Dark Shadows - Metaphysical Gravity - Ch. 2 - The Stranger Who Is Not A Stranger
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Castiel stands at the door and waits patiently, listening to the chimes echo throughout the house. Their slow cadence is methodical and melancholy. He sets his shoulders, content to wait.
After all, time is something he has in abundance.
Though he knows what to expect from each inhabitant of the house, his body thrums with a slight tremor of trepidation.
No, not trepidation exactly. Anticipation.
This house was never his home. He lived at the estate manor, or what they now call the Old Estate. Pulling as much information as he required for his preliminary visit to Collinwood from Charles Shurley’s mind had been no trouble, but filtering through it all, distilling it into useful snippets and understanding it had taken time.
The new estate was built after the fire that decimated his home in the 1800s. While the house appears functional enough, it is nothing compared to the glory that was the Old Estate. The fading light of day was too dark as he approached to make out any of the shingled turrets on the old house. But he knows, he remembers, that in the sunlight, far across the Collins lot and hidden by a dense set of trees, his home would stand tall and fierce, a beacon of respite.
Before the flames devoured it.
He cannot think about that now. He does not wish to think about it. Instead he forces himself to think of how the turrets look in the sunlight. He makes a promise to himself to come back tomorrow and see them.
If it is not sunny.
Sunlight is not as distant a memory as one might think. He can be out in the daylight, but it is… uncomfortable. Taxing. Direct sunlight will burn him after a prolonged period of exposure as surely as a flame. But the fading light of sunset, or the overcast light of a foggy day is tolerable, although not pleasant, physically or mentally.
The tease of sunshine, the taunt of humanity, makes his chest ache.
From Charles he also learned that the Collins family is still the wealthiest, most powerful family in Collinsport. Pamela Collins Stoddard is the head of the family, living in the new estate house with her nieces, Anna and Rebecca Collins, and Pamela’s stepson, Benjamin. Pamela’s husband, Paul, was gone. Charles didn’t know where. It seemed no one knew. Anna’s father, Roger, was the family black sheep, coming and going as he wished, never staying longer than necessary for him to recharge his bank account or lay low until his gambling debts were paid down. Rebecca’s father Joshua was slightly more reliable, but tended to flee Collinsport as soon as his latest romantic entanglement became too… entangled.
It was up to the women of the Collins family to run everything. The business, the estate, various charities and social committees. It would seem they are doing quite well, maintaining and even improving the family holdings, with the exception of the Old Estate. He learned from Charles that it lies in ruins, abandoned, falling to waste.
It saddens him to think of his home in such disrepair. He frowns. Former home. He sets his shoulders.
He’s going to make it his again.
The Old Estate lacks all the modern amenities that Castiel was ignorant of before but has learned from Charles’ brain that no one lives without: electricity, central heat, indoor plumbing. Foreign words that are now becoming more and more familiar to his lips and tongue as he continues to process rudimentary information from Charles. The distillation of his prey’s knowledge and memory will continue as long he has maintains a schedule with Charles. He checks his watch.
It’s a schedule that does not leave him much time to introduce himself.
He finally hears the turning of the handle. The clicking of chambers and sliding of locks are a cacophony of interest to his sensitive hearing. When the door swings open, although he had known what to expect, he is still surprised.
Abigail.
Her name is Anna now and she likely has no knowledge that she so resembles Castiel’s sister Abigail that it nearly hurts to behold her. Her red hair is loose, hanging down in waves. It is jarring for a moment, as his Abigail would never wear her hair so informally. Nor would she wear paint splattered jeans and a t-shirt or answer the door barefoot.
But, he reminds himself as he nods once politely at her gaping face, she is not his Abigail. He is a stranger. He leans slightly on his silver topped cane.
“Hello. Is Mrs. Pamela Collins Stoddard in?”
“Holy crap,” Anna blurts as she stares at him.
“Mrs. Pamela Collins Stoddard,” he repeats with his soft accent, ignoring her language. “Perhaps you would do me the courtesy to inform her that her cousin, Castiel Collins, has come to pay his respects.”
“Her cousin?”
“Yes, her cousin from England.”
“From England?” Anna repeats dumbly. “You… I mean, you look… we’ve got this picture… a portrait… and you look… I would stare at it all the time when I was little and … huh?”
So his portrait does still rest in the estate, as Charles has indicated.
