The Vampire Curse

by Ali Winters

  The fire in the hearth is little more than small flames and embers. It must be sometime near dawn.

  My thoughts are muddled, my limbs slow to respond, sluggish as if I am underwater.

  I make my way toward the window, wondering what had possessed me to open it in the first place. Every muscle in my body is stiff, and it takes all the focus I can muster to make them obey.

  A motion below stills my hands as I reach for the window. Instead of closing it, I pull it wide open. I blink to clear my vision, but there isn’t enough light. Whoever, or whatever, shifts in stilted and uneven movements, then appears several yards ahead of where it was.

  I press my cold hand to my forehead in an attempt to stop my mind from spinning.

  The figure, both human and shapeless in form, stops in its tracks. I’m not sure how I know—it’s far too dark to make out any details—but they are looking straight at me.

  Two pinpoints of red appear where eyes should be. Neither of us moves for a long moment.

  A shiver runs over every inch of my skin, and my breath forms soft, white puffs in the air before me.

  There is a noise… like softly spoken words that sound jumbled to my ears. I lean forward until I'm half hanging out of the window, straining to make out what they are saying. My hands brace against the ledge, nails biting into the damp wood, made soft by the recent rains.

  Get back inside. If my hand slips, I will topple forward and fall out. And it is a long way down.

  Whoever… or whatever it is repeats the same string of words, over and over.

  The features begin to take shape. The eyes flash bright, and a wicked smile forms across the mouth that wasn’t there a second ago.

  Demon.

  Run… run… My mind screams the command, but I remain rooted in place, a prisoner in my body. Run!

  I suck in a lungful of icy night air. I’m released, stumbling backward several steps before managing to catch myself.

  As I back away, black, smoky plumes rise to my window, blotting out the world on the other side. It hovers, growing impossibly thick.

  Demons cannot enter homes unless invited.

  Hoarfrost forms on the windowsill with a slow crackle, then spreads down the wall to the floorboards. The black mass outside continues to condense.

  I take a step back and freeze. My heart nearly stops as the demon slides through the open window like a heavy fog.

  It pours inside through the opening, frost preceding in its wake—flashes of light spark and snap, a lightning storm within.

  The demon circles the floor, surrounding me, drawing nearer with each rotation.

  I can’t move without stepping into it. It swirls over my feet then rises up my body. I close my eyes and swallow.

  This isn’t real. It can’t be.

  But it feels real.

  “Sssweeet huuuumannn…” they hiss. “I will conssssuumme yooou… possessss yooou.”

  My head thunders and each beat of my pulse makes the world quake. Then everything is dark, and I can’t see. I try to scream, but my mouth, my throat, my voice, all fail me.

  My breathing comes faster as I wait for the demon to rip me apart and consume me.

  Then points of light, like distant stars form, dim at first then brightening until I can see again. Tallow candles in sconces along the walls, though only a few are lit. I don’t stop to look around, running as fast as my shaking legs will carry me.

  My feet pad down the hall, muffled by the thick runner. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I can’t stop.

  A man ascends the top of the stairs at the end of the hall. The upper half of his body is shrouded in shadow.

  I reach out a hand.

  “A—” I start, but nothing more than a strangled sound makes it past my lips.

  The icy cold has traveled up my body, numbing my muscles. I fall but don’t feel the ground as I hit. The dark mass stalking me rushes over me and swallows up my consciousness.

  Warm fingers brush the side of my face. It feels good. I try to say as much but all that comes out is a groan.

  After a few tries, I manage to open my eyes. A face hovers before me, surrounded by night.

  I blink as the face comes into focus. The white-haired vampire crouches before me with pale brows raised and lips quirked to the side.

  “It is not safe for a human to be wandering the halls at night in a house full of vampires.” There is too much humor in his voice for his words to be a threat.

  I try to recall the details of the last few hours—the last few minutes—but everything is muddled. My head pounds the harder I try to remember.

  “I… You—” I try to scramble away, but he places his hands on my shoulders.

  “Be still,” he says quietly.

  “Who…” I begin.

  He smiles and presses his palm over my forehead as if I have a fever.

  Without the look of contempt on his face, he is quite handsome. The way the corners of his lips tilt up in a secretive smile. His green eyes glitter, even in the dim light.

  “That’s right, we were never formally introduced.” He speaks softly. “Forgive my rudeness, my lady. I am Cassius Wellington.”

  “Oh,” I say. I’ve never before been introduced to anyone while lying on the floor.

  “I’m—”

  “You are the Lady Clara Valmont,” he says. “We all know who you are.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Wellington.”

  “Please, call me Cassius.”

  I press my elbows into the floor, lifting myself up a fraction. “What am I doing out here?”

  Cassius hums, nodding as if such a thing were an everyday occurrence. “It seems you were having a night terror, Lady Valmont.”

  “That’s never happened before.” I press a clammy hand to my forehead. Could the stress of meeting the vampires and all the wine have gone to my head?

  “Being in the presence of so many demons can do that to a human.”

  I snap my gaze to his. The details of my dream come back in a wave at hearing the word demons. I lick my suddenly dry lips. How could he know what my dream was about?

