by Bella Klaus
I bristled because my question had been out of genuine concern. Last night, he was zombie-like, and now, he was acting like one of his reprobate brothers. Instead of a gray tinge to his skin, he looked pale and almost passable for a living being. What had Valentine done to himself?
In the blink of an eye, he stood a foot away from where I stood, making me flinch. “Inamorata,” he drawled in a smoky voice that sent shivers of pleasure down my back. “Admit that you need a firm hand.”
“What makes you think I’m lusting after a walking corpse?” The moment I said those words, my heart tightened with regret. I pressed a hand to my mouth, as though doing so would take back the insult. “Valentine—”
“You did this to me,” he snarled. Flecks of amber flashed within the deep red in his eyes, making it look like he’d set his irises alight.
My stomach dropped, and I took several steps back. “What?”
Valentine bared his teeth, and his fangs seemed to lengthen with every passing second. “You with your siren blood and the fire in your heart that burns like a beacon. It was your blood that reached me beyond the veil and drew me back to my body.”
My lips parted to let out a shocked breath, and I grabbed the edge of the sofa for balance. I couldn’t look at Valentine, not after hearing the words from his mouth. I dropped my gaze to my pale boots, which sank into the deep pile of the rug.
This wasn’t exactly new information. Based on what I had heard and picked up from Valentine and the Council, I knew my blood was the cause of his resurrection. But hearing him describe how it happened in his own words was chilling. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recalled the warning Healer Dianne gave us about Beatrice. If she died before the fire magic in her body dissipated, she would also rise as a member of the undead.
“Did it…” My voice cracked. “Did rising from the dead hurt?” I peered up at Valentine through my lashes.
Valentine’s brows drew together, and his gaze darted away from mine. “I don’t remember.”
It sounded like he remembered every excruciating detail of returning to his body but either wanted to forget or didn’t want to admit that it had been traumatic. I pressed a hand to Valentine’s chest, trying not to cringe at the lack of heartbeat.
“My words came out wrong earlier,” I murmured. “I’m sorry.”
His gaze returned to meet mine with irises that were now a deep red. “What did you mean, then?”
My throat dried. I didn’t want to rehash the walking corpse comment. Valentine already knew he was dead, and I had already apologized. It was more disturbing that he thought that I had caused him to become undead. “That thing about my blood was done to me, don’t you remember?”
He frowned down at me, the fire in his red eyes dimming. “I remember the picnic.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. I lowered my lashes and squirmed. If the time we made love was Valentine’s last memory of me, no wonder he thought I was his property. So much had happened between that day and now. I wasn’t the same girl who was wholly and desperately in love with Valentine. Three years of resenting him and trying to erase him from my heart couldn’t just disappear with the knowledge that everything he had said to me on the palace steps had been a charade.
Our last moments together before he had died had been real. Even in the midst of a curse-induced bloodlust, Valentine had sacrificed himself to save my life. That, more than any words or memories or declarations, had proved to me the extent of his love.
I slid my hand up his chest, over his muscular neck and onto his jaw. “Please remember. The only reason you have my blood in your veins is because someone cursed me. Now all vampires want to drink my blood.”
“But I do not,” he said.
“You said—”
“The fire in your blood calls to me but does not trigger my thirst.”
Maybe preternatural vampires were immune to the curse, just like vampires whose fangs hadn’t descended, like Kain. And the calling of my blood had to be a reference to how supernatural fire could reanimate the dead.
I recalled the stories of Kresnik and his undead army, and brushed my thumb over his cheekbone. “Does that mean I’m your master?”
His face broke out into a grin. “You wear my call stone around your neck. You belong to me.”
“I’m sure being your sire cancels out a stone that I could get rid of at any time.” I stepped back and walked around the sofa toward the living area.
“It does not,” he replied after me in a monotone.
I glanced over my shoulder, shooting him narrow-eyed glare. Preternatural Valentine also appeared to be a liar. But none of that mattered. Not when he had just admitted to being aware of the time between his death and resurrection. All traces of hunger calmed, and my heart yearned to know more about what happened to him after he had died.
Pausing on the edge of the kitchen area, I placed a hand on his bicep and asked, “Before my blood called you back, were you peaceful?”
He jerked forward and clutched at his heart.
I placed both hands on his shoulder to steady him in case he fell, but he managed to right himself and step back a few paces.
“Excuse me.” Valentine turned toward the door.
“Wait.” By the time I’d finished that word, he’d disappeared, leaving me standing alone in the penthouse’s kitchen area.
What the hell just happened to him? Was he suddenly missing his heart or had his brothers found a witch to summon him back to the mausoleum? I walked toward the door, but a little Bengal cat raced ahead and placed himself between me and the door.
“Out of my way.” I folded my arms over my chest.
Macavity hissed.
I tilted my head to the side. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to hold me here.”
It might have been my imagination, but a look of determination crossed his green gaze, and he gave me a sharp nod.
“Stop.” I waved my hand. “Are you hungry?”
Macavity tilted his head to the side, studying me for several moments. Right now, I had no idea of what was going on between his pointed little ears or why he was even hesitating to answer. Macavity always wanted food.
