The Vampire's Doll (The Heiress and the Vampire Book 1)

by Jaclyn Dolamore

  The chains hung from the wall, and were attached to a mechanism so they could be loosened or tightened. The vampire’s arms were held above his head, while the cuffs at his feet were wound tight, so he was forced to stand with his arms over his head. How long had he been like that? By the sound of it, maybe the past two days.

  His skin was white as paper, his lips faintly blue. He was shirtless and barefooted, in the cold room, although she wasn’t sure this would bother him. If vampires were anything like zombies, he would be cold-blooded anyway.

  Still, leave it to Calban to send me in to torture a shirtless, chained man. This hardly seems appropriate.

  No, it wasn’t appropriate. That was the idea, wasn’t it? Calban was trying to give her an opportunity to do a job that usually would not be given to a small, unassuming Fanarlem girl.

  The vampire looked at her when she entered, but immediately grimaced and looked away again. “You’re that doll girl who was after Kessily,” he said.

  The first thing she noticed was his youth and the surprisingly fine structure of his face. Humans were much more likely to look old, haggard, and imperfect compared to Daramons, since they had no shape-shifters in their world. His eyes were a striking green, clear and bright.

  “The prisoner?” Parsons asked.

  “The prisoner,” he repeated. “One of the prisoners. I’m the prisoner now, aren’t I?”

  “I wasn’t after her,” Parsons said. “I was doing my job, and not eagerly.” She cut off. “I’m not the one who is being questioned here.”

  “I’m being questioned? Well, then, Miss Doll. By all means, get started.”

  Parsons was annoyed. This human was mocking her. And now she wasn’t sure how to begin.

  She walked a little closer, struggling not to stare. He had hair on his chest, where Daramons usually didn’t. She had heard human men were hairier, but she had seen very few pictures of human men without shirts. He was lean but strong, with skin that was very pale and unblemished, the hair—a shade darker than the hair on his head—mostly framing his pectoral muscles and then running down in a line across his stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.

  She wanted to run out the door. This is so, so inappropriate. She glanced around the room to see if there was a blanket she could wrap around him or something. No blanket in sight. And then, that would have involved her getting very close.

  “Where did you take the prisoner?” she asked.

  “To my shack.”

  “Where is your shack?”

  “In the woods.”

  “The woods north of here?”

  “It’s already been torn apart by your guards, so nothing new there. Well, it was time to take down the Christmas tree anyway.”

  He shut his eyes, like he was fighting a wave of starvation. He opened his mouth, running his tongue over his fangs, rolling his neck back and forth. He stared at the wall as he did this. He wasn’t trying to threaten her, but just the sight of his teeth stirred some hint of a primal reaction in her. Or maybe it was the magic that made his victims want to be killed by him. She felt exposed and small, like a rabbit in a field, pausing to sniff the air and finding a hint of wolf.

  A very beautiful wolf.

  Fates, no. Where did that thought come from?

  She ground the toe of her shoe into the gritty stone floor. “You must be very hungry at this point,” she said.

  “I don’t know how long it takes a vampire to die without blood,” he said. “But at this point I’m hoping it’s not long, darling.”

  The last word was in English, the language of so many of her books and records.

  This, she realized, was a way she might soften him. Speaking to him in his native language. Except, she had never spoken in English before. Papa used to read her books in English, but since then she had mostly only heard it sung.

  It was worth a try, even if he laughed at her. “Your file said you were going to…commit honlador,” she said, all in English except the last word. She didn’t know how to say ‘honorable suicide’ in English. They only seemed to have one word for suicide and she feared it was like gahador. It was a great insult to accuse someone of attempting suicide for dishonorable reasons. “But I don’t think they will allow you to die here.”

  He met her eyes, briefly, with a wild and hungry expression. A different kind of wild, and a different kind of hungry, than before. For a moment, she saw a completely different person. One who was looking for a friend, for a reason not to wish for death.

  “You know English,” he said.

  “Yes. Quite a few people here do.”

  “Well, no one has ever spoken it to me before.”

  She glanced at the wand. Calban had given her permission to torture the information out of this man, but it seemed as likely that she might pry it out of him by playing on that loneliness.

  If he was anything like her, that was his weak point.

  “I have been to your world,” she said. “When I was a little girl, before I was a doll. My parents took me to Paris.”

  “Before? You had a real body once?”

  She barely nodded. “I read French also. It’s harder to pronounce, however; I haven’t heard as many recordings in the language.”

  “How long were you in Paris?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “I would have liked to have seen Paris,” he said.

  “You’ve never been?” she asked, surprised. She had gotten the impression that Paris was the center of something or another, but maybe it was just the center of her childhood memories.

  “It’s across the ocean. And I’ve never been rich.” He glared past her. His arms fought briefly against his chains, his arm muscles straining, before he gave up and flexed his fingers.

  “Well?” he said, and she realized she was staring at him.

  “Well—if you cooperate and tell me where Velsa and Kessily went, I might be able to let you go.”

  “You might? How compelling.”

  “Do you want to stay here forever? It looks very painful.”

