“I knew very little of my father,” he blurted out and regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.
She peered at him through the blur of rain.
“He died of consumption when I was a young child and left me and my younger brother to run the family farm. My mother became too fragile after for laborious work.”
Her brow rose, suggesting that something he had said had struck her interest. He kept on. “He was not in my life for long, but I did have great love for my mother and brother. A year ago, I lost them to a fire.”
Still, Haven said nothing. Avrum’s fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to reach out, touch her, to offer her some kind of comfort. He wondered what her skin would feel like under his fingertips. Instead, he tucked them into his palms.
“Do you miss them?”
Her question surprised him. With his new immortal life, he thought it would be easier to forget them, but his human memories still rekindled the same burning pain in his chest. “Yes, more than anything in the world.”
“Would you do anything, give anything, to see them again?” she asked, her voice soft but her gaze fierce.
“Y-Yes. Of course.”
Haven sighed, her arms wrapping around herself. She said nothing more about it.
A purple streak of lightning sliced through the sky before them. Not knowing what else to do, Avrum walked alongside her in silence, the recovered jeweled necklace weighing heavier near his heart.
The moment his foot met the wood floors of the empty foyer, Avrum felt all the muscles ease in his shoulders. He was home again, safe. From the thunderous sounds of music and laughter echoing throughout the manor walls, he knew the party was still at its peak. Haven came to his side, her hair clinging to her cheeks and forehead. His heart froze behind his ribs. Even disheveled and soaked, she was beautiful. His eyes fell to the swell of her breasts, where water droplets glistened in the foyer’s gold light. Little bumps rose all over her skin from the cold.
Avrum’s feet moved toward her without his permission. The closer he got, the stronger her smell was. He recognized the scents now. Lilacs and rain. It seemed to seep out of her pores, a sweet perfume. Haven stared at him with wide eyes. Avrum could hear thumping in his ears. Her heart was calling out to him, her blood singing as it pumped through her veins. His own sped up to match―faster and faster until his vision became sharper and he felt his incisors pressing against his lip. He watched the blue lifelines underneath her pale skin, watched them pumping blood to make a blush appear on her high cheeks.
Haven stepped back, but her back met the wine-colored wall. Her mouth opened to speak, but no words emerged. He wanted to kiss those lips. Taste her. Press her slender body against his own.
Avrum put his hands against the wall on either side of her head. He leaned into her. She was soft against him, and when he looked down into her face, he was amazed to see her blue eyes looking at him with the same heat and need.
But when Haven tilted her chin up to him, a different scent hit his nose. Henri. Avrum ripped himself away from her and stumbled back. What was he doing? He shook his head clear.
If he had allowed his desire to take over, who knew how far he would have taken it? He could have ripped her throat open, drained her, killed her. His stomach twisted with hunger. Like Henri had told him when he had been changed, he was not a monster. He had to control his primal instincts. He still had a heart. He could still feel. And love―
He wouldn’t betray his lord. He had brought Haven here to give her another chance at life and that didn’t involve him. She was human. It was the craving that drew him to her. That was all.
* * *
Haven lifted her body away from the wall, her mind still reeling with what had just happened. Almost happened, she corrected herself. She shivered, but not because of the wet clothing she still wore. If Avrum had not pulled away, she would have let him kiss her. The thought of him pressing against her made desire flood to her lower belly. She may have let him do more.
Was she going mad? She had just met him. He wasn’t like her. He was something else entirely, and she almost let him put his hands on her.
He is like Henri, she reminded herself. He’s bringing you back for him. He agreed to keep you here. Avrum could also feed off her, like Henri did. Her hand shot to her neck where the two pierce marks had just recently scabbed over and bruised. That was why Avrum tried to kiss her, to take advantage of her and drink from her. She would not let him get that close again.
“I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand over his face. Even now, he seemed to be struggling to keep control of himself. “I should have never—I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t,” she muttered. She wondered why he sounded concerned.
Avrum heaved a deep sigh. “Lord Henri would want me to bring you back to him and to the party,” he said.
That suggestion frightened her. Would he punish her for leaving? Or her father?
“But you’re wet and cold from the storm. I don’t want you getting a fever.”
Avrum began to walk up the main staircase. Haven followed close behind in silence. At the top was a long hallway, with bedroom doors lining both walls. At the very end were two of Henri’s doors, one for his study and another leading to where he slept. They were taller than the rest. In the center of the bedroom door rested a detailed bronze crow with its wings spread open wide and its beak open mid-screech.
The room Henri had given Haven was beside his. When they reached it, Avrum turned to her.
His fingers found the door’s handle, but he paused before opening it. “You should change out of your damp clothes. I can send someone up to draw you a bath.”
When he gave her a half-smile, she nodded.
Avrum opened her bedroom door. The room was simple with a small iron-cast bed, a side table with an extinguished candle next to it, and an armoire against the opposite wall. The only light came from the random flashes of lightning through the small, barred window, causing strange striped shadows to cut across the room.
When Haven stepped inside, he did not leave. His face contorted like he wanted to say something more to her, but instead, he rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.