“Castiel Collins. I wish to pay my respects to Mrs. Pamela Collins Stoddard.”
“Holy crap,” Anna repeats. She offers a weak smile and shakes her head. “Sorry, I just… I thought… Jesus, look at me. Won’t you come in?” She ushers him in with a mad dance of her slender fingers and delicate wrists.
“I would be delighted, thank you.”
“I’m sorry for my reaction,” Anna starts as she continues to stare unabashedly at him. “It’s just… the portrait. I mean… wow, England, you probably don’t know. We’ve got this portrait…” she leads him into the foyer and shuts the front door behind her, having to lean on it with her hip to get the solid wooden beast closed. She points to one of the paintings on the wall, further down the hall, toward the drawing room. “There. Castiel Collins.” Anna goes to stand next to it and moves her gaze band and forth from the painting to the man.
Of course it is identical. He remembers clearly having to sit for it. An ungodly amount of time with a horrid little man who was intent on getting the angle of Castiel’s brow perfect and made Castiel sit for hours.
“Ah, yes,” Castiel murmurs as he leans in and pretends to examine the portrait. “We’ve a similar one at the estate in England,” he lies smoothly. “Although Castiel is slightly older in it, and somewhat ill. I must confess, until now, I had never put much stock in the resemblance.”
“Are you serious?” she’s incredulous. “Because…” she waves her hand between him and the painting.
Castiel smiles and Anna leans toward him unconsciously, seeming to curl into his expression. “The Collins genes must be truly remarkable. We’ve a portrait of Castiel’s sister, Abigail at my home in England and you share quite a remarkable similarity to her as well.” The lie flows easily off his tongue.
“Do I?”
Castiel smiles and the shock of white teeth is mesmerizing. “Yes. It’s extraordinary.” He can’t stop himself as reaches a hand out and curls a lock of hair around his finger. She moves slightly closer. “The same hair exactly.”
Anna is nodding her head like an excited, enraptured child, bobbing it up and down.
“And you are?”
She suddenly blinks and shakes her head. “Jesus, my manners. I’m Anna, Anna Collins.”
Castiel’s eyes light up, a practiced and proficient ruse. “We must be cousins as well, then. How wonderful.”
“Yeah.”
He’s aware she can’t look away. It’s a spillover of the curse. It’s a part of it that he has limited control over, like a pheromone or the color of his hair. It happens especially when he is distracted. Most people are generally drawn to him,like moths to a flame. But when he is focused on someone, intently focused, as he is with Anna, people are pulled even closer to his aura of influence. He has no doubt that right now, if he asked, she would pleasantly and willingly bare her neck for him. He stares back at her with fondness. Warmth. Directness.
He makes a conscious effort to pull his thoughts away from her, releasing her slightly from the fierce pull of his mind and in her release she laughs nervously. The dulcet tones bring back memories of chasing Abigail through the estate when they were young. Running wildly through tall grass and dashing in and out of the forest, catching only glimpses of her red hair as it flashed through the trees. His smile widens at her laughter and she’s suddenly shy, covering her lips with her hands.
“Why don’t you come into the drawing room and I’ll get Aunt Pam?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” He pauses. “May I call you Anna?”
She blinks. “Uh, yeah, what else would you call me?”
“Miss Collins, if you would prefer.”
She giggles breathlessly at the notion that anyone would address her so formally, especially with such a serious tone as he just used. “Jesus, no. Anna’s fine.” She shows him into the drawing room. “Um, if you wanna sit, I’ll be right back?” She can’t help it. It comes out like she’s requesting his permission.
“I shall wait for you both.”
Castiel does not sit but instead turns slowly in a circle, eyes casting out over the contents of the drawing room. Although it is not his home, this building does remind him more of his life than the remainder of town has so far. While many of the furnishings have been re-covered, he recognizes the structure of them, sees them in his mind’s eye both as they are now, and as they were from before. Several of the portraits in the room are the same. There is one in particular that he was quite fond of in his previous life. The artist depicted a long ship set on rolling blue waves, a silver-white moon casting shadows across the deck of the boat, and sails billowing in night wind. He would make up ridiculous pirate stories to entertain Abigail with this portrait as inspiration. His heart lurches. The stories were for Abigail and Sarah. Thoughts of Sarah cut painful strips in his chest.
“I don’t believe it.”
