by E E Everly
Hmm, five more hours, give or take, in a castle full of vampires. I must be crazy to consider it, but I want Isac. “You swear it?” How can I trust a vampire? Ciprian is being oddly cooperative. Too willing to give without anything in return.
“I swear.” Ciprian smiles, and it reaches his eyes.
A wolf howls, quite close, and another one answers. If I had to guess, I would say they’re in the courtyard. Do werewolves crave storm sprite elixir as much as other supernaturals? The courtyard will end up with a pack of them, all thirsty for me.
I shiver and grab my ambrosia.
Dinner ends with nothing else unusual, except I’d say eating in a room with fifty vampires is unusual.
When Ciprian stands, the vampires do as well. “You must excuse us,” he says to Thandoran and me. “Vampire business. Vadik will escort you to your room and can assist you with anything you may need.”
Vadik appears at my side.
“I do insist that you stay in your room until daybreak. For your safety.” Ciprian gestures for the rest of the room to exit at the other end. “We shall retire to the drawing room.”
The vampires take their time filtering out, some of them laughing and a little tipsy. Whether on blood or alcohol, I’m not sure. A few of them gaze my way longingly.
I am not on the menu!
Thandoran growls softly to himself as he scowls at the ornate wooden chair that Ciprian vacated.
“Princess, come,” Vadik says. “I will see you to your room.”
Before I realize it, we’re in our bedchamber.
“Please,” Vadik says, “for your safety, stay here. You were lucky last time. The vampires had just arrived. Now they’ll be everywhere, and even under Ciprian’s roof, guests are fair game.”
“Sure,” I mutter, not intending to stay in my room at all. I am surprised they’ve given us this warning more than once. Do they really care?
There’s a quiet snick of the door as Vadik leaves and then the click of a latch.
Thandoran tries the knob, but the door won’t budge.
Vadik locked us in for the night.
I guess they want us to stay put.
TWENTY-FIVE
Thandoran turns to me, with a look of “I told you so” on his face.
He could take that look and stick it where the buzzle brownies hide.
“They can’t possibly think a locked door would keep us in.” Weariness makes my eyes shut. I hold on to the back of a chair. “Why am I so tired?” I yawn and then stagger toward the chair’s seat. “I’ll just rest for a while.”
Thandoran speaks over me. “I can’t believe you’re playing by their rules.”
My eyes fly open. He stands across from me, with his arms folded over his chest.
“What?” I close my eyes. “I am nothing but polite. Sometimes it pays to play nice with my enemies.”
“It’s disgusting.”
“Are we going to fight?” I’m way too tired to nitpick where I should. I could find a million things to rib Thandoran about.
I can barely pry my eyes open when I sense movement. “What are you doing?”
Thandoran feels around the walls. “Looking for passageways. All these old castles have them.” He pulls on a sconce. Nothing happens. He lifts the edge of a picture frame. Nothing is there. “We could force the lock on the door, but I don’t think it’s wise to walk along the halls if we can help it. Vadik found us too easily last time.”
“Wait, you’re doing it wrong.” I hold my hand palm up. “Light a flame. If there’s an opening, a draft should make the flame flicker.”
Thandoran smiles, and his palm flashes with flame. He continues to move around the room, along the wall panels.
“Don’t you think it would be a little too cliché to find a passage?” I can hardly lift my head from the back of the chair as I follow Thandoran’s progress. I don’t mind the view. I just wish I weren’t so exhausted.
Thandoran is not covered in leaves and twigs from our nighttime teleporting—his hair’s too short to hold them—but he does have a brown mud smudge on his jeans, on the bottom.
He crouches and holds his flames near the baseboards. My heart feels heavy as it smacks against my ribs. Killian’s face pops into my head. The guilt is always there, but I don’t look away from Thandoran’s round butt.
He doesn’t look up when he speaks. “Keep staring, princess. I don’t mind, really.”
“Can we please wait for them to bring Isac in the morning?” I whine just a little. Why do my arms feel dead?
