by Ali Winters
What is wrong with me that I am concerned for a vampire, of all things, because he looks unwell?
Like a bolt of lightning, it strikes me why tonight is different than all our previous ones.
It's not worry for him that made me nervous—it was the realization that he is off, weak, tired, slow, something, and I would be a fool not to take advantage of it. I know killing him would be the best, but I wonder if I am brave enough to follow through anymore. But I will settle for drawing blood and winning my freedom.
If there ever was a time to try, it is now. Because I must return to my sister as soon as possible, to Xander and start my life, and to get away from the vampire before I fall for this illusion of humanity more than I already have.
I pat the dagger hidden at my side and then head out of my room and into the halls and up the stairs to Alaric’s personal study.
Chapter Eighteen
Alaric
Satiated. Not completely… but enough. I recline in my chair at my desk and gaze into the fire across from me. I have nearly forgotten how completely satisfying it is to give in to what I am. Though I frown. Were it not for Cherno, when I drank that willing girl’s blood after dinner, I would have been far too close to losing control.
I was careless, and the girl could have died. I had overestimated my willpower, and the moment my fangs had pierced her skin, she was nearly lost. Rosalie would have had my head for my carelessness of a donor.
“You almost waited too long,” Cherno says from their perch on my shoulder.
“I know.”
“You put that girl and Clara’s life at risk.” There’s more than a touch of admonishment in their voice.
“No, I wouldn’t—”
Cherno flaps their wings, smacking me on the side of my head. “You would. You can only control your bloodlust for so long until it takes over on its own. Do not be a fool, Alaric.”
I clench my jaw and reach up, scooping them off my shoulder and looking into those big red eyes. “Stop that, you little demon.” I drop my head. “I don’t know… I haven’t wanted to,” I admit. “I can’t even take a sip at dinner without Clara glaring at me.”
“Then bite her and take her blood.”
I shake my head.
They hop down from my hand and crawl over the desk. “What do you hope to gain from this bargain?”
Again, I shake my head. “I should hate her… I do hate her for what she did to Rosalie… but every time she is near—”
I want her.
It is a damning truth. A curse to want the very creature who took away the one soul I had left in this world.
“Leave me. I have other business more important than some damned bargain with a mortal,” I say, resting my face in my hands.
Cherno says nothing more. There is only the flapping of their small leather wings, and then I am alone with the crackling fire.
I look at the opened letter on my desk. I had assumed Elizabeth was once again requesting my presence, but the news was far worse. It had, in part, been one of the reasons I'd made the deal with Clara… that coupled with my own selfish reasons. There was little more I could have done, except demand she allow me to mark her, to bind her to me—but she would have refused outright. I would have wanted her to refuse.
After a long moment, I stand. Enough moping. Enough dwelling. There is nothing I can do to stop the future from happening. Snatching the crystal decanter from the shelf, I pour some of the amber liquid into one of the glasses. I throw my head back and relish in the burn of it. Then I pour another, sipping this one slowly, enjoying the taste.
I freeze as I turn. Clara stands in the doorway, ready for a fight. But my mind is too weary for such a thing tonight.
“Good evening,” I say. “Are you here to draw blood?”
She marches up to me, a storm in her deep brown eyes, the color nearly drowned out by her pupils.
“I… I would rather die than kiss you,” Clara hisses.
I nod and turn away, taking another draw from my glass. It has been less than an hour since I have consumed the blood of a mortal woman, and still the urge to pull Clara to me is strong.
I rest an arm on the fireplace mantle and get lost in my thoughts, hoping she will leave if I ignore her.
Seconds later, I realize that small hope is in vain when she moves to stand before me, hands on her hips. I take another sip, her eyes following the movement, and I see the moment she realizes it isn’t blood.
“What is that?” she asks.
“Brandy,” I say. Then after a short pause, I add, “Would you like some?”
She eyes the liquid suspiciously. Her gaze roams to the decanter behind me on the shelf, then slowly, she nods. Good. The last thing I want to do with her right now is fight.
I pour her a decent amount, and she is achingly careful to take it by the bottom of the glass to avoid touching me. A move I find both amusing and disappointing.
Clara sits on the floor with her back up against the desk, foregoing the chair before the fireplace, or the one behind the desk. She is an odd human. I have seen more than my fair share of ladies, and Clara is nothing like them. Were her qualities to be written down and applied to anyone else, they would seem undesirable, but she has a way of being comfortable in her own skin in such a way that those same qualities fit her like a glove.
I grab the decanter and sit on the floor next to her. I watch every movement as she brings the glass to her lips and takes a sip. She sighs and leans back, so her spine is relaxed rather than ramrod straight for once.
“This is good… thank you.”
Clara holds the glass in her lap. The fire and storm in her when she first entered the room has fizzled out.
The hour ticks by in silence, then two, and then three. As we each empty our glasses, I refill them until every last drop from the decanter is gone. It is strange to sit next to someone I should have killed the moment I discovered her crime, knowing she wishes for my death as well—and have a moment of quiet and… I wouldn’t call it understanding, but something akin to it.