He turns at the voice. She is a striking woman. Gorgeous, cat shaped eyes framed by perfectly arched brows. Her voice is like whiskey, smooth and golden.
“It is Castiel. Castiel Collins.” She’s eyeing him carefully. Anna is right behind her, her large doe eyes focused intently on him.
“And you must be Pamela. Cousin Pamela.”
She chuckles, low and throaty giving him an appraising look. “Kissing cousins?” she raises an eyebrow playfully.
He smiles and she is charmed. “Forgive me for calling on you without any notice. I hope you don’t think ill of me.”
“You were right, Anna, he’s the portrait come to life.”
“Except for the clothes, I hope. Or I shall have to fire my tailor.”
Pamela steps closer to Castiel and stares at him, tilting her head to one side. Castiel doesn’t look away from her feline eyes, meets her stare dead on.
“Well, you’re an old soul, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?” he asks, frowning slightly.
Anna rolls her eyes. “Don’t start.” She gives Castiel a sympathetic look. “Aunt Pam is like that.”
“Like what?” he queries innocently. Pamela hasn’t looked away from him yet and Castiel gets the impression he is being measured.
“She thinks she’s psychic.” The last word is said in a stage whisper.
Pamela is unfazed. “I don’t just think, I know,” she directs the comment at Anna, while never once letting her gaze leave Castiel. His eyes flick over to Anna, as though they are playing a game and then return to Pamela. He leans in, conspiratorially.
“And what do you see, madam?”
She doesn’t blink. She is serious and solemn. “You are… out of time.”
“I should hope not. I’ve only just arrived.” He winks at Anna. She can’t help the blush that curls up her fair skin.
“No,” continues Pamela quietly not distracted by his teasing tone. “Out of step with time.”
The smile stays on his lips, but bleeds from his eyes. Like Anna before her, Pamela finds she cannot look away.
“Perhaps I am simply old fashioned.”
Pamela is slow to reply. “Perhaps.” She finally shakes her head, clearing the fog that is threatening to settle around it. “But this is no way to greet you.” She leans forward and kisses him on both cheeks. He is surprised, eyebrows darting up quickly before he catches himself and steels his face back into serene acceptance.
“Welcome to Collinwood, Castiel Collins.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, you’ll forgive me for prying, but I understood from the family history that Castiel Collins died shortly after arriving in England.”
“That is somewhat misleading,” he states easily. “He contracted a sickness, likely consumption and lingered for some time. In that time he acquired a wife and she bore him a son, who proved to be my great-great-grandfather.”
“How strange we never heard of it.”
Castiel gives her a warm smile and a soft shrug. “Not really when you consider the distances of which we are speaking. In those days, it was common to lose track of family members. Especially those separated by an ocean.”
“I suppose so,” agrees Pamela politely. “So, are all the British Collins as strapping as you?”
Castiel tilts his head in recognition of her compliment. “Unfortunately, I am the sole member English Collins’.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Are you going to be staying?” Anna blurts out.
He turns his stunning blue eyes to her and she feels her heart flutter a bit. “I don’t know as of yet. I have some business in the area, but if it’s acceptable to you, I would love to acquaint myself with my American cousins.”
“Perhaps you could stay here?” asks Anna. And although it is Pamela’s house, it is Castiel’s permission she seems to be seeking.
“Yes,” supplies Pamela easily. “We can have one of the rooms in the northern wing set up for you. Get to know you better. Becky, another one of your cousins lives here, as does my stepson Benjamin. And we expect Joshua, Becky’s father, returning anytime.”
“I thank you, but I could not possibly dream of imposing as such. I have already let a room at the Collinsport Inn.”
“Would you join us for dinner? We were just about to serve.”
“I’m afraid I have already made my dining arrangements for this evening, and I wouldn’t want to impose on you any further. I have arrived on your doorstep unannounced and you have been gracious enough to spend some time with me. I only meant to introduce myself today. Perhaps another time?”
“Of course. I’m sure the rest of the family would love to meet you. And I you can tell us about the family history from England.”
“That would be lovely.” He stood easily.
Pamela chuckled. “Oh, honey, we’re going to have to help you lose some of that formality.” She winks.
His smile is wolfish. “I look forward to it.” Castiel checks his watch. The movement is fluid and graceful. Charles should be ready for another feeding by now. “And now, if you ladies would excuse me, I must be off. I believe my dinner is waiting.”
