by Serena Rose
He laughed, a short laugh, but it was still a laugh, and he was glad that his lungs didn’t exhale fire at any point. “I guess that doesn’t make me any different from all the people who have manors.”
“It doesn’t.”
“My name is William. That part is true. It’s up to you if you’d accept that or not.”
“At least I have a name,” she replied. “And you didn’t answer my query. How many dogs do you have? Do they watch over your father?”
“Some do,” he said, disliking how she had been quite observant. Lee had been sure she was in the library the whole time, and in his butler’s words, she looked ‘absolutely enthralled’. He had taken a while down there, sedating his father once more. It was raining, he should have felt calmer. There was a reason why the dungeon stretched all the way to the sea. Extra precautions were at hand, all for the family legacy, and for the family curse.
“I love pets,” she said, standing up.
“I’m sure you do. Shall I take you back now?”
She nodded, suddenly looking tired. “Yes, please.”
“Your clothes are in the powder room,” Will told her. “Lee was quick enough to have it dried.”
“I didn’t see your other household help. Or staff. Whatever you call them.”
“Oh, they’re here somewhere,” he replied. “They’re just extra quiet because of my father.”
The two walked out of the library, and while she changed, he waited in an anteroom, where the windows were shuttered, to keep the wind from coming in. He heard her feet shuffling about, and he saw her dressed in her clothes once more.
“Your house seems so lonely,” she suddenly said to him later on, as they drove down an empty freeway.
“It sometimes is,” he said, “but it is quiet, and it’s all that matters.”
“Imagine all the little kids who’d enjoy playing hide and seek there,” she said wistfully, and for a moment, William imagined that she had never had the opportunity to grow up in a home with a large garden to play in. He didn’t have a garden either, but he had a whole forest.
“What do I call you, Will? William? Ashborne?”
“Will, that should do,” he replied, not liking where the conversation was going. They weren’t going to be chummy anytime soon; and whatever possibilities of friendship she had in her mind- he knew she’d have to change her mind as soon as possible. “Look,” he began. “We don’t have to pretend like we’re such great acquaintances or anything-”
“Is this the part where you tell me to eff of and ignore you while we’re at class? Or practically, just about anywhere?”
“Both.”
“Then why’d you take me there?” she said, not looking at him. “Some weird experiment to prove something to your hermit-self? Or because you were so bored, and you’d contemplated murder to add some spice into your life?”
He found himself shrugging. She was right, in a way, well, except for the murder part. He had already killed enough people to last him a lifetime, and most of these killings, he didn’t even mean for it to happen.
“You have nice books, even if this whole thing is making me feel weird, you have nice books.”
“It took a while to amass,” he replied, ignoring the parts he didn’t want to hear. “I guess it’s something my family likes to do, especially my dad.”
“How sick is your dad?”
“It’s malignant,” he quickly replied, and he saw that flash of empathy on her face. She was genuinely kind, even though she tried to act feisty about it. It was a defense mechanism she hardly showed to anyone, but for some reason, she was blunt enough to him. That part he liked.
“You’re right,” he added.
“About what?”
“You were right to say that people do suck up to me. Not everyone, but some do,” he said, taking a left.
“You’ve been spoiled too much, by god-knows-what,” she murmured.
“And you weren’t? Just because you feel you’re working class?” he said to her.
“I know a selfish person when I see one.”
*
“Is this the part where you tell me to eff of and ignore you while we’re at class? Or practically, just about anywhere?” she found herself asking him.
“Both.”
It was a reply she didn’t expect. He was that blunt. William Ashborne, or whatever the hell his real name was, was blunt to the core.
“Then why’d you take me there?” she asked, looking out the window. “Some weird experiment to prove something to your hermit-self? Or because you were so bored, and you’d contemplated murder to add some spice into your life?”
He didn’t say anything.
“You have nice books; even if this whole thing is making me feel weird, you have nice books,” she told him after a few moments of quiet.
“It took a while to amass,” he told her, and it was clear that he was ignoring the things he didn’t want to hear. “I guess it’s something my family likes to do, especially my dad.”
“How sick is your dad?” her curiosity increased.
“It’s malignant,” he said.
Malignant. Damn it. How insensitive could I get? I’m a hypocrite for saying I’m concerned about how other people feel.
“You’re right,” she heard him say, while she had been debating her tactlessness.
“About what?”
“You were right to say that people do suck up to me. Not everyone, but some do.”
Some do. She wasn’t one of them, gladly. “You’ve been spoiled too much, by god-knows-what,” she said to him.
“And you weren’t? Just because you feel you’re working class?”
“I know a selfish person when I see them.” That part was true. She had seen this with her relatives, even. She had seen how they refused to help the young woman who needed to continue schooling, because her partial scholarships wouldn’t suffice. And yet, here he was, William Ashborne (fake or real), schooling because he clearly was bored, he was someone who didn’t know what to do with his money, or his time. It seemed like people had a surplus of time if they were filthy rich.
