The Vampire Curse

by Ali Winters

  Resting my elbows on the closed lid, I hold my chin in my hands and chew on my bottom lip.

  Lawrence seemed to have only just learned of Rosalie’s death. He connected my claiming with the timing, which I suppose isn’t that difficult.

  Alaric is still keeping her death a secret to protect me. I just wish I knew why. Most importantly, what repercussions would Alaric face for sheltering me all this time?

  It’s been less than an hour. Less than half… if that. I’m tempted to wait outside the doors to catch Alaric the second he leaves the room, but there is no telling how long their talk will take.

  There is a tug in my chest, urging me to seek him out. I rub my hand over the spot trying to quell the sensation. Even if I didn’t know where he was, I think this feeling would lead me straight to him.

  It’s lessened now to a dull hum from the blinding need that first took hold. It scares me that I want the second mark. I am not ready for the final mark yet—it seems too permanent. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be prepared for that.

  For now, though, I need to get close to it. I had already decided on asking for two of the three marks the moment he explained everything because it would keep me safe… but now I think I might want the second for an entirely different reason.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Clara

  Keeping my hand poised and ready to grab the dagger, I make my way back through the halls and into the front of the manor. It’s quiet. Empty.

  I don’t relax until I’m standing in the hall between the drawing and dining rooms.

  I strain my ears to listen. Sounds of dishes on trays coming from the kitchen, while not loud, make it impossible for me to understand anything being said inside. A man laughs. I inch closer, wondering if it’s Alaric’s or Oliver’s.

  “Miss Valmont?”

  I jump at Mr. Steward’s voice and turn to face him.

  “You can drop the contrite look,” he mutters, closing the last few steps that separate us. The teacups chime softly against their saucers on the silver serving tray. “Here,” Mr. Steward says, pushing the tray into my hands. “You should take this in.”

  “But…”

  “I have other duties to attend to. Perhaps once you’re in, they will invite you for a cup of tea,” he says as he walks back toward the kitchen.

  Well, I suppose this is one way to find out what's going on. I stand before the door, one hand poised to knock. If Alaric is put out by my intrusion, then he can send me away. Again. The thought of him continuing to do so sets my teeth on edge.

  Before my knuckles can make contact with the wood more than once, Alaric pulls open the door. He sucks in a breath as his eyes fall on my face. He looks around the hall as if expecting the butler to be standing nearby.

  For a moment, I think he might just take the tray and dismiss me. My pulse races and I wait for his anger, or at the very least, his clear displeasure at my forced intrusion. Then, to my surprise, he steps back and motions for me to come inside.

  Oliver stands up, a wolfish grin plastered on his face. All those sharp teeth should be terrifying, but somehow, the expression is sweet and harmless.

  “Finally,” the male shifter says under his breath to the woman at his side. I set the tray down on the small table in the center of the room—the chaise lounge on one side, and the leather wingback chair on the other.

  I pour a cup for each of them. Cream for Oliver, cream and sugar for the woman, and nothing added for the man. The two shifters take their drinks and stand back along the wall.

  Finally, I make a cup for Alaric. My hand trembles slightly as I hand it to him, and it nearly sloshes over.

  What is wrong with me?

  His hand steadies mine as he takes it with his other. His fingers linger on my skin before releasing me. I make myself a cup before I can dwell too long on what any of that meant… if anything.

  “Not even sugar?” Oliver asks me, both brows raised.

  “No, we didn’t have milk or sugar when I was growing up,” I say, sharing more than necessary. Before he can continue, I hurry to stand against the wall near the fireplace.

  Oliver and Alaric take their seats. Tension fills the space between them.

  Alaric takes a sip of his tea then sets the cup down. “Why are you here, Oliver?”

  “Demons,” he says.

  “Yes. You’ve said as much, but I don’t think that requires a formal visit.” He motions to the other two shifters. “I have been hunting them and doing what I can to quell the issue. As I have told you in the past, I won’t go back on my end of the agreement.”

  He moves to stand. Oliver sets his cup down and leans forward. Something about his expression, his posture, make him appear more wolf than human.

  “Then you are aware the lesser and greater demons are not the only issue. There is a higher demon, ruining the vegetation, leaving the animal populations decimated. Their corpses litter the forest—none of them have been fed on, only shredded and poisoned. My pack has had to go well out of our territory to hunt just to feed our children. Many have not returned because the humans hunt us.”

  With his flirtatious nature, I had missed it before now. He is not just any wolf… he is the alpha of his pack, and the two with him are not just pack mates, but his betas.

  Alaric’s gaze flicks to me, then back to Oliver before he sits back down, expression darkening. “I am. But there is only so much I can do. It is not my demon, and there is no way to determine who their master is. They refuse to take shape, intentionally making it impossible.”

  Oliver scoffs. “There are only so many vampires of your stature, and you are currently housing two… or is it three?”

  “I am but one man,” Alaric says, spreading his arms. “The bargain is with me and no other. If I had assistance, perhaps I could do more. But you will find a lack of willingness to get involved with what is seen among vampires as a shifter priority. They are your lands.”

