by Ali Winters
I smile for her, pretending that everything is fine, but it’s strained and already making my face ache with the effort.
“Miss, if it’s all right, I would like to ask you a question.”
I nod.
“Earlier—” She plays with the hem of her sleeve, hesitating for such a long moment that I’m not sure she is capable of finishing. “—why did you assume you would be…” her question trails off.
I say nothing. She is an idiot to not realize what it means when a vampire takes a human during the claiming.
“Do you not like the Master?” Elise whispers the question.
“No, I do not,” I say before I can stop myself.
Elise wrinkles her nose as if it were abnormal to loath a thing that fed on you. Even rabbits know that the fox is not their friend. It is all too clear that she adores the beast that keeps her. Poor thing.
Her mood shifts visibly across her pale face.
“He has been nothing but kind to you. He allows you to stay here, feeds you the best food—” Once more she takes me in from head to foot, only this time she looks as if she smelled a pile of horse manure. “He gives you the best clothes.”
“Then you don’t know him as well as you think you do. You don’t know what he’s done.”
“The only thing he has done is improve your life.”
She’s angry again. But so am I. Elise is a fool if she thinks being given clothes, a large room, and pretty things is enough to make someone worthy of adoration—for ripping me away from the ones I love and the life I have fought tooth and nail for.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, turning my back on her. “It takes more than material possessions and money to win someone over.”
“I know he is a good man.”
Otherworld take me, this girl is crazy. A good man? She is so deep into her delusion there is no use trying to explain how much he falls short of that mark. The other servants must be equally blind to who and what he is as well.
“I’m going for a walk,” I say. I storm from the room and out the front door, effectively ending the conversation.
Once I get outside, the cool air takes the edge off my irritation. I make my way through the gardens. White gravel crunches underfoot. I wander through the paths, between rows of rose bushes and shrubs. Occasional birdbaths decorate where the pathways intersect.
I stop at a bench beside a small circular pool of water with a blanket of lily pads over half of the surface. The stones placed around it start small and gradually get wider as they fan out. Green moss grows thickly in the grooves. I plop down on the bench and grip the edge with my fingers and wait for my anger to dissipate.
The next several days pass quietly in the manor. I could almost believe Alaric has left for good. I haven’t seen him in a few days. Except I do spot that flying beastie of his hovering around me in my wanderings.
It still surprises me that Mr. Devereaux has not come for me or taken back his dagger. I have managed to sew pockets into most of the dresses in my wardrobe to better hide it.
I have returned to the small pond every day for the last three days to think, and it is today that I have decided…
I will kill the vampire tonight.
Though it’s something I have been telling myself I would do since Kitty asked it of me, I hadn’t thought of what it would truly cost me. Kitty.
And so I am finally ready to give up the life I have planned and waited for. I must be prepared, or my attempts will amount to nothing but angering him, and I will die accomplishing nothing.
If any vampire finds out I’ve killed him, it will mean instant death. But I have seen neither hide nor hair of any other vampires since he brought me here. And while there is an extra room on the third floor, none of the staff has ever mentioned any visitors, nor did Alaric when he gave the tour. The only warning he gave was of demons.
I imagine sinking this dagger into his heart and what it would mean.
The three servants would be free, no longer forced to pretend to love him.
And I will be free.
Chapter Fifteen
Clara
“Ouch,” I hiss through my teeth and suck on the tip of my finger.
Demon shit, that hurts.
It’s the twentieth time this evening I’ve pricked my finger sewing a pocket into this dress. My back aches from doing this all day. I only have a few more to do, and then no matter what I choose to wear, I will be ready for him. Kitty was always the better seamstress between us. She had the patience and grace for this kind of work.
A gentle knock on the door startles me.
“Who is it?” I ask. It’s the housekeeper.
And sure enough, Mrs. Westfield’s voice calls sweetly through the door. “Miss, the master requests your presence in one hour for dinner.”
A thrill runs through me. I’m silent for a long moment. Alaric is back? The thought of being around him again ratchets up my pulse, and my nerves hum.
“Miss, did you hear me?”
“Y-yes, thank you!” I call. “I will be right there.”
I have been waiting for this moment. A fact I now need to remind myself of.
Setting down the sewing, I run my hands up and down my arms, trying to regain some warmth.
I waste no time in putting on a clean gown and running a brush through my hair, I have no talent for creating a fashionable style, so I opt for something simple. As a last-second thought, I even dab a little perfume on my wrists and neck, going with one of the lighter scents. It smells of warm amber and jasmine.
There’s something perverse about trying to look as appealing as possible for a man I intend to kill.
Once I finish getting ready, I stand before the door. I inhale a single breath, hold it, then slowly release it. I reach again for the handle of the dagger in my makeshift pocket then smooth down the sides of the blue silk dress. Delicate lace accents adorn the edges, and the cut of the neck is straight, leaving most of my chest and shoulders bare.
My fingers grip the hilt of the blade then release it. I am outmatched in all ways, but I will wield my claws in every way I can.
