by Ali Winters
My breath catches as she sinks under the surface, following the child’s movements. Together they remain underwater for several moments. A woman cries hysterically, her other spawn whimper and wail at her feet as they too watch on.
After a long moment, the top of Miss Valmont’s head breaches the surface, followed by the child’s, and she stumbles her way to the shore. I wait unmoving until the woman gathers her child, so young, but with long golden locks and glittering blue eyes. My heart goes out to her against my better judgment.
Mud squelches unpleasantly beneath my feet as I make my way for Miss Valmont at the edge of the water, half expecting her to attempt to run again. Instead, she sits, her legs tucked under her, head bowed, and her hands resting on her knees as water drips from her hair and clothes.
I stop before her, close enough that I could touch the top of her head if I lifted a hand and reached out. She is little more than a drowned rat.
Clara lifts her head slowly. Perhaps I expected fear at being caught, but what she gives me in her eyes is defiance. The wind picks up and she shivers violently.
I put the tip of one finger to my mouth and remove my glove with my teeth, then place it in my pocket.
“Get up,” I say, extending my ungloved hand.
Miss Valmont eyes me suspiciously, then after a moment, slides her icy hand into mine and stands. I move my hand to her lower back, guiding her back to the carriage.
Inside, she sits across from me, eyes downcast, wet hair dripping, and clothes plastered to her body. Each drop of water that falls to the leather seat makes me twitch. It can be replaced easily enough, now that it will certainly be ruined.
She’s slight of build, much smaller than I’d previously thought, almost fragile.
“Do not attempt something so foolish again.”
She drags her gaze up to meet mine. “What?”
“If you try to run again, you will die.”
“I didn’t—” Her jaw clenches. “Am I your prisoner?”
“No,” I say reluctantly. “But a debt is a debt, and all debts must be repaid.”
The understanding of my unspoken threat shines in her eyes. The fight drains out of her in a soft exhale of air and she slumps back against the seat, shivering and trying to hide it.
She is an enigma to me.
For the life of me I cannot understand her. How can this cruel woman kill one innocent in cold blood, only to turn around and risk her life to save another? One that didn’t even have enough sense to learn how to swim.
I’m torn between what to do with her. I should kill her tonight—it’s no less than she deserves.
The child, though a pale imitation, reminded me of my Rosalie. And it is that reminder that stays my hand. Rosalie wouldn’t want me to kill her. She would want me to let her go, to absolve her of her debt. But I cannot go so far as to do so. I cannot let this crime go unanswered.
Since I learned of Miss Valmont’s guilt, I’ve wanted nothing more than to drain her of her very life force.
But Rosalie would never have approved, not even to avenge her murder. With her kind, sweet nature, she never wanted harm to come to any human. Unlike most vampires, she had kept her humanity since the day she turned, never once wavering. She actually saw humans as our equals.
I have lived my life trying to make her happy, feeding only on those who were willing, and never going too far.
Miss Valmont squirms under my scrutiny.
She hadn’t even hesitated to jump in the frigid water when all others, including the spawn’s own family, stayed on land and only cried in response, content to lament her fate rather than attempt to thwart it. It is a quality that Rosalie would have cherished.
I am curious to see what she is made of, what other contradictions lay hidden within her.
I feel my will weakening and I’m not sure I’ll be able to kill this girl after all. Not now, knowing she is not completely heartless, but somewhere down in her dark heart, there lies a shred of humanity.
For now, that is something I shall keep to myself.
Chapter Eight
Clara
Demons take me to the Otherworld now. His constant study grows to be too much, and I fear I may lose my mind before the end of this journey. It’s unbearable. His gaze is unflinching and nearly tangible, igniting something down in the depth of my soul.
I shift for perhaps the millionth time. For as luxurious as this carriage is, the cushioned seat still hurts after sitting on it all day long.
He hasn’t moved once, at least not in any noticeable way. Does he not have feeling in his ass anymore, or have too many carriage rides over the years killed all the nerves in that area?
If I had thought he might offer me a change of clothes or a blanket, the time I’ve spent drenched in river water has cured me of that expectation.
I will be provided anything I might need he had told me—it is laughable.
The chill bites and has soaked me to the bone, and I can barely feel my own body, which is made worse by the fact that night has fallen. A dry blanket would be lovely right now. Were I alone, I could strip myself of these clothes as they dried.
Outside, night has fallen and the wind howls, carrying upon it the whispers of lesser demons through the trees. A thick fog rolls in, covering the ground in a pale haze.
I turn away, closing the curtain to the window next to me, and look everywhere inside, except at the vampire studying me. My gaze floats around, not finding anything in the simple design to focus on. Everything is covered in black, save for the few gold flourishes, and in the dark those don’t shine. Eventually, I settle on the folds of his jacket.
Being cold is bad enough but having someone glare at me for hours on end is only adding to my sour mood—even if he has the face of an angel. I’m just about to open my mouth to deliver a derisive comment when the carriage jolts to a stop.
Mr. Devereaux swings the door open and steps out of the carriage, not bothering to look back. He stands there patiently, not moving or saying a word. I suppose it’s better than being ordered about like a dog.