  A growl rumbles up from Oliver’s chest. “They may be our lands, but it is a vampire’s higher demon—that should be more than enough for the vampires to get involved.”

  Holding up a hand, Alaric silences him. Though Oliver’s emotions have breached the surface, Alaric remains calm. “I agree with you, I am merely explaining how the others will see things. I have agreed to do what I can, but I am afraid it is a waste of time attempting to persuade the others.”

  Oliver straightens his back, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “There is something you can do. Just give in to—”

  Alaric bares his fangs, grabbing Oliver by the lapels, bringing their faces close. The two beta’s take a step forward, halting in their tracks with a motion from their alpha.

  “Never make such a suggestion again.” The warning is a deep and low snarl.

  Alaric releases him. I blink, my jaw hanging open when they both reclaim their seats as if nothing happened. I don’t understand Alaric’s anger. Oliver hadn’t even finished his thought.

  “Track the demon and mark the territory they're haunting, and I will see what I can do. In the meantime, you and your pack must herd the animal population away from the demon.”

  The man takes another half step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. “You presume to tell the Shade forest’s alpha what to do?”

  The woman places a hand on his shoulder and pulls him back.

  Oliver narrows his gaze and faces the man. “Dominance is not important. I do not care if a pup is the one who comes up with the solution that works so long as there is a solution.”

  “We must find something more permanent. Clara and I will be leaving for Nightwich in two weeks.”

  I nearly drop my cup at the mention of my name. Though that’s the last mention of future plans as they turn back to the topic at hand.

  Alaric and Oliver lean in discussing possible strategies, pointing out flaws in each other’s ideas.

  Eventually, their conversation comes to an end, and I’m not convinced they have come up with a plan
at all. Perhaps it’s an impossible situation.

  I shift on my feet, aching from standing in the same place for so long.

  “Shall we adjourn to the dining room?” Alaric says, leading Oliver out into the hall.

  The light through the window is bright after spending so many hours with the drapes drawn and only a fire to light the space.

  The betas take up positions near the door as Alaric takes in his usual seat at the table's head. Oliver sits two places to his right, leaving a single spot empty between him and Alaric.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “I will go check on the food.”

  Alaric’s brows furrow, but I push my way through the kitchen door before he can object.

  The kitchen is empty, though there are trays upon trays of food set out on every flat surface. Enough for a feast.

  I let out a breath and slump against the counter. I’ve never witnessed anything like that in my life. Intense and strange.

  Pushing away from the wall, I reach for the closest tray. The soft thump of the door swings open, then closed.

  “I was just—” I start to say, but the words die on my tongue.

  Oliver blocks the door with his body, arms crossed. He looks me up and down, a frown that looks out of place on him.

  “Are you all right?”

  I shake my head. “What do you mean?”

  He steps closer, taking the tray from my hands and setting it back down. “You were running away that day, were you not?”

  That night feels like a lifetime ago. “Yes. I was.”

  I remember everything about that night. I can still feel the tree at my back, the press of Alaric’s body against mine.

  He reaches out and pushes the hair from my shoulder, exposing the mark. “I see you didn’t make it far.”

  “Oliver—”

  “Oli,” he says. I let out a soft gasp as he takes hold of my head in his hands and brings our foreheads together. “My offer still stands, Lady Clara, to take you from this,” he adds softly.

  “Thank you,” I say, matching his tone. “But no.”

  Oliver drops his hands and leans back, lips pressed into a tight line. “For someone who had wanted to escape from the vampire who claimed her, you seem to like him.”

  “I don’t,” I snap without thinking. “We have a truce. Nothing more.”

  Oliver sniffs the air. “His scent is on you. He has fed on you, if not marked you,” he says matter-of-factly.

  I can’t deny it, especially when I still want to run to Alaric, thanks to this demon cursed mark. I avert my eyes, unable to match the power in Oliver’s gaze.

  “It isn’t so terrible to like your vampire. As far as their kind go, Alaric is not a bad man.”

  I swallow. His words echo thoughts I’ve had for a while now.

  “I did leave. I was gone for a month. I went home to see my sister get married. But my life there is gone.” I shake my head, trying to hold back the surge of emotions that well up and make my throat thick. I ramble on, unable to stop talking. “I never had anything to begin with. It was all a naive girl’s dreams of something better. And I came back… so perhaps I’m the horrible one, using him—”

  “Do not be so hard on yourself. If he didn’t want you here, then you would be gone or dead.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Sometimes, we must lose ourselves before we can discover who we truly are. Alaric knows this.”

  The door swings open and Mrs. Westfield levels us with a glare, her hands on her hips. I side-step Oliver, breaking our contact, and reach for a tray, then hurry past her.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Alaric

  Cherno drops down out of the air and lands on the desk. The demon crawls until they sit atop the unopened letter to my left that arrived this morning.

  Since the claiming, Elizabeth’s messages have grown more and more frequent—even with the four vampires she sent to make sure I attended this year’s masquerade. Most end up in the fire, unread. They are all the same—pleas to give in to her desires at long last, and thinly veiled threats.