  “Demons?” My question comes out half-formed. He must be referring to himself and the others.

  “Yes,” he says, taking me by the hand and elbow and helping me to sit. “Allow me to walk you back to your rooms.”

  I shake my head and push to my feet. My legs are weak and my body aches. “Thank you, but no, Mr. Wellington.”

  He only says, “Call me, Cassius.”

  I smile demurely, too tired for pleasantries, and take two steps before my knees buckle. Cassius is next to me in an instant, supporting me against his side.

  He is nothing like the man I thought he was earlier. The hostility in his demeanor has morphed into something friendly…

  “You’re much nicer than you were earlier,” I say before I can think better of it.

  Rather than lashing out or being offended, he laughs. “You are quite fascinating, my lady—and observant even when you are drinking your weight in wine.”

  My face flushes.

  “Let us simply say that Alaric and I haven’t always been the… closest of friends.”

  I frown. I’m not sure I want to know what he means by that, and something tells me that I shouldn’t ask.

  Finally reaching my door, I pull my arm from his and smile. “Thank you, Cassius.”

  He beams at my use of his name.

  I open the door and freeze. The fire in the hearth has died completely, but the windows are closed, and there is no sign of the frost that covered the walls or floors earlier.

  “Is something wrong?” he asks.

  I turn back around. “No, it’s nothing. I’m just tired.” The nightmare felt so real. I had expected the room to be out of sorts.

  Cassius steps closer and takes my hand, bringing it to his mouth and placing a kiss on the inside of my wrist.

  “Goodnight,” I say when he doesn’t let go.

  His eyes d
arken, fingers wrapping tighter around my wrist. “He might have claimed you, but it is clear he does not care for tradition.”

  I swallow delicately. “What do you mean?”

  His words frighten me even though nothing about him is threatening.

  “It means, that even if he has started the process to mark you, as long as it is not complete—and I can tell that it’s not—then you can choose to be marked by another. You do not need to take on the mark of the one who claimed you.”

  I try to pull my hand from his, but his grip tightens. Not painfully, but enough to keep me from moving away as he leans in.

  Cassius places his mouth close to my ear. My heart skips a beat. If he tries to compel me, there is nothing I can do.

  But he doesn’t.

  “You could choose a vampire who knows how to use their demon.” He pauses. “I could give you anything you wanted. I could turn you into one of us if you wish it. I could give you a life you’ve never been able to dream of; endless pleasure. I could teach you how to live. You would have everything you could ever want and more, including a home with such opulence that this place will look like a graveyard in comparison.”

  I finally manage to force my lungs to work again. I step back, slipping my hand free from his, and offering up the best smile I can manage, though all I want is run.

  “Thank you for your assistance. You have given me a lot to think about,” I say evenly, fighting to keep my pulse slow and steady. “But forgive me, my head is pounding from the wine, and I’m afraid I’m not in the best place to make such an important decision.”

  “Of course,” he says, bowing slightly at the waist. “Sleep well, Lady Clara, and sweet dreams.” He turns, walking back down the hall.

  I close the door softly between us and lock it.

  Chapter Six

  Clara

  Beams of morning light drift through the windows of the library as I pass, sending a sharp pain through my temples. My pulse hammers, and my entire body aches. I squint, wanting to avoid that room for the first time since coming here.

  My nerves got the better of me last night. It was foolish to drink so much. I have only had the occasional glass of wine or mead in town with Xander. But it was never anything as delicious as what Alaric served last night. It tasted like sun ripened, sweet berries.

  Who knew drinking wo uld lead to fitful bouts of nightmares?

  I still can’t shake the chill lingering from that dream. It had seemed so real. I can still hear the demon hissing—still feel their words slide over my skin.

  I shudder thinking about the demon that haunted me throughout the night, lurking in the shadows as I tried to sleep.

  Meandering my way through the manor to the dining area, I look forward to a nice, hot cup of tea to clear my head. Thoughts of monsters and demons can wait for another time.

  The softest sound of breathing seems to follow behind me. A chill skitters down my spine.

  I spin around to face a silent and empty hallway. Nothing is out of place, nothing moving. The windows are closed off to the cold morning air as winter creeps its way into being.

  I scoff at myself. It is nothing more than my sleep deprived mind and remnants of nightmares playing tricks on me.

  When I finally make it to the dining room, I find the table empty. Not that I can stomach eating, but I’ve grown accustomed to finding large breakfasts laid out. I walk in and take a seat at my usual spot, too drained to go back to my room.

  I lick my parched lips. The only thing I crave is a large glass of water before I go any farther.

  Flittering leather wings swoop through the room and Cherno lands on the table several feet in front of me. I don’t have the energy to be bothered by those tiny feet on the table.

  The pounding in my head intensifies. I bury my face in my hands—a poor attempt at escaping the relentless pain.

  The serving cart bumps against the door as it pushes it open, rattling the dishes on top, sending a pain like several hundred needles prodding at my brain.

  I wince at every sound Mrs. Westfield makes as she sets a cup in front of me, then pours tea. Then a plate piled with food—the scent which would usually make my mouth water now churns my stomach.

