The Vampire Curse

by Ali Winters

  Clara is in her room, waiting for the chance to talk.

  I slip my jacket on and run downstairs as if I can run away from these thoughts when they live in my head. As if running and putting distance between the two of us could solve anything.

  Stopping on the edge of the woods, I turn. Clara’s form darkens the window of her room and, were it not for the shadows that envelop me, I’d swear she could see me.

  Cherno lands on my outstretched palm. “Go. Watch over her tonight. I can handle the hunt on my own this time.”

  “You have changed the way she sees the world. You were never the monster she expected you to be. She sees vampires as individuals now—but you must make sure she does not forget the danger she is in.” Cherno leaves me with that final thought.

  I wonder if they are right.

  I will never forget Rosalie, but I can choose to forgive Clara. She has pushed her way into my soul regardless… and perhaps I’ve already forgiven her but have been too blinded by guilt to notice.

  Chapter Thirty

  Clara

  Cool air slides across my face from the open window. It holds the unmistakable chill that brings the promise of the first snow in the coming days. Hours have passed since Oliver and his two betas left, and I still haven’t spoken to Alaric. When I returned to the dining room with the tray to serve the wolves, Alaric had already left.

  I cross my arms and let my forehead thud softly against the windowpane as I glare at the spot where the shifters had vanished into the woods. I have half a mind to march out there, even as the horizon swallows up the sun, and give that demons’ damned wolf a piece of my mind for pulling that stunt. Whatever the tensions between Alaric and me, Oliver’s flirting didn’t help the situation.

  Pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead, I push away those petty thoughts. They are a distraction to the real issue. I can’t believe nearly three months have already passed since the claiming. It feels like it has been both a few days and several lifetimes.

  I am not the same person I was. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m a boat set adrift in the ocean without a sail—aimless and at the mercy of the waves. But even that doesn’t matter right now.

  In two weeks, I will be on my way to Nightwich with Alaric. I only have one mark and I will do what I must to survive.

  The final ray of light disappears below the horizon. A woman and three men emerge from the manor and converge in the yard. They talk for a moment, then take off running at their impossibly fast speed, heading toward Windbury. Alaric is not with them.

  Minutes later, he emerges from the manor and takes off into the woods at a blinding speed. I stare after him.

  I’ve waited too long, and now I’ve lost my chance. I stand by the window for what feels like hours, eventually giving up and going to the library to wait for him to return.

  The window seat has the perfect view of the woods, and I will be able to pass the time reading.

  Cherno’s steady wings follow at a distance.

  I quickly settle into my usual spot and open a book, focusing on the words.

  Somewhere in the manor, a door slams, jolting me awake. I rub my head, trying to clear the fog of sleep from my mind. I must have fallen asleep waiting for Alaric. The moon is still high, so not much time has passed.

  I get to my feet and walk to the door, hovering at the threshold, straining to listen. No voices float through the halls, so it must not be the other vampires.

  My pulse picks up. This is my chance to talk to Alaric.

  I lift my chin and make my way to the third floor heading for his office. Empty. Leaning against the door frame, I press my lips into a tight line and wrap my arms around myself. He’s avoiding me and I can't say that it doesn't hurt.

  Walking back down the hall, I’m content with just going to bed, and finding him in the morning. But as I pass his bedroom door, I contemplate waiting here for him to return. I lift my hand and knock, expecting nothing.

  “No tea tonight, Mrs. Westfield.” Alaric’s voice comes through the door, soft and weary.

  My heart thuds against my chest. I turn the doorknob and push it open, slipping into the room. A fire burns in the hearth, but the air is still cold.

  Alaric is on the couch at the far end of his room, an arm draped over his eyes.

  “I said…” he trails off as he peeks out from under his arm and sees me. I half expect him to tell me to leave, instead, he reaches out a hand.

  I go to him without hesitation. As soon as I’m within reach, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me down on top of him. My head rests on his chest, and for a long moment, I’m content to just be in his presence, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heart.

  His arms tighten around me as he hugs me. All thoughts of confronting him evaporate. Alaric buries his face in my neck and inhales. It’s a move that once sent my pulse racing in fear, but now it jumps from something not entirely unpleasant.

  “Why did you send me away last night?” I whisper. I try to keep the hurt from my voice, but I’m unsuccessful. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

  His fingers tighten against me before relaxing. “I’m sorry, my dear Clara.” Alaric presses his cheek against the top of my head. “I wanted you to understand without regret what could have happened between us. If I hadn’t sent you away, I would have given in to the mark.”

  He whispers the last part. The implication that he wouldn’t want to take advantage of me hangs between us. He’d wanted to give in, and that fact sends my heart racing.

  Alaric’s fingers trail up and down my spine. I can almost imagine the feel of his hands running over my bare skin.

  I pull back to look him in the eye. “I want the second mark,” I say.

  His eyes darken with want even as his hands press my body tighter against his. “Are you sure?”

  I nod, then lick my lips. “Yes—as long as you don’t leave or send me away. I want you to stay with me this time.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to fight it, even if I wanted to,” he says.

  I swallow. We are not talking just about the mark, but what will come after.

