"Josef," Mick glared at the image of his husband luxuriating on a couch in front of him, "do you think you could possibly get off your ass and help out?"
Josef stretched for a moment, and then reclined back with one arm tucked behind his head, "Didn't we hire people to do this?"
"Yes," Mick upended the couch, spilling Josef onto the ground, "and we're paying them by the hour, so shift it. Besides that you need to let them know where you want all this stuff."
Picking himself up Josef brushed the dirt from his suit, and then shot Mick a disdainful look. Making his way over to one of the packed boxes, he put on an extravagant display of drawing out a single lampshade to carry inside.
"Try not to exert yourself too much." Mick called after him, and then laughed and shook his head when he saw Josef wave a patronising hand over his shoulder.
A month had gone by since Terrence's demise. Mick couldn't remember the last time he had seen Josef so relaxed, and happy. It felt as if a black cloud had lifted. For his part, Mick's relationship with Roisin had finally been mended. Their differences set aside, and a proper family reunion celebrated at long last.
Now they were moving into Betliar Castle. Built in the 15th century, and extensively updated in the 18th, the Castle had once been named a Slovakian national cultural monument, until the ongoing cost of upkeep, and rising debt had forced it into liquidation. Josef had purchased the property from its previous owner less than a week ago, for the tidy sum of sixty five million euros.
Mick had baulked at the price, near choking on the glass of blood he was drinking at the time. Josef insisted they could afford it, and besides they deserved it. Mick couldn't argue with that. Roisin had moved in the day before, occupying a number of rooms on the second level. Josef and Mick were to take the top floor. Josef insisted on the view from the balcony. Despite a persuasive argument, Katherine and Pierre had both declined Josef's offer to join them. Choosing instead to purchase a sizable modern day property less than a kilometer away.
"Ok, put that over…no, wait." Josef furrowed his brow. He was trying to decide the best location for a particularly ornate coffee table he had purchased. Except for their freezer, all of the furniture was new. A fresh start meant 'a fresh start', Josef had insisted as he wrote out cheque after cheque for everything from lamps to a new kitchen setting.
"Shouldn't it go near the couch we'll be sitting on?" Mick walked into the room, ladened with heavy boxes.
"It won't look right." Josef continued his reverie of thought. A finger tapped against his lip in consideration.
Mick placed the boxes he was carrying on the ground, and began to unpack them. "Wouldn't that be the most practical place for it though?"
Josef rolled his eyes, preparing to try and explain to Mick, in the most patronising voice he could muster, the difference between practicality and aesthetics. And then he stopped, a wide grin spreading across his features. "Move those arm chairs to the other side of the room, and put the coffee table near the couch where we'll be sitting," he instructed, much to Mick's amusement.
Three hours later they were done. Settling payment with the removalists, they retired in front of the TV. Curled up together on the couch, intending to watch an old Hammer Horror film that was playing. Thinking it might be good for a laugh.
It soon became apparent they were both far more interested in making out. Quickly losing interest in the gothic melodrama unfolding on the set in front of them as they focused on the pursuit of more pleasurable activities.
"Happy?" Josef asked as he unbuttoned Mick's shirt, and ran a hand over Mick's exposed chest.
"Nope, not at all." A brief chuckle, followed by a teasing smile, and then Mick was stifling a groan, and arching up. Shuddering at the sensation of Josef's fingers flicking across his nipples. "Come here." Mick whispered a heated distraction, as he reached up to draw Josef closer. One hand snaked behind Josef's head, fisting a handful of hair. His lips pressed firm against Josef's own.
Josef melted into the kiss. A hand caressed along Mick's side, and then slipped underneath Mick's buttocks. Raising the level of Mick's hips as Josef began to grind against him.
Mick groaned and wrapped his lower legs around Josef's thighs, his own hands reaching down to grip Josef's arse, encouraging Josef's movements.
Moments later Mick was breaking away, and whispering a heated instruction in Josef's ear. "You need to fuck me, right now."
"Happy to oblige." Josef grinned, and then flipped Mick onto his stomach. Mick felt his jeans and underwear being roughly pulled down around his knees. Could hear the sound of Josef's fingers fumbling desperately with the belt buckle and buttons on his own.
A hurried coating of saliva, and then Josef's cock was pressed against Mick's hole, carefully penetrating his space. Mick groaned, and buried his face into the couch. Letting out soft snarls, and whimpers of approval as Josef began a short, steady rhythm of thrust and withdraw.
