The Vampire Debt

by Ali Winters

  His other hand settles on my waist, and he pulls me closer until my front is flush against his. His eyes are focused on my mouth, then they lower.

  I follow his gaze to my dress… but it’s not the dress I put on for dinner. It’s a nightgown. I had been too set on finding him to realize someone changed me.

  “Did—did you?” I look up at him in horror and embarrassment rises from my chest, up my neck to burn my face. I am hot and cold at the same time. “Did you do this?”

  “You mean, did I change your clothes?” he asks with a nonchalant air.

  “Yes,” I say, hating that the word comes out breathless. “Did you see me naked?” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling self-conscious at the turn in the conversation.

  “I have seen countless women naked in my lifetime,” he says. It’s answer enough for me.

  I can’t think with him this close. I’m embarrassed… infuriated that he’s seen me undressed. But most of all, I hate that having him hold me close makes me want him more than I want to end him.

  My heartbeat speeds up and I wonder if he can hear it. The way he touches me—holds me—is so familiar it is as if he’s been doing it our entire lives.

  It makes me feel like a traitor to who I am and to Xander. But even Xander has never made me feel the way Alaric does with just a look.

  Clenching my jaw, I use that to fuel my purpose tonight.

  I place my hands against his chest, still holding onto the dagger, and push away. His hold gives without resistance.

  His mouth ticks up in the corner of one side. “My dear Clara, you flatter me.” His arrogant mask slips, and he adds, “No, it was not I who dressed you…”

  It takes me a moment to understand what he said.

  “I would not force myself on you. I’m not…” He halts on his next words, and I know what they will be before he speaks. His eyes grow wide, and I feel mine react the same. Instead of finishing that thought, he says, “What kind of man do you take me for?”

  “You are not a man,” I bite out, trying to remain unaffected by him. Inside I shiver, something clenching in my stomach. My body betrays me, wanting what it should fear, the damnable thing that it is.

  His nostrils flare as he steps closer. His eyes narrow, a wicked grin forming on his lips. “Make no mistake about this, Clara. I might be a vampire, but I am still a man.” Red rings his irises, a mixture of fire and ice.

  Suddenly my mouth is dry, and my tongue feels thick and heavy.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask.

  “Isn’t that obvious?”

  My life. He wants my life in exchange for the vampire I killed.

  “You’re insufferable,” he says when I don’t reply.

  “And you’re a demon’s ass.”

  “And you should be more careful with that sharp tongue of yours.” He leans over me, a dark grin forming across his lips.

  I swallow. “Are you going to kill me now?”

  He looks at me appraisingly, as though he’s weighing his options. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  But I think he has.

  “If you’re going to kill me, why don’t you do it already?” My back bumps into a bookshelf. I hadn’t even realized either of us had moved.

  Alaric braces his hands on either side of my head, caging me between his arms and body. At some point, I'd dropped the dagger and have taken to clutching at his shirt. Again, my body betrays me, gravitating toward him when I should be repulsed.

  “Is that what you want, for me to drink from your veins? You want me to hold you in my arms, to feel my mouth on your warm flesh, as your life leaches from your body? And here I thought you despised my very touch. Yet you are practically begging for it.” His voice sends shivers along my body, making every inch of my skin pebble.

  He leans in ever so slowly, as though he will do every last thing he spoke of. His canines grow longer as if to emphasize his point.

  Despite how I try to be brave when facing him, despite how I tell him that I will never fear him—I know it’s a lie. I am afraid of him, afraid of the death he could deliver. Because as many times as I tell myself that my death means Kitty won’t have to pay for my actions—I still want to live.

  “No, don’t.” I step to the side, ducking under his arm.

  “I didn’t think so,” he says thoughtfully. “But I would be happy to change that, just say the word.”

  Outside the wind picks up, howling— or perhaps it's the demons that inhabit the forest surrounding his home. The rain pelts harder against the glass panes, and a roar of thunder cuts through the space between us, rattling the books.

  “You’re horrible,” I say, barely above a whisper, trying to contain my heart that has jumped into my throat. I stare straight ahead at the storm raging outside, the chill of it seeping into this room.

  He grips my chin gently between two fingers, turning my face up to look him in the eye.

  “Of course,” he says in an infuriatingly cool and unaffected voice. “You only see me as the monster that has haunted your nightmares since you were a child. So why should I be anything more?” His thumb traces along my bottom lip. “But the truth is, I am not nearly so monstrous as you.”

  I slap his hand away and grit my teeth. He can use that silver tongue of his all he likes to spin lies and tell half-truths, but I know it was a vampire that took my mother from me. Damn the laws the vampires have set down for us, I refuse to let a human life mean less than the death of one of theirs.

  His hand still cups my cheek, his thumb’s movements have stilled, resting on the side of my mouth. I jerk away from him, putting space between us. Every time I put distance between us, one or both of us closes it.

  “Don’t ever touch me again.” Even as I say the words, I wonder how much I mean them.