  “And… do you want to fight it?”

  “No,” he says softly.

  In a swift, world-tilting movement, he flips us, tucking me under him.

  “Are you sure, Clara?” he asks again, even as my knees straddle his hips.

  Red rings form around his brilliant blue irises. He looks at me as if I own the night, and he can’t bear to live under the sun’s harsh rays.

  “Yes,” I say, and the word comes out breathless.

  Alaric brushes a lock of hair from my shoulder, then lowers his head, pressing his mouth to my neck. He places a series of soft, slow kisses along my skin. Then I feel the point of his fangs, but he doesn’t bite down.

  Heat sears through my veins as I hold my breath in anticipation. Alaric’s hand glides down over my breast and lingers only a second before he moves down my ribs, my hip, and my thigh. His palm slides back up my calf under my skirt to my knee and up my thigh. My heart is in my throat as he reaches my core. All the while Alaric continues to place kisses along my heated skin. My breathing picks up as his thumb moves in circles.

  I gasp as his fangs pierce my skin at the same moment his fingers enter me. My body reacts to him of its own accord.

  The power of his mark driving me to want him more and more, but it’s not only that—the way he moves—I feel like I am being pushed to the edge as I feel myself building, as I writhe beneath him. I lift my hips, wanting so much more.

  The room suddenly feels too warm. I clutch his shirt, trying to pull him closer. My back arches and I am falling, my orgasm lashing through me.

  Alaric withdraws his hand when I come down from my high then settles back to where he was before, hips nestled between my legs. I can feel his desire press against me through his clothes.

  He reaches up and rests his hand over the bite marks. Red power lights up his face as my flesh knits itself back
together. I know without checking that two small scars remain.

  When the glow fades, he opens his eyes and stares down at me. I wonder what he sees.

  “Alaric,” I say his name, pleading for more.

  Sitting up, Alaric pulls me to him. I sit on his lap, a leg on either side of his hips, there’s no space between us, and I rest my forehead against his. The power of his mark is still humming through our veins. I can feel his hard length beneath me. I grind against him, wanting him even more than a few moments ago.

  “Clara…” he says my name, and his face is a picture of heat and torture.

  I want to give in to this feeling. I don’t want to think; I don’t want to stop. I could blame it on the mark, but I know at least an equal part is what I want… what I’ve wanted for longer than I’m willing to admit.

  I run my hands up his arms and across his broad chest. My fingers find the top of his shirt and unbutton it, then down to the second. When I reach the third, he grabs my wrists, pausing my movements.

  There’s something in his eyes, something uncertain. So I lean forward, Alaric’s large sapphire eyes, framed by his beautiful thick lashes, slide closed, and I press my mouth to his, kissing him long and slow.

  His hands release mine and grip my hips, and I resume unbuttoning his shirt down to the very bottom. Alaric’s tongue presses against mine as he deepens the kiss.

  Pulling back, I push the opening of his shirt to the sides, sliding my hands over his warm, bare skin. I’d forgotten about the dozens of long, white scars covering his chest and abdomen.

  Alaric stiffens, not moving or breathing as I trace several with my fingertips. They are harsh, formed from very deep and very violent wounds.

  I look up to see his face is turned away. There’s more to these than what I can even begin to guess. I lean down and press my lips to one scar. He shivers under my touch, but he doesn’t stop me. Then I kiss another and another.

  There’s something remarkable about the lines that mark his skin, something that makes him even more stunning to look at than if his skin had been flawless.

  Meeting his gaze once more, I can’t seem to read the look in his eyes. It could be want, fear, surprise, or some mixture. Neither of us speaks, so I inch back slightly and let my fingers trail down his muscled stomach to the waist of his trousers, slowly undoing them.

  “You don’t—” he starts.

  I cut him off with a kiss and whisper against his mouth, “I want this.”

  Alaric’s hands are braced on my thighs, hiking my skirt up to my hips, his fingers brushing dangerously close to my core. I slip a hand between us to free him and wrap my fingers around his hard length. He sucks in a small breath, barely noticeable, but the pressure of his fingertips tells me all I need to know. I move my hand up and down.

  “Clara, I—” he says, breaking off his sentence with a growl. His hands roam over me, eventually returning to my hips. He lifts me slightly, pulling me closer to him and positioning his cock at my entrance, then slowly, he lowers me down onto him. I take him in inch by inch.

  My head falls back, and I moan at the sensation of him filling and stretching me. My breathing hitches at the feel of him.

  “If I could only hear one thing for the rest of my life, it would be that sound,” he says almost reverently.

  My head snaps up, my face burning. Fuck, he’s buried deep inside me, and he still manages to make me blush from the sheer intensity of his words.

  He tightens an arm around my waist, his other hand cupping the back of my neck, guiding my mouth to his as we rock against each other. He kisses me hard as I move faster, his fangs scraping along my lower lip, but not breaking the skin.

  Alaric grasps the ties at the back of my dress, and pulls. The material gives without resistance under his strength, and air glides over my feverish skin. His hands grip my hips, moving me and keeping me from speeding up, as if he wants to draw this moment out forever.