  “Why should I cooperate? Your people already kept me captive for five years. The moment I stepped out of line, I was back in chains—or worse.”

  “Worse? What’s worse?”

  “Leaving me out in the sun to burn. I guess you don’t know anything about that. Why did they send you? Does the general suppose I’ll talk for a creepy little doll?”

  That hurt her more than it should. She jabbed the tip of the wand against his breastbone.

  He shuddered and his skin sizzled like meat tossed in a hot pan. She quickly pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry,” she gasped reflexively.

  He was marked, where she had touched him, with a red welt. Very lightly, she tapped the tip of the wand with her own finger, and felt nothing.

  He smirked. “Gosh, how does this torture thing work, anyway?” he asked, mocking her.

  Her eyes flashed. But even when he smirked, he almost never looked at her. She was starting to feel as if he abhorred the sight of her.

  “Look at me,” she said.

  “You doll creatures are just very strange, you know,” he said. “Especially with my own language coming out of your mouth.”

  “Weren’t you and Velsa friends?”

  “Sort of, I guess, but that doesn’t mean I could look at her either.”

  Her mouth pinched. This was turning out like she was the one being punished. Like she needed reminding that she looked different from everyone else.

  She jabbed him with the wand again, this time sliding it a few inches across his chest and leaving a streak of angry red flesh. He sucked air through his fangs, cringing back from her as best he could, shoulders straining, writhing. There was nowhere for his body to escape. The first welt was already starting to recede.

  His eyes locked on her now, defiant even if the sight of her made him uncomfortable.

  There was something completely mesmerizing about his eyes. Of course, it’s like the f
ile said. This isn’t coming from my own mind. He’s enchanted.

  “You are very different from Velsa,” he said.

  “Am I?” She wanted to think that she was different, even at a glance, from other Fanarlem, although it had been confirmed to her many times over that few people could guess she had been flesh-born.

  “Yes,” he said. “How old were you when this happened?”

  She looked down, thinking she probably shouldn’t start answering his questions when she was supposed to be making him answer hers. “Eight.”

  “I guess it didn’t hurt, though.”

  “No. I don’t actually remember it at all. Just waking up. When did you become a vampire?”

  “I was twenty-three.”

  “I read your file, but it didn’t say much about that.”

  “When they first brought me here, they wanted to know how I might be of use to them. I don’t think they were especially interested in my life story. Just as well.” He tilted his head. The intensity of his green eyes had softened into a relaxed appraisal. “Why did they send you down here? You must be older than you look. But where I come from, a lady would never be left alone like this.”

  “I’m twenty,” she said, slightly flustered at being called a lady. If Calban could see this exchange, he would probably snort at how she was handling it. She was no closer to learning anything important from this man, and he was right—this was much too intimate. He was a prisoner from the Fallen Lands and a dangerous predator who drank blood to survive, who had been living alone in the woods for the past several years. He probably smelled, although she had not bothered to sniff and find out. She shouldn’t be the one handling him.

  “They sent me here,” she added, “for reasons you already know. I don’t have any blood. If I did, you wouldn’t be able to talk to me when you’re hungry, would you? You would be too wild, like an animal.”

  “Is that what my file says?”

  “Yes.”

  He glared. “Did my file mention that they convinced me to come here by claiming they could fix my condition?”

  “No.”

  “When I was turned into vampire, I had to turn my back on my family and live in the woods where I could hunt in peace. But then your people came along. They promised to cure my bloodlust. As soon as I got here, it became clear that it was a lie. They have no idea how to cure me, and they never intended to set me free. They experimented on me. Tied me up, starved me, burned me, took my blood. Was that in my file?”

  “They weren’t experimenting on you in order to figure out how to fix you?”

  “They certainly didn’t treat me like someone they were trying to help.”

  “The Wodrenarune is guided by fate itself, and he wouldn’t do anything without understanding the larger plan, for the greater good,” Parsons said, but the words rang hollow as soon as they emerged.

  “Greater good,” he scoffed. “I’ll take comfort in that as I ponder the ten years of my life I’ve spent either trapped in a room or hiding in the woods.”

  “Didn’t you just say you were doing the same thing in America? Living in the woods?”

  “Yes, but they were my woods. My mountains. My hunting grounds. My own stars.”

  Parsons could not help but think this sounded very poetic.

  “Every second I am trapped here, I can feel my rational thought slipping away,” he said. “If you want to talk to me, give me some damn blood.”

  “I just need one simple answer and maybe I could get you some blood.”

  “I would never risk their lives.” He glanced at the wand with a pained grin. “I think we’re going around in circles now. Maybe you’d better just torture me.”

  She lowered her hand. “I think we’re done for the day.”

  “Giving up already?” His eyebrows lifted. One would almost think he was provoking her to torture him.

  He must notice he had an effect on her.

  “You can’t really hurt me for long,” he said. “But I could put on a good show for you, so they know you’re working hard.”

  “I think we’re done.” Parsons moved quickly to the door.

  He slumped slightly in his chains. “I’ll be even hungrier tomorrow. I don’t know what I’ll be like tomorrow, little doll girl.”

