by Ali Winters
“She infuriates me,” I grind out the words unwillingly. “Claiming her was a mistake.”
Cherno lets out a snort. “From one insult? I would have thought you would be impervious to that sort of thing by this point.”
“You were at dinner,” I say flatly. “Why must you insist I tell you about it?”
A smile. Damned demon sent bat.
They fly to the chandelier in the center of the room and hang upside-down, holding the letter in their tiny, clawed hands.
“She killed Rosalie.”
“So you have said…” Cherno hums thoughtfully. “But baring that, perhaps there is more to the situation. After all, if revenge and hiding from the court was your goal, then why does she still live?”
“That is the only thing that matters,” I snap.
“You knew this fate would come to Rosalie sooner or later.” I flinch at the truths they speak. “There are a number of humans that would see all vampires killed, and Rosalie made herself vulnerable to mortals. Her heart was too soft to resist them.”
I stare into the fire, watching the flames as they dance. “I don’t know what it is about her that gets to me.” I admit quietly. “She is nothing like I expected.”
“You are used to humans cowering before you in fear or worshiping you. She does neither. Perhaps that is why you find yourself drawn to her.”
“Do not make me kill you, bat. Because I will if you continue to spout such nonsense.”
Cherno drops from the chandelier and flies around the room in quick erratic movements, laughing with childlike glee. “We both know you would never harm me.”
I glare at them, but the effect is lost by the smile that forces its way across my mouth. “I wouldn’t, but do not push me or I might change my mind.”
Landing on the fireplace mantle, the envelope dangles from Cherno’s feet. I recognize the seal and suddenly I have no interest in the contents of the letter within.
“You should get to know her.”
“Clara? Why should I waste my time? She will be dead soon enough.” I pace the room feeling restless in this space but not trusting myself to leave my rooms just yet.
“Because you call her Clara and not Miss Valmont.”
I stop walking. “I brought her here to make her life hell for what she did, not to befriend her.”
Cherno takes to the air once more, this time hovering before me in only the way a bat can. “Do not be so arrogant as to think there is no other reason for your paths to have crossed.”
Demons free me from this cursed beast. I narrow my eyes. “Shouldn’t you be watching her? And take the letter to the study.”
“You don’t wish to read it?” they ask, flying near the fire. “Perhaps I shall burn it for you instead?”
“No, you mischievous demon. As much as I would love that, I will… read it later.”
With a grunt, Cherno flies off the way they came.
Chapter Thirteen
Clara
It’s late. It must be nearing midnight by now. I know because the demons of the forest beyond the property line sing their melancholy song. The moans are louder now than when night first falls and they wake, and even louder still than the hours before dawn.
I pace the room waiting for the vampire to return and kill me for what I attempted at dinner.
It was brash, unplanned, and sloppy. I should know better when dealing with a vampire such as him. I can’t allow my anger to control me if I want to have any hope of killing him. I am either lucky or he has something truly terrible in store for me.
In either case I should have a weapon ready. Though there is nothing in this room I can use.
My hand hovers over the doorknob with a slight tremble. He had bared his fangs, but it wasn’t until he dropped his eyes to my neck that I’d felt as though I were in danger. Before that, there was a different kind of hunger in his gaze.
I’m not his prisoner. I’m not his prisoner. He gave me free rein of most of his manor.
I pull open the door and step out into the hallway before my nerves get the better of me. All is quiet as I exit the room.
Though I was never forbidden to leave my room, a trickle of unease slithers down my spine, but I press on.
My feet take me to the library as if by instinct. The doors are carved with beautiful roses and vines, the contrast of the two beautiful and deadly. I have lived all my life with a single book to read over and over again, and just a few steps beyond where I stand, endless worlds await.
I glance over my shoulder, down the hall toward the staircase that leads to the third floor. The shadows beckon to me.
What dark secrets are hidden up there? I make my way to the foot of the stairs and pause with one foot on the first step.
I shouldn’t… it is the only place he strictly forbade me to go.
One step after another, I climb the stairs until I reach the top. There are only three doors on this floor. I walk up to the first and hear a single voice murmuring. It must be Mr. Devereaux.
Who could he be talking to?
I had not realized anyone had come by so late.
For half a second I fear it must be another vampire. If that’s the case, I need to find a weapon now to defend myself against them both, or kill them with. The next room is closed and pressing my palm up against the door, it’s cold, as though it has not been opened, nor a fire lit within for days.
The third door at the end of the hall is cracked open. I make my way over to it. There’s something about it that seems like this is where I was meant to go all along. But that’s crazy.
Looking through the small opening, there’s a fire going, but no movement or sounds, save for the crackling of flames as they consume the logs of wood.
I squeeze my way through and close it most of the way.
It’s a large office, with two wing back, dark leather chairs, a mahogany desk, and shelves of books and artifacts along the walls. A large area rug covers the majority of the wooden floor.