After a moment, I step out, my muscles stiff and aching from the cold and lack of movement. When I look up, I see we’ve stopped at an inn, The Grand Manor—though there is little even I would consider grand about it. Two other carriages trot away, having dropped off their passengers moments before we arrived.
Following a step behind him, we enter the inn. The lighting is dim.
The interior is far nicer than anything I’ve seen in Littlemire—wallpapered walls, polished wood surfaces, gas lamps on the walls lighting the inside. Exquisite fabric and décor clutter the sitting room off to our right, and between that and the clerk’s desk is an elegantly designed staircase leading up. Then to the left is a set of closed doors. I wonder if it leads to the dining area.
“Keep your head down,” Mr. Devereaux says quietly to me.
Instinctively I obey, keeping my eyes locked on the dark, filthy floor as we walk forward to the clerk’s desk.
Water drips from my hair and clothes, creating a puddle at my feet. As much as I cannot stand him, I couldn’t bring myself to further ruin the rich fabric of the carriage by ringing out the water.
I keep my chin tucked to my chest but manage to catch glimpses of the others. The vampires stand in a neat line, each with a human by their side. There are seven claimed humans all together, but only five vampires including mine. The humans are all clean and one woman, little more than a girl, with hair the color of gold dipped in strawberry syrup is even in a pristine white dress—the color of those who actually worship these monsters.
Unlike them, I’m covered in grime and soaked. But I don’t regret saving that little girl.
I clench my hands into fists. I hate that I look so disheveled and wretched. So I square my shoulders and lift my chin, looking straight ahead. Some of the other humans look terrified, two of them look… happy. My lip curls in disgust.
None of them share a look that comes clo
se to the anger I feel.
The girl in the white dress turns to look at her new vampire master and beams up at him. I think I’m going to be sick. The look of pure adoration is nauseating.
I flick my eyes up at Mr. Devereaux, he’s looking straight ahead, a little too interested in the inn keeper’s ramblings as he hands out the keys. He’s doing everything he can to avoid meeting my gaze.
Standing here, it’s all I can do to keep my teeth from chattering. My entire body trembles. If I didn’t know better, I would think I was shaking in terror for the life, however brief, that awaits me and the no doubt painful death he has all but promised me.
Eventually, the vampire at my side is handed a single room key.
I barely hold in my protest. One key. One room. This day keeps getting worse. The only thing I can hope for is that all of us humans will be shoved into a small closet like room together while the vampires get their luxurious rooms to themselves. Though deep inside I know that won’t be the case.
Mr. Devereaux turns from me without word or gesture and walks away. He doesn’t even look back to see if I follow. My eyes narrow at his back. I have half a mind to stand here until he’s upstairs and then just walk right out the front door. I’d be half frozen before I made it even a quarter of the way to my home—and that’s if the demons didn’t get me first—but at least I wouldn’t die as a midnight snack.
But I’ve already pushed my luck for today.
My shoulders slump. Wishful thinking. If I tried to leave, he’d catch up to me before I made it halfway down the street. And no doubt I would be slain right then and there.
Reluctantly, I follow him up the stairs and through the narrow hall.
A few guests peek out through small openings in their door. If he notices, he doesn’t show any sign, but I feel the heavy weight of their gazes. Hushed whispers follow us. I try my best to ignore them.
“Vampire whore.” Reaches my ears in a hiss more than once.
I want to correct them, I want to tell them the truth—that I hate him as much as they, perhaps even more.
My face burns as I glare at his back. I know he hears the words as well as I, but he makes no move or effort to say anything to the contrary.
Mr. Devereaux stops at the last door in the hall and enters. I stop at the threshold. I can’t seem to make myself go further. The room is small and dark. And there is only one bed, and I don’t for a second believe I could claim it above him. This was a room made for a single occupant.
I expect to sleep on the floor but the thought of being in such a small space with a vampire who commands attention, who seems to swallow up the entire room even when he’s trying to blend in with a wall… it will be suffocating just as it was in the carriage.
I think of Xander… he would be furious to see me forced into such a situation.
“Come in and close the door,” the vampire orders.
His tone is gentle, and soft, almost sad, it throws me off guard. It takes a few seconds for me to remember who I am, remember what he is. I steel my spine and command my heart to harden to stone. Whatever the cause of this sullen state he’s sunk into, I will feel no pity for him.
I step through and close the door behind me. It locks with a soft click, but the sound resonates with finality.
A fire crackles in the fireplace on the far wall with a worn lounge chair. To the left is the bed. On the far right wall is an old dusty window with thick drapes pulled to the side to let the moonlight in, and between it and where I stand, is a table with a single chair.
This room was definitely made for one person.
The warmth from the fire makes the cold water soaking my skin chill me even more. I stand on just this side of the door and study his profile as he looks out the window into the night. Shivers rack my body and, try as I might, I can’t control them.
He drags his gaze to me and takes me in. Though his expression is blank, I feel small beneath his gaze.
“Strip,” he says.
My blood runs cold.