Next Chapter - 3 - Chuck Shurley, Blood Donor
Castiel stands at the door and waits patiently, listening to the chimes echo throughout the house. Their slow cadence is methodical and melancholy. He sets his shoulders, content to wait.
After all, time is something he has in abundance.
Though he knows what to expect from each inhabitant of the house, his body thrums with a slight tremor of trepidation.
No, not trepidation exactly. Anticipation.
This house was never his home. He lived at the estate manor, or what they now call the Old Estate. Pulling as much information as he required for his preliminary visit to Collinwood from Charles Shurley’s mind had been no trouble, but filtering through it all, distilling it into useful snippets and understanding it had taken time.
The new estate was built after the fire that decimated his home in the 1800s. While the house appears functional enough, it is nothing compared to the glory that was the Old Estate. The fading light of day was too dark as he approached to make out any of the shingled turrets on the old house. But he knows, he remembers, that in the sunlight, far across the Collins lot and hidden by a dense set of trees, his home would stand tall and fierce, a beacon of respite.
Before the flames devoured it.
He cannot think about that now. He does not wish to think about it. Instead he forces himself to think of how the turrets look in the sunlight. He makes a promise to himself to come back tomorrow and see them.
If it is not sunny.
Sunlight is not as distant a memory as one might think. He can be out in the daylight, but it is… uncomfortable. Taxing. Direct sunlight will burn him after a prolonged period of exposure as surely as a flame. But the fading light of sunset, or the overcast light of a foggy day is tolerable, although not pleasant, physically or mentally.
The tease of sunshine, the taunt of humanity, makes his chest ache.
From Charles he also learned that the Collins family is still the wealthiest, most powerful family in Collinsport. Pamela Collins Stoddard is the head of the family, living in the new estate house with her nieces, Anna and Rebecca Collins, and Pamela’s stepson, Benjamin. Pamela’s husband, Paul, was gone. Charles didn’t know where. It seemed no one knew. Anna’s father, Roger, was the family black sheep, coming and going as he wished, never staying longer than necessary for him to recharge his bank account or lay low until his gambling debts were paid down. Rebecca’s father Joshua was slightly more reliable, but tended to flee Collinsport as soon as his latest romantic entanglement became too… entangled.
It was up to the women of the Collins family to run everything. The business, the estate, various charities and social committees. It would seem they are doing quite well, maintaining and even improving the family holdings, with the exception of the Old Estate. He learned from Charles that it lies in ruins, abandoned, falling to waste.
It saddens him to think of his home in such disrepair. He frowns. Former home. He sets his shoulders.
He’s going to make it his again.
The Old Estate lacks all the modern amenities that Castiel was ignorant of before but has learned from Charles’ brain that no one lives without: electricity, central heat, indoor plumbing. Foreign words that are now becoming more and more familiar to his lips and tongue as he continues to process rudimentary information from Charles. The distillation of his prey’s knowledge and memory will continue as long he has maintains a schedule with Charles. He checks his watch.
It’s a schedule that does not leave him much time to introduce himself.
He finally hears the turning of the handle. The clicking of chambers and sliding of locks are a cacophony of interest to his sensitive hearing. When the door swings open, although he had known what to expect, he is still surprised.
Abigail.
Her name is Anna now and she likely has no knowledge that she so resembles Castiel’s sister Abigail that it nearly hurts to behold her. Her red hair is loose, hanging down in waves. It is jarring for a moment, as his Abigail would never wear her hair so informally. Nor would she wear paint splattered jeans and a t-shirt or answer the door barefoot.
But, he reminds himself as he nods once politely at her gaping face, she is not his Abigail. He is a stranger. He leans slightly on his silver topped cane.
“Hello. Is Mrs. Pamela Collins Stoddard in?”
“Holy crap,” Anna blurts as she stares at him.
“Mrs. Pamela Collins Stoddard,” he repeats with his soft accent, ignoring her language. “Perhaps you would do me the courtesy to inform her that her cousin, Castiel Collins, has come to pay his respects.”
“Her cousin?”
“Yes, her cousin from England.”
“From England?” Anna repeats dumbly. “You… I mean, you look… we’ve got this picture… a portrait… and you look… I would stare at it all the time when I was little and … huh?”
So his portrait does still rest in the estate, as Charles has indicated.
“Castiel Collins. I wish to pay my respects to Mrs. Pamela Collins Stoddard.”