  “As you wish, my dear Clara, but know this—when I touch you again, it will be because you initiate it,” he says, emphasizing the first word as if there is no other possibility. “And I will look forward to that day because it will be more than you bargained for.”

  “You have to know that I would never initiate it.” I look sideways at him. He is up to something… and a small, dark part of my soul is intrigued.

  His face brightens at that. Crimson rings those dark eyes and a dangerous, sexy smile forms on his mouth. I know whatever happens next will not end well for me.

  “Would you like to make a wager?”

  “No, I don’t,” I say without a second’s hesitation.

  He nods as though he’d somehow known my aversions to such things and absentmindedly forgot. “How about something else, then… a bargain?”

  “No, it is the same thing with a different name,” I murmur. What is he up to? He runs boiling hot and freezing cold from one minute to the next, and now I can’t decipher which it is. “And I don’t trust you.”

  “Come,” he says, holding out his hand to me. “We can hardly go on as we are. I will lay out the terms, and then you can decide if you wish to decline or not.”

  I look at his hand, doubtful. “You won’t hold me to it if I hear what you have to say and decide against it?”

  “That is correct.”

  I nod but don’t take his hand. He had sworn not to touch me, and I will hold him to it. Alaric’s fingers curl into his hand, forming a loose fist that hovers before he drops his arm back to his side. He chuckles lightly at the gesture.

  “Pick up the dagger,” he says.

  My heart stops for a second. There are a thousand different possibilities for him saying that. A fight to the death now, another threat… still, I do as he says, not taking my eyes off him as I do so.

  “May I?” he asks, holding out his hand.

  I debate whether or not to hand it over. Did this asshole just make me pick it up when he was capable? I glare but hand it to him, hilt first.

  “That dagger is made of pure night-forged silver.” Alaric turns it over in his hand. “It is one of a kind.”

  His eyes grow distant
as he examines the blade as if it were more than what I see in it.

  “What does that mean?” I ask softly.

  His eyes slowly come back into focus. “It means,” he says, clearing his throat. “That it is the strongest metal ever made, and one of the few things that can kill a vampire or a demon. We can heal from most injuries, but when cut with night-forged silver, we heal at a human rate, thus when dealt a mortal wound with such a weapon, we will die as a human would.”

  I swallow thickly. “Why would you tell me that?”

  It’s common knowledge that vampires cannot survive decapitation or a pierced heart. But however grateful I am for this new information, I wonder why he would reveal such a secret to me, knowing I wish for his death, and why he would ever let me have it in my possession. Unless he is lying, and this is a test.

  It’s hard to say.

  Instead of answering, Alaric extends the dagger’s hilt toward me.

  I hesitate, then slowly lift my hand and take it, half surprised when he doesn’t resist. There’s no trick, nothing. He only lowers his arm to his side.

  “The bargain I propose is this: if you can manage to draw even a single drop of blood from me with this dagger, then you are free to return home to your family, and I will consider your debt paid in full.”

  He will let me leave—I can go back to Kitty. My heart stutters in my chest. All I have to do is cut him. Then I swallow the thick lump in my throat that has formed.

  “I cut you… and you will let me leave—” I narrow my eyes. “Just like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if I kill you?”

  He raises his brows. “I would rather you didn’t. Drawing a single drop of blood will suffice, and then we can both go back to our lives. I will make sure no vampire comes after you or your sister.”

  I finally look up to meet his eyes. “What does this have to do with…” I can’t bring myself to finish the question.

  “Ah, yes,” he says as though it’s an afterthought. “For every failed attempt, you, my dear Clara, owe me a single kiss.”

  “What?” I ask, entirely dumbfounded. I can’t possibly have heard him correctly. “A kiss? Why a kiss?”

  He prowls forward until we are nearly touching again, but he doesn’t go any farther than that. “Because I want to see how sweet that sharp tongue of yours tastes. And because I want you to mean it when you try to stab me through the heart with my own weapon.”

  Demons and saints… the things those words do to me right now.

  “If I agree to this, then you can’t compel me ever again. I don’t like what it does to me.”

  “I will accept that term… anything else?”

  I shake my head. “I agree to your bargain.”

  “Good, then it is done.”

  My veins pulse in anticipation. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, his eyes following the movement. “What will happen if I never try to cut you?”

  Alaric shrugs then moves back. “Then, you will stay here until the day you die, and you will never gain your freedom.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Clara

  Sweat beads along my forehead and drips down the side of my face. Autumn has come in full force and is already being pushed aside for the colder months.

  I throw the dagger embedding it in the trunk of the tree I'm using for practice. Chunks of bark are missing from the weeks I’ve spent trying to perfect my aim, or rather develop it. I would be much better if I had my bow and arrow instead, or someone to teach me how to properly wield a dagger.

  Instead, I must figure this out through my own trial and error. Constantly creating bad habits only to realize once I’ve ingrained them, it is ineffective.

  Alaric and I see each other at dinner each night. He doesn’t touch me, as per our agreement, nor does he get close.

