprise. "As for your question, I could nay drink the blood of my manservant. Who would poach the fish?"
"Who indeed?" Emily cut a new potato in half and stabbed a piece into her mouth, still expecting to wake from this absurd dream at any moment. The potato was delicious and moist with a hint of the flavor of thyme.
"Well." Gordon wiped his mouth politely with his napkin and allowed Angus to remove his plate. "Since you're here, I suppose we
"Or I will die an agonizing death."
Emily felt herself shudder. Then she realized what he was saying… and how ridiculous it was. She smiled tenderly. "Mr. Fraser, I don't know who has filled your head with this nonsense, but you are not a vampire."
He strode toward her. "But I am. Ye must believe me. And ye must flee as soon as ye can."
She decided to play along, rather than argue. She
still wanted to lay her hands—her restorative touch—on the Gutenberg. "But the mail steamer won't be here for another month. Won't my companion and I be safe until then?"
He reached out his hand, as if he were going to touch her, then pulled away. "Aye." He went on with more confidence. "Aye, ye should be… ye
will be
. But you must go on the next steamer. My anniversary is but a month and a day from today." He returned to his seat at the head of the table, and Angus appeared toting covered plates.
Emily leaned back so that the manservant could serve her. Wondering if she should expect raw liver or worse, she was pleasantly surprised to see what he revealed beneath the cover. Apparently vampires not only drank the blood of humans, but also dined on poached fish, boiled new potatoes, and fresh green beans.
She returned her napkin to her lap. "Out of curiosity, Mr. Fraser, what had you intended to do with the man you thought you had hired?"
He passed her a wooden trencher of fresh bread. "To allow him to restore the Gutenberg, of course."
"And then?"
"Drink his blood."
Ruth picked up her fork with a shrug. "Of course."
"And when he did not return to the mainland?"
The Scottish laird took a bite of the fish. "A fishing boat accident." He shook his head. "Tragic."
Emily sampled the fish. The amazing thing was, Gordon Fraser didn't sound crazy, just what he said was crazy. "And how old are you… in vampire years?"
"The calendar is the same, I assure you," he said loftily. "Roughly six hundred."
Emily nearly dropped her fork. "Years?"
Ruth made a sound that distinctly resembled a snort of laughter.
"Aye." The Scotsman lifted the trencher. "Another bit of bread? Angus is a better baker than a fisherman."
Emily shook her head. "No, thank you." She grimaced. "So if every one hundred years you must take a life, the next one… in one month and one day will be your—"
"My sixth." He nodded. "Precisely."
Emily leaned toward her host, the vampire. "And what explanation did you offer for their deaths?"
"Fishing accident, of course."
"Of course," Ruth echoed.
"Because I am forced to partake only once every century," Gordon shrugged, "no mortals live to realize a man dies of a fishing accident off my island every one hundred years."
She smiled patronizingly, as fascinated by the man as by his delusion. "What of your manservant? Why have you not eaten him?"
Gordon grimaced. "Please, Miss MacDougal, we are dining." He took a swallow of water from a Venetian crystal goblet, as if to wash away the gruesome thought. "I am a vampire, not a cannibal. I do not
eat
my victims. I merely drink every drop of blood from their bodies."
"Phew." Ruth reached for the wine bottle again. "You had me frightened there for a minute, Gordy."
He flashed a handsome smile at Ruth. "You're very funny." He looked back at Emily. "Your friend is very funny."
"Thank you," Emily said, at a loss as how else to answer.
"You're welcome." He smiled again, but this time the smile was all for Emily. Then his expression changed to one of surprise. "As for your question, I could nay drink the blood of my manservant. Who would poach the fish?"
"Who indeed?" Emily cut a new potato in half and stabbed a piece into her mouth, still expecting to wake from this absurd dream at any moment. The potato was delicious and moist with a hint of the flavor of thyme.
"Well." Gordon wiped his mouth politely with his napkin and allowed Angus to remove his plate. "Since you're here, I suppose we
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