“Holy crap,” Anna repeats. She offers a weak smile and shakes her head. “Sorry, I just… I thought… Jesus, look at me. Won’t you come in?” She ushers him in with a mad dance of her slender fingers and delicate wrists.
“I would be delighted, thank you.”
“I’m sorry for my reaction,” Anna starts as she continues to stare unabashedly at him. “It’s just… the portrait. I mean… wow, England, you probably don’t know. We’ve got this portrait…” she leads him into the foyer and shuts the front door behind her, having to lean on it with her hip to get the solid wooden beast closed. She points to one of the paintings on the wall, further down the hall, toward the drawing room. “There. Castiel Collins.” Anna goes to stand next to it and moves her gaze band and forth from the painting to the man.
Of course it is identical. He remembers clearly having to sit for it. An ungodly amount of time with a horrid little man who was intent on getting the angle of Castiel’s brow perfect and made Castiel sit for hours.
“Ah, yes,” Castiel murmurs as he leans in and pretends to examine the portrait. “We’ve a similar one at the estate in England,” he lies smoothly. “Although Castiel is slightly older in it, and somewhat ill. I must confess, until now, I had never put much stock in the resemblance.”
“Are you serious?” she’s incredulous. “Because…” she waves her hand between him and the painting.
Castiel smiles and Anna leans toward him unconsciously, seeming to curl into his expression. “The Collins genes must be truly remarkable. We’ve a portrait of Castiel’s sister, Abigail at my home in England and you share quite a remarkable similarity to her as well.” The lie flows easily off his tongue.
“Do I?”
Castiel smiles and the shock of white teeth is mesmerizing. “Yes. It’s extraordinary.” He can’t stop himself as reaches a hand out and curls a lock of hair around his finger. She moves slightly closer. “The same hair exactly.”
Anna is nodding her head like an excited, enraptured child, bobbing it up and down.
“And you are?”
She suddenly blinks and shakes her head. “Jesus, my manners. I’m Anna, Anna Collins.”
Castiel’s eyes light up, a practiced and proficient ruse. “We must be cousins as well, then. How wonderful.”
“Yeah.”
He’s aware she can’t look away. It’s a spillover of the curse. It’s a part of it that he has limited control over, like a pheromone or the color of his hair. It happens especially when he is distracted. Most people are generally drawn to him,like moths to a flame. But when he is focused on someone, intently focused, as he is with Anna, people are pulled even closer to his aura of influence. He has no doubt that right now, if he asked, she would pleasantly and willingly bare her neck for him. He stares back at her with fondness. Warmth. Directness.
He makes a conscious effort to pull his thoughts away from her, releasing her slightly from the fierce pull of his mind and in her release she laughs nervously. The dulcet tones bring back memories of chasing Abigail through the estate when they were young. Running wildly through tall grass and dashing in and out of the forest, catching only glimpses of her red hair as it flashed through the trees. His smile widens at her laughter and she’s suddenly shy, covering her lips with her hands.
“Why don’t you come into the drawing room and I’ll get Aunt Pam?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” He pauses. “May I call you Anna?”
She blinks. “Uh, yeah, what else would you call me?”
“Miss Collins, if you would prefer.”
She giggles breathlessly at the notion that anyone would address her so formally, especially with such a serious tone as he just used. “Jesus, no. Anna’s fine.” She shows him into the drawing room. “Um, if you wanna sit, I’ll be right back?” She can’t help it. It comes out like she’s requesting his permission.
“I shall wait for you both.”
Castiel does not sit but instead turns slowly in a circle, eyes casting out over the contents of the drawing room. Although it is not his home, this building does remind him more of his life than the remainder of town has so far. While many of the furnishings have been re-covered, he recognizes the structure of them, sees them in his mind’s eye both as they are now, and as they were from before. Several of the portraits in the room are the same. There is one in particular that he was quite fond of in his previous life. The artist depicted a long ship set on rolling blue waves, a silver-white moon casting shadows across the deck of the boat, and sails billowing in night wind. He would make up ridiculous pirate stories to entertain Abigail with this portrait as inspiration. His heart lurches. The stories were for Abigail and Sarah. Thoughts of Sarah cut painful strips in his chest.
“I don’t believe it.”
He turns at the voice. She is a striking woman. Gorgeous, cat shaped eyes framed by perfectly arched brows. Her voice is like whiskey, smooth and golden.