"Oh fuck, yeah." Mick dug his fingers into the leather beneath him, and then felt Josef's hand gripping his own. Josef's own fingers entwined tightly with Mick's.
More vocalisations of approval, another chorus of appreciative snarls and whimpers, Mick urged Josef on. His face turned towards Josef's, Josef's lips seeking heated contact with Mick's own. The pace shifted frantic.
"Oh Jesus, that's it, that's it." Mick whispered the words against Josef's mouth. Unneeded breaths coming in ragged gasps.
And then they were both falling over the edge, together. Hands still clutched tight, a kiss maintained. Fangs biting into lips, and tongue, the taste of blood flowed between them.
Josef had no intention of stopping there. Hauling Mick onto all fours when his first orgasm was spent. Penetration made easier this time; Josef thrust himself back into Mick's body, and fucked Mick hard. Josef's cock pounding Mick's arse, pressing repeatedly against Mick's prostate.
Beads of perspiration dampened Mick's brow, strands of hair were plastered to his forehead. Mick's back glistened with a sheen of sweat. Reaching down, Mick took hold of his own cock and began to jerk himself off. Matching the rhythm of Josef's thrusts. Josef's hands gripping Mick's hips now, creating leverage.
Seconds later Josef was growling with triumph as he felt Mick clench around him. Mick exploding into his own hand, semen pumped over his fingers. Fangs sunk deep into the flesh of his own wrist.
And Josef was right there with him, only a fraction behind the pace. Shuddering with completion as the orgasm ripped through him, and he ejaculated into Mick's arse. Josef's own fangs biting into the top of Mick's shoulder.
Reveling in the closeness of afterglow, they waited for the last residual pulsations to fade away, and then shifted down to the floor.
"We should have a house warming, throw a masked ball, what do you think?" Josef stretched out alongside Mick. One leg draped over Mick's thigh, his hand tracing nonchalant circles across Mick's chest.
"You mean like a Viennese thing?"
"Yeah."
"Might be nice." Mick replied, distracted by Josef's hand shifting lower.
"First things first," Josef shifted his body to lie on top of Mick. Josef's lips pressed against Mick's ear, his fingers mapping the contours of Mick's face. "I'm going to fuck you again, and then when I've finished doing that I'm going to fuck you some more. As a matter of fact, I'm going to fuck you so many times I doubt you'll even remember your own name…"
The tone of Josef's voice shifted to dark seduction.
"…I want to make you scream."
"Oh fuck, yeah"
"Uncle Mick," Roisin watched the small group of Vampires in front of her performing what looked like an intricate series of steps, and bows, "Why aren't you dancing with Uncle Josef?"
Mick laughed, and shook his head. "Roisin, I think the Brigadoon is a bit before my time."
"Rigaudon, Uncle Mick," Roisin corrected with a knowledgeable smile, "The dance is called a Rigadoun. A French Baroque dance with a lively duple metre."
"How do you know that?" Mick furrowed his brow, and looked curiously impressed with Roisin's display of knowledge.
Roisin shrugged. "They taught us about it when I was enrolled at the School of Knowledge."
"The only dance from that era that Josef ever taught me was the Minuet."
"The Minuet a Quatre, or de la Reine?" Roisin asked.
Mick hesitated for a moment, thumb pressed against his lips in contemplation. "I'm not sure, the earlier one, I think?"
Roisin smiled, and nodded her understanding. "That would be the Minuet a Quatre."
And then the music had stopped, and Josef was sauntering back towards them. He greeted Mick with a perfectly executed bow, and then offered the same to Roisin.
Mick laughed, clumsily attempting to return Josef's bow, and then took a moment to admire the purple and silver brocade finery Josef had chosen to attire himself in for the evening. The epitome of seventeenth century high society fashion, complete with powdered wig. His face partly obscured by a traditional Colombina Baroque pewter mask.
For his own part, Mick was dressed in more modern attire. A well cut black tuxedo, with simple black velvet cats eye mask. Mick wrapped his arms around Josef's waist, and drew him close. Lifting the mask from Josef's face he pressed his lips against Josef's, and placed an affectionate kiss.
Any further plans of intimacy were halted by the sound of Auguste Vasilescu's voice calling for the next dance.
"What are we dancing now?" Roisin asked, as she donned the bracelets of silver bells that had been handed out, and watched her Uncles do the same.
"I have absolutely no idea." Mick laughed.
"It's called the Moresca," Josef replied. "Just follow me. This is way before my time, but I've met enough older Vamps over the years to be taught the steps. Roisin, you need to join the women in the center. Watch what they do, and try and keep up."
