A Vampyre's Sunrise by Jeff Schanz (read book .TXT) 📖

and safety. It was a boxy house, deceptively large, with five bedrooms on the ground floor, and one huge second-story room over the living area. The house was built in the sixties, but was well maintained, and looked new enough with a clean, brown brick exterior and a stucco upper floor. An overhanging shade over each window made sure the sun never directly beamed through any of them. Each pane of glass had technologically advanced UV protection that kept Lia comfortable in any room of the house, yet still let in ample light. There was even a special basement room that had no windows at all, completely blacked out just in case Lia ever needed absolute darkness to heal or recover from something. The ranch was primarily flat ground, sloping gently on the northern edge, with lots of big trees to offer shade, and was nestled in the valley of foothills. There were several structures for Lia’s animals, including horse stalls, plus three horses that came with the ranch. Lia’s chickens were already settled in their coop. Her goats and sheep were the final holdouts, but that was one of the reasons Lia had gone to the island, to help usher them aboard a cargo ship that would sail them here, along with the last few items of furniture and accessories from her island house. Everything was so close to being done.

They parked the truck near the kitchen door. Lia and Buck hopped out and went in the house. Brandt followed, almost forgetting his photo envelope, went back to the truck to get it, then brought it into the kitchen. Lia went into the bedroom and dropped off her bag, her hat, her gloves, and pretty much everything except her blouse and skirt. She came out and actually twirled around like she was in a musical.

“So nice to be home,” she said, eyes closed.

Always nice to hear that.

Buck apparently agreed. He hopped into his customary spot on the couch and surveyed the living room. The dog probably had a good time herding the goats and sheep around on the island, but Buck was a homebody and enjoyed lazing on the couch when he wasn’t patrolling the farm grounds.

Brandt came up behind Lia and enveloped her in his arms. She leaned against him. “It’s good to have you home,” said Brandt. “I missed you.”

She massaged his forearm with her fingertips while swaying in his embrace.

“Is everything shut down on the island?” he asked.

“For the most part. I will need one final trip, but that doesn’t need to be anytime soon.”

“Good,” he said.

She hadn’t stopped swaying or caressing his arm, but there was that little tell again. A small straightening of her posture, a little hesitation of her movements.

You are so damned paranoid, dude. She loves you. Get it through your head.

Buck interrupted Brandt’s inner dialogue by smacking the doggie door open and heading outside. Perhaps he decided to forego his nap and instead do a patrol of the grounds.

“I’ve got something to show you,” said Brandt.

She patted his hand. “I know.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t seen it.” He turned her around to give her a game show host grin. “It’s finally ready. Come on, let me show you.”

He led her up the stairs until they got to a wooden landing. The landing had always been there, but he had enhanced it with decorative railing and new wall sconces, reminiscent of the kind in her island house. They stopped in front of what was formerly a bland, single door to the loft, now upgraded to carved, oaken double doors.

“You deserved another room like your sanctum sanctorum on the island,” said Brandt. He opened the big doors to her new library.

The loft had been redone in lacquered cherry wood, vaulted ceilings, and a network of shelving to display all of Lia’s books. She had enough books to fill a town library, and her island library was the size of a chapel, so a combination of wall shelves and standing shelves were needed to cover the enormous volume. The ornate rug in the center was brought from her island house, as well as several round oak tables. At the other end of the room, a double door with panes of stained glass, treated with the same UV protection as the rest of the house, led to a balcony that had an excellent view of the estate. The doors were designed to resemble the tall, church-style, stained glass windows she had in her island library. There was no way to exactly duplicate that island library, so this was as close as he could get. The contractors did an amazing job, and the whole room exemplified the kind of taste and charm that Viktor had built for Lia on the island. Viktor had understood how much Lia’s books meant to her, with no other being to talk to, the books talked to her. They were part of her soul, and she was not whole without them.

In the middle of the room was Brandt’s biggest surprise. Custom designed to Lia’s body size, it was a mahogany desk, with raised relief carvings in each panel, topped by a Tiffany lamp and various scented candles. It was a legitimate writer’s desk for a legitimate writer. And though she would dismiss the accolades, Lia was now a popular author.

She wrote romance novels in a classic style. More Jane Austen than E.L. James, but with the occasional, discreet sex scene inserted here and there. Her very first book was a retelling of her own life, minus the vampyre stuff, and had a male love interest that was suspiciously similar to Brandt. The real couple’s very first time making love, a wanton, lust-filled night, was turned into a much more gentle, discreet affair for the book, and the bloody battle against Mikhail was amended to be a respectable gentleman’s duel, but the rest of the book had a lot of similarities, though Lia didn’t like to acknowledge it: A lonely girl on a secluded island meets a shipwrecked soldier with Brandt’s same short tousled hair and chiseled abs; he’s running from his past, she’s hiding from hers; and there’s a bad guy who wants the girl for himself, and the soldier dead. Just a coincidence if you ask Lia. Perhaps as a distinguishing factor, she had set the time period in the Victorian age, and made their love affair scandalous.

