A Vampire's Obsession a Billionaire, Paranormal Romance - Ava Mason Page 0,2

on the coast.

That is, the man that they thought was in the box.

There was no body, it had blown away with the winds of death. But we paid well for the illusion of death, and the church was happy to take our tokens. Women lined the pews, their handkerchiefs to their eyes, their thoughts on the fortune they would never have the ability to marry into now.

As I passed, they peeked at me, wondering if I was just as profitable as the dead man. One of them waved her handkerchief, her grief exaggerated, hoping to catch my attention. I grunted and turned my head, disgusted by her vulgar disrespect for the dead.

This was a funeral, for fuck’s sake. The memorial for a man I’d loved as a brother, bound together through time and blood.

Ignoring my approach, the priest, his hair silver with age, called for prayer and closed his eyes.

As I continued up the aisle, the large and expensive casket caught my attention. The edges of my lips turning downward, I allowed the trickle of grief hollowing out my chest for one small moment. Then I lay my hand on the box and stared woodenly upwards at the priest.

His hand waved in the air, stirring the incense, and his empty words crowded out the cries of grief of the audience. He peeked at me and his face paled as I stared him down. He ended the prayer quickly and called for the casket to be taken to the graveyard. The living stood and I led the pallbearers, their faces stoic and somber, towards the church door.

The air tasted bitter but, as soon as I walked out into the open space of the street, I took in a deep breath, filling it with the smells of the nineteenth century muck. The strigoi followed the end of the funeral procession and, as they lowered the empty box into the ground, I stood back, watching.

Real tears were spent now, mostly from the strigoi that called this city home, some even nightly visitors to the manor, but I noted the ones who contained their grief.

I recognized the pock-marked one, standing off to the side like an outsider, yet I was aware that he knew my master the best. His eyes glistened, wet with tears that he held back, staring mutely across the bay.

A handful of dirt was thrown onto the box and the wails grew louder. Then the priest stepped to my side and we watched as single red roses were thrown and finally the crowd began to drift off.

“I see my handiwork has stood the test of time,” I said to him.

“Yes, among other things.” The priest didn’t like to speak much, but when he did, there were always layers of meanings. “You were young when you carved that ceiling.”

“No I wasn’t. You were young back then.”

The priest laughed. “Yes, I guess that’s true. Things were simple back then. It was a time when my understanding of the world was only seen in terms of good and evil.”

I grunted. “And yet, you erected that crude cross. It seemed to diminish my work.”

The priest eyed me. “Your handicraft was commissioned as a gift to God. And while beautiful, it only holds a candle to the Glory of the Savior.”

He watched as the mourners began to drift away, pausing to let his harsh words settle and I turned away from him, unaffected.

A lone figure approached the grave, soundless in her grief. Her hair was tucked tightly under her hat, her black veil hiding her face. But I knew that under that hat, long tresses of golden brown hair waited to be unfurled, and twisted under my willing hands. Her body, ready to be stroked under the caresses of my trembling fingers. I gripped my hand in a tight fist and brushed the old images from mind.

She was mine no longer.

She had given herself willingly to my master, and, because of that, I would never cross that line again.

And yet, it was difficult not to hear the words she mumbled at his grave, her hands clasped tightly at her chest and her body so rigid and tight. If only I could—

“I am glad that you have come to pay your respects.” The priest put his hand on his chest and bowed slightly. “And I wish you safe passage home.”

“I will not be returning home.”

He straightened, his eyes fixed on mine. “I would hope that your interests at home do not become neglected. You know that I