The merry strains of the traditional sound of folk pipes and strings filled the air, accompanied by the sounds of bells being shaken in time to the music. Mick and Roisin watched, and tried to copy the hand movements, and steps as best they could.
And then the pace of the music increased, until the two concentric groups of dancers were linking arms and circling faster, and faster. Laughing as they tried to keep up with the increasingly frenetic rhythm.
"Ok," Roisin laughed, trying to catch her breath when the dance had come to an end, "I think that's me done for the evening."
"Do you need to sit down?" Josef placed a concerned hand on the small of his niece's back. Resting another on Roisin's shoulder to steady her if need be.
"Uncle Josef," Roisin admonished her Uncle good naturedly, "I'm pregnant, not incapacitated."
"Seosamh Ó Duibhir." A voice called out to Josef from behind then, stopping Josef in his tracks. It had been centuries since he had heard anyone use the Gaelic pronunciation of his mortal name. He turned around slowly, his face etched with suspicion.
His expression soon changed. "Dónal Ó Glaisne," Josef exclaimed with astonishment, and then drew the man standing in front of him into a joyous embrace.
A conversation in rapid fire Gaelic ensued. Each spoke over the top of the other, eager with questions, and shared anecdotes of their respective lives.
Mick shifted to stand alongside Josef. Clearing his throat, he waited to be introduced.
"I'm sorry," Josef reverted to English then, "Mick doesn't speak the language, he's American by birth. Turned in the 1950's."
"You turned him?" Dónal asked with the raise of a quizzical eyebrow.
"No, not initially. His ex wife Coraline Duvall, was Mick's sire. I re-turned him at a later date, after…"
"…He took the so called 'Mortal Cure'?"
"Precisely." Josef laughed and then drew an arm around Mick's waist. "Dónal, I'd like you to meet my husband, Mick St John. Mick, this is a very old friend of mine, Dónal Ó Glaisne. We grew up together. He was the son of the local village Blacksmith. I had no idea he had been turned."
"Well it was either that, or die from the plague. There was another outbreak about ten years after we last heard word of you. Thankfully a Vampire happened to be passing through, and was able to offer me the hope of a successful cure. I suppose as a man of near forty I'd already lived a long life in those days, but I felt adamant there were a few more years left in me. And here I am."
Dónal chortled, and made an encompassing hand gesture. And then he was extending his hand towards Mick, and exchanging pleasantries. "So how long have you and Josef been wed?"
"Almost thirty years," Mick replied with an unabashed smile, "but we've been together for eighty."
"So you finally made an honest man out of him." Dónal raised a teasing eyebrow, and spoke with the gentle lilt of an Irish accent.
Mick snorted a laugh, "I don't know about that. Are you…?"
"Married? Yes, going on close to two centuries now. My wife is around here somewhere. I'll have to see if I can find her. I've just had an idea."
Dónal offered Mick a conspiratorial wink, and then disappeared. He returned, after exchanging a few quick words with Auguste, with a rather comely looking auburn haired female Vampire by his side.
The floor was cleared, the band striking up a traditional Irish Folk melody. Dónal beckoned Josef into the middle of the dance floor.
Josef affected a look of faux reluctance, and then grinned, and called out to Katherine across the other side of the room.
"I assume you know how to dance a Rince Fada?" Josef asked when Katherine had joined then.
"I'm Irish," Katherine rolled her eyes, and pretended to huff with indignation, "Of course I do."
Mick and Roisin stood on the sidelines and watched, and clapped along with the rest of the guests gathered round. As the four in the middle performed a complicated series of steps, and taps, interspersed with high kicks and circular reels.
And then the music was coming to a finish, and they were rejoining the others. Josef pretended to catch his breath, "It has been centuries since I've danced like that."
"Certainly brings back memories of the Village square, and one too many pints of mead." Dónal laughed.
"Wait," Katherine's surprise was evident, "the two of you know each other?"
Josef quickly recounted the story of how he knew Dónal Ó Glaisne, and then asked. "Why, do you know him too?"
"He's a friend of Pierre's." Katherine laughed, and shook her head. Commenting that it was indeed a small world. "Josef is my sire." Katherine offered by way of explanation then.
"Ah, really," Dónal raised an eyebrow, "then I take it this delightful affair is yours then, Josef O'Dwyer?"
"It's Kostan now, I haven't used the name O'Dwyer for a long time." Josef corrected. And then he was excusing himself, saying something about having spied a beverage he was more than keen to partake of.
