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“Huh,” Mr. Mortiscue mused, “usually these coffins were airtight, but given how long it may have been in the water, some warping would make sense. Some water could have gotten through the latches over time. It’s a pity the original lining isn’t intact.”

“With that in mind, even with the damage, would you be interested in taking it off my hands?” Aerin asked, hoping she wouldn’t have any trouble selling it once she transferred the vampire to a new coffin. She wasn’t a monster. She would purchase him a new resting place before selling his current one. Something far less grand, gold casting wasn’t in her budget.

“As much as I’d love to have such a magnificent piece of craftsmanship in my collection, I wouldn’t be able to sell such a coffin in Indigo Cove. It’s far too expensive for the local vampires. I could take it to auction, but I don’t have the connections to sell such a piece. You might have better luck with Miranda at the antique shop.”

“Who would have been able to afford such a coffin?” Aerin asked, desperate to know the identity of who was not-so-living in her basement.

“Perhaps a lord, royalty? A titan of industry? It’s hard to know without knowing who it belonged to or which ship it was traveling on. You might have had better luck finding out who it belonged to if the plaque on the lid hadn’t broken off. You could’ve traced it back to the designer of the coffin or the owner themselves.”

“Right, the plaque…” Aerin thought about the plaque she’d put in the toolbox on her father’s old workbench in the corner. It would be much easier to bring the plaque to Miranda than the whole coffin. “I’ll have to go diving again and see if I can find it in the same area.” She didn’t want to tell him she had it in case he let slip what was in her basement, and who it belonged to, if it contained identifying markers. The last thing she needed was the vampire’s friends or family turning up on her doorstep. “Thank you for your help.”

“I’m sorry I can’t take it off your hands, but I hope you find it a good home,” the funeral director said, and the way he lingered on the top step hinted at how badly he wished he could purchase it himself. If she weren’t so desperate to get the best price, she might’ve been tempted to let him make an offer.

“I will. I’m sure Miranda will be able to help me get it into the right auction,” Aerin assured him before seeing him off. All I have to do is get the vampire out of it first.

Chapter Four

Gideon

Gideon’s lungs burned, and his eyes watered as he lunged forward, but his body felt impossibly heavy, and his muscles screamed in agony. A deep growl escaped his lips, and he gripped the edges of his coffin to try to ground himself.

Where am I? What the hell is this place? Where is my ship? This has to be some terrible dream… the pain coursing through his veins muddled his thoughts.

“Captain Wardine? Marissa?” Gideon rasped, trying to call out for help. However, no one answered. His hand gripped his neck as the thirst burned like he had inhaled flames. Gideon stared at the damp wooden beams above him, and the smell of wet and salty air told him he was close to the sea.

I’m in a house? Whose house? Did we run aground, and the crew brought me here? He rested his head in his hands to try to stop the throbbing; he struggled to recall. Pirates? Were we attacked? He couldn’t understand how he’d ended up in a crumbling house without his crew.

Gideon saw the blood bag on the chair beside him and snatched it. He ripped open the top and drained what little was left. He dropped the empty bag, staring at his pallid hands, so thin that the blue veins bulged visibly. How long has it been since I’ve fed? His head throbbed as he tried to remember. The burn in his limbs lessened just enough for him to think more clearly.

Glimpses of a beautiful woman with piercing blue eyes and the scent of the ocean kept flashing through his mind, but he didn’t remember her being on the ship; she definitely wasn’t part of his crew. The last thing he remembered was a sense of terrible fear. Of Death. His death. Did someone try to kill me? I’ve got to get out of here and find my ship, Gideon thought. His crew would have the answers he needed.

Pulling himself out of his coffin, his legs trembled as he removed a needle from his hand. Was someone attempting to feed me blood? If they intended to kill me, would bother feeding me? His intense thirst made his gums ache. He’d never experienced hunger like this. Pulling at his collar to cool the internal burn, he felt his clothes were wrong. He looked down to find a shirt and plain trousers. These were certainly not the delicate fabrics he had been wearing when he went to rest. He figured a peasant must have found and dressed him. Still, clothes were the least of his concerns.

