4 Chapter 4

"Would you like to have tea before going to your chamber, Miss Vergil?" Dimitri blurted out. Trying his best not to dove his fangs into her delectable neck as they both stood and wandered away from the living room.

Blanca thought how Mr. Norton spoke as he belonged from the 17th century, how elegant the way he spoke certain words that made her swoon to it, and maybe he was just so damn charming? A handsome, hot billionaire that talks like a prince? Count her in. "That would be quite pleasing. Thank you, Mr. Norton."

"Dimitri."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Call me Dimitri. I like it better. Anyway, can I call you Blanca?"

"Um-sure." Damn if she didn't blush like some koi fish in a cold pond.

However, Dimitri smiled, reading her mind was like his second favorite thing to do and perhaps staring at her lips was his first. However, he looked around with a barren expression on his face, giving Blanca the notion that he hardly knew his way around his own house. "Here," he muttered, gesturing to a decent great oak door at the end of the corridor, "the drawing-room of the mansion. Feel free to enjoy some refreshment… later or rest, you look like you need one."

Gabby coughed behind them. "Sir?"

Dimitri looked at him and scowled. "What?"

"Sir, maybe you wanted to take your fresh, um- red juice first? Then I'll bring refreshments for Miss Vergil, sir?" Gabby inquired solicitously as he handed him a glass of red sticky juice, which made Blanca wrinkle her forehead, staring at the red beverage that smelt like blood. Strange. Maybe her enhanced senses were so wired on Dimitri's amazing body cologne and aftershave that she could almost smell the iron-metallic smell of blood on his red-juice glass?

Odd.

"Well, that's a promising idea, Gabby. Yes, of course," Dimitri answered as he took the glass and gulped down the full glass in a second, then cleared his throat. "Of course, I need my morning juice… thanks old man . . ."

Gabby nodded his head. "Miss Vergil, a tea tray, perhaps?" Gabby suggested. "With biscuits?"

Blanca nodded.

"Excellent," Dimitri whispered.

"Or perhaps if Miss Vergil is hungry," the butler continued, "I could have a more extended breakfast prepared, bacon, English sausage, eggs…and fresh juice?"

Dimitri swung his gaze over to Blanca, his initial hunger gone, but he nonetheless wasn't able to breathe in her amazing, addictive scent that made his eyesight blurry.

She grumbled, "Biscuits will be lovely," even though she was starving.

Blanca allowed Dimitri to take her arm and lead her to the drawing-room, where she sat on a couch covered in striped golden yellow satin. The room was neat and sterile. Contemporary and sort of Victoria-era kind of way. The furnishings were modern and fresh. The entire house had a vague antique and stylish quality to it, as if the owner had run out of ideas about what else to add to his vast collection of ancient artifacts and expensive well-known paintings, or perhaps just didn't care about how much he spent money on those massive collections of ancient things.

Blanca was willing to think that it was the latter. She thought Dimitri Norton might have never been short of funds, just like how he managed to donate a million pounds to the research institution, and she had seen enough of his enormous greenhouse and beautiful garden as she was in the taxi earlier to realize that it was in excellent condition. Given that Dimitri was a nature man, that might explain the great care given to the exterior while the interior was left to accumulate a tremendous wealth of valuable paintings.

Clearly, he needed a financial accountant, or maybe a wife, or maybe someone who could tell him to stop wasting money on those hideous-looking paintings of the 17th century, or someone to tell him to stop buying old things.

Mentally shaking her head, she folded her hands in her lap, then watched as Dimitri took a seat across from her, folding his large frame into a chair that had obviously been designed for someone much smaller than he.

It was funny. She thought. He looked rather cute. What was she even thinking? He was uncomfortable with her. It wasn't that obvious earlier but now she was questioning if she smelt like a sewer or what? Bad breath? Of course not, she never had such body odor. However, the man was clearly on the edge of bolting away from her.

He looked most uncomfortable and (and Blanca had enough men in her life to recognize the signs) rather like he wanted desperately to utter profanity and be away from her as quickly as Gabby could give them tea, but Blanca decided it was his own fault for choosing that smaller chair, and so she smiled at him in what she hoped was a thoughtful and acceptable manner, waiting for him to begin the conversation. But wait a minute, did she forget something? On the back of her head, she knew something was missing. The man mentioned something important, something very significant for her well-being, yet she couldn't find it in the very depths of her mind. It was weird. Hidden, besides she had a decently impressive memory, but something was missing. It was like it had been erased, or maybe she was just imagining things?