"Where's Uncle Josef off to?" Roisin asked, as she watched after her Uncle's retreating form.
"I have a feeling he's interested in that Freshie over there." Mick pointed to an attractive brunette leaning against the wall on the far side of the room, "She's AB negative."
"His favourite flavour," Roisin nodded her understanding, and then added with a teasing smile, "Apart from you of course, Uncle Mick."
"Of course." Mick grinned, and pretended to puff his chest out with arrogant pride. And then he was taking Roisin by the hand, and leading her out onto the dance floor. "I assume they taught you how to dance a basic Foxtrot when you were at school."
"Yes, and the Quickstep as well."
"What about the Jitterbug?"
"We didn't quite get that far, Uncle Mick." Roisin laughed as she followed her Uncle's lead.
"I like your costume by the way." Mick complimented Roisin's choice of outfit for the evening.
"Thanks, it's a replica of the red dress Olivia Hussey wore in Franco Zeffirelli's production of Romeo and Juliet."
Having drunk his fill of AB negative tapped fresh from the vein, Josef stood back and watched the scene in front of him with a sense of interest, and delight. So far the evening had been an outstanding success.
Half an hour later he began to feel decidedly different, strange. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. His muscles seemed tense, wound tight like a coiled spring. A sensation of pins and needles ran across his skin, like tiny metal fingers pricking his flesh. His jaw clenched. He felt filled with an excess of energy, bordering on manic.
Surroundings seemed to change. Objects, and faces looked distorted. Sounds were amplified, even beyond the heightened range of a Vampire's hearing. The walls appeared to breathe with a life of their own.
A female figure, dressed in a simple floor length red beaded dress, and feathered mask, passed by. On impulse Josef reached out and grabbed her around the waist, drawing her near. It had been more decades than he could remember since he had felt the touch of a woman's lips against his own. The figure tasted soft, and feminine. The curves of her body seemed to mold to his hands.
And then the figure was shoving him away. Staring at him with wide-eyed astonishment. "Josef, what the hell are you doing?"
"Katherine." Realisation dawned on Josef then, "Oh shit, I'm sorry, I didn't know…"
Suddenly Josef broke off and started to laugh uproariously.
"Are you…?" Katherine had been about to ask if Josef was feeling okay. And then she caught a glimpse of his eyes. Josef's pupils were blown, his eyes devoid of any colour. Two black saucers set in the midst of a Cheshire cat grin plastered across his features. "Oh great." Katherine raised her eyes skyward, and shook her head. "You, wait here. I'm going to find Mick."
Katherine hurried through the throng of guests, over to where Mick stood conversing with her husband, and Dónal. A quick word, exclamations of frustration and disbelief, and then Mick was scanning the room for sight of the Freshie Josef had drunk from.
"Right," Mick instructed Katherine, having spied Josef's beverage looking to now be in much the same state as Josef had been described to him, "find Auguste, and have him throw that Vamp, and Miss Woodstock over there the hell out of our house. I'll go look after Josef."
By the time Mick had finished speaking with Katherine, and making his apologies to Pierre, and Dónal, Josef was nowhere to be seen. Mick eventually tracked him to one of the rooms on the third floor.
Josef was speaking to someone on the phone, arguing in Latin, "But I have money."
Mick snatched the receiver from Josef's hand, and proceeded to carry on a brief conversation with a Monsignor Kelly. Yes he was well aware the Vatican library was not for sale. No they certainly wouldn't be bothering the Vatican again with such outlandish requests.
"Come on, Major Tom." Mick joked as he pulled Josef to his feet, and began to lead him outside, "I think you need some fresh air."
Mick knew fresh air wasn't going to make a difference to Josef's current condition, but he figured it was better than risking any more phone calls to god knows where. Or damage to their house if Josef decided to engage in a spot of impromptu redecorating.
"The guests are leaving now," Roisin joined her Uncle outside an hour later. "It's ok, Katherine and Pierre are seeing them off. How is he?"
"Currently orbiting somewhere off Jupiter." Mick watched his husband seated cross-legged on the grass in front of them, looking at the garden surrounds with rapt fascination. They'd just finished having an in depth conversation on the colour green.
"How long is he going to be like that?" Roisin asked as she took a seat next to Mick.
"Depends," Mick shrugged, "If it's LSD, around twelve to sixteen hours. If it's Bromo-DMA, around eighteen to twenty four."
"How do you know about this stuff?" Roisin raised a quizzical eyebrow at her Uncle.
