by Ali Winters
Victor is on his back, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling, and the night-forged dagger still embedded in his chest.
He is dead, yet the black veins continue to spread, slithering over his body until his skin resembles charred meat.
Alaric takes several steps back, pulling me with him. I can’t take my eyes off the grotesque spectacle. I tighten my grip on his and press into his side.
“Elizabeth will not be pleased,” Lawrence’s smooth voice says from the other side of the body. He crouches down and rubs his chin. He examines Victor as his body continues to morph.
“I don’t give a fuck what Elizabeth thinks,” Alaric snaps. “She sent a cursed vampire into my home.”
Victor’s skin dries and shrivels, spreading to his clothes and transforming them in much the same way as his skin.
I gasp as the fat, wart covered toad hops up onto his chest. The demon bloats to grotesque proportions, swelling and blistering like it’s being set on fire from the inside. The demon croaks—it’s a distorted sound, wet like melting wax—and then the power sweeps over them as well.
The toad crumples into a pile. The movement causes fissures to form all over Victor’s body, the rifts spread, cracking and crumbling, then he, too, becomes nothing more than an unrecognizable mound of ash.
“She killed a vampire,” Cassius says. “Demon cursed or not, there will be a price to pay.”
I want to say something. I should, but I can’t put together a single, coherent thought. I glare up at the man standing behind Alaric, a stoic expression on his face. For his part in organizing the fight, he doesn’t seem disappointed in the outcome.
My brain is muddled. He seems pleased that I won and that there will be repercussions. There is something else in the way he watches me… something akin to… admiration?
No, I’m mistaken, that can’t be right.
“And an unmarked human at that,” he continues.
“It was a fight to the death,” Lawrence interjects. He puts his hands on his knees and pushes up to stand.
I suck in a breath. Yes. That was it.
“She won. I have never seen it before, and it’s certainly not expected, but there is no law against it.”
“If she had been marked…” Cassius says, trailing off. Shaking his head, he turns away.
Alaric holds on to me a little tighter.
“You’re in shock,” he says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, pressing it to the gashes along my shoulder. I’ve bled all over his shirt. His eyes darken. “Come, we need to get you cleaned up and healed.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Clara
“No one is to report what happened here to Elizabeth.” Alaric looks at each vampire, daring each to defy him.
I press tighter into his side, ready to be far from this room.
Della lifts her chin as we pass. Her nostrils flare, and she seems to be fighting to keep her expression in check. “He was her newest consort, you don’t honestly expect her to remain unaware of his absence when the rest of us return, do you?”
I can’t tell if she’s angry I survived, or if she's having trouble reconciling Alaric’s orders with Elizabeth’s.
Alaric stops us. His eyes slide shut, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as if he’s counting internally.
“Of course, I don’t, Della, but I will be the one to tell her.” His eyes flick to the vampire at her side. “As Lawrence pointed out, it was a fight to the death.” Then he raises his voice, addressing them all. “Clara Valmont bested Victor Connors. We all witnessed the fight—it was fair,” he flinches at that word but continues, his voice booming through the room. “Both parties abided by the rules her majesty set in place.”
Then, one by one, they each dip their chin, acknowledging his command.
I look up at him questioningly as we begin walking again. He seems to have some sort of hold over them. I wonder if there is more to it than this being his home. Whatever it is, I keep my thoughts to myself.
Keeping the handkerchief pressed to my shoulder is more effort than I would have imagined. By the time we reach the top of the stairs on the second floor, I feel light-headed and weak.
I’ve lost too much blood.
I pull away from Alaric to go to my room. I don’t think I can make it up another flight of stairs without passing out. Each breath feels like I’m getting half the air I need, and a cool sweat dampens the edge of my brow.
The scowl on his face fades and is replaced with a worried look.
“Stay with me,” he says.
He could order me, and I would have to comply, but this is a request, not a demand. He is giving me a choice.
Alaric holds out a hand, and I realize I don’t want to leave. Not yet, anyway.
I slip my hand into his. And I must look as bad as I feel because he picks me up and carries me to the third floor. I let my body go limp and rest my head on his shoulder.
Wordlessly, he sets me down on his bed and then strides into the bathing room.