There it was again—an unusual human gesture that pulled her towards him.
Avrum reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out something silver and blue. He held it out to her.
“I found it in the street when I went looking for you. I thought you might like it back,” he said.
It was the sapphire necklace Henri had made her wear.
She took it, her fingers brushing his palm. The simple touch brought her back to their heated moment in the foyer. She gasped and drew away.
“Goodnight, Miss Haven,” Avrum whispered. He bowed to her, but she remained frozen in place. In silence, she watched him walk away and disappear back down the hall, the skin on her hand tingling from his touch.
Later, Haven rubbed her arms, still smooth from the bath, and looked around Henri’s study. The most outstanding piece of the room was the large window that rose to the high ceiling and was bordered in elegant stained glass. Beyond it, the property’s lake reflected the vast night sky above. But now, the raging storm blurred Haven’s view. The surrounding walls were lined with shelves, all filled with leather-bound books and priceless trinkets, and although the study smelled heavily of cigar smoke and cologne, it was clean and orderly.
Henri’s writing desk sat in front of the window. It was the only unkempt part of the room―covered in papers and ripped envelopes. Haven tried to imagine Henri sitting there, almost human, reading letters and doing work, but the thought changed to him wrapping those terrible thick ropes around her wrists…
She blinked to relinquish the memory and looked at her hands. Jagged lines marred the skin around each wrist. It was why Henri made her wear those ridiculous bracelets and jewels, to cover up the truth. The skin still burned. It still scarred.
Haven shivered and
let her arms drop to her sides. Her hair, still damp, fell around her face in wild waves and stuck to the thin cotton of her nightgown. She had been brought here after her bath by a servant on Henri’s orders. She wondered if Avrum had any idea what his lord was truly like, or if all the creatures of Greystone Manor were the same.
A soft click caused Haven’s eyes to snap to the connecting door. On its other side lay Henri’s bedroom. This one bore a bronze crow too, with wings spread open wide and claws extended. The terrifying thing looked like it would fly off the wood and scratch at her arms and face at any moment.
There was only more silence.
Haven’s heart dropped, and she took a step back. Henri was on the other side of that door. She knew it.
The piercing wail of old hinges rang in her ears as the door flew open. Henri, still dressed in his gray suit and gloves, stood there, eyes hooded and expression bored. His dark hair framed his strikingly handsome face and curled out at his pulled-back shoulders. When his gaze found her, his neat mustache twitched and a grin curled his lips.
Henri pulled off each glove as he crossed the room, but instead of coming towards her, he walked behind the desk. Even though Haven stood still, only her eyes following him, she couldn’t help her heart from jumping inside her chest.
“Haven, it’s polite to greet a person when they enter a room,” he said, hovering near the window.
She hated when he spoke to her like she was some kind of savage and knew nothing of manners.
“But you are hardly a person,” she said through clenched teeth.
He tucked his gloves into the inner pocket of his jacket, still seeming indifferent. He held his hands behind his back, dark gaze drifting out the window, “You missed a delightful party. You would have enjoyed yourself if you had stayed.”
“I promise you, I wouldn’t have.”
He moved too quickly for her to see, a smear of colors. In the next second, he stood before her. She gasped and jumped back, the back of her legs hitting the desk.
“We had an agreement,” he said, his tone changing to a low rumble. “I spared that pathetic human’s life and in exchange got yours.”
Haven swallowed to regain her nerve. “That pathetic human is my father.” But she could hear the quiver in her voice.
“Why can’t you just admit your true feelings for me? Why all these games, Haven?” Again, his expression transformed before her eyes. His mouth down turned and his voice softened. “Tell me you love me.”
“I despise you.”
His icy hand snatched her wrist, making the still fresh rope wound burn. She whimpered as he jerked it to the side, her whole body moving with it. “You belong to me, you little wench. I’m tired of your lies and this chasing game. You will give yourself to me. You will love me.”
She watched his pupils grow, swallowing his irises, until blackness was all that stared back at her. Her eyes widened in fear, and he smiled, exposing white, sharp teeth.
“I have given you everything,” he said. “Exquisite jewels, beautiful gowns, everything. And this is how you repay me? By running off when I turn my back?”
She leaned back, her free hand resting on the desk for support, and he went forward―his face only inches away from hers.
“I won’t have it.”
When her hand moved farther back on the desk, it met with something cool and smooth. She glanced down at the collection of papers and saw a glimmer of silver. A letter opener. Chest heaving, her fingers wrapped around it.
Henri struck, grabbing her by the neck of her gown. As the thin cloth ripped, chilled air kissed the newly exposed skin. She swung her weapon. He staggered back, hissing, and she knew it had made contact.
Henri clutched his cheek. Haven saw the ruby liquid leaking between his fingers.
“You bitch!”
He struck her across the face, making her stumble from the desk and fall onto her knees. Sharp pain shot through her jaw, and colors danced before her eyes. There was a clatter of metal beside her on the floor.
“How dare you?” he yelled.