Dimitri cleared his throat, after reading her silent question of her sanity. He couldn't blame her. He erased the most important information he mentioned earlier.

Blanca leaned forward.

He cleared his throat again.

Jesus, what the heck is wrong with this lovely man? She thought to herself, and she coughed in response. "Ahem!"

He cleared his throat once more.

"Do you have a sore throat, Dimitri? A lemon tea will help?" She eventually inquired, unable to bear even the thought of one more fake clearing off his fucking throat. It irritates her the best.

He looked up gratefully, although Blanca wasn't sure whether that was due to her offer of tea or her graciously breaking of the silence. "Yes," he whispered, "that would be lovely."

Blanca opened her mouth to answer back, then recalled she was in his house and had no business offering tea. Not to mention that he ought to have remembered that fact as well. "Right," she murmured. "Well, I'm sure it will be here soon. Your butler is quick, I suppose?"

"Yes... right," he agreed, shifting in his seat. He was clearly anxious about something. "I'm sorry to have come by unannounced," she confided, even though she'd already said as much. But something had to be said; Dimitri might be well used to awkward silences, but Blanca was the type who preferred to fill any pause and she doesn't like fake ahem any longer.

"It's quite alright," he mumbled.

"It's not, actually," she replied. "It was ill-mannered of me to do so, and I apologize."

He stared at her honesty. "Thank you, it is no problem, I assure you. I was merely... "

"Surprised?" she asked and raised a brow, trying her best not to smile. It would be so blunt.

"Yes." Yes, Dimitri thought, he was indeed surprised that for twenty years he had been looking for her and now here she was, bright as the morning sun and as beautiful as a butterfly, not to mention that she had an extraordinary scent that made his inner monsters groan. It wanted out. His inner demon wanted to mark this woman. Wants his lifemates. But how was it even possible? He was a three-hundred-year-old vampire, and she was well... Young... A werewolf, a dark one, unique, powerful, and with the lineage of the ancient one, of which he didn't have any idea how.

Benjamin and Barbara were an outstanding couple, but they didn't belong to the ancient bloodline, and yet this young woman here was, in fact, Blanca had this odd dark aura with her. He didn't know why was her mind was cloaked with powerful dark enchantment. Perhaps she was the one doing it or someone else did. But even the last living vampire, like Dimitri himself, couldn't penetrate it. She was indeed a huge puzzle, and reading her mind made him wish he had found her twenty years ago.

She nodded. "Yes, well, anyone would have been. I should have thought of that, and I am completely ashamed of the inconvenience."

He opened his mouth, but then closed it, instead of glancing out the window. "It's a rainy day," he muttered. He needed to do something to take out his sense away from her sweet strawberry and vanilla fragrance.

"Yes, it is," Blanca agreed, thinking that it was quite striking. Ireland was a beautiful country and she wanted to see every mountain and journey through its massive greenery. If given a chance, she might get to stay here. New beginnings, new her.

Dimitri shrugged. "I imagine it will still snow by nightfall."

She wasn't quite sure how to react to that, so she just nodded, mildly scanning him while his gaze was still fixed on the huge glass window. He was larger than she'd imagined him, rougher-looking, less urbane. Her research about him had been so boring and charming and well written; she'd pictured him to be more... simple? Maybe yes but never an underwear model-kind of man. She imagines him more slender, perhaps, certainly not given to fat, but still, less muscled. Yet, Dimitri Norton looked as if he was fucking god who worked outside the sun, like a sun god, especially in those wild trousers and a simple shirt. And even though her research had written that his hair was brown, she'd always imagined him as a dark sort of man, looking rather like an ordinary billionaire, fat, slim, boring, not a man that exuded manliness to the maximum level.

She did not know why she always pictured him with dark hair. But his hair was exactly as the internet described it, though she had not seen a picture no matter research she had made, but his hair was—indeed golden brown, a rather dark shade, actually, bordering on gray blonde, with an unruly wave to it. His eyes were a deep ocean blue, the polar opposite of his hair, and so alive that they were completely unreadable.

