Control

Chapter Eight

“…Okay,” Hope said so softly Locke barely heard her. He held out his hand. She smiled placing her hand in his. He drew her close to him. Otis Redding started singing.

“Just close your eyes and feel the music.” Hope obeyed, she had never heard music before. “Relax, little one,” he said a few moments later. “Dancing is supposed to be fun. You look like you’re readying yourself for an attack.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just relax. It’s just you and I here.” He lowered his head so they were cheek to cheek. “Or is that the problem?”

“What do you mean?” she asked opening her eyes.

“Nothing, Hope,” he said pulling away to smile down at her. “Other than being unable to relax you’re doing very well.”

“Thank you,” she said. They swayed together and Hope finally started to relax as he held her close. Hope couldn’t help but be nervous, though. This was the first time that she had been held by another person since her mother had died. This, however, was completely different. The way Locke held her had her feeling comfortable and terrified at the same time.

He lowered his head again to sing to her. “’These arms of mine, they are yearning, yearning from wanting you.’” She ducked her head, blushing. The timer went off and stepped back. “Thank you for the dance, my lady.”

“Your very welcome, kind sir,” she said giving a low curtsey. She set the table as the pasta cooled. They ate together quietly. She helped him load the dishwasher before following him into the library.

“I have something to show you,” he said looking uncharacteristically nervous. He walked to the canvas and pulled the blanket off. She gasped her green eyes immediately filling with tears. In the picture ten year old Hope was standing in front of Kayla who had her arms wrapped around her daughter. They were both laughing.

“Do you like it?” he asked after a few moments. “We kept the original.” She didn’t respond. She just reached out tracing her hand over her mother’s face. “Salem pants in his spare time, I asked if he could duplicate it.”

There were now tears streaming down her face. Locke looked at her helplessly. Were these good tears? She answered this question by turning to him and throwing herself into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her tentatively.

Damn him, she thought as she laid her head on his shoulder. It was just one kind gesture after another. She was trying so hard to keep her distance from him, knowing that she may have to run away. He made it so difficult though. She tensed slightly when he enveloped her into his arms. She felt so warm and safe, though, that she cuddled closer.

Locke stepped back wanting nothing more than to lower his head and see if those lips tasted as sweet as they looked. He cleared his throat before speaking. “So I take it that you like it?”

She laughed wiping her cheeks. “Thank you so much, Locke. This is… its just amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it. Where would you like it hung?”

“Where?” she repeated.

He gave her a smile. “You are going to be the lady of the house someday. Decorating will be your job.”

“Oh. Can we hang it in here?”

“Of course.” He had somehow guessed that she’d pick this room. “In fact we can hang it now.” He walked over to the fireplace and climbed onto the mantel. He took down the painting that was hanging there and handed it to her. She sat it down and handed him the portrait. He put it up and hopped down.

“Thank you, Locke,” she said again. She looked up at the picture for a moment before turning to him with a smile. “So what other training do we have to do?”

“Conversation is important,” he said. “Because you are going to be my mate people may want to talk to you. If someone asks you where you’re from feel free to tell them that you were a free human. Just tell them that I found you, and of course, don’t mention that you can read.”

“I figured that one out,” she nodded.

“Good. Now, women, especially, are probably going to ask about our relationship. They’ll know that I haven’t taken you yet.” She blushed. “If they ask what will you say?”

“I… have no idea,” she confessed. “What will you tell them?”

“That I want my mate to trust and respect me,” he said honestly.

“So, do vampires often pick complete strangers to be their mates?” Hope asked.

“No,” he smiled. “This… just sort of happened.” He was quiet for a few moments going over possible conversations in his head. “If someone asks you what you think of me?”

“Oh, my God, he is so hot,” she gasped clasping her hands to her chest. He arched an eyebrow at her. “Over the top?”

“A little.”

“Okay.” He saw her lips curl up and found himself smiling back at her. “I think Locke is a good man, very handsome, and very kind. The type of man a woman prays to meet her entire life.” She blushed a little. “How’s that?”

“Very good,” Locke said, his eyes dropped to her lips and he wondered what she would do if he closed the distance between them. “I don’t think we really have anything to worry about. Except dining and dancing.”

“Do I have bad table manners?” she asked worriedly. She had been concerned about that but had done her best to follow his example.

“No,” he assured her. “They’re impeccable for someone who I’m willing to bet hasn’t used the different silverware that I have. There’s just a few little things we should go over. As for dancing, there will be a lot of that.”

“I guess I’ll get used to it,” she shrugged. “Do you want to practice some more?”