  “You will call me Miss Belvray.” She practically flung herself out the door.

  The guard approached her. “Done with him?”

  “For now.”

  “Did you get the information?”

  Parsons hated to admit failure. “It’s hard to hurt him. He heals quickly.”

  The guard looked at Parsons like he knew perfectly well that she hadn’t really put much effort into torturing the vampire, but to his credit, at least he didn’t say anything. He glanced inside, checking on the vampire, and then locked the door behind them.

  “Will you feed him at all?” Parsons asked, suppressing a pang.

  “Not until he talks.”

  Parsons left in a hurry, possessed by a strange mixture of emotions she didn’t want anyone to see.

  Why did Calban give me such a job? Dennis is right. I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t want this on my head.

  Mr. Faraday, she corrected herself. Not Dennis. Crying curses, definitely not ‘Dennis’.

  She dragged her feet entering the conservatory to give Calban her report, but it was hard not to feel calm once inside the doors. The conservatory, with its soaring glass ceilings and butterflies fluttering among the tropical plants, was one of the most beautiful places in Nalim Ima. By providing a year-round home for exotic specimens from around the world, it allowed the palace sorcerers to create a wide variety of spells. Calban was in one of the back workrooms, where broad tables and sinks lined the walls, plucking the petals from a flower with tweezers. “How did it go?” he asked.

  “It was only my first attempt,” she said.

  “Did he mind his manners?”

  “Mostly…” She really wasn’t sure how to answer that.

  “Did he speak with you?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled as if he understood. “I’m sure your mere presence accomplished exactly what I want.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We haven’t fed him in days. At this point, the smell of human skin would have him practically frothing at the mouth. But because you are you, he remained in control. A mutually beneficial relationship, it seems.”

  “Does that mean he will be freed from prison?”

  “Not yet.” Calban got back to plucking flower petals. “Return tomorrow. This time, I want you to demonstrate that you are on his side. The guard will instruct you.”

  At dinner that evening, her father said, “How was your job today? I heard some of the men are still giving you trouble.” His forehead creased. “I’d go down there and talk to Mr. Denordin if it would help.”

  “Oh, no, that’s fine.”

  Papa truly had no idea.

  Fate has a task for everyone, her teachers used to say, and it was a general philosophy that if one of Lord Jherin’s right hands told you to do something, you did it, and you didn’t say much about it. It was such a mark of honor that the important people in his employ were granted the gift of a loyalty band, a thin ring of silver that locked around their necks and bestowed his special protections upon them.

  So perhaps this meant she was an adult now. She was receiving tasks from the Wodrenarune, independent of her father’s knowledge or approval.

  She didn’t sleep well, because she kept wondering if she would get anywhere with Dennis the next day. Did he have to stay chained to the wall all night? That was a terrible thought, but she couldn’t get the image of him out of her mind.

  She was awake when the Fanarlem servants came to clean her room, around four in the morning, but she pretended to be asleep as she always did. Parsons had two Fanarlem girls that reported directly to her. She made sure they had expensive bodies and lifelike faces with real hair. For a long time, it was believe
d that Fanarlem servants should look ugly and be made cheaply unless they were concubines, but this belief had been changing in recent years. Fashionable people kept their Fanarlem looking as tidy and attractive as their flesh and blood servants, and Parsons hated the sight of cheap Fanarlem.

  When they were hired they had awful names, so Parsons had dubbed them Eugenie and Francoise, and that was what they had been called for the past ten years. Parsons didn’t even remember what their names were originally.

  Francoise was back at dawn to bring her the newspaper and a warm pastry. Usually she sat the tray on the table because Parsons wasn’t yet awake, but today, Parsons sat up in bed. “Bring it here, Francoise, please.”

  “Of course, Miss Belvray. Do you need anything else?”

  “Can you lay out the blue cashmere dress with the purple ribbons?” Parsons asked. Yesterday, she had not been well prepared in how she presented herself. Today, she would dress better and enter the room with more authority.

  “Going somewhere special today?”

  “I might go to Wonderland Park tonight.”

  “Ohhh. Well—I hope you are able to go. You might want to look at the newspaper.”

  Parsons glanced over the front page.

  AMBUSH!

  DRAGONS AND MIRALEM FORCES ATTACK

  Reports Still Incoming—Northern Base Targeted—Three Dragons Accompany Enemy

  “WE WILL CRUSH THEM” DECLARES HORNED GENERAL

  Many of the higher-ups had warned about something like this, that the Miralem might attack preemptively. Even if it was expected, the northern base was dangerously close to the city.

  “Well, I suppose it’s not much of a surprise,” Parsons said, trying to sound unconcerned. “We knew they might try something like this.”

  “I’m glad you’re not worried,” Francoise said, bringing out the dress, which was one of the few frocks Parsons owned with any sort of embellishment. “Some of the men have been scaring me with their talk this morning! I surely don’t want to be captured by the Miralem and turned out.”

  The Miralem freed Fanarlem slaves, but that was the end of it. The poor slaves were left to their own devices and few Miralem would hire them.