I wait. I can hear him moving things around, then for a long moment, there is only silence. I slide my legs off the edge of the bed and stand. My ribs hurt, and even though I move slowly, waves of hot and cold wash over my body.
His back is to me when I reach the doorway.
“Alaric?” I say, but he keeps going through various vials and things. "Alaric.”
He stills at the sharp tone in my voice. “Clara, you shouldn’t be moving around.”
I pad across the room, stopping a short distance from him. I reach up, intending to press my palm to his back. But the dried blood on my fingers stops me and I let my hand drop back to my side.
“I’m sorry—” I say again.
I meant it when he saved me from drowning in the lake. But after tonight, I feel the full weight of my actions. Now he has seen me murder his kind with his own eyes. And it doesn’t matter that I did so, this time, out of self-defense. The end result was the same.
I have killed another vampire.
“Go sit back down. I am almost done in here. I need to clean your wounds.” His tone is calm and indifferent, but not unkind.
He isn’t going to heal me with his power… not that he owes it to me to do so. Truthfully, I don’t think I want to go through that pain tonight, even if it means healing faster. If I stay perfectly still, my wounds don’t hurt nearly as much.
I walk back to the bed and sit on the end, my legs dangling off, and face the bathing room.
I think back to the night I returned. Even then, I knew it was a stupid thing to do. I'd almost died then, and I was almost killed again tonight. I still don’t regret my decision.
Alaric returns with bandages and several small glass containers, each holding a different colored liquid. He kneels, setting the items in a line along the bedside table.
I take in his mussed hair, how concentration wrinkles his brow. I understand now it wasn’t anger that brought me back, but the need to right a wrong—and because some things are worth risking your life for, even if they seem reckless and stupid.
He removes my shoes and runs his fingers up my leg, checking one and then the other. His movements are methodical and efficient. Next, he moves to my arms and examines them in much the same way. He meticulously searches for wounds, no matter how small, dabbing ointment on minor scratches.
I reach out and run my hand through his hair, brushing the silken strands back and watching as they slide through my fingers. I think my heart knew he was a friend long before my mind accepted that truth.
“Alaric?” I say. But damn him—he continues with his inspection until his hand reaches my right side, where Victor kicked me. I hiss and his eyes dart to my face.
I grab his hands. “I’m trying to talk to you.”
“I know.” He pulls his hand from mine and reaches up to my left shoulder. With a swift jerk, he rips the material of my dress. The scraps hang loose. His frown deepens.
“I don’t know how to fix th
is situation. I never should have left you alone,” he says.
“This is not your fault.”
Alaric doesn’t respond. He uncorks a bottle with a bright, pale blue liquid and dampens the edge of a cloth. He presses it against the first cut on my shoulder. I close my eyes, trying not to react to the sting. Demon shit, that hurts.
“You don’t have to fix anything on your own… this concerns me just as much as it does you.” I pause, swallowing against another onslaught of stinging as he continues to clean the three, long gashes. “Don’t shut me out.”
His movements falter at that. I had said those same four words just before he gave me the second mark.
“You have no idea of the danger you’re in.”
He scowls at the bite on my neck, covering the one he had placed there. He applies the blue liquid, then a green salve over each open wound before wrapping them. The bandage on my neck loops under my opposite arm to avoid choking me. It’s hardly comfortable, but at least the bleeding has stopped.
“Then tell me, Alaric.” I place my hand over his, holding it to my chest, right over my heart. It hurts, but I need him to open up.
His eyes don’t move from our hands. “If they find out you killed Rosalie, then you will be killed.”
I wait for more, but he doesn’t continue.
“I know,” I say. “We’ve both known this from the beginning.”
He sighs and pushes to his feet. “It’s getting late. You’ve lost a lot of blood and need your rest. First thing in the morning, we begin preparations to leave in a week.” He reaches down to a larger bundle of cloth and hands it to me. “Change into this.”
I carefully unfold it, trying not to move too quickly and aggravate my injuries. I set it down then stand, trying to undo the ties of my dress at the back. The wraps are too tight, and my shoulder is in too much pain.
Alaric steps up behind me until I can feel his warmth at my back. His fingers take over, unlacing the dress and letting the ruined garment fall to the floor. One hand snakes over my bruised ribs like a breath of cool air, and I melt under his touch. Then he snatches up the bundle and slips it over my head.