Haven rubbed the throbbing skin on her face. A strike of lightning lit the room in violet light, and she noticed the thin, silver letter opener not too far away. She reached for it again. Before she could grab it, Henri took a fistful of her hair and yanked her to her feet. Henri held the letter opener in his hand now, the tip pressing against her throat.
She didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. The metal was cold against her skin, and with just a little more pressure, he could kill her. She watched the gash across his cheek knit together and closed until nothing was left but perfect, pale skin.
“What are you?” she breathed.
He chuckled. “I am someone who should not be tested.” In one easy motion, he whirled her around so that her back pressed against him. “I could stop this so easily,” he purred into her ear. “It would take no effort at all. A little flick of the wrist and that little pretty throat of yours would be cut, your blood spilling and covering my floors like a warm blanket…”
Something inside her wanted to tell him to do it. Do it, and get it over with. Death must be better than this cat and mouse game.
“But I won’t,” he went on, easing the blade off her neck. “I am quite fond of these floors and you would be no use to me dead.”
Using his fingers, which were still tangled in her hair, he jerked her head back. Haven pressed her lips together to prevent herself from crying out. The letter opener ran up to her chin, and then down to the line of her cleavage.
Haven gasped when he moved it to her right breast. The blade sliced across her skin there.
“Will you ever learn?” he whispered, pressing his icy lips to her bare shoulder. “We can be so much more than this, my love. You and me together again. It is what I have waited centuries for.”
Again? What did he mean?
“Malcolm won’t be able to separate us this time. I’ve made sure of it.”
Malcolm? She had never heard that name before. What was he talking about?
His grip loosened on her hair, and she looked down to where a thin line of blood emerged. A drop began to travel down her curves, leaving a dark red trail in its wake. Before it could get much farther, Henri moved around her and dipped his head. He ran his tongue over it. A monstrous growl vibrated in his throat.
His hand snaked up her back, holding her still. She tried to push at his chest, but he couldn’t be moved. She pounded at his back with her fists.
His fangs pierced the flesh over the wound. It did not hurt, just cramped slightly as he drew in mouthfuls of her blood. He continued to drink from her until her vision grew hazy and her skin prickled with numbness. There was only the lingering pressure of his hand on her back that still held her upright. Through half-closed eyes, Haven watched him remove his mouth from her and give her a red-stained smile.
Henri lifted her up into his arms like a child and brought her across the study. Her head rolled back. Lightning illuminated the room once again. As they passed through Henri’s bedroom door, the crow’s shining eyes were the last thing she saw before darkness swallowed her whole.
2
Metal clashed, vibrating against his eardrums. Energy from the storm the night before crackled all around, and the crowd gathered at the forest edge responded with howls and stomps of their feet. Avrum could feel it too, the rising power. It was hard to imagine that just a night ago these men were dressed like perfection, and now here they stood with shirts half undone, smelling of drink, and crying out like animals.
He looked onto his friend, Lysander. He was the reason for the crowd’s response and the only reason why Avrum came to watch these duels. Unlike his friend’s opponent, Lysander remained untouched. There wasn’t as much as a wrinkle in his ivory-bib shirt or a strand of golden hair out of place. Lysander watched his man with eyes that twinkled with mischief.
His thin lips twitched. Was that a smile Avrum saw? He laughed at the thought. So this is what
it took to amuse his friend.
“Come on, Cornelius!” Lysander said, tossing the sword from one hand to the other.
Cornelius huffed, a hand protecting his wounded side. He was broad in the shoulders with thick arms and legs to match. The ferocity in his green eyes told Avrum that if he ever got his hands on Lysander, he wouldn’t leave much behind.
“You talk too much, Lysander,” he growled, lifting his sword. There was a purple bruise under his right eye that was fading. “Oh, how I would love to peel that beautiful blond hair off your scalp.”
Lysander seemed unmoved. “It is such words that have gotten you here. Tu es betes comme tes pieds.”
Avrum winced. He didn't know much French, but he had heard Lysander use the insult before. You are as smart as the bottom of your feet. Cornelius’ eyes widened and then flashed black. He flung himself at Lysander, using all his strength to wield his sword.
Lysander spun just in time, avoiding the blade, and struck Cornelius between the shoulders with the handle. He collapsed onto his knees. His massive bulk swayed. He fell forward, his face buried in the tall, damp grass.
Everyone held their breath. Would he do it, Avrum wondered. Would Lysander kill this man? A twisted grin formed on Lysander’s face. When he moved to stand over the body, Avrum could sense the others thinking it too.
Lysander’s eyes glowed as he slid the sword’s tip against the back of Cornelius’ head, his neck, between his shoulders, down his left arm.
There was silence.
“Lysander…” Avrum mouthed, anxiety gripping him. “Don’t...” There was something in his friend’s rigid stance and in the way the silvery moonlight reflected off his skin that made him appear ghostly. He lifted his sword above his head with both hands and grinned, exposing his fangs.
With an angry roar, Lysander brought down his sword.
“No!” Avrum screamed, his heart dropping. He pushed his way to the front of the group to see that Lysander’s sword had not impaled Cornelius. It stood only inches from his head, stuck in the ground.
Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 204
