Page 15 of Farkas: Gothika

After a brief pause, the female scuttled to the window. The male picked himself off the floor, where he’d landed in a heap, and joined her. Both of their shapes then altered until they no longer resembled humans but instead large birds, or maybe bats. They both flapped out into the darkness.

“My friend,” Vincent said sadly to Lee and scooped him into his arms.

Lee finally gave in to the nothingness.

Chapter Eight

He tasted wine and fluttered his eyes open, but when he saw Vincent looming in close, Lee tried to scramble away.

“Lee!” Vincent grasped his shoulders firmly. “You are safe.”

“I’m… I’m not.” Lee was vague about everything else right now, but of that he was quite sure.

“I will not harm you.”

Lee didn’t believe that either. But there wasn’t anything he could do to protect himself, at least not at the moment, so he took a few deep breaths and allowed his body to relax. Vincent nodded once and released him.

They were back in Lee’s suite, the curtains closed over the window and the gaslights burning brightly. Lee was in bed, propped up by several pillows, while Vincent sat on the edge of the mattress, watching him closely.

“They did not harm you,” Vincent said after a few moments.

“She… bit me.”

“Barely a scrape. The wounds have closed already.”

Lee lifted a hand to his neck, and sure enough, all he felt were two pinprick scabs. They didn’t hurt. He’d nicked himself worse than that while shaving. But still… those two creatures had groped him and had intended to do something much worse. And he was positive they weren’t human.

“She bit me,” he repeated, more plaintively this time.

“I deeply apologize. They are young and rash and must be taught restraint. Do not worry—I will punish them later. I can assure, you, however, that they will not come near you again.”

“What are they?”

The question sounded strange even as Lee said it, yet he could think of no other way to phrase it. But the worst thing was that the answer was already there, deep in his mind and trying to claw its way to the surface. And he was viciously tamping it down. Until he came here, his world had been so orderly: neat lines of legal jargon, statutes and cases carefully organized, roles and responsibilities clearly laid out. Even the war had been predictable in its own way. But from the moment he’d sat down in the Farkas limousine, his life had skewed into the bizarre. If he had any sanity left, he was certain it was in shreds.

Ignoring Lee’s question—which was maybe for the best—Vincent gave his shoulder a comforting pat. “You have overworked yourself, have not slept enough, and have not eaten all day. I will get you some food and you will feel better.”

The words were patronizing, but Lee realized that he was hungry, so he simply nodded. Vincent gave him another friendly pat and left the bedroom, closing the door between it and the drawing room. Lee allowed his head to fall back on the pillow. Perhaps he was ill and running a fever, and all of this was a hallucination. When he was five, he and all his siblings had caught the measles, and Lee had been the sickest. He remembered his mother putting cool compresses on his forehead and covering his eyes with a cloth because the light made them hurt. He’d had very strange dreams then—although not as strange as he’d been having in this house.

Lee’s thoughts wandered hazily for a bit, but as he shifted position he became fully aware. He was absolutely naked. Scanning the room, he saw no sign of the borrowed outfit he’d worn all day or of any other clothes except the silk robe, draped neatly over the back of a chair. Had Vincent carried him back here and undressed him? That thought should have distressed him, especially after what had happened while he was paralyzed on the chaise. But when he imagined Vincent slipping the tunic over his head and then drawing the stockings down, leaving Lee bare, his blood surged hot in his veins and his cock filled.

Jesus Christ, what was wrong with him?

Vincent returned not long afterward with the familiar cart. Tonight he wore gray trousers and a white button-down shirt—probably like millions of other men across America, but he didn’t look ordinary at all.

He parked the cart next to the bed and arranged a tray over Lee’s lap before resuming his spot on the mattress. “A beef stew tonight and some good seeded bread. Just the thing to restore your strength.”

The food smelled delicious. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I’m not weak.”

“Of course you are not. You started from nothing and look where you are now. A weak man would never have made it so far.”

Lee frowned as he ate a cautious spoonful of the stew. It tasted even better than it smelled, and almost sooner than he would have thought possible, he’d emptied the big bowl, polished off a small loaf of bread, and eaten a huge slice of a layered torte. He washed it all down with three glasses of wine, and by the time Vincent cleared away the tray, Lee felt well enough to be embarrassed.

“I’m supposed to be working for you, not making you wait on me.”

“The work can wait another night, and I do not mind playing host. I enjoy your company. And I am happy to be able to help you. I want you to be happy.”

No client had ever said anything like that to Lee. Why should they? Lee’s happiness wasn’t their responsibility. But Vincent was hardly an ordinary client—a fact brought home when he set his hand on Lee’s blanket-covered knee. “Would you prefer that I leave so you can rest?”