The small clock on the mantle chimes three in the morning.
She turns to me, setting her empty glass on top of the desk. “I should go.”
I want to protest. I want to ask her to stay until the sun rises. Instead, I nod and rise with her.
Her hand goes to her side, pressing against her skirt. I know instantly from her tell that she has the dagger stashed away there. Then she drops her chin and says, “Thank you.” The tone is demure and overly sweet and false.
Clara pulls back her arm and thrusts it forward. I catch her wrist easily enough. She's too slow, even if she hadn’t had alcohol dimming her senses. I keep my hand where it is, even when the strength goes out of her arm, and the dagger clatters to the floor.
“That didn’t take long for you to change your mind.”
Her eyes are locked on my hand, encircling her small wrist. My grip is light, and she could pull away if she tried. But she doesn’t move.
“Now, it’s time to pay for your failure.”
Now, she drags her gaze to my face. I watch her throat bob as she swallows nervously. Pink stains her cheeks, but there’s heat in her eyes—fury. “I want to renegotiate the deal.”
“A deal is a deal,” I say, setting my glass next to hers. I lean forward and turn my face slightly, pointing to my cheek.
Clara lets out a slow breath then leans forward, her eyes close as her mouth nears my jaw. I turn and her lips are on mine. I pull her close with one arm and tangle the fingers of my other hand into her hair.
Her lips are softer than I imagined, and for a brief second, her mouth is hard and unyielding, but then she becomes pliant against me, responding to every movement and demand I make. The brandy is sweeter on her lips.
I could get lost in her.
Clara’s teeth graze the bottom of my lip, then clamp down.
She lets out a soft gasp of surprise as I pull away. The slightest taste of copper is on the ti
p of my tongue. She bit me and broke the skin. It is a curious thing for a human to bite a vampire. Heat builds in my core, along with amusement.
I throw my head back and laugh. I think I will enjoy this one.
Clara presses her palms to my chest and pushes herself from my arms.
“You cheated,” she accuses.
I shake my head, not regretting anything. “No, my dear Clara, you were the one who tried to cheat your way out of our bargain. I told you that when you try to cut me, I want you to mean it. If you didn’t want the kiss, then you shouldn’t have made such a poor attempt.”
Anger colors her face now as she glares. Her fists clench at her sides.
“The attempt was sloppy. You rushed it,” I say.
I wonder if she will insist that the no touching rule will remain in effect when she isn’t trying to stab me. But she doesn’t, and that pleases me more than it should.
She sputters but, in the end, says nothing.
“If you want to have any chance at drawing blood from a vampire, you need to work on your tells,” I say, bending down to pick up the fallen dagger. I hand it to her by taking her hand and pressing the hilt into her palm, emphasizing the point that she initiated the touching. “Not to mention, your timing and speed could not be worse. You will need to do far more than expertly hide this on your person—which I will assume is always on you.”
Clara is shaking with indignation, she huffs and spins on her heel, storming out of the room.
I can practically taste her anger in the air.
She can detest me all she likes, but she will thank me someday.
Chapter Nineteen
Clara
His kiss is seared on my lips and upon my very soul. It lingers long after I fall asleep. I press my fingers to my mouth, and my eyes slide shut as a shiver runs over my body.
Rolling to my side, I stare unseeing at my surroundings as the watery light of the day washes over everything. I came to my room to nap after breakfast and have been here ever since. But like most nights lately, I haven’t been able to fall asleep for all the noise of my unending thoughts swirling through my head.
My attempts to draw even the smallest drop of blood from him inevitably end in failure and a kiss. It feels as though it has become a sick game between us—one where I seek him out for these moments.
“Miss Valmont,” Mr. Steward’s voice drifts through the door as he knocks twice. For a second, I lay still, thinking about pretending to be asleep. Then he speaks again. “A letter has come for you in the post this afternoon.”
My heart is in my throat in an instant. I fling off the blankets and leap off the bed. Throwing open the armoire, I grab the first dress I can and pull it on, not bothering to button the back. I hurry to the door and fling it open, coming face to face with the butler, who stares at me with wide eyes.
“A letter?” I ask breathlessly.
The butler lifts his eyebrows at my excitement, then, entirely too calm, he says, “Yes, Miss.”
I have been waiting for a response since the day I wrote my first letter to Kitty. It’s all I can do to stop myself from reaching out and snatching the letter out of his grasp. He seems to be moving in slow motion.
The man has never shown an ounce of emotion one way or the other. I wonder if he is even capable of them.
“Thank you,” I say once I have the letter in my grasp. My hands tremble.
“You weren't at lunch, Miss. Do you wish for me to bring you something to eat?”
I am a little hungry, but offering to bring me something seems to leave a bitter taste in his mouth, so I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
“Very well,” Mr. Steward says, bowing slightly before walking away.
I close the door with my foot and lean back against it. It takes me two tries to open the letter. Eventually, I break the seal and open it. It’s a single page with a few short paragraphs.