“Ouch,” he said to her, his face looking stoic as ever.
Did he even actually feel? She wondered. Was he so used to the poise that was demanded of him that he react that way? She had said mean things, or maybe he was just so used to it. She said things that she knew were mean of her, and she had become a hypocrite in that aspect.
“Do you feel entitled because you’re a scholar?”
Please don’t tell me you gave me that scholarship- and that sudden thought flashed in her head. Oh god, he owned the school, didn’t he? Or he was a heavy contributor to the school. Or his entire family- “I worked for it.”
It was a simple as that. She worked to get a scholarship. She wasn’t entitled, not like he was. She worked hard, studied smart- “Don’t look at me like that,” she said.
“I was looking at the road,” he replied, obviously trying to annoy her.
“Are you always like this?”
“You don’t even know me,” he retorted.
“I know you well enough.”
“What? Like you’re my shrink?”
“No, and I feel sorry for your shrink.”
He gave a hollow laugh. “I pay my shrink well enough.”
“See? And you get away with it. That’s entitled,” she told him.
“You don’t like me much, do you?”
“Am I supposed to? Well, I did enjoy your books, I did enjoy the tea. I did enjoy the ride to your place, and the architecture of your home, as gothic horror as it is.”
“Almost there,” he said. “This is the street, right?”
“You can drop me off here,” she said.
“Nonsense,” he told her. “I’m dropping you off the front of your apartment.”
She closed her eyes. “Fine,” she said, sighing, “the rain’s stopped, just to let your false chivalry know.”
“Has anyone
told you how sarcastic you are?” he remarked, driving slowly down the tree lined street.
“I keep mostly to myself.”
“Apparently, I’ve become the exception.”
“I’m not normally-”
“This open?” he interrupted her.
“This is my stop,” she said, pointing to a two-story brick covered building with dark green ivy creeping up the walls. It covered the cracks on the surface well enough.
“Nice apartment.”
“You haven’t even been inside yet.”
“Are you inviting me in?” he asked her with a smirk.
“No. You have too much space at your own place to even want to see this. Oh wait, do you want to see it, so you can gloat? Show how entitled you are?” she was beginning to have fun. She hadn’t sparred with someone in a long time...
“God, you’re annoying,” he said to her as he stopped his car.
“Don’t make me say sorry.”
“I still have a feeling you will,” he told her. “Not now, maybe soon enough. You messed with the wrong person.”
“I feel a threat coming on,” she said, rolling her eyes, feeling the sassiest she’d ever felt in so long, in well, since forever.
“It’s not a threat. It’s more of a demand, because I’m entitled and all,” he said with a laugh.
She frowned for a moment, suddenly disliking where this was leading to. “What?”
“Now you’re behaving,” he said. “Seeing I’m entitled, you can’t say no to me. I mean, my father- no, my great-great grandfather set up this school; that scholarship’s basically tied up to us.”
“Well, I can’t believe you’d stoop that low,” she said to him. “You’re a dick.”
“I have one, but my dick isn’t my brain,” he retorted. “It’s like you’re enjoying this, well you enjoyed this until a minute ago.”
“Thank you for bringing me home,” she said, tight-lipped.
“You don’t even know what I want yet, as part of my entitlement.”
“I don’t need to hear this. I owe you nothing.”
“Except for the fact that I can easily take that scholarship away. Which school are you moving to, next?”
Her hand froze on the door’s handle. “You’re cruel.”
“My proposition isn’t cruel, you know.”
She opened the door.
“A date, tomorrow,” he said offhandedly.
“What?” she said, her head snapping up.
“You heard me,” he said. “A date. Go on a date with me tomorrow.”
“What good will this do to me? You’ll make me keep my scholarship? I can report you to the collegiate board.”
“I won’t bother you again, if you find me extremely unlikeable, to the point that you’d never want to see me again, and never want to talk to me again. You can pretend you don’t know me, pretend we never spoke- if you don’t enjoy the date.”
It sounded tempting. She was playing with fire now, she knew, and while she enjoyed that little exchange of sarcasm with him, she still had no idea who he was, except for the fact that he was filthy rich, and that his family basically owned the school she was in.
She didn’t say anything, but she opened the door and got out of the most expensive car she’d ever been in, feeling disgusted with herself. “I’m not that kind of person,” she told him.
He gave another hollow laugh. His smiles and laughter had never sounded genuine in the few hours she’d been with him. Some part of her said that she had to avoid him, some part of her said that he was no good, he was hiding something, and that he was sinister. Not all good-looking men were sinister, right? And not all good-looking men were genuine. Her instincts screamed he wasn’t. There was something off about him.
“You aren’t. That’s why I’m asking you nicely.”
“What game are you playing at?” she asked him.
“Nothing. It’s not a game. I’d just like to get to know you better. Under sunnier circumstances.”
Sunnier circumstances. She found herself nodding. “Fine.”
“I need your number,” he said.
“Let’s do this part my way,” she said to him. “You come here, pick me up on time tomorrow, five in the afternoon. Am I supposed to dress nice?”