“I don’t want to stay here longer than I need to. Thandoran straightens and pulls out his compass. “He’s still that way.” He points to the wall. “Wherever he is in the castle, it’s that direction. We were so close earlier, I know it. If there’s a passage, we can look for Isac without Vadik sneaking up on us.”
I push myself out of the chair. It takes huge amounts of effort. My legs are moving through sludge. I sway over to Thandoran, who’s feeling up the wall. “Why aren’t you drowsy?”
“Because I’m irritated.”
I lean in and nuzzle against Thandoran’s back while he gropes around. When he crouches to check along the floor, I nearly lose my balance and fall onto him.
Thandoran steadies me. “Will you cut that out? Stop acting so drunk.”
“I’m not acting.”
He leans me against the wall and leaves to rummage through my backpack. He pulls out a can of sweetened condensed milk. “Drink this entire thing.”
He shoves the can into my hand and resumes his search.
I stare at the can as if it’s a jar of icky pickles. “I want to sleep.”
“I’m going to find Isac, and I am not leaving you in this room by yourself. Drink it.”
“Come on.” I let the can thunk to the floor, sway over to the bed, and paw my way over the comforter. “We’ve been traveling for half the night. I’ve burned through tons of ambrosia. My shoulders ache as if I’ve done a thousand pushups. I need to rest.” After what seems like ten minutes of crawling through a sea of thick blankets that would swallow me whole, I collapse onto my side.
“Okay, this is not like you.” Thandoran grabs me by my T-shirt and tries to force me upright. “I know you want to get out of here as much as I do.”
My body goes limp, and Thandoran lets me drop onto the bed.
He pries one of my eyelids open. “Your eyes are dilated. What did they give you?”
“Don’t know.” I curl onto my side. “Don’t care.”
“I can’t believe this. It must have been in your cream. I didn’t touch my ambrosia. You should have skipped yours.” Thandoran paces near the bed, but I see only part of him with my half-closed eyelids. “I can’t leave you here to look for Isac. Not in the state you’re in.”
I wave him off. “In th’ mornin’.”
A strange sensation descends over the room, making my hair stand on end. Thandoran stiffens. “What is that?” He waves his hand as if he’s feeling for something.
I smirk to myself and pull my knees to my chest. “It’s a ward.” I lick my lips and taste the magic in the air. “Feels like anti-vampire.”
“On the room?”
“Yes. We’re safe for the night,” I mutter.
“Seriously?”
“Ciprian ’as big plans fer us.”
“That’s just swell,” Thandoran says.
“It also means something else.”
“What?”
I tuck my hands under my chin. “Isac knows we’re ’ere. He’s the only one strong ’nough to cast a ward to ’eep out all the vamps.”
Thandoran scoops up the can of milk and pries the tab off. He sniffs it before pulling it away from his face. Then he comes over and waves it under my nose.
“No.” I push the can away.
“Come on, Sasha. Drink the disgusting sugar. It’ll wake you up.” He sticks his finger in the milk and touches it to my mouth.
I lick the stickiness off my lip
s but grunt and blindly shove his hands away.
“Dang it, Sasha.” He slams the can down on the side table. “When have you been known to turn down ambrosia?”
“Sleep,” I mumble.
Thandoran makes agitated huffs beside me.
“Don’ worry.”
Thandoran brushes my flyaways back. “You always win.” He pulls the covers over me. “Sleep whatever drug this is off. I’ll keep my eye on you till morning.”
That’s the last thing I hear.
TWENTY-SIX
I stretch and yawn. I’m warm and cozy and nestled under heavy blankets. I’m reluctant to wake. I have no idea what hour it is.
I roll toward the center of the bed and bump into a body. Thandoran’s stretched out beside me, on top of the covers. His arms are behind his head, and he stares at the ceiling.
I nudge his elbow. “Did you sleep at all?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Anyone try to suck my blood last night?”
“No.”
“What has you in such a somber mood?” I ask.
“We’re prisoners.”
“No we aren’t. We can leave.”