I hate what this horrid dress symbolizes, that it is one of the most exquisite things I’ve ever seen, let alone touched, and it’s because of that vile beast waiting for me. A monster that would kill my sister and I for sport, just like one did our mother when we were barely old enough to understand.
Squaring my shoulders, I banish thoughts of the past from my mind. I must focus on my task.
With that, I open the door and stride out of the room. As per usual, the halls are void of the three servants that live here. The sun is setting, so I don’t expect I’ll be seeing them until morning.
I pause at the entrance to the dining room. He sits in his usual spot, reading. As soon as I step one foot into the room, he folds the newspaper and sets it aside. His plate is still covered. He was waiting for me.
He lifts his glass and takes a sip of the thick red liquid.
He is painfully beautiful. More so than I remember… and it’s only been a few days.
I swallow my nerves and stride over to him, keeping my eyes downcast. I can do this. I can do this.
My hand presses tightly to my side against the handle of the dagger. He stands when I stop before him and not at my chair.
“You came,” he says. If I’m not mistaken, he sounds almost surprised.
I inhale deeply.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and the words taste foul in my mouth.
He’s silent for so long that I start to think I only thought them instead of speaking them aloud.
“For what, exactly?” he asks doubtfully.
“The other day.”
He hums as though he’s weighing my words. Then, “No.”
“No?” I ask, finally lifting my head to meet his gaze.
“No, I don’t believe you are. Come now, Clara, we both know you would rather see me dead than standing here before you. Yet you w
ould have me believe this blatant lie,” he says. He stands slowly to lean over me.
My anger wends its way through my veins, and it’s all I can do to keep it tempered. He’s right, but it still infuriates me.
I clench my hands into fists, my nails dig into the sensitive skin of my palms. I don’t speak. I can’t, not without striking.
“That is an impressive feat without a corset,” he murmurs, and my eyes snap to his face.
“What?” I ask. Did he… my face burns and I am entirely disarmed at the implication of his words, and with them, my resolve comes undone.
I raise my hand and swing, aiming for that smooth, flawless face. I blink and he catches my wrist in his hand. His gaze travels up my neck to my face, a crooked smile forming.
My breaths come out short and quick with my rising anger. I grab the dagger with my other hand and thrust it at him, but my hand doesn’t get any higher than my waist. I fight his hold over me, my arm shaking with the effort. Finally, I plunge the blade into the table between us.
“Are you going to make an attempt on my life every time we have a meal together?”
He is already so close, but he closes the distance between us until our chests are all but touching. His warm breath brushes over my face. I glower at his perpetually bored expression. His gaze flicks to the dagger then back.
“Do you know the cost it will take to repair that?” he asks flatly.
“Threaten me all you like, Mr. Devereaux, I will never be afraid of you.”
His head lists to the side as a single dark brow rises in question. “I did not threaten you. If anything, it is you who has murdered my poor, defenseless table.” Finally, he moves away and goes to stand in front of the fireplace. “Were you trying to kill me as you promised your sister you would?”
I blanch. He wasn’t in the room when I made that vow to her. He couldn’t possibly know that…
But he does.
I don’t bother trying to deny it. “I had to give Kitty hope that I would escape.”
Alaric stops pacing, his chin raises a little higher to look down on me as a sneer forms across his lips. “You come to me as though you are some poor victim of circumstance, but you are not.”
Tears of frustration well behind my eyes, burning, but I refuse to let them fall. “You know nothing of my life. A monster like you could never hope to understand what I have gone through.”
The anger fades from his face, leaving behind neutrality. “Monster?” Alaric tsks. “You wound me, Clara. That is not a very nice thing to say after all I have done for you. Have I not been kind?” He takes a step closer. “I have fed you—” Another step. “Clothed you—” Another step. “Given you shelter far superior to anything you could have ever dreamed… and yet you still call me a monster?”
I don’t answer.
“Tell me, my dear Clara, what I have done that is worse than what you are guilty of?”
Taking me from my family. Threatening to kill me. Being a vampire. I open my mouth to say as much, only to snap it shut when he continues.
“I don’t care about possessions, and I don’t care what my father owes you. Settle his debt with him.” I drop my gaze down and to the side, unable to look him in the eye.
“My dear, Clara…” He lifts a hand and strokes my hair. “Do you think I give a shit about your father’s debt to me? That man could have won a hundred times that amount for me and it wouldn’t have made a dent in my coffers. This was never about him… it was always about you.”
“I’ve done nothing. I am innocent.” I try to give my words strength, to keep my fear and confusion from surfacing, to dare him… but they come out soft and weak.
Alaric’s eyes darken as I speak. “Is that what you think you are?” He now stands only a breath away. “Innocent?” he spits out the word.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He chuckles darkly but there is no humor in it. “We both know that is not true. I think it is time you tell me what you’ve done.”
“I haven’t done anything,” I insist again, and I almost believe it myself. “I am innocent.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he snarls.