Ignoring him, I headed to the kitchen area, rounded its circular, marble table, and walked to the row of tall appliances. The first was a refrigerator crammed with fresh fruits, vegetables, cooked meats, prepared salads, and dairy products. My gaze dropped to the bottom, where someone had stored all my favorite fruit juices. Next to the refrigerator was a freezer with six transparent drawers, each crammed with food. The freezer next to that one was equally as well stocked, making me wonder if Valentine had been preparing for a siege.
Tiny paws padded after me, followed by the warm brush of a small body against my jeans-clad leg. A smile crossed my lips. Maybe the way to Macavity was through his stomach.
After closing the second freezer, I headed back to the refrigerator and pulled out a pack of cooked chicken, a pack of ham and some cheese to form a continental breakfast and set the items on the dining table. Macavity jumped on its surface, sniffed at its plastic packaging, and mewled.
“You’re not starting without me,” I said.
As he batted at the plastic with his paws, I turned back to the kitchen area and opened up the cupboards. Each shelf was filled with dried goods, canned goods, jars of preserves, herbs, spices, sauces—everything a girl might need for months of captivity. My brows drew together. Would Valentine eat any of this food or did this new version of him just feed on blood? So far, he had made no attempt to bite me, and given it had been a full day since he rose from the dead, he was probably hungry.
I turned around and glanced at the door that led out into the rest of the house. Was that why he clutched the empty space of his heart? Anatomically speaking, the stomach was higher up in the body, along the lower half of the ribcage. He had used both hands to clutch at himself, so maybe he was hungry. But it was daytime, so how far did he think he could get when the sun would cause him to catc
h fire?
My mind raced with possibilities. I shook off the thoughts and focused on preparing my breakfast.
A plaintive meow brought my attention back to the present, and I reached into a wooden bread box to find a seeded loaf I would sometimes make a special effort to get from Sainsbury’s.
“He really did his homework.” I placed two slices in the toaster, filled the kettle, and opened the cupboard above in search of a coffee pot.
After finding a shallow bowl suitable for filling with water and finding a matching plate, I joined Macavity at the dining table, opened up the packets of cooked meats, and divided them into equal portions. Macavity gave my arm a headbutt of thanks and set upon his food with his usual enthusiasm. I poured myself a steaming cup of Colombian coffee, and inhaled its dark, rich scent.
“Have you explored the house yet?” I asked the cat.
He raised his head and nodded.
“When we’ve finished eating, will you show me around?”
Macavity paused, seeming to look for signs of trickery in my words.
I pulled out my phone and showed Macavity its screen, explaining that I’d been speaking to Kain earlier, and he would soon arrive with something important that might help Valentine get better. Macavity’s furry head bobbed up and down, following my finger as I tapped the display that indicated there was no signal. He already knew Kain because we’d had breakfast together last week in the Notting Hill villa, and I hoped he wouldn’t cause me any trouble when I decided to sneak out.
“If he’s found the item Valentine needs, he can send me a text.” I tickled his ear for good measure. “We can meet him at the door while exploring the house together.”
Macavity gave me a decisive nod, and I exhaled a long breath of relief. My life was going downhill fast. Since when did I have to negotiate my freedom with a bloody cat? I took a bite of my toast and washed it down with a mouthful of coffee. This particular blend was stronger than usual with a pleasant sweetness that bordered on caramel and was probably one of Valentine’s picks.
I exhaled a long sigh through my nostrils and took another bite of toast. This imprisonment was only temporary. As soon as the healer arrived and cleaned my blood, I would come into my power, heal Valentine, and he would rise from his ashes a gentlemanly vampire who didn’t feel the need to keep girls captive and dish out spankings.
Macavity finished first and ate all the pieces of chicken that had fallen off my plate and all the ham I had left to let him think he’d gotten more than his fair share of meat. Afterwards, we walked to the door, and I let us both out into what was now a darker hallway.
The sun hadn’t yet set, and pale streams of light shone several feet ahead at the front of the house where I’d first seen those tall windows. Macavity led the way with his tail curving from side to side. I think this was his way of expressing his excitement.
“Do you know where Valentine went?”
He turned his head to the side and nodded.
“Show me.”
Macavity broke into a trot and bounded across the floorboards to the door at the opposite end of the hallway. Having braved this part of the house before, I jogged after him and opened the door. The scent of brimstone in the burned-out hallway wasn’t as strong as before, but became more evident as we continued to the stairwell.
Halfway down the winding staircase, Macavity headed toward a door leading to the first floor.
“He’s down here?” I asked.
The cat turned around, climbed up my body with his sharp claws, and settled on my shoulder. I clenched my teeth.
“Bloody hell,” I muttered. “You know how to stand, and you can communicate when you want. How about next time, you just ask?”
He made an apologetic rumble in the back of his throat, and I gave him a pat on his front legs to tell him all was forgiven. “Just let me know where I need to go.”
The next hallway was similar to the one upstairs except for the scent of damp and the floorboards that had rotted in places with gaping holes that led to the ground floor. The whole sight was made worse by the way those holes seemed to swallow the sunlight.