“I tried teleporting home last night,” Thandoran says.
I sit up and stare down at him. “What?”
“It’s impossible. As if the ability’s vanished.”
I grab his arm and focus on my flat. Nothing happens. No folding of space. No collapsing of scenery as we fly forward. “You blame this on me?” Wards must have been put up to prevent teleporting.
“We could have left right away, as soon as we learned vampires lived here. We didn’t have to stay.”
My brows pinch together. “I had to find Isac.”
“Speaking of, it’s well past daybreak.”
“What tim—?”
“Ten,” he says with his eyes closed.
“Ten?”
“Ten. They lied. They didn’t bring Isac at daybreak. The vampires are keeping us here until they’re ready to bleed us.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I have this under control.”
Thandoran pushes up on his elbows. “Really, princess? What about last night? How did you have control over that? I’ve never seen any drug that ambrosia couldn’t overcome.”
“We’re not dead,” I whisper softly as I hug the comforter to myself. The worry in Thandoran’s voice freaks me out. How inebriated was I? Enough to make Thandoran upset.
“By the way, you snored like a zipper faerie hacking at grumble trees.”
“What? Did not!” I throw the covers over him and bolt to my feet. “Besides, it was most likely whatever they drugged me with.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
“I think I’ll use the washroom.” I shuffle toward the small room, feeling ridiculous. I grab a sugar packet from my backpack and shake the granules into my mouth as I shut the door.
I breathe into the mirror as I let the water from the faucet warm. “Killian, are you here?” I whisper. I need the calm of his touch. My heart’s racing. I take deep breaths.
You are safe, Sasha. Thandoran had your back last night. You are safe. You can trust him.
“Killian, where are you? I’m freaking out.”
I finally pay attention to my image in the mirror. A lot of leaves are in my hair. Did I really clip that many trees while teleporting? Good grief. I ate dinner in front of those vamps looking as if I crawled out of the forest.
And Thandoran hadn’t said a word.
Maybe he likes his sprites au naturel. Being in nature, surrounded by it and infused with its essence, is our natural state. We thrive among the trees and sun.
Unlike vampires, who burn and crumble.
Killian was never out in the sun. I saw him only indoors or at night. We had such a gloomy relationship.
But I still loved him.
Love him.
It’s hard to move on.
I pick out the debris and do my best to finger comb the strands. I twist my hair into a bun and secure it with a tie from my wrist and then rinse my mouth with water. “Killian?”
Nothing. He’s not here.
That’s fine. I’ll be all right.
The lights dim. A blurry white face with milky eyes and long pale hair takes the place of my reflection.
I gasp. Then it’s gone.
The room returns to its former brightness.
Ghosts. This castle has vampires and ghosts!
I yank the door open and rush out. “The room’s haunted—”
I careen right into Thandoran, with an oof.
“Easy, princess.” He runs his fingertips over my smoothed hair, being unusually gentle, as he looks at me. “I’d expect nothing less than a few ghosts in an ancient castle where a lot of people have most likely died.” His brown eyes have spots of orange. His pupils study my eyes with intensity.
I did not just see a ghost. I look at the washroom, half expecting the apparition to come flying at me. When his hands slide over my back, I push away, away from his strong, safe arms. “I-In the mirror—”
Thandoran huffs and heads across the room.
What did I do now? Whiplash. One minute he’s grumpy, and the next he’s making eyes at me.
That’s when I smell a hint of citrus in the air. Oh, he had ambrosia while I was in the washroom. Is that the only thing that makes him nice to me?
“I want to show you what I found last night while you were snore”—I glare at him—“sleeping, but first, we need ambrosia.” He bites an entire mandarin in half and chews it. He can’t do anything except lean over the bed with his eyelids fluttering from ecstasy.
He swallows and opens his eyes. They burn orange. “Drink your ambrosia, little sprite.” His voice is way too husky for my liking. Why is this ambrosia hitting him so hard?
I take the can of warm milk from the side table. If we’re trapped here, I can’t let a single drop of ambrosia go to waste. So it’s been sitting out for a few hours. I shrug to myself.