  “I would think you would be happy,” Cherno says. “But instead you’re brooding. Why?”

  I lean back in my chair and run my hands over my face, letting out a growl of frustration.

  “I gave her the first mark last night,” I say begrudgingly.

  I have wanted to touch her, to see and feel her come undone under my hands, for so long, that I nearly gave in to the pull of the mark. And then I sent her away, knowing how my actions would make her feel.

  But with the pull of the mark dimmed—who she is, who she has always been—comes back to me. I let myself forget.

  When she is around, that is all too easy to do. Avoiding her seemed best, but she sought me out again and again until I couldn’t send her away anymore. Having her stand next to me during the meeting was like drawing breath for the first time… though she made it hard to concentrate on the issue at hand. I hadn’t expected the first mark to affect me at all.

  “If you despise her baring your mark, then you should kill her as she sleeps in your bed. Drain the rest of her blood and be done with it,” Cherno says coolly.

  “It isn’t that,” I say. “It’s because I want her—I want her to have my mark... but if I mark her again, I won’t be able to resist.”

  I want her.

  Cherno shrugs, an odd gesture for a bat. “Sex is sex. It only means more when there is something between the two parties to give it meaning.”

  Fuck her, Cherno means, treat her as if she is nothing.

  Guilt stabs at my chest with each word they say. It was never just giving into the power of the mark.

  “And that is the problem—I believe there is more between us than just attraction.” I lean forward and rest my arms on the desk, lowering my face to Cherno’s level. “I don’t understand how I can want her, how can I stand her touch, how can I want anything more than her slow, painful death… knowing that she killed Rosalie.”

  Cherno swoops and dives in tight circles around my head. I lift a hand and half-heartedly swat at them.

  “If you cannot forgive her, then you must kill her.”

  I lift my glass of brandy and take a long sip of the amber liquid.

  “If only it were that easy.” I set the drink down, the ice clinking musically against the glass. “She apologized the other night.”

  A leathery wing smacks the back of my head. I snarl at the impudence. The demon plops down right atop the unopened letter and wiggles their rear, settling in. The scolding I was about to give is immediately forgotten, and a smile pulls on my lips. Cherno is the only one who has ever shown disdain equal to mine for the Queen Bitch herself.

  Those deep red eyes that appear almost brown widen, chasing away the humor. “You cannot keep doing this to yourself…” they say in earnest, then after a pause, Cherno adds, “Or to her. There is nothing she can say or do to change the past. Unfortunately, words do not have the power to revive the dead. Nor can they take away the pain. It is something that will lessen in time, and you must learn to continue on despite it.”

  “I know,” my words come out strangled.

  “It doesn’t matter whether you finish marking her or not. Claiming and marking a human was never going to be a casual affair for you, as it is the others. You cling to your humanity, and therefore part of your heart remains human.”

  My hands ball into fists. I want to protest—except that is exactly what I’ve spent almost two hundred years doing for Rosalie.

  How can I let her go? How can I move on when she was the reason I have stayed alive all these years—the reason why I didn’t give some human the night-forged dagger to slay me? Rosalie helped me stay true to who I was before I was turned and to become a better man in the end.

  “Claiming Clara was a rash decision. The two of you must deal with the consequences of both your actions.” Cherno crawls along the desk, then up my arm to rest on my shoulder. “You cannot keep holding on to what happened. You were both wrong an
d both right.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but tiny claws dig in, and their power flows through my veins, forcing me to listen.

  “You are talking nonsense, bat,” I manage to grind out.

  “You both let your prejudices get in the way of seeing who the other is. She has changed, but so have you—the two of you have come to know each other and are softer for it.”

  Softer? I scoff. Lawrence would say weaker, but I am undecided on that as of yet.

  I stand and make my way to the window. The moon’s light is muted by thick, wintery gray clouds.

  Reaching up, I stroke Cherno’s small head. They have changed as well. The neutrality that permitted their personality has gradually been replaced with humor in the last several decades, and—though they would never admit it—a sort of kindness.

  “How can I let Rosalie go?” I ask. “Wouldn’t that make me a horrible brother?”

  “You do not,” they say. “You remember her. Continue to be the man she believed you to be. But also understand that Clara was raised to see all vampires as monsters. You have been at the top of the food chain for so long you do not remember what it’s like to be prey. Whether real or imagined, fear can make good people do terrible things. What matters is how someone changes once they know the truth.”

  Vampires take what we want because we can. We rule over humans. But Cherno is wrong… there is a monster I still fear—even though it has been years since I’ve lived under Elizabeth’s oppressive rule at Nightwich and struggled not to become like them.

  “It is possible to hold on to your love for Rosalie and forgive Clara.” The words are quiet and distant. Barely a whisper.

  “I must go. I have wasted too much of the night,” I say. I can hardly dare believe that what he suggests is a real option.

  Snatching my jacket from the coatrack, I head for the door.

  Cherno leaps off my shoulder, leathery wings beating at the air. “Think on it, Master.”