  She leaves without so much as a single word or glance in my direction.

  Pushing the plate away, I wrap my hands around the hot cup and let the heat seep into my chilled fingers. I take a sip and the warmth fills my belly, spreading throughout my body.

  Cherno stares at me with those large brown eyes that almost seem to glow a soft red in the dim light. For a second, I wonder if I am still drunk because it looks as though Cherno is smiling at me.

  That’s silly—bats don’t smile.

  But, with that expression, those large, pointed ears, there's nothing threatening about this little beastie.

  “You know,” I mutter more to myself. “You’re kind of cute.”

  Cherno squeaks and shuffles within reach.

  Alaric adores this tiny creature… I saw it clearly in his face when I had called Cherno “that.” It is a strange choice for a pet.

  I suck in a breath and slowly reach out my hand, hovering over Cherno’s tiny head. Then when the creature doesn’t move, I stroke its head right between the two large ears. The simple gesture is almost enough to make the pounding in my head abate.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  Cherno squeaks twice, but the third sounds like my name.

  “You can understand me?” I ask, then I freeze. The absurdity of the question is glossed over as my brain catches up. I pull my hand back. “Did you just speak?”

  Cherno blinks once, twice, those large eyes seemingly getting bigger. Then a small and quiet voice answers, “Yes.”

  I straighten my back and clasp my hands together in my lap. There’s a long silence. I have so many questions, but all words seem to have evanesced from my mind.

  Cherno inches forward, head canted to the side.

  “H-how is that possible? You’re a bat.”

  Cherno’s expression falls, then lets out a single squeak followed by, “Not a bat.”

  I take a breath in then let it out slowly. Then again. My thoughts are racing, and over everything, the word impossible screams the loudest.

  Animals don’t talk. This creature—this bat—is not an animal… but if Cherno isn’t an animal… then what?

  Trying to keep my hands from shaking, I place my palms flat on the table and lean in, bringing my face level with Cherno.

  “What are you, if not an animal? I thought you were a vampire’s strange pet…”

  Cherno’s eyes flash red.

  Those eyes are not brown but… a deep, deep red. The pieces click into place. Cherno is a demon.

  I swallow thickly.

  Demons and saints, Cherno is a fucking demon.

  Is that what Alaric meant by demon cursed? Is this small, unassuming creature his master? Are they holding Alaric prisoner?

  It certainly never came across as such. There must be more to this… then again, it could be a figure of speech.

  I don’t get the chance to ask.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” Lawrence croons from the doorway. “Just the human I was hoping to run into.”

  Why would he be looking for me?

  My blood runs cold. Lawrence saunters around the table, taking a seat across from me.

  His blond hair is tousled, the collar of his shirt is undone in a way that would be nearly indecent if he were human. He wears a deep green vest with a black brocade pattern—the same one he had worn last night. He looks like he just stumbled out of bed after barely sleeping.

  “Are you going to drink that?” He nods toward my teacup but doesn’t wait for an answer before he snatches it and drinks the remainder in a single gulp.

  I narrow my eyes. “No, please, help yourself to my tea. There is a world-wide shortage and I would hate to drink it all,” I say flatly.

  Lawrence chuckles.

  I open my
mouth to make another cutting remark, but barely stifle a scream as a small white and pink face with whiskers pokes out from inside his collar.

  The rat sniffs the air then scurries down his arm to the table and over to where Cherno sits.

  Demons and saints. What is wrong with vampires that they have such… creepy little pets?

  But I suppose they aren’t actually pets. I don’t know if I should find that comforting or disconcerting.

  The two demons sniff each other, Cherno speaks words, the rat only squeaks, but they don’t seem to have any trouble understanding each other.

  Lawrence runs a finger along the brim of the teacup and studies me. I resist the urge to squirm in my chair.

  His attention is finally pulled away when Mr. Steward comes in with a goblet on a silver tray. Blood, if the red around the vampire’s irises slowly swallowing up the hazel is any indication.

  Once we are alone again, Lawrence looks from the cup to me, then back. “This will never be as good as it is fresh from the source.”

  I grip the sides of my chair until my fingers ache.

  He sniffs at the blood and throws back his head, swallowing the contents in a single gulp. His eyes open slowly, and he gives me a wicked grin, his blood-stained fangs on display.

  “Do not worry yourself, Lady Clara. I will not bite you. After all, you are marked by Alaric,” he says.

  His tone is mocking as he recites the lies Alaric and I have told. I don’t know if he knows the truth or is guessing at it.

  I dip my chin, more than aware I don't have Alaric’s mark. The skin on my neck is untouched by a vampire’s fangs. Loose strands of my hair fall over my shoulders to hide the evidence.

  I give him a tight smile, shrugging a shoulder. Not the truth, but not a lie either.

  He snorts. “Was the title of lady your idea, or his? Because I think the three of us all know you are not of any notable birth—I saw the hovel you lived in.”

  My heart stutters, my head jerking up to meet his narrowed gaze. I refuse to confirm or deny any of his suspicions.

  He could be trying to trick me into revealing too much. And I’m sure he’d know a lie if I dared to utter one, so I stay silent.