by Ali Winters
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I ask.
He raises his brows. “Does it?”
I think about it for a moment, studying his face, then nod once. “Yes, a little.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Clara
I glance up to the window on the third floor. The room is dark, but I know Alaric is there. Though I wish to be alone to sort through the events of last night, his presence gives me some measure of comfort. He is my strange and dark guardian.
Turning my arms over, I look at them as if I can see through my sleeves and the bandages under, to the thin skin barely healed over and just enough to have stopped the bleeding. It is still tender and raw, but I am still in awe of how much he was able to heal me.
The distant whinny of horses comes from down the road. My head snaps up.
Two white stallions come charging over the crest of the hill and down the drive. Their hooves thunder, and behind them trails a large black carriage with gold embellishments. The animals are wild, and it might be my imagination, but I can almost swear that their eyes glow a demonic red.
Chills run down my spine, and I stand and run a few steps toward the house, but the blood loss from last night has me weak and spots form, dancing before my eyes. I am forced to slow.
I only make it halfway up the steps to the front door before the carriage comes to a violent halt. I turn and face the visitor. Whoever it is, I know it cannot mean anything good for me.
The door swings open, and a beautiful man steps down, every movement is graceful in an unearthly manner that only a vampire is capable of.
His long blond hair is pulled back at the nape of his neck. He is dressed in clothes so fine that I believe he might outrank Alaric in the vampire hierarchy.
The second his eyes land on me, a broad, sensual smile spreads across his face, which leaves me with the image of a starving man seeing a banquet for the first time. I blink, and he stands only inches before me, hazel eyes ringed in red. He leans in close and inhales a deep breath then says in a whisper, more to himself, “My, you are a delicious snack, aren’t you little human.”
My heart beats fiercely against my ribcage.
“I am Mr. Harkstead, but you may call me Lawrence,” he says as he lifts my hand and brushes his lips across my knuckles.
Distantly, I hear the sound of the door opening behind me, followed by soft footfalls. A firm arm wraps around my shoulders from behind and pulls me up against a solid chest.
“Hello, Lawrence. We hadn’t expected you for a few days yet,” Alaric’s voice rumbles in his chest against my back.
Lawrence smiles, showing his white teeth and sharp canines. He lifts one shoulder and shrugs, his attention solely on Alaric now, though I find little comfort in it as Alaric pulls me tighter into his hold.
“Elizabeth was anxious to hear an update from you as you’ve failed to respond to any of her letters.”
I feel Alaric stiffen at my back, and I wonder what it was about that statement that seems to worry him.
“Come,” Lawrence says, “let us get out of this dreadful sun. It’s too draining for my liking.”
Finally, Alaric loosens his hold as he steps around me, simultaneously placing himself between the new vampire and me. “Of course, forgive my lack of manners. Come in, we will get you settled, then we can talk tonight in the study.”
Mrs. Westfield bows to him, giving him a warm, familiar smile as she ushers him inside. Alaric takes my hand in his, and we follow after.
“I will be with you shortly, Lawrence, I must take care of some business first,” he says, not bothering to look back as he leads me down the hall a little too fast.
“Certainly, and take your time,” Lawrence says, meaning dripping from his tone. “I am in no hurry.”
Once we round the corner, Alaric slows, but he doesn’t speak or relinquish my hand. I want to ask him so many things, but I allow him to pull me through the manor wordlessly. Anything I say in the open can be overheard by Mr. Harkstead.
He marches me up to my room, and only then, when the door is closed, does he finally release me. Something dark shadows his features even as the tension melts visibly from his shoulders. His gaze drops to the floor.
“Clara,” he whispers my name with such desperation that I cease breathing as I wait for the next words to fall from his lips. “You will not be safe outside this door. Without my mark, nothing is stopping another vampire from taking your blood.”
“What does he want?” I ask.
“I have some idea, but there is something else to his presence besides simple orders.” Alaric straightens and takes a step forward. His palms slide over my shoulders and down my arms. He grasps my hands in his, and I can only look at his thumb drawing slow circles along my wrist. “Will you do me the favor of staying in here as much as possible?”
“Am I to be held prisoner in my rooms then?” I ask. It is one thing to be here at all, away from Kitty. It is another to be locked up.
Alaric runs a hand through his thick, black hair. There’s something in that simple gesture that makes him look absolutely powerless. “No, never. You are free to roam this floor and the library. I will have Mrs. Westfield bring your meals to you. But I implore you to try to remain hidden until they leave.”
A shiver courses over me, sending goosebumps along my skin. “They?”
“More vampires are coming. Harkstead is only the first to arrive. Please,” he says, one corner of his mouth twitching downward. “Please consider—”
My stomach turns into knots. “No. I cannot. You know I cannot.”
“It would keep you safe,” he offers.
I shake my head vehemently, taking a few steps back.
“At least think about it. Consider it as a possible option.”
“Fine,” I say. “I will think about it.”