"Roisin," Mick laughed and shook his head, "I did live through the Sixties you know. At least this time I can be certain he's going to come out of it."
Mick's expression fell serious then. His brow furrowed with memories of not so happy times. Roisin placed a comforting hand on her Uncle's arm. "You know, one day I hope I find a love as strong, and devoted as what the two of you have."
Mick smiled, and didn't say anything. And then Roisin was saying her goodnights, and taking her leave. Heading off to bed just as Josef clambered onto Mick's lap, and curled up happily in his embrace.
The following evening Josef sat at the kitchen table, downing glass after glass of blood poured from a bottle close at hand.
"Evening. How are you feeling?"" Mick's greeting bordered a little too on the cheerful side for the mood Josef was in.
"I'll live." Josef poured himself another glass of crimson refreshment. "I need to take another shower," he muttered under his breath then, "I feel like I've got dirt crawling on my skin."
"Probably the toxins from the drug seeping out of your pores." Mick called after him, as Josef made his way to the bathroom.
Josef removed his robe, and adjusted the shower temperature to a comfortable level. He stood under the spray, and braced his hands on the tiles in front of him. Eyes closed as he let the flow of water wash over him.
And then Mick was stepping into the shower with him. Bare foot, but still clothed. "You need me to scrub your back?"
Mick's tone was a clear invitation. Josef shrugged, and handed Mick the flannel and soap. "Don't forget to do my neck as well."
"Yes Sir," Mick grinned, and tried to sound steadfast, "would Sir be requiring anything else."
Josef rolled his eyes, and admonished Mick's sense of humour.
"You are in a bad mood, aren't you?" Mick snorted a brief laugh, and went to work massaging the soaped cloth over Josef's skin. And then he was turning Josef around to face him, and sinking to his knees. His face level with Josef's crotch, his hand reaching out to grip Josef's erection. Mouth wrapped around the head of Josef's cock, lips and tongue working their way along the shaft.
"Jesus," Josef drew in a sharp breath, and rocked back and forth on his heels to heighten the sensation.
Reaching a hand down to grip the back of Mick's head, Josef surveyed the scene in front of him. Mick's hair was soaking wet, plastered in ringlets to his scalp and forehead. Rivulets of water ran down his face, wetting his cheeks, and pouring over his lips and chin. Mick's silk shirt, and denim jeans clung saturated to his body, outlining flesh and muscle like a second skin.
Josef reached both hands down then, and took hold of Mick's face, pulling Mick to his feet. And then he was pressing Mick back against the reinforced glass of the sliding door of the cubicle. His lips seeking urgent contact with Mick's own.
"Christ I want to fuck you so badly right now." Josef panted the words hot against Mick's throat, grinding his erection against Mick's denim covered thigh.
With a Vampire's strength, Josef rented Mick's jeans and underwear in two, and then tore Mick's shirt from his body.
"Hey, those clothes were practically new." Mick protested.
"I'll buy you some more. Get on your hands and knees."
Mick did as he was told, trembling with anticipation as Josef positioned himself behind, and hurriedly slicked his length with an application of make shift lubricant.
And then Mick was biting down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and trying not to cry out as Josef slammed into him.
In her room on the floor below, Roisin was listening to a collection of vintage dance music. The beat drifting up towards them Josef gripped Mick's hips either side, and began matching time with the pulsating rhythm. Head thrown back, and eyes squeezed shut. Mouth hung open, growling with ecstasy.
Mick lowered his chest and shoulders, and rested his forearms flat to the floor. Changing the angle of penetration, allowing Josef to nail his prostate with every stroke. Senses heightened, electricity flowing throughout his body. Mick began driving himself back hard onto Josef's erection. Feeling his impending orgasm coiling up from the base of his spine, ready to explode.
Mick's vocalisations became increasingly inhuman. And then he was giving a single ear shattering cry of release, and biting into the flesh of his own wrist. Convulsing with pleasure, Mick almost swore he could see stars.
Reaching a hand underneath Mick's body to take hold of his still erect cock, Josef began to stroke Mick then. Pumping him from base to tip, continuing to fuck him at the same time, raw, and abandoned. Bringing Mick over the edge for a second, and then a third time.
And then Josef gave one final thrust. Muscles trembling, suspended on a knife's edge. And the orgasm tore through his body hard enough to leave him dizzy in its wake. Fangs sunk deep into the back of Mick's neck, his semen flooding Mick's passage.