There are a few things scattered throughout the shelves in a deliberate fashion; a marble bust of a woman, a porcelain vase, and a clock.
On the opposite side of the fireplace are more books, with one shelf devoted to a decanter filled with a dark amber liquid, with three crystal glasses encircling it.
Continuing to make my way around the room, I look out the window. Below is a large field, but up against the house is a massive conservatory made of frosted glass and iron framing crafted into beautiful geometric shapes.
I move on to the large desk. There’s an oil lamp, some stationary, and a gold tipped quill set next to an inkwell. And upon the center of the desk is a letter. Skirting the desk, I stand next to the chair and skim my fingers over the name on an envelope, following the loops and swirls. The lettering is practiced and elegant. It reads: Alaric.
Is that his name? I turn it over in my mind, picturing his face when we were in the carriage and he had fallen asleep. It suits him.
On the left side of the desk is a sheathed, stiletto dagger. Roses and thorny vines twist around the handle with the same motif that graces the library doors. Slowly, I reach for it. My fingertips skim the metal expecting it to be cold, but it’s almost warm to the touch. This is exactly what I need. I quickly stick it in the pocket of my dress, making sure it’s hidden.
I feel a rush of a breeze at my back causing the ends of my hair to flutter. A hand wraps around my upper arms and spins me around so fast I lose my balance. By the time my world rights itself, I’m pinned against the desk, Mr. Devereaux’s arms caging me in.
He leans forward, a lock of unruly hair falling across his forehead. His musky masculine scent fills the air between us. Heat pools in my lower abdomen. I squeeze my legs together, trying to stifle my reaction.
“What are you doing in here? I told you this floor was off limits.”
I can’t think with him this close.
“I-I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean any harm, I was just…”
“Disobeying me? Spying on me? Tell me, Clara, why, out of every room—every section of this manor—do you chose to go into the one place where I asked you not to?”
He leans closer. I can smell his soap on his skin. I lift my chin and tilt my face away, unable to continue to meet that piercing blue gaze.
It’s then I realize my mistake. He leans in further, lowering his mouth toward my neck. His warm breath brushes against my skin and sends a wave of heat through my veins that settles in my core. I squeeze my eyes closed and wait for the sharp pain of his fangs.
But he’s drawing it out. The anticipation of the pain is almost worse. I know he can hear my pulse pounding wildly in my veins. I lift my hands and grip the material of his sleeves.
He drags his nose from the base of my neck to my jaw, to my earlobe.
“Alaric… please,” I say breathlessly. My heartbeat roars in my ears, nearly deafening me.
He freezes at that. And for a long moment, neither of us moves. Then slowly he draws back, guiding my chin so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. Just as I expected, crimson circles ring his sapphire irises.
“How do you know my name?” he asks quietly.
I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. His gaze follows the movement.
“Th-the letter. I saw the letter.”
The hand that had guided my head still lingers on the side of my neck. He is going to kill me this time. I know he will, and I don’t even have the leverage to grab the dagger and unsheathe it to defend myself.
“Do you alw—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.
I jerk my head forward, slamming my forehead into the bridge of his nose. He takes several steps back and grabs his face where I made contact.
While he’s stunned, I bolt from the room, knowing he’ll be on my heels in seconds. I leap down the stairs, taking as many at a time as I can without tripping over my skirt.
By some miracle I make it to my room and slam the door closed. Backing up to the center of the room, I snatch the dagger from my pocket and pull it from its sheath, clutching it in my hand as tightly as I can.
And then I wait.
I listen in the spaces between my breaths and wait for him to pound at the door, for him to break it down and force his way in and finally end me. But as my breathing and heart rate slow, I realize he won’t.
Chapter Fourteen
Clara
Dawn is breaking and the gray light of morning leaks in through the window. I am alive but I don’t for the life of me understand how.
I sit at the head of the bed with my back against the cool wall, my knees pulled up to my chest, still clutching the dagger. Waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the vampire to burst in my room and attack me while I sleep.
So I didn’t allow myself to sleep and now my eyes are heavy and dry.
I hadn’t even come close to killing him at dinner last night. It was as if that insufferable man knew what I was going to do before I even moved. I must learn to be stealthy.
What have I done? What have I done? What have I done? The question repeats over and over and over until it drowns out all other thoughts. What had possessed me to agree to go off to live with a vampire and leave Kitty and Xander? It was the most foolish thing I’ve ever done…
And yet, I would do it again to save my sister from this fate. Though somewhere along the line over the past few days, I have let my arrogance—and my promise to Kitty—cloud my mind. That vampire I killed in the forest… that had been nothing more than ideal timing and plenty of luck. It hadn’t seen my arrow coming, hadn’t realized I was even there.
Mr. Devereaux must know by now that I have every intention of fighting him when he does come for me.
But now that I am here… who will take care of poor Kitty? My decision to take her place was too hasty, leaving her in Father’s incapable hands.
Somehow, I need to find my way back to my life.