When the book sold well, the publisher wanted more. They gave her an advance to write another book, and so she was now officially a professional writer. All her life, she had admired authors, the mystical deities who filled her library with stories that captured her soul, and now she was one of them. A lot of her writing had been done at the kitchen table, even though there was a downstairs room set aside for an office. She just preferred to be around Brandt if he was home. So, Brandt made sure to include a soft couch and comfy chair, across from her new desk, where he could sit and work, or relax, while she wrote. He wanted her to have everything she dreamed of, including his presence.

Lia stepped into the room, each foot placed delicately like she was afraid of disturbing an unseen entity. Her hands never left her face. She swiveled as she walked, absorbing every detail about her new sanctum, her eyes wide with amazement. Of course, she had known Brandt was doing this, but perhaps she hadn’t understood the measures he had taken to turn an attic-style loft into a home within a home, a refuge that surrounded her with everything she loved.

Her hand returned to her face.

“Please tell me you like it,” said Brandt.

She made a single nod, seeming unable to do more.

“I wanted it to be more than just your new office and library," said Brandt. “I wanted it to be a place you could truly feel like yourself and get away from distractions, unless you just want the distractions. And when you want me around, that’s why I put that couch and chair there. I can work on my laptop while you write, and you don’t have to work at the kitchen table just to have me nearby. You won’t have to come to me anymore, sweetie, I’ll come to you. And maybe someday, it’ll be a good place for the kids to do their homework, so they can be around both of us too.”

She turned her back to him and took a step toward the stained glass doors. Placing a palm against the glass, she stood ghostly still, a dark silhouette against the colored light.

Brandt continued. “You once told me your soul was in your books, and I wanted your soul to be comfortable here in this house with me. To be truly happy.”

Lia remained motionless, saying nothing.

“Sweetie? Did I do ok?” asked Brandt, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment. "I took my best guess on your book organizing system. I know you'll probably need to rearrange it, but hopefully, it's not too hard to fix. Honey? Please tell me you like it.”

Lia took a deep breath. Her back remained to him and her shoulders seemed to be trembling. She finally said, softly, “I love it. I love everything you did. And I love you.”

“Good. I was worried I screwed it up somehow. Come ‘ere. Can I have a hug?”

She turned slowly. Her eyes were lowered and she was softly crying. They were not tears of joy.

CHAPTER 3

 

 

 

 

Brandt squinted in confusion. “Lia?”

She rubbed her sleeve across her damp cheeks. When her eyes finally met his, Brandt shivered. In their depths was something he hadn’t seen since the very first time he held her on the island. The painful memory of those sorrowful eyes was burned into his brain, her desperation to tell him something, her anxiety on what would happen when she did, just before the premature reveal of her vampyre affliction. Now, here was that same look again. Her gaze dropped to the floor.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” asked Brandt. “Have you changed your mind? Are you afraid to move away from the island?”

She shook her head.

Brandt persisted. “Then, what is it? You know you can tell me anything.” He patted the cushion with his palm.

She hesitantly sat down on the couch next to him, allowing Brandt to put his arm around her, but she didn’t lean in. Her eyes remained focused on the floor.

Brandt tried to press himself closer and said, “Honey, talk to me. What’s bothering you?”

His anxiety was making his stomach churn. Was it him? What’d I do wrong?

Lia’s trembling didn’t subside even with his arm around her. In a small voice, she said, “Please understand that I love you so terribly much.”

“I love you too.”

Her trembling grew in magnitude. “And I know you wish to have children. And I would like children too.”

“Ok.” His response sounded like a question. He knew she was just delaying the shoe drop.

Her hands clenched together and her nails bit into the back of each hand. “But I am barren.” She closed her eyes to wait for his response.

He wanted to exhale in relief that it wasn’t something he had done, but that wasn’t the point was it? Self-absorbed paranoia had made this moment so much more awkward than it needed to be. “Oh, sweetie– I’m so sorry. That’s what’s been bothering you?”

She nodded, eyelids fluttering open and closed. He pulled her shoulders toward him, and this time she let herself be pulled. Her tears came copiously.

The “children” issue had been discussed before. They both wanted kids, but Lia had been concerned and Brandt understood why. Or so he had thought. The kids might be born vampyres. And if people found out, the kids might be shunned by society, seized by the government, persecuted, or some other terrible thing. And even if they managed to keep their secret, what kind of a life would they lead in constant fear of being discovered? Yet, there was no