Dear Clara,
I was relieved to get your letters, having feared you would have been killed by that horrid monster that first night. All of your letters have put me in the best of spirits, and I would like to think that on those days my health has improved even if just a little. I will admit I put off answering your first letters in the hope that you would have returned before a response would have reached you.
I am glad to hear you are alive and well. I miss you more than words can say.
Hurry, sweet sister, and dispose of that monster so that you may return home to me where you are needed.
Your loving sister,
Kathrine
I flip the page over but there is nothing more. I can’t help the ache of disappointment that she didn’t write more, that she didn’t even speak a word of Xander, or if he ever received my letters to him or if he hasn’t received them—if he knows why I left. Surely, he knows I have every intention of returning.
I wonder if Mr. Devereaux is sending my letters or having them destroyed… it would explain why Xander hasn’t written back, but then why did Kitty not mention him?
I rub my temples with my fingers. There is no way I am going to know for sure. I must keep trying to win my freedom.
Folding the letter, I shove it into my pocket and sink down to the floor. An awful feeling gnaws at the back of my mind. As much as I want to return to my life, to those I love, there have been times where I have become consumed with life here. I press my fingers to my mouth, pull in a deep breath, and hold it. My cheeks burn at the thought of every kiss that has happened between the vampire and me.
I have tried over a dozen times to draw blood, and each failure has been a betrayal to Xander. No matter how many times I tell myself it is necessary for me to eventually leave here, I know a part of me wants it. Every kiss is different, some are cold and quick… and with others, I nearly lose my senses. But every single one has erased the memory of Xander’s kisses, bit by bit. I am afraid that one day soon, I will not be able to recall a single kiss or the feel of his embrace any longer.
Alaric might not be compelling me, but I wonder if he uses some demonic power whenever he is close. I don’t see how there could be any other explanation for it.
Nothing I have done thus far has worked. I need to change my strategy. While I want nothing more than to rid the world of vampires and avenge everyone who has ever been taken or murdered by one… I do not need to kill Alaric as I have been attempting. I only need to draw a single drop of blood to earn my freedom.
I don’t need the strength or speed to pierce a heart, only a small flick of my wrist. A scratch.
It will be enough to just be free and return home.
Standing, I stretch before reaching behind me to fasten up the back of the dress. I grab the dagger from the night table and head out of my rooms.
I stop first at the library, but there is no one there and the fire in the hearth is dying down. I swallow my nerves, squaring my shoulders, and head up the staircase to the third floor. Since that first night we drank on the floor of his study, he has not even tried to enforce the ban he’d set—so I’m not sure why I’m so nervous about going up there now.
I bypass the first two rooms and head straight for the last door.
When I peek in, I see the fire is roaring, Alaric’s jacket is slung over the back of the large wing-backed chair near the fireplace, and an open book sits, spine up, on the cushion.
He’s been reading, and by the looks of things, he will return shortly. I pick up the book and turn it over, glancing at the title before opening it up to the beginning.
“Will you be joining the master for tea,” the butler asks from the doorway. “Or are you snooping through his things?”
I snap the book shut, having nearly jumped out of my skin at being caught. Mr. Steward holds a tray with a single china cup and a teapot.
“There is a personal matter I wish to discuss with him,” I say with a bite to my words.
He grunts and nods once, setting the tray on the desk, then pouring a cup and placing it on the small rou
nd table next to the chair. He leaves without another word or glance in my direction.
I breathe out once he’s gone. Looking at the steeping tea, I know Alaric will be back soon enough. I reach inside my pocket and pull out the dagger, positioning it under the book in my hand. It takes a few attempts to find something comfortable and natural enough to hold the blade while I appear to be reading.
I stand in place, flipping through the pages as though I’m reading. But all of my attention is on the sounds around me. Listening for him to return and catch him by surprise with a scratch of the blade.
My shoulders grow stiff, and the tea has cooled. I shift in place, growing uncomfortable.
I huff to myself. Who asks for tea and then doesn’t return in time to drink it before it gets cold? It feels like I have been waiting on him for hours at this point, and I am already a good portion through the book. I’m in danger of finishing it before he gets back.
“You didn’t even smile at that part,” Alaric’s silky voice whispers in my ear.
I spin, trying not to drop the book as I swipe at him.
Once again, Alaric has managed to stop me with one hand staying my wrist only by his preternatural strength. He takes the book from me and closes it, then drops it on the chair. He moves my arm to the side, stepping into me until we are only a breath apart.
I swallow thickly as he stares down at me. His dark blue eyes are ringed with red. I should be afraid, but I don’t think he will bite. Not once in all the time we’ve spent together has he once tried to bite me.
He takes my chin in his free hand and then his mouth crashes down on mine. His hand moves around to the back of my head, keeping me locked in place. The kiss is hard, and I swear my already swollen lips will bruise. Anger sparks through me and I growl in frustration.
His movements still for a second, but he doesn’t pull away, but now there’s a hunger in his kiss, a desperation I’ve never known before, and it’s dragging me under… consuming me.