“I’d be delighted,” he said with a nod. “Walk with me?” She took his proffered arm and he led her downstairs to the ballroom. He went to the front of the room and started a CD. A slow tune started. He walked back to her. “Put your arm over mine, like this.” He placed her arm over his on his shoulder and placed his one hand on her back, the other took her free hand. He instructed her as they slowly moved.

“What are we doing?” she asked after a few minutes.

“Dancing,” he smirked.

“I know that,” she said rolling her eyes as he led her in a spin. “What type of dance?”

“This is, or will be when we put the moves together, a waltz,” he explained. “You’re doing very well.”

“You’re a good teacher,” she told him.

“Thank you, dearest,” he nodded. “At the party we’ll have to mingle apart at some points. If you get uncomfortable seek me out and meet my gaze. I’ll be keeping an eye out for you. If you’re feeling upset I’ll come and ask you for a dance or to walk with me.”

“Do I have to dance with anyone else?”

“As you are mine they will come to me to ask for my permission. I won’t be giving it to many. I will have to allow the twins to dance with you, should they wish it, since the party is in your honor. I will refuse most others.” They practiced dancing for a couple hours until Locke tensed.

“What is it?”

“Sunrise is approaching.”

“You can just tell?”

“When sunlight can kill you, you tend to learn to predict it’s rising and setting. Would you like to grab a book or something in case you awake early?”

“Yes, please.” They walked to the library and she grabbed the copy of Les Miserables that she had sat on the end table.

“Why did you choose Hugo?” Locke asked as they walked back towards their rooms.

She smiled up at him. “Why? Would you rather if I were to read Danielle Steele?”

“Whatever you wish to read is fine with me,” he shrugged. “Although, your choice does surprise me. Hugo can come off a little… overly verbose, and well, rambling.” They had reached their rooms and she turned to him in shock.

“Are you serious?” she demanded. “He’s passionate, and clearly loves his characters. How can you say that?”

“He includes fifty pages of unimportant history.”

“So his reader will know.”

“It’s completely unnecessary for the story-line.”

“You are completely wrong. He’s just thorough. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“In that book you have seventy-five pages of characterization about a man who you never see again.”

“He’s important!”

“I think five pages would have sufficed.”

“He’s completely necessary to the plot. Jean-Valjean would have continued on his path of self-loathing, and hatred of mankind if not for him.”

“You are adorable.”

She looked baffled by the sudden change of subject. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen this side of you before,” he explained. “I must say, I really like it.”

“And what side is that, Mr. Brennan?” she asked.

“Passionate and unafraid,” he said. With a smile he leaned in close. “I would like to kiss you, Hope. May I?”

Her eyes widened as she gazed up at him, her gaze traveling from his eyes to his lips and back again. She wasn’t even aware she was speaking until the word was out, “Okay.”

His smile widened and he cupped her cheek in his hand as he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. She found herself straining towards him on her tip toes. “How was that?” he asked his tone pitched low. She opened her eyes, not remembering having closed them.

“That was a kiss?” She sounded almost disappointed.

He laughed. “It was a type of kiss. There are many different types of kisses. We can explore the different types later. Goodnight.”

She thought that her cheeks would never stop burning. “Goodnight.” He kissed her on the forehead. She walked into the room feeling happy. She sat down on the bed wondering if she could remember feeling like that before her mother died. Her mother had always told her that everyone had the choice, humans and vampires alike to be good or evil.

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“The choice to be good is harder for them,” her mother had said. “They’re closer to animals than humans sometimes.”

“But animals aren’t evil,” Hope had protested.

“No, but they can’t make the conscious choice to be good either. Most vampires tread in the gray area.”

“But they treat us as livestock.”

“We did the same thing to cows. To many of them there is no difference. After all we are their prey.”

“I guess,” Hope had said. “Can they be good?”

“Yes, it’s harder but they have the same capacity for love that we do,” her mother’s gaze had been distant as she said that. “When I was a slave I know some vampires who were very kind. As I said, honey, it’s all a choice.”


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Hope sat quietly, recalling that conversation. Her mother had been killed a week later. Hope knew first hand how evil people could be; human or otherwise. Locke was the kindest man that she had ever met. She was a little confused, however, on how to interact with him. With a sigh, she opened the book and read about Jean Valjean meeting the bishop.

Locke took a shower before collapsing in his bed. Hope was meaning more and more to him as time went on. The irony that they were both damaged recluses who had pretty much lost faith in their own kind wasn’t lost on him. He kept in contact with Salem and still went on the hunts but much of it was just for appearances. If he were to be completely honest with himself he had wanted Hope to be his since they had stumbled upon her camp. The felt that the sun was just rising and with a sigh he succumbed to the exhaustion that it brought with it.