"So when are we inviting that Freshie back round?" Mick laughed when they were finally both spent. Turning over to lie on his back, after Josef had withdrawn. One arm tucked behind his head, the other cradling Josef next to him.
Josef draped a leg over Mick's thigh, his head rested on Mick's chest, "What do you mean?"
"Well if that's what happens when you're coming down from a trip, I'll go out and order us an entire harem of acid soaked Freshies."
"Go right ahead," Josef deadpanned, "just make sure they drill enough air holes in the delivery crates."
"Very funny," Mick snorted another quick laugh, and then stood up. Still feeling slightly weak kneed, residual tremors running through him. "I should go see what Roisin wants for dinner."
Taking a moment to clean up, and wrap a robe around his naked form, Mick made his way downstairs to the second floor of their new home, and knocked on Roisin's bedroom door.
"Are you ok?" Mick's expression shifted to immediate concern when Roisin answered. Her eyes were red, and puffy. Tears ran either side of her cheeks. Mick held out a hand to steady her.
"Uncle Mick," Roisin chuckled, and shook her head. "I'm fine, really." A mischievous grin spread across Roisin's features as she invited her Uncle in, and showed him the source of her apparent tears. Freshly sliced onions. "I'm having dinner with the head of the Legion, and his family this evening. I'm supposed to be Terrence's poor grieving widow, remember?"
"Ah," Mick nodded his understanding, and gave a conspiratorial wink, "my condolences to you."
And then Roisin threw herself into Mick's arms, pretending to choke back her sobs. "I know it had to be done. But it still doesn't make it any easier. Damn it I loved him. Now my unborn child has to grow up never knowing her father except through a few precious photographs. It's just not fair. It's all their fault, I hate them."
When Roisin had finished she stepped back, grinning. It was a performance worthy of an academy award. Mick applauded, and then laughed when Roisin executed a mock extravagant bow, complete with a flourishing of her hand.
"I'd better finish getting ready," Roisin excused herself then, and gave her Uncle a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Sure," Mick smiled, and nodded his understanding. "Just take care of yourself tonight, ok?"
Roisin couldn't help but note the concern in Mick's voice.
"I will Uncle Mick, don't worry."
"Are you sure you've had enough to eat?" The man seated across the table from Roisin asked.
"Plenty," Roisin forced a well-rehearsed smile, "couldn't fit another thing in."
"But you've hardly touched your dinner."
"I guess I just don't have much of an appetite." Roisin slumped her shoulders, and lowered her eyes, trying to give the illusion she was weighed down with grief.
"I'm sorry." Jonathon Whitley looked at Roisin with fatherly concern. "I know he meant a lot to you. You showed great loyalty, and fortitude of character when you asked for his execution. I can't imagine…"
"…It was for the greater good." Roisin cut Jonathon off, and pretended to wave a dismissive hand. Another forced smile offered in her host's direction. She changed the subject then. "So what's our next move?"
"Your next move," Jonathon said with a pointed smile, "is to look after yourself, and that baby you've got growing inside you. Consider yourself on vacation."
Roisin affected a crestfallen look, "But what about the campaign? We can't stop now. I have to…"
"…Who said anything about stopping." Jonathon chuckled behind the glass of wine he had raised to his lips. "We do have other areas we can work in, that don't involve endangering a mother to be and her unborn child."
Roisin's smile was genuine then. As much as she hated the man who had looked after as his own since she was sixteen years old, she was still occasionally touched by the tenderness, and care he directed towards her.
She decided to take a calculated risk then.
"Jonathon." Roisin tilted her head, and looked as if she were weighing up a decision, "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure." Jonathon Whitley shrugged, and then smiled for Roisin to continue.
"Why do you hate Josef Kostan so much?"
Jonathon Whitley hesitated then, and drew a steadying breath, "Because Sarah Whitley was my Great Great Grandfather's daughter." The name drew a complete blank from Roisin. It was clear Jonathon had expected more of a reaction than what he was getting. He looked genuinely puzzled. "You don't know about any of this, do you? About what your Uncle did to Sarah Whitley?"
"No." Roisin shook her head. Curiosity etched on her features. "I knew about Beth, but I've never heard either one of my Uncles mention the name Sarah Whitley. What happened to her?"
"Ask your Uncle. See what he has to say for himself."
Jonathon Whitley radiated distaste. The evening slowly drew to a close. Roisin reassuring Jonathon that she could see herself out, offering the appearance of responding in kind to his affectionate goodbyes.
And then she was heading home. Back to Bretliar Castle, with a million questions racing through her mind.