The last thing he remembered was Captain Wardine shaking his hand before he returned to his cabin to sleep at dawn. They had been at sea for a week, headed for home after years of exploring new lands, but he couldn’t remember where home was. He felt a sense of urgency, but he couldn’t recall why or what he needed to hurry toward before his memory faded to nothing.

Gideon ran his hands through his hair, noticing it was falling out and threading through his fingers, a deep fear coiling in his chest. How long have I been asleep? The signs of decay made his hands shake, but it was nothing blood couldn’t repair. He needed more blood to escape and return to his ship and crew. He wasn’t going to stay in this place any longer than he had to. His feet hit the cold stone floor as he stepped out of his coffin, tearing open the padded red silk panelling to retrieve some gold coins he’d concealed in case he had to bribe some port authorities. At least I haven’t forgotten everything, he thought, shoving the coins in his pockets. He needed money to buy enough blood to regain his full strength, or to find someone willing to feed on and pay them for the inconvenience. He wasn’t going to stoop so low as to feed from a stranger without knowing where they’d been.

A sweet humming echoed down the stairs. It might be one of the women from the crew. He hurried up the stairs to find the door open; whoever it was didn’t want to trap him beneath the house. If he were a prisoner, surely his captor would’ve kept him under lock and key. He peered around the door to find a hallway marked by peeling wallpaper and uneven floorboards. The closer he got to the hum, the less his throat burned, and the pain in his limbs eased.

Then, he saw her standing by the sink, with a long, checkered, dark green skirt that flowed over her hips. She must not feel the cold, as she wore a scandalous cream chemise tucked into her skirt, and he wondered if she hadn’t finished dressing, as she was still barefoot. No woman was so graceful or mesmerising among his crew. She moved about the kitchen on her tiptoes, as if she were dancing. Her hair fell down her back to her waist, and the candlelight on the table caught the dark blue highlights in her jet-black hair, so smooth he wanted to reach out and run his hands through it. Lured by her voice, he knocked into the table, startling her, and she came down on her heels. With her back to him, she raised a knife in her hand, but Gideon didn’t give her a chance to turn and attack.

Unsure of his strength, of who she was, he whacked her on the back of the head, knocking her out cold, but he caught her before she fell to the floor. Lying in his arms, he recognized her, the woman from my dream? Gideon brushed her hair from her face and noticed her pointed ears and the faint scales on her chest and neck, catching in the light.

What are you? He frowned, holding her in his arms.

The knife slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor, and he realized she was about to gut a fish, not him. Carrying her in his arms, without the hum of her voice, the pain returned, and the pulse of the vein in her neck called to him, his thirst causing him to bite his own tongue to stop himself from feeding on her.

If she is my captor, then should I wish to escape? He thought, setting her down on the kitchen chair. Still, beauty could be a woman’s greatest weapon, so he bound her hands tightly with some rope hanging by the door. Better to be safe than sorry, and with his aching limbs and unsure of her nature, he didn’t want to risk being bested. He rolled his neck, trying to ease the burning and wondered what it was about her song that had eased his suffering. Does her power stem from her voice?

A gargled groan distracted him from searching her kitchen. There wasn’t much: utensils, not much food, but salt, fish and some array of vegetables. Some odd metal instruments he didn’t recognize, and feared they were some sort of weapons. Is she the kitchen maid? Surely the owner of such a house, decayed as it may be, has staff.

“You’re awake, great. I was beginning to worry,” he said, pulling up a chair in front of her. She was even more striking as her fangs appeared, and she bit through the cloth gag with one fatal snag. His curiosity piqued at the sight of such ferocity, a bite that rivalled his own.

“Are you crazy? I help you, and you attack me?” she snarled, her voice dry, and he figured the gag had dried out her mouth. “You ungrateful creature, I should have left you where I found you.” She struggled against her bindings, and he was glad to have bound her, as clearly she was a predator, like himself.

“Forgive me, but given that I didn’t ask for your help or to come to your humble abode, I’d first like to know who you are. What do you want from me? Are you a servant of this house? Where is your lord and master?”

“I’m not a servant; this is my home. I’m Aerin,” she huffed, struggling. “I’m the one who dragged your starving old arse from the bottom of the sea and poured fresh blood into you. Without me, you’d still be rotting in that coffin.”