I narrow my eyes. I refuse to give in to him.
His lip curls. “I gave you a chance, but it seems you would rather have me force it from your lips.”
I back up until I am pressed up against the table.
His hand lashes out, grabbing the back of my head, his hold forcing my face closer to his. For a second I can’t tell if he’s going to kiss me or bite me.
But he does neither. His eyes flash then darken.
“Tell me,” he whispers deadly sweet. The words echo through my mind and my body becomes numb and pliant in his hands. “What you did that day in the forest.”
My eyes grow wide. Black fills the edges of my vision until his face is all I can see.
I feel his power slide over my skin like a caress. It slips past my lips and down my throat. I fight with everything I have against it. But the words form on my tongue as if I want to say them.
“I killed a vampire.” The confession is ripped from my mouth.
“Tell me about the vampire.”
“It was a vampire. Just some weak, low power vampire.”
“Was it self defense?” he demands as if he already knows the answer.
I whimper. Trying to fight, but it’s useless, my body is not my own. A single hot tear rolls down my cheek.
I fight against the pull of his compulsion, but it’s no use. “No.”
“No… what?”
“No, it wasn’t self-defense. She was eating a… rabbit.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Please…” I choke out.
“Why did you do it, Clara?” he purrs my name.
“Because there are too many of you. You hunt us. Steal us. Murder us…”
He releases me, and I feel his power slip from me like water sloughing off.
I feel empty. My mind and mouth have betrayed me, and even still his power lingers like the caress of a lover.
“I hate you,” I rasp out. My knees give out, and I slump to the floor.
Alaric kneels before me, smiling. Then his face goes hard and stony, his fangs glinting in the firelight.
“Make no mistake. You are alive only because I wish it to be so. I could kill you before you took your next breath if I felt the whim. If something should happen to me, there are plenty of vampires far worse than I who wouldn’t hesitate to take my place.” He pulls away, releasing me roughly. “Your death at their hands would be infinitely worse than anything I could give you.”
My breath comes in short, quick bursts. The adrenaline running through my veins makes it hard to even my breathing. My mouth is as dry as cotton.
His words are muffled, his face blurs before my eyes.
I can’t catch my breath.
He reaches for me as darkness moves in.
Chapter Sixteen
Clara
I wake in my room, sitting up with a start… and instantly regret it. My head swims, aching, and foggy. I press a palm to my forehead in an attempt to stifle the pounding.
What happened?
One minute, Alaric and I were fighting and then… and then he was compelling me—forcing the truth from my lips.
I slide my legs off the edge of the bed and freeze when I see the dagger lying on the top of the night table. Taunting me.
It’s a threat. A dare for me to try again.
I stand. My legs are still weak, but I force them to steady. Grabbing the dagger, I storm out of the room, determined to find him and let him know that I still don't fear him. His tactics will not work on me.
After a minute, my pace slows. I pant from the exertion. For once, the doors to the library are open wide, but among the vast shelves of books that reach from floor to ceiling, a few chairs, and an unlit fireplace, there seem to be no signs of life within.
I take a few steps inside, enthralled by the sheer number of books. Th
ere are more books here than I could ever hope to read in my lifetime. The idea of reading something other than the book Mother gave me is both intimidating and thrilling.
On the far right is a dark mahogany spiral staircase leading to a catwalk that is halfway up the wall. This room spans all three floors. Rain beats against the windows that span almost as high.
I want to run my hands along the spines of the books, to pull each of them from the shelf and flip through the pages, devouring each and every word while inhaling the smell of ink and paper and leather binding.
“You are awake,” Alaric’s voice says softly behind me.
I nearly jump out of my skin as I spin to face him. It is one of the few times he’s not scowling or raising his nose to look down on me.
His dark hair is mussed as if he spent the last hour running his hands through it over and over. But the rest of him is immaculate, from his dark trousers, his freshly pressed shirt and black vest with intricate gold brocade, to his neatly tied cravat.
I nearly forget myself as I look at him in the dim light, the pattering rain against glass is the only sound for a long moment.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, attempting to approach slowly.
How do I feel… he means after he compelled me. And with that thought, my anger has returned.
“I am fine,” I bite out, “no thanks to you.”
He flinches slightly at that.
I stomp toward him, letting my fury give my legs the energy to move quickly. I shove the point of the blade toward his face. I expect him to stop me, to take the dagger, or step away. But he doesn’t move. The sharp point nearly touches the underside of his chin.
“You are threatening me with this, and it won’t work.”
Alaric lifts his hand and wraps his long, elegant fingers around my wrist, gently guiding the dagger away. “Am I now?”
“Yes!” I say. “It doesn’t matter how many times you compel me or threaten me—I will never be afraid of you.”
“And is that why you were searching for me, to tell me this?” He tugs on my wrist just enough to throw me off balance. I am forced to take a step to keep from falling into him. “Are you sure you’re not here for… other reasons?” he asks, his tone full of meaning that makes my blood heat.