“It is Castiel. Castiel Collins.” She’s eyeing him carefully. Anna is right behind her, her large doe eyes focused intently on him.
“And you must be Pamela. Cousin Pamela.”
She chuckles, low and throaty giving him an appraising look. “Kissing cousins?” she raises an eyebrow playfully.
He smiles and she is charmed. “Forgive me for calling on you without any notice. I hope you don’t think ill of me.”
“You were right, Anna, he’s the portrait come to life.”
“Except for the clothes, I hope. Or I shall have to fire my tailor.”
Pamela steps closer to Castiel and stares at him, tilting her head to one side. Castiel doesn’t look away from her feline eyes, meets her stare dead on.
“Well, you’re an old soul, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?” he asks, frowning slightly.
Anna rolls her eyes. “Don’t start.” She gives Castiel a sympathetic look. “Aunt Pam is like that.”
“Like what?” he queries innocently. Pamela hasn’t looked away from him yet and Castiel gets the impression he is being measured.
“She thinks she’s psychic.” The last word is said in a stage whisper.
Pamela is unfazed. “I don’t just think, I know,” she directs the comment at Anna, while never once letting her gaze leave Castiel. His eyes flick over to Anna, as though they are playing a game and then return to Pamela. He leans in, conspiratorially.
“And what do you see, madam?”
She doesn’t blink. She is serious and solemn. “You are… out of time.”
“I should hope not. I’ve only just arrived.” He winks at Anna. She can’t help the blush that curls up her fair skin.
“No,” continues Pamela quietly not distracted by his teasing tone. “Out of step with time.”
The smile stays on his lips, but bleeds from his eyes. Like Anna before her, Pamela finds she cannot look away.
“Perhaps I am simply old fashioned.”
Pamela is slow to reply. “Perhaps.” She finally shakes her head, clearing the fog that is threatening to settle around it. “But this is no way to greet you.” She leans forward and kisses him on both cheeks. He is surprised, eyebrows darting up quickly before he catches himself and steels his face back into serene acceptance.
“Welcome to Collinwood, Castiel Collins.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, you’ll forgive me for prying, but I understood from the family history that Castiel Collins died shortly after arriving in England.”
“That is somewhat misleading,” he states easily. “He contracted a sickness, likely consumption and lingered for some time. In that time he acquired a wife and she bore him a son, who proved to be my great-great-grandfather.”
“How strange we never heard of it.”
Castiel gives her a warm smile and a soft shrug. “Not really when you consider the distances of which we are speaking. In those days, it was common to lose track of family members. Especially those separated by an ocean.”
“I suppose so,” agrees Pamela politely. “So, are all the British Collins as strapping as you?”
Castiel tilts his head in recognition of her compliment. “Unfortunately, I am the sole member English Collins’.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Are you going to be staying?” Anna blurts out.
He turns his stunning blue eyes to her and she feels her heart flutter a bit. “I don’t know as of yet. I have some business in the area, but if it’s acceptable to you, I would love to acquaint myself with my American cousins.”
“Perhaps you could stay here?” asks Anna. And although it is Pamela’s house, it is Castiel’s permission she seems to be seeking.
“Yes,” supplies Pamela easily. “We can have one of the rooms in the northern wing set up for you. Get to know you better. Becky, another one of your cousins lives here, as does my stepson Benjamin. And we expect Joshua, Becky’s father, returning anytime.”
“I thank you, but I could not possibly dream of imposing as such. I have already let a room at the Collinsport Inn.”
“Would you join us for dinner? We were just about to serve.”
“I’m afraid I have already made my dining arrangements for this evening, and I wouldn’t want to impose on you any further. I have arrived on your doorstep unannounced and you have been gracious enough to spend some time with me. I only meant to introduce myself today. Perhaps another time?”
“Of course. I’m sure the rest of the family would love to meet you. And I you can tell us about the family history from England.”
“That would be lovely.” He stood easily.
Pamela chuckled. “Oh, honey, we’re going to have to help you lose some of that formality.” She winks.
His smile is wolfish. “I look forward to it.” Castiel checks his watch. The movement is fluid and graceful. Charles should be ready for another feeding by now. “And now, if you ladies would excuse me, I must be off. I believe my dinner is waiting.”
Next Chapter - 3 - Chuck Shurley, Blood Donor