“I don’t know how you can stomach that much sugar,” Thandoran says around the second half of the mandarin.
“Food of the gods.” I bring the can to my nose. The ambrosia smell hits me, and I swallow back saliva. “What do you have to show me?”
My voice is softer and more sensual than I expected. I scoop a glob out with my finger. It drips in a long string to the can as I bring it to my lips. I slide my finger into my mouth and suck on it while keeping my eyes locked on Thandoran’s.
I moan and let the bliss soak through me. How is eating ambrosia the most sensuality I’ve experienced since Killian?
I lick another dollop off my finger. Thandoran has moved closer—so close I see the individual hues of auburn in his chin scruff. The heat from the fire across the room makes me all toasty and calm inside. I’ll take that over the ghostly chill in the washroom.
Thandoran’s steady breaths lift his chest. My finger lingers near my mouth. I play with my bottom lip as I lick every trace of ambrosia off my finger. I don’t go for more. I’m stuck here, looking up into Thandoran’s face as he looks down into mine.
I’m conscious of every muscle. Of the way my gut clenches, of how my shoulders relax. My arm twitches, wanting to lift, to rest it on Thandoran’s chest.
My face warms. The space between Thandoran and me heats up. I turn my hand away from my mouth and hold my palm out. Heat comes from Thandoran. Every time he exhales, more radiates from his heart.
His pupils flick to the left and right. Then he closes his eyes. His lashes are auburn like his hair, and I want to poke them. After another breath, he opens his eyes. “Finish the whole can.” He turns away from me.
What the devil just happened?
“So last night”—Thandoran crouches to the right of the fireplace—“I found a draft.” He fumbles with something near the baseboards.
With my sweet milk, I stand near the fire and watch
him. I tip the can back and wait for the slow pour into my mouth. I’m irritated. Not sure why. Something about Thandoran and me consuming ambrosia together is not good. We get fired up, but then he turns it off just like that.
The ambrosia hits my tongue, and I moan. Intentionally. I mean, it’s there, the bliss-out, but I want to make sure Thandoran knows it.
I can turn it off and on too.
I throw in some amorous gasps. My free hand lingers along my collar, and I pull at it as if I’m hot, as if my clothes are a burden.
Thandoran doesn’t look up. He doesn’t pause with his fondling of the baseboards. He doesn’t smirk or call me out on my behavior.
After I drink half the can, I slam it down on the mantle and glare at Thandoran. Why am I so worked up? Why am I so agitated?
Finally his hand stops at a flaw in the baseboard. He pries off a piece of the trim, and a latch is behind it.
“This is what I found,” he says as he flips the latch.
The wall panel groans, and a seam in the wallpaper appears. Just a crack, but a current of air hits my face.
Thandoran pushes it inward. A narrow spiral staircase is in the wall, tucked into the corner of what must be the inside of the outer castle wall. It curves up into the scattered light and down into thick darkness, where a musty smell comes from.
“Whoa,” I say somberly.
“Are you done messing around? We have a castle to explore.”
I scrunch my nose and give him the stink eye. Messing around? Grr. Thandoran will push me over the edge.
He pockets a mandarin and flicks light into his palm. After eyeing my can of milk, he asks, “Have you had enough?”
I nod. He opens my pack and digs out a palmful of caramels and shoves them into my pockets.
He sighs. “Is it always this much work to take care of you?”
“I take care of myself.”
“You’re working really hard at seducing me.”
“It’s not working,” I mutter.
“Believe me, princess.” He pulls me onto the top step. “You’re hard to resist.”
Using a flame in his palm to see, we follow the stairs down. The space is tight, barely wide enough for a man standing abreast. At the bottom of the stairs, there’s a room with dusty, broken furniture. The floor is damp stone. Three doors, on two different walls, indicate possible passages leaving the room. Thandoran checks his compass. Coincidently, the middle door, a half-rotted wood, corresponds to the point of our crystal.