He has given me plenty of reasons before why I should accept the mark and while I do understand them, the thought of someday possibly returning to Kathrine has me keeping my refusal firmly on my lips. I think he understands, so he accepts my compromise, but I think he knows my mind is already made up.
I do feel safe with him, but if I let him near me, I fear I will give into his wish to mark me.
After several hours of keeping to my room and pacing, eating the meal brought to me, and even attempting to sleep early, I lay awake on my bed staring at the ceiling. I managed to sleep for a few hours in small bursts of time, broken by my rapid heartbeat thundering against my ribcage. The thought of this stranger coming into my room to kill me when Alaric can’t get to me in time…
But those were only dreams—nightmares.
The wax candle on my bedside table flickers. I couldn’t bring myself to snuff it out as if this small flame could do anything to protect me against a vampire.
I am free to wander this floor and the library. It seems like the only viable option for me. It might do me some good to read and let my mind focus on other things besides the uncertain. Most of all, I will not allow myself to become a prisoner here by my fears.
Slowly, I open the door to my room and peek out into the hallway. Tallow candles burn, casting a soft golden hue along the walls. All seems quiet, so If Alaric and Mr. Harkstead are up and about, they aren’t in this wing of the manor.
I loose a sigh, and into my room, closing the door firmly behind me.
One door to the library is ajar. I squeeze myself through the opening, trying to stay as quiet as possible. A fire roars in the enormous hearth, and other than the snap and popping of the burning wood, I don’t hear a sound.
Satisfied, I make my way through the shelves, stopping when I get to a title that catches my eye. I pull the book out and open it. There’s a slight hint of dust from disuse, but under that is the scent of parchment and ink.
The clock above the fireplace chimes a late hour.
I read a few pages, standing where I am. My eyes ache. Too tired to read, but too wound up by nerves to sleep. I close the book and
return it to its spot.
“Ladies ought not to walk around strange houses at night,” a dark voice croons from behind me.
I spin, pressing my back against the shelves. Immediately, a flush burns its way up my neck at being caught in my nightclothes, which earns a pleased smile from my late night visitor.
“Don’t you know that’s when the monsters come out to play?” Mr. Harkstead’s smile broadens, showing off his long, pointed fangs.
“I couldn’t sleep, and Alaric said I was welcome in the library.” I hate the waver in my voice.
He studies me then gives a curt nod as if deciding on something.
“I suppose,” he says. He steps around me and trails a finger across the book spines, pretending to browse. “Someone like you would really enjoy having access to the finer things in life for a change. Surrounded by riches, all of a sudden must make it quite difficult to sleep at night.” He stops walking and turns to face me, an over-exaggerated scandalized expression on his pretty face. “Or is it Mr. Devereaux you are hoping to get a glimpse of? You are awfully familiar with him.”
I know by his tone what he’s implying. I was informal when referring to Alaric. But I choose to address the fact that he’s insinuating I am here because I was tired of being poor, that I wanted this, not because of a debt but because I am desperate and greedy for a life beyond a normal human’s ability to procure.
My face burns with my temper. “I couldn’t care less about any of this.” I spread my arms out, motioning to the library and the manor itself. “There’s nothing he owns that would make me happy.”
He raises a single brow and advances, stalking toward me like a predator with languid and graceful movements. “Then, tell me little human, what would make your mortal heart happy?”
Nothing. I think. There’s not a single thing in this world that could bring me joy. Things matter little to me, and the people I know are horrible—except for Kitty and Xander.
I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t fighting just to survive, let alone a time when I felt happy. Though I must have been at some point. My gaze flicks to the shelf beside me. Except when reading, when I allow myself to get lost in a book.
This stranger, this vampire, leans forward and inhales a deep breath. I shudder to think why. He tugs the collar of my gown to the side, and his eyes widen.
“Well,” he says. His eyes flash with a spark of red. The power infused in his voice makes my head pound. “This is a pleasant surprise. Perhaps you would like to play a game with me?” his voice echoes in my head, making it pound.
I lift my hand to swat him away, but the library doors are flung wide, and Alaric steps through the shadows. Anger sears across his perfect features, making him look like a stranger instead of the man I’ve come to know.
Mr. Harkstead moves away, but not far enough for my comfort.
Alaric strides over to us, looking down his nose at me. The disdain in his eyes takes me aback. Mere hours ago, he was worried about my safety and wanting me to accept his mark.
“It is late, Clara. You should consider retiring to your room for the night.”
I don’t argue but take the escape he’s offering. I push past his guest, who sighs wearily.
“Run little human. Hide. The others are coming, and they are far more dangerous than even I…” Mr. Harkstead calls out.
“Stop that,” Alaric bites out.
“You never let me have any fun,” he pouts.
“You need to leave,” Alaric’s voice booms through the room.
“I will be doing no such thing any time soon.”
My chest heaves. The mark could protect me. But what good would it do if I lose my chance at freedom? I would be here forever, and it would not be by my choice.