  Alaric’s mouth moves along my jaw and down my neck to the spot he bit. His tongue flicks the area, and I feel the sensation in my core build, and build, and build. It’s almost too much.

  I feel my body tighten around him, then I cry out, my back arching as I climax. He groans in response, thrusting harder and faster. I can feel him thickening inside me, and then he finds his release as I’m slowly coming down from my high.

  His arms wrap tightly around my waist and he holds me tight, trailing kisses along my neck and shoulder as our movements gradually slow.

  I rest my forehead against his, staring into those strange eyes of his. The blue has nearly been swallowed up by the red. A shudder of desire sweeps through me. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as a self-satisfied smirk forms on his delicious lips.

  We stay like this for a long moment, our breaths mingling.

  I could blame being blinded by desire as a side effect of the mark he’d warned me about… but that would be a lie.

  Alaric tilts my head and trails slow, languid kisses along my jaw and down my neck.

  “Next time,” he murmurs against my skin. “I will take my time with you and savor every second.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Clara

  I stretch as the edges of sleep tug on my mind and body. My muscles are a little sore, but not uncomfortably so. There is something so peaceful about lingering in the space between the dream world and the waking.

  Soft material glides over my skin, and I feel nearly weightless. Fire crackles in the hearth, warming the air. Alaric’s musky scent surrounds me.

  I would be content to stay in this moment forever.

  But as always, the moment fades, and my mind rouses. I blink open my eyes. Dark materials and opulent furnishings decorate the room.

  I sit up, clutching the sheets to my naked body as everything comes rushing back.

  Asking for the mark. The overwhelming need it sparked. The first mark was nothing in comparison. It's like a rope tied around my waist, tugging lightly, urging me to find him and ask for the final mark.

  The feeling that lingers isn't the same as it was the first time. It’s less demanding.

  My hand splays out on the empty spot next to me, not entirely cooled. He must have just left. I’m disappointed.

  I slide my legs off the bed and stand. The discarded dress from yesterday is gone, and in its place, draped over the back of the couch, is a new one, deep blue in color.

  I quickly slip into it. By the time I finish lacing up the back, Alaric still hasn’t returned. My stomach tightens.

  I pause near the door when the glint of firelight reflecting of metal catches my eye. Sitting on the bedside table is the night-forged dagger. I quickly pocket it, then close the door behind me.

  I meander down the hall to his office, but the room is empty, not even the warm light of coals sits in the fireplace. Night has fallen. I must have slept the entire day away.

  A spark of irritation and hurt alights in my gut. I wonder if Alaric is avoiding me again. But the insecurities fade as quickly as it came on.

  More aimless wandering through the manor reveals that I am once again alone.

  A meal waits for me on the table. I eat quickly then return to walking the halls until I end up in the music room. I think of the first and only dance lesson I’ve had in my life. If I’m to accompany him to Nightwich, it might be a good idea to resume them again.

  I stop by a window and pull the heavy drapes to the side. I lean against the frame, entirely bored. The mark will send me to the Otherworld by insanity if this keeps up. Whatever Alaric is doing right now, it must be enough to distract him from the effects—if he even feels anything.

  He's probably in the forest hunting the demons again. He and Oliver hadn’t gone into detail about the issue, but he had promised to spend time dealing with them before we leave.

  I wonder what Nightwich will be like. If I thought four new vampires were intimidating… what would dozens be like?

  A shiver runs down my spine.


  “Are you cold, Lady Clara?”

  I spin to find Victor once again standing close and leaning in as if he means to pick up on the dance where we left off. His toad—demon—croaks from the doorway and draws my attention.

  “You startled me,” I say, barely stopping myself from reaching for the dagger. “I’m not sure I like this new habit of yours.”

  He gives me a quarter smile at that. I move to the side, wanting more space between us. I don’t know if it’s his habit of sneaking up on me, or if it's the lingering effects of the second mark that unsettle me.

  “What brings you to this part of the manor alone, so late at night?”

  I tilt my head, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Is it late?” I hum thoughtfully. “I hadn’t realized what time it was.”

  Demons and saints, in my search for Alaric, I was too busy pining for him to bother glancing at any of the clocks in this manor.

  I chew the inside of my cheek and drag a finger along the edge of the piano.

  I am losing myself.

  Inhaling a breath, I mentally shake off my melancholy and continue my slow walk around the room, testing the vampire’s movements.

  Victor shadows me.

  “It seems someone is always occupying your time. I haven’t had a chance to get to know you yet,” he says.

  With each step away I take, he manages to close the distance. He stops any further retreat by placing his hand over mine, pinning it to the top of the piano—not hard enough to hurt, but enough that I would have to struggle to get free.

  “Alaric has been keeping you to himself lately. I’m a bit jealous.”

  “Well, he did claim me…” I tug on my hand, hoping he will take the hint.

  He doesn’t.

  “I would so enjoy a snack right now,” he adds quietly.

  I process his words, swallowing the lump that has formed in my throat. “Didn’t you just return from hunting?”

  Victor smiles, wider this time—the same smile that he wore when he first arrived, but there is nothing sensual about it.