She pouted. She hated people she couldn't figure out in a heartbeat. She could read anyone in a beat. She could tell if someone had bad or good vibes, but not him.

Strange. He was so different. A good variety.

"Did you travel alone?" he inquired politely.

"I did."

"You must be tired."

She nodded. "A little."

He stood, gesturing gallantly to the door. "Would you prefer to sleep? I don't wish to keep you here if you'd rather sleep."

Blanca was exhausted, but she was also curious. Her curiosity couldn't wait, for sure, and there was so much to ask. "I'll have just a bite first," she mumbled, "and then I'll be thankful to accept your hospitality and rest."

He nodded and started to sit down, trying to fold himself back into the ridiculously tiny chair, eventually growling something under his breath, turning to her with a barely more comprehensible, "Excuse me," and striding to another, larger chair.

"I beg your pardon," he let out, once he was settled.

Jesus, the man talked like he was a fucking prince of England or that he was born in the Victorian era. Blanca smiled at the thought as she just nodded at him, wondering when she had ever found herself in a more uneasy circumstance.

He cleared his throat. "So Blanca, tell me about yourself. Was your journey a fascinating one? Ireland is way different from England, so I suppose you are situated well?"

"Well, I'm twenty years old, an orphan, a fresh grad, looking for a decent job and, um-alone... And yes, I like Ireland better," she replied, mentally giving him credit for at least attempting to keep up a conversation slowly because his gaze made her uncomfortable inside. It was like he was reading her mind, it was like he was searching her soul and her inner thoughts. Bloody weird, really, but she felt so embarrassed about his stare.

Yet, nodding her head as if one good thought deserved another, she made her contribution with, "You have a lovely home."

"Thanks, so what job are you looking for?"

"Well, I'm a forensic science technician, an intern actually... And I like your house."

He raised a brow at that, giving her a look that said he didn't believe her false flattery for a second. "In paranormal research?"

"Well, technically, I didn't have any choice. I was the only one available for the so-called um- the newbie among my colleagues, and none of them wanted to be in paranormal research, so I was the only who-well... available. " Yes, it was not that she did not believe the research, but with her unique ability and her unknown physical changes, she gladly accepted the job, and if her colleague realized how hot their donor had come to be, then it would be a win-win situation, right? Trying to convince herself that this job doesn't suck was beyond her either. In fact, it was pure foolishness in the first place, but a girl could dream. Possibly, her many questions about her weirdness could be answered by this research. If Dimitri himself, a freaking billionaire, believed that his money was all worth it with the paranormal research, then who was she to complain? She doesn't have a penny under her name... well maybe a couple of hundred, but if she fucks this interview, then goodbye internship duty and maybe she'll be in the street soon, homeless and broke.

"The gardens are magnificent too," she added hastily. Who would have thought that he'd know his painting was faded? Such men never noticed such things, right?

"Thank you," he said. "I am a nature man, as you know, and so I spend a great deal of my time out-of-doors. I love the earth, it could heal a broken soul."

"Um- nice to hear that... were you planning to work outside today?"

He replied in the affirmative.

Blanca gave him a tentative smile. "I'm sorry to have disrupted your schedule."

"It is nothing, I assure you."

"But—"

"You needn't apologize again," he cut in. "For anything."

And then there was that horrible silence again, with both of them looking longingly at the door, waiting for Gabby to return with redemption in the form of a tea tray or to tell her that her breakfast was ready.

Blanca tapped her hands against the cushion of the sofa in a manner that her stepmother and Nonna would have deemed unladylike. She looked over at Dimitri and was somewhat grateful to see that he was doing the same. Then he caught her staring and quirked an irritating half-smile as his gaze dropped down to her restless hand.

She stilled herself instantly.

She looked over at him, silently daring—imploring?—him to say something. Anything at all.

He didn't.

This was killing her. She had to break the silence. This was not natural. It was too awful. People were meant to talk. This was—

She opened her mouth, driven by despair she didn't quite understand. "I—"

But before she could continue with a sentence she fully intended to make up as she went along, a bloodcurdling howl ripped through the air.

"What the hell was that?"