Demons take me… this is going to be worse than I ever imagined. Worse than him drinking my blood until oblivion swallows me.
“I will not,” I snap. I will fight him until I breathe my last breath. If he wishes to kill me then so be it, but I will not allow him free range of my body.
He sighs and rolls his eyes—the bastard has the gall to roll his eyes at me—then crosses the room in three long strides and grabs my wrist. “You will, unless you wish to die from the cold.”
With his iron grip, he drags me by the arm to the fire, only letting go once I stand before it. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself. The heat does feel good but if he thinks I’ll strip in front of him, then he is as delusional as he is evil.
A knock startles me. I stay put as he goes to answer it. I peek over my shoulder to see a thin man drag a trunk inside. He has a trunk of clothes but couldn’t be bothered to let me grab anything.
The two men speak softly then the door closes. He drags it to the foot of the bed and rummages around for a moment before pulling out a white garment.
He hands it to me and says, “Change into this.”
It’s not a question or a request but a demand.
I will not spend the few remaining moments of my life bowing to his every whim. I open my mouth to protest but he shoves it into my hand then spins on his heel and leaves the room.
I wait several seconds, expecting him to return. Then it dawns on me that he left to give me privacy. I lift the garment out at arms length, and I can feel the blood draining from my face.
It’s one of his shirts.
The thought of wearing this feels far too intimate.
Another shiver racks my body and I decide not to be too picky about it. I quickly remove my wet clothing that clings to my skin and slip the shirt on over my head. It’s long for a shirt, coming down just below my butt.
I’m still cold but the dry cloth feels wonderful on my skin. It doesn’t cover as much of my legs as I would prefer. The collar gapes open and shows a good deal of cleavage.
I take a step toward the trunk, determined to look for another item or two, when the door opens. Mr. Devereaux strides in, stopping when he sees me. I flush knowing I was about to riffle through his personal belongings.
His eyes darken but he says nothing.
We stand there as he takes me in, and I feel more exposed. I quickly grasp the collar closed with one hand, my other arm coming up to cover my breasts.
I have never been so bare in front of anyone before. Not even Xander. Our hurried meetings were always under the cover of night and never fully undressed.
I move toward the window, as far from the bed as I can get. I sure as hell don’t intend on sharing it with him—especially when the look in his eye makes my stomach clench.
He walks past me as I brace myself for a verbal sparing match. He removes his jacket, tossing it carelessly over the chair, and loosens his cravat. I turn my back to him and try to pretend I’m not completely terrified.
“Are you going to stand there all night shivering?” he asks from right behind me. “It is like you have no sense of self preservation.” Then under his breath he adds, “Though I suppose you wouldn’t… not to do what you did.”
What in the Otherworld is going on… why is he suddenly worried if I’m cold?
He waits a few seconds more, his eyes slightly narrowed. Then he reaches around me and pulls the blankets back. “Get in.”
I don’t move and his eyes slit farther.
“What about you?”
“Would you rather sleep on the floor?”
I shake my head and crawl in, covering myself with the threadbare blanket. The mattress is lumpy and uneven, but I don’t complain. I turn my back to him. A move I hate because I don’t trust him. But I force myself to anyway because I refuse to show him fear.
I hear him on the other side of the room, and I peek over my shoulder. He’s laying out my clothes by the fire so they will dry. I quickly
turn away, not wanting to watch any longer. The fact that he’s doing that confuses me.
I squeeze my eyes tight and snuggle deeper under the blanket. I can’t seem to get warm.
Despite what I want him to think, I am still terrified he will drain every last drop of blood from my body at any moment.
Silence fills the room and once more I glance over my shoulder. He’s standing at the window, staring into the pitch black of the night lit only by the pale crescent moon. He practically oozes melancholy with that sorrowful expression on his face.
I will not feel sorry for this monster. I refuse to be his prisoner—despite his claims that I am not, and as soon as I’m able, I will break free of him, even if I have to kill him.
I try to stay awake, not wanting to sleep, but eventually my body stops shaking and the heavy weight of sleep pulls me into its warm, inviting grasp.
Chapter Nine
Clara
Something brushes my shoulder. I groan, swatting at the annoyance. It comes again, this time it’s a warm hand gripping my shoulder.
“Wake up, Miss Valmont.”
My eyes snap open at the deep, warm voice. Then everything comes back to me.
I’m not at home, not with my sister—I am sleeping in a room with a vampire who has made no qualms about letting me know just how disposable I am.
I roll over to my back and look up into dark sapphire eyes, ringed with red.
Shit. I don’t move. The red seems to glow in the dim watery light. He needs to feed…
“Get up and get dressed. We leave in less than an hour.”
My breath quickens, bracing my sleep addled brain for what is undoubtedly to come next.
It seems a long moment passes before he turns on his heel and walks out the door. I don’t waste a second, scrambling out of the uncomfortable bed.
I pluck up my clothes spread out in front of the dying fire and pull them on, moving as fast as I can until I am fully dressed. Only then do I slow, ready for his return. I fold the shirt I wore last night as best I can, trying to get the wrinkles out. A useless waste of time.