“Dress as casually as you can,” he told her, a hint of a smile spread to his eyes.
CHAPTER FIVE
So, it was as simple as that. She was a bit on the easy side, was she not? He was being charming though, and he couldn’t blame her. Ah, was that his ego talking again? He had thought he’d have gotten his ego under control. Of course, the beast in him refused to be put under control. It was all in one’s head was something that did not apply to their family. If they were not careful enough, the mind of the beast took over, and it took over like a rabid disease.
So, she had said yes to his invitation for a date. He hadn’t dated in a while, he told himself. There was no need to blame himself for seeing the need to date normal humans. Apparently, she didn’t end up the same as the other women he had asked out. Kelsey Long didn’t care about his wealth. She didn’t care about the fact that he could have easily canceled her scholarship out. He felt it, he had felt how genuine she was, he had felt the sarcasm, and how much she enjoyed that little verbal dance with him.
She was curious about him, and for good reason. He wasn’t being mysterious for the sake of it. He was being intentionally secretive, and yet he knew he needed to live. He had to give himself the chance of enjoying all those years he had to live. Dating was an alternative. Boredom was going to be an excuse soon, wasn’t it?
He had hoped she wouldn’t end up boring. Was she as upright as she emanated herself to be? He’d hate that. He enjoyed fun women, and he didn’t want to force that out of her, lest she need a little coaxing…
William felt himself harden as he thought about the way the sweater she had worn earlier slipped casually off of her shoulder as she sat across him. He shook his head, keeping his urges under control. Patience, Will, he told himself. If it comes, it comes. The date was going to be casual, it was just going to be in the manor. He would invite her over for dinner, have a few drinks, and maybe he would play the piano for her. He hadn’t touched the grand piano in a while. That was the initial plan, he thought.
As soon as he arrived home, he walked down to the dungeon where his father had kept himself isolated. It was damp, and he could hear water dripping the further he went. Every few meters, oil-lamps flickered a strange hue, nearly blue flames danced against the sudden drafts of wind that came from the depths of the cavern. The manor was purposefully placed here, near cliffs, the mansion above a mound, and underneath the mound, a gigantic cavern, prehistoric in nature, with modern amenities for his father’s comfort.
Taking a seat across his father, William’s fingers rubbed against each other briskly, producing smoke, and then flame came from his hand, and he held onto a large candle, and the room lit up brighter. The tapestries on the walls were torn. It reminded him of a medieval castle under siege, despite having never been born during that era.
“Hello, father.”
His father was staring at the dark ceiling, stalactites looking foreboding and sharp, as if they were biding their time to fall on the senior Drake, ready to kill him.
“How have you been?”
“Were you not just here a couple of hours ago?”
“I had to check up on you. So, I’ll know that Natalia and Emilia can come back.”
His father sat straight at the mention of his daughter’s name. “Ah, Emilia. I miss my darling flower.”
“How do you feel now?”
“Imprisoned. But then again, this is of my own doing.”
“I can’t bring you up, not until you won’t shift. Not until you have yourself under control.”
“What control do we have for this madness, son?” his father said, sounding defeated. “We are slaves to the curse, victims of a curse that none of us deserved, except that my
grandfather had been foolish enough to banish a hermit from the lands he claimed for the Drake family.”
William knew the story well enough. They all had lived long enough, after all. The hermit had placed a powerful spell on them. He remembered some of the words, not all of it, though.
For my land has been forcibly taken,
And my suffering shall not be forsaken,
Fire and ash upon the Drake man shall fall,
Scales and horns, this devil be tall…
It had been a children’s story at first, the simplest explanation for their affliction. As William grew up, he knew that the story rang true. There was no way to get out of this curse. They were trapped, and that was fact, and what folklore there was about serpents who could breathe fire had become the staple of medieval fantasy fiction, something he disliked immensely.
There was nothing valiant about fighting that beast, especially if the beast was found within. He looked at his father once more, and he saw how gaunt the man’s eyes had become. In one of those rare, vulnerable moments, his father had said he had never recovered from his mother’s death, a death that had occurred right after his birth.
William had come to understand that anyone he’d love would have to face the consequences of carrying his child. Natalia was lucky that she didn’t carry a son. If she did, she’d have died early on. It was why his father doted on Emilia, Emilia was a blessing within the Drake family. All their direct relatives had died, and what distant relatives were left had remained distant- and they were distant on purpose. The shifting was theirs, and theirs alone to suffer.
“You are afraid I might burn the house down again?” his father said, sighing.
“Yes,” William simply replied. The last time, they were lucky that only one wing had caught fire. In fact, that fire had been on the news. ‘Ashborne Manor nearly razed to the ground.’ His father had kept clippings of it, faded clippings from 1921, framed in one of the many rooms in the house.
It was a grim reminder of how volatile their nature could become, the curse of a slow ageing process, the curse of living forever- although suicide was an option. His father had begun to speak of it, showing how fragile the man had become.