  It’s good. Better that he doesn’t. When he’s near, I forget Xander… his power is too consuming.

  I can’t be sure he won’t try something to get me to unwittingly make contact with him. I swallow down the feeling that is too close to disappointment for my taste.

  Gripping the hilt, I brace my other hand against the tree and pull. It doesn’t give at first, then like a hot knife through butter, it gives way, and I stumble back several steps. The strike was good but off target.

  I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand then rest my back against the tree. I’m more comfortable with the blade in my hand, it feels more like an extension of me.

  I turn my head to look up at the window on the third floor of the manor. I see the faint light of a fire roaring in Alaric’s study. I can’t tell if he’s in there or not.

  With every passing day, I grow more and more restless, anxious to get home to my sister. I hope she is doing well. I have sent two letters but have yet to hear back, which makes me worry all the more.

  I have asked her about Xander as my letters to him have also gone unanswered. It makes me wonder if they are getting to him at all. He would have been worried when I never showed up that night as we had planned.

  It is only the prospect of me attempting to cut Alaric and failing… the thought of his mouth on mine that I cannot risk. It seems a simple enough request, but I can’t help but feel as though it will lead to something far more dangerous than a simple kiss would imply.

  I need to draw blood from him soon… but worry is making me hesitate.

  I move around the tree, using it to hide my body as I slip the sheathed blade into my pocket and practice ways of reaching for it that seem natural. I do everything I can think of with the dagger, wanting every movement with it to feel as natural as everything else, so when I do go to strike, Alaric will not see it coming.

  One glance at the sky is enough to tell me that it is nearly time for dinner. I will go to my room and change, then the two of us will dine with soft music playing on the phonograph in the background, and then he will ask me the same question he does every night.

  I arrive before him. It has become more and more common. Every night thus far, I have come to dinner telling myself that tonight will be the night I will draw blood… but every night, the thought of his kiss has me halting my plans.

  I take my seat and wait. A warm fire blazes in the hearth, snapping and crackling. I take a sip of wine to temper my nerves. As I set the crystal glass down, music drifts into the room.

  Then he appears in the doorway. Immediately my stomach clenches. And it is because of that reaction to seeing him walk into the same room that I have stayed my hand.

  As of late, he has shown me less and less of the telltale signs of vampirism. I think he does it to play with my mind, to lull me into feeling safe around him. But I cannot let my guard down, no matter how human he might appear.

  “Good evening, Clara,” he says, taking his seat. “Have you been waiting long?”

  He looks tired tonight.

  “I’ve only just sat down myself.”

  Our conversation is stiff and scripted. But every night we continue this charade, it grows harder and harder to remember that this man is not my friend. We would both like to see the other dead.

  We eat in silence. I notice he barely touches his food. Eventually, he sets his fork and knife down and looks to me for the first time since entering.

  “I will retire to my study now if you’ll excuse me.”

  I dip my chin in a single nod.

  He seems paler than usual, dark shadows have formed under his eyes. Alaric stands then asks the same question he does before we part ways. “Will you be attempting to draw blood tonight?”

  “No,” I say automatically.

  I’m unsure if he expects me to ever answer yes, or if he expects a no and an attempt.

  He nods once, and then he walks from the room.

  I look down at my plate of food, barely touched. It is as delicious as everything else I’ve eaten since being here, but something about tonight’s dinner has left me unsettled, and I have lost my appetite.

  I am not w
orried about him. I’m not. I can’t be.

  Pushing away from the table, I stand and walk out. I make my way down the hall faster than usual. I am almost running by the time I stop at the landing that leads to the third floor. I grip the banister tightly.

  What am I doing?

  I take a step away. I will not check on him tonight.

  I keep moving down the hall and enter my room, closing the door securely behind me.

  There is something strange about tonight… something different than every other night. I pace, nearly crawling out of my skin with anticipation.

  I busy myself, trying to read by the fire as I do every night after dinner, but I find I can’t focus on a single word on the page. After reading the same paragraph a dozen times over, I close the book and set it aside. I itch with the need to do something, but I can’t decide on what.

  Every dress in my armoire has at least one hidden pocket sewn into it. I have practiced for hours with the dagger, and yet I can think of nothing else.

  I pace the length of my room. Deftly, my hand reaches for the dagger and pulls it. Over and over. Yet it seems with every other step, my thoughts return to the vampire and to the disappointment I felt when he left dinner early… to the way he looked, sallow, and unlike himself.

  “No,” I chide aloud. I don’t care about him. I can’t.

  Stopping in the middle of the room, I return the dagger to my pocket and stare down into the palms of my hands, as if they might literally hold the answer to the question I’ve yet to ask. A question I can barely think and will not speak.

  I go to the bedside table and pick up my worn and tattered novel close to falling apart.

  “Oh, Kitty… what should I do?” I whisper.

  How can I want to return to her and yet refuse to do what I must here first?

  Because I am afraid. Afraid of failing because that would mean facing something I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for.