I stood in the doorway and gulped. No wonder Macavity climbed on my back. I wouldn’t want to place my bare feet over that mess, either. With a series of head bumps, paw taps, and admonishing yowls, Macavity guided me through the hallway, helping me to avoid the worst of the holes, and toward a door at the very end.
Moss and vegetation I didn’t care to recognize grew along that far wall, and the door looked so damp and rotten and waterlogged that it might crumble if I dared to touch it. This didn’t seem right. We were two floors below the penthouse and approaching the wing of the house that was covered in climbing plants. Surely there would be a jungle inside.
I turned to the cat on my shoulder. “Are you sure about this?”
He gave me an I-know-that meow and batted at the side of my face with his paw.
“Alright then.” I pulled down the cuff of my hoodie to protect my hand and pushed at the door.
It creaked open, revealing a large space that was both a gentleman’s study and a library. Wood paneling covered the walls, with matching shutters obscuring the windows. Brass wall lights provided soft illumination, highlighting the leather tomes standing within shelved alcoves of the same dark wood. I stood in the doorway, gaping at the leather armchairs, mahogany worktables, and old-fashioned globes dotted around the place.
This place reminded me of the room in Valentine’s palace where he answered his personal correspondence. My brows drew together. I was pretty sure this library had featured in one of my dreams about Valentine, but I couldn’t remember the details.
Macavity bumped me with his head, meowed, and jumped down from my shoulder—all without using his claws. As soon as he reached the floorboards, he slipped into the room, padded across a Persian rug, and settled on a leather armchair.
“You said Valentine would be in here.”
The cat raised his head and glanced at me through half-lidded eyes before curling up for a nap.
I turned my gaze to the desk, where a large piece of parchment lay unrolled, looking like the person reading it had recently left. Perhaps Macavity was right and this was where Valentine had disappeared. I stepped inside, inhaling the scent of leather and ink and old paper. Valentine moved so quickly, he could have slipped out of the door while I was questioning Macavity, and I wouldn’t have even noticed.
Ignoring the slumbering cat, I continued toward the mahogany desk, wondering if I would find a circle of blood the previous owner had used to summon the demonic presence I had sensed earlier in the day.
As I rounded its mahogany surface, I caught the first few glimpses of a slanted script, looking like it was written with ink and a feather quill.
Among the unrolled parchment lay a few smaller scrolls.
I slipped into the leather chair and read through the document, which seemed to be an autobiography about a man who claimed to be a god and was cast out for giving fire to the human race. The language was pretty old—mostly Middle English and used words like ‘art’ and ‘canst’ and ‘dost’. I probably only understood about ten percent of what was written but the man also wrote that he was married to his own sister, rode a golden chariot and could run like a horse.
“Is this a folktale?” I muttered.
I was about to turn my attention to the smaller scrolls when my gaze landed on a single word spelled: KRSNIK.
Only one letter off from the name Kresnik.
“Macavity?” I turned to the armchair, making my voice sharp enough to cut through his nap.
The cat raised his head, making a questioning sound.
“Has Valentine been researching Kresnik?”
Macavity lowered his head and went back to sleep. I exhaled a frustrated breath. That would teach me to expect so much from a cat. I read through the document again with the help of my smartphone. I found a comprehensive dictionary of Middle English on the internet and searched th
rough the most important-sounding words.
It took hours to piece together a coherent story, but the person who wrote this claimed to be Kresnik and claimed to be seeking a power that would harness the fires of hell. It made for interesting reading considering that my mother had been looking up the same person before she disappeared, but it wasn’t helpful in resurrecting Valentine.
I glanced around the other parchments on the table, unrolling them to find treatises of alchemists on the subject of necromancy, pyromancy, and the story of how Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it to humans who then elevated themselves to demigods. I massaged my brows and let the parchment roll itself back into a scroll. Valentine had probably planned on bringing me here to better understand the extent of my power.
When it had first started to develop, I clung to it, feeling like for once I could be like any other supernatural. Now, it was a burden that had brought me nothing but heartbreak and misery. I exhaled a long breath and rose from the leather seat. Maybe it was time to speak to Valentine and find out if he could help me with the firestone in my blood.
Macavity’s ears twitched. After uncurling himself, he jumped down from his leather armchair and leaped onto my lap.
“Shall we go?” I asked.
He nodded, and I placed him in my arms.
I checked the smartphone once more to see if Kain had responded to my text, but I didn’t even get a sign that he’d gotten a chance to read it. Hoping that he was doing okay, I rose from my seat and left the library with Macavity and my phone.
By now, the sun had set, and darkness spread across the hallway like a shroud.
My pulse fluttered in my throat, and I slipped my hand into the pocket of my hoodie to pull out the smartphone.
“There will be no need for artificial lighting,” said a voice from behind.
I turned back toward the library to find Valentine staring down at me through violet eyes, his skin now as radiant as it had been when he had first stepped into the crystal shop.
“What did you do?” I asked.
His brows drew together.
“You look alive.” I raised my hand and pressed it directly over his heart. Nothing reverberated against my palm, making my spirits sink.