I am down the hall before I can hear any more, my feet padding softly on the carpeted floor.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alaric
“I told you to stay away from her.”
Lawrence Harkstead smiles like the cat that ate the canary. “Oh, but she promises to be a delicious little snack.”
“Meet me in the study in five minutes. I must deal with her,” I bite out, then turn on my heel, and hurry after Clara.
I reach her door just before she manages to close it and press my hand against it, not enough to force it open but enough to keep it from being closed in my face.
“Clara.” As soon as I say her name, the pressure against the door ceases and two heartbeats later, opens wider. She steps to the side and allows me inside.
The urge to wrap my arms around her is immediate, but with her pinched brows and lips pressed into a tight line, I know that isn’t what she needs.
“I’m sorry,” I say, but my words don’t have the intended effect. After what happened with Elise, tonight with Lawrence was just one more blow to her safety. Though he hasn’t caused her harm, the threat he made was enough.
She’s strong and will heal, but Clara needs time. Clara retreats, angling her body away from me. I take half a step forward and halt when she visibly cringes.
“You should have been safe. I failed to keep my promise that it was a place you could go without worry.”
Clara wraps her arms around herself, her shoulders hunched.
To look at her now, she has the wild eyes of an injured wolf being cornered, unpredictable, and ready to lash out.
“When I found you on the floor bleeding… that was not your doing, was it?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She doesn’t speak for a long moment then raises one shoulder in a half shrug. I want her to answer, but I can see she is in no state to be pushed, so I let it go.
At least now I know it wasn’t an attempt to get away from me. That fact eases me somehow.
I pull the dagger from my boot. I had meant to give it back to her after last night, but she hadn’t asked for it, and part of me had hoped she wouldn’t want it or need it. “Take this and keep it on you at all times, my dear Clara.”
Her large brown eyes rise from the dagger to mine. Clara doesn’t move for several heartbeats, then she reaches out with slow, careful movements, wrapping her fingers around the hilt and lifting it from my palm. I drop my hand as she clutches it to her.
“Will you be attempting to draw blood tonight?”
Clara startles, blinking at me in bewilderment. A crooked smile slowly forms across her full lips. The bargain is still in effect.
She steps up to me, closing the distance. She makes a soft humming sound as she lifts the dagger between us and slides the point across my chest.
Indecision wars in her eyes. She’s debating. If she tried, she would fail, a fact we both know—unless I let her. It is a thought I don’t want to contemplate, but it seems to be the only viable solution to get her somewhere safe.
“No,” she says. The word is dry and forced. “Not tonight. I am exhausted.”
With all her talk of leaving, she chose not to. And we both know I would not have stopped her this time.
I can’t even begin to let myself contemplate what this means.
“Things will not get easier for you anytime soon,” I say.
She nods. Simple and decisive.
Her ignorance at the matter sparks my irritation. So I say, “I can’t be at your side all of the time to keep them from you.”
“I understand,” she says.
“Have you considered the mark?”
“I can’t.” She lifts her chin, setting her jaw in determination. “I can’t take the chance I’ll never see Kitty again.”
She is a fool. I nearly say as much but manage to stay my tongue when I catch the hope glittering in her eyes.
Then I bow my head and turn toward the door. I must go and deal with Lawrence.
“Thank you,” she says in a soft whisper.
I turn to look at her over my shoulder. She stands a little taller. What in the Otherworld am I going to do with her?
“W
e will speak again soon,” I say, then take my leave, closing the door quietly behind me.
Then a soft whisper floats through the door, and I’m not sure if she means for me to hear it or not. “I won’t accept a victory even if you try to cheat by handing it to me.”
I don’t understand this thing I have with her. Over the last several weeks, we have somehow formed a tenuous trust between us.
As much as I know I should hate her, that notion has long since left me. I find it impossible to hate what I desire.
If what nearly happened those few nights ago is any indication, she wants me as well.
But there are things far too important between us that have yet to be put to words.
I pour two glasses of brandy and hand one to Lawrence. He takes it and swirls the liquid around and around. The ice clinks lyrically against the glass as he lounges back on the sofa, feet propped up on the cushion near the fire.
I look out the window at the grounds below, bathed in the light of the silver moon. Scowling at the night, I place an arm against the pane, resting my forehead against it, then take a slow sip of my drink.
The weight of an arm slides onto my shoulder. I turn to glare at the man at my side, looking for all the world as though his presence here was because he wanted my company and not because he was sent by the queen bitch herself.
“What is the real reason you are here, Lawrence?” I ask.
He takes a sip of his drink. Pulling a face, he says, “This might be the finest brandy made, but it is deplorable next to fresh blood.” He swirls his drink again before downing the remainder. “Your scent was on her, but not as it should be.”
I throw my head back and swallow my drink in one gulp. “Leave it be, Lawrence.”
Lawrence walks to the fireplace and leans on the mantle, staring into the fire. He is restless tonight, and that is never a good sign. “You’ve not marked her yet. Elizabeth will not be happy.”