Uncurling myself, I drop my feet off the edge of the bed and, eyeing the door, I reluctantly set the dagger down on the table next to the bed. I run into the bathroom and look for my discarded clothes from yesterday. Gone. One of the housekeepers must have taken them while I was at dinner last night.
Turning around, I return to the main room. I might as well check the armoire to see if there is anything I can possibly use.
Nothing but an assortment of dresses and corsets.
Forgoing the corsets all together, I unlace my dress. It falls to the floor in a heap of silk and lace. I pick out another, attempting to find the least cumbersome one.
I smooth my hands down the sides of the dress. These clothes cannot last, they are far too nice for someone who is a meal.
I hurry to the night table and grab the dagger and fit it into the sheath, then strap it to the bottom half of my leg. It’s not ideal by any means, and the skirt could pose a problem. It’s all I have for right now and still relatively easy to grab.
No hesitation.
I stride out of the room and down the hall, ready to face the vampire.
Making my way through the halls, I come across the butler, Mr. Steward. He carries a silver tray with an empty glass still tainted red with blood. He says nothing but I can feel him watching my every movement as we pass.
Everything looks like it had been cleaned moments before. The entire house has the feel of being busy, but almost always just out of sight. I’ve only ever seen three of them, but for a house this large, surely there must be at least half a dozen more.
I get to the front end of the manor and hear the sound of dishes coming from the dining room. I stand at the edge of the doorway, staying hidden from whoever is inside. I press my back against the wall and slowly look in. Two slender hands belonging to a woman are arranging various dishes and cutlery on the table, and the soft murmur of feminine voices.
I glance around the large dining room, wary that Alaric might be near.
“Are you looking for something, Miss?” The young servant from yesterday asks. Her red hair has been pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. She smiles warmly and looks at me expectantly as she waits next to the dining table with the head housekeeper dressed in the same uniform.
“No,” I say slowly as I step into the room. There’s only one place set.
“He’s out, Miss,” Mrs. Westfield says.
My gaze drifts back to hers as I quit skulking and walk up to the nearest chair, resting my arms along the back. Her voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “He? Oh, you mean Ah—Mr. Devereaux?”
The two women look sideways at each other.
“Yes, Miss.” The younger clasps her hands in front of her. “Will you be having lunch?”
Both of them assess me from head to toe, and if they suspect my motives for inquiring about Alaric’s whereabouts, they won’t hesitate to inform their master.
I feel the tension leaving my shoulders. He’s not here. I am half relieved I won’t have to confront him now. But also in that same breath, disappointed.
The older housekeeper lifts the silver dome cover and reveals a plate of sausages, boiled eggs, potatoes, pork, and bread with a side of jam. It seems a little over the top.
I eye the meal. I have never had such a feast for my morning meal. I might as well take advantage of it while I can. I don’t plan on staying here for long.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Westfield,” I say.
“You’re welcome, dear, but please call me Lydia,” she says with a smile. It’s almost a warm expression, but her eyes are slightly too narrowed to be genuine. She dips her head then turns and leaves through the door that leads to the kitchen.
The younger is still watching me. I lift my brows, not sure what to call the girl who can’t be much younger than I am.
“Elise,” she offers.
“Thank you, too, Elise.” She turns to go but something occurs to me. “Elise?” I say. She stops and tilts her head inquiringly. “I do have a question.”
“Yes, Miss?”
I breath
e in then let out a breath. “Why is he treating me like this?” I motion to my dress, then the food on the table that is fit for someone far more important than a poor girl from a nothing town. “When will I…” I frown, not quite sure how to put this without being rude. “When will I become his… servant?”
“You are his guest, Miss,” she says, frowning.
I scoff and glower at the plate of food, the rich aromas waft up and tempt me. “I am not a guest—I am a possession.”
“If that is what you think, then you are mistaken. And we are not his servants—we are his hired staff. The others have come to him seeking employment. I was born into it, my parents worked for him until they died, then he was kind enough to take me in. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other duties to attend to.”
She bows curtly then leaves me to sit and dine.
I stare dumbly after her, shocked by her outburst.
That vampire must have compelled them all into loyalty… though when he compelled me, my body was under his control, but my mind was still my own.
When neither woman returns, I sit and dig into my food. With the first bite, I groan. This food is delicious and decadent. After another few bites, I shovel it into my mouth, barely finishing one bite before I take another, washing it down with tea sweetened with sugar and a splash of milk.
“Miss?” Elise says from the doorway.
I nearly choke not realizing she had reappeared. Her placid expression has returned.
Demon’s tits she is quiet. I put the silverware down and lift my glass to my lips, taking large gulps.
“Do you need anything else, Miss? More tea perhaps?”
I push back my chair and stand, swallowing the last bit of food. “No. I don’t think I could eat another bite. Thank you for the meal.”
I skirt the table and pass her and head toward the front entrance. Elise clears her throat, a sound that makes it obvious she has something to say. I stop mid-stride to look at her over my shoulder.