I smile, looking down at it.
It’s horribly indecent to wear his shirts as often as I do, especially here, when I have my own generous wardrobe. But the gesture has come to mean so much more than it would appear. When I wear one of his shirts, I know I’m safe.
I adjust the material and when I turn around, he is sitting in a plush leather chair next to the fire with a book in hand. I crawl into his bed and settle under the blankets. I watch him for a long time. His eyes roam over the words on one page before moving to the next. He turns each page with care to avoid creasing the paper.
“Are you planning to stay there all night?” I ask.
He doesn’t look up from his book. “You should be asleep.”
“What about you… don’t you need to sleep?” I ask.
“Do you wish me to?”
I nod. We both know he’ll sleep when he needs to. Still, Alaric closes the book and sets it down.
Scooting to the middle of the bed, I make room for him. Rather than sitting, as he usually does, he removes his shirt and shoes and climbs in to lie beside me.
I curl into his side and rest my head on his chest, listening to his heart's slow, steady rhythm.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can think of to say. I could say it a million times and still feel I need to say it again and again. But it’s never enough, and the words I need to express myself do not exist.
There’s a long silence, and I’m unsure if he’s fallen asleep. Slowly, I lift my head to check and find him gazing down on me.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He purses his mouth as if tasting his next words, feeling them. “You have become dear to me, and as my friend, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe from this fate I forced upon you.”
I cock a brow. “You once said you didn’t force this on me. I think that was the truth.”
Alaric shakes his head. “No, I was trying to avoid the truth. I might not have forced you to fire that arrow, but I played my part in this.”
“I meant—.” I swallow and gather my nerve, pushing up on one elbow. “I’m sorry I killed Rosalie.”
“I know.”
I lay back down. I wait for more than those two little words. Unbidden, tears sting my eyes.
He reaches up and smooths my hair away from my face. “I forgive you, my dear Clara.”
My breathing hitches.
“How?” My voice comes out small.
He pulls in a long, deep breath then releases it. “Because… as someone wise once told me, we all do what we must for the ones we love.”
My heart thunders against my ribs and I know he can feel it. I don’t know if he means that he understands that I did it for Kitty, or that he forgives me for his sister’s sake.
Or… if he means me.
“Now sleep, dear Clara, and I will heal you so that you do not have to feel the pain.”
I nod against him and close my eyes. Soon the sound of his breathing and heartbeat lull me into unconsciousness.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Clara
A thin layer of frost coats the world in its glittering beauty as fog rolls over the land in thick waves. It’s like walking through a beautiful dream.
Once again, I slept in Alaric’s room, in his bed, and in his arms. Every night for the past week. I didn’t even hesitate when he’d asked, I wanted to stay.
He holds me every night, and not a single night terror has stolen a minute of my sleep.
He hasn't mentioned the final mark yet. I'm not sure I'm ready, but thinking about the promise he made sends a shiver down my spine and goose flesh to race over my skin.
Despite the years I’ve spent hating vampires for killing Mother and ruining our family, it’s strange to know that the one person I trust most in this world is a vampire.
I press a hand to my chest and rub at the strange feeling that’s settled there. Alaric’s words had warmed me and yet… they were not what I’d wanted to hear. Not that I have any idea what would have made me happy.
The weight of the dagger sits comfortably at my hip. I don’t fear for my life, though I suppose I should, with three other vampires still here. In the last week, I’ve spent my days avoiding Alaric, using the others to distract him.
I needed time alone to sort through my thoughts and try to understand what this connection to him is—but walks in the garden and hours in the library have done nothing to help.
I have lost so much of who I’ve always believed myself to be. I no longer need to care for Kitty, I have no plans with Xander, and I can no longer justify killing vampires on sight as though they are all evil. Just knowing Alaric, and finally understanding the kind of person Rosalie had been, has changed that.
This transition from who I was to who I will be, feels like walking on a layer of thin ice. Underneath is a rapidly flowing river that will pull me under and sweep me away if I am not careful.
It’s why this mark that ties me to Alaric scares me so much. It is taking a long time to get used to it. If I’m not careful, I find myself wandering toward him. I fear it will steal away the last of who I am. I have lost so much that I don’t want to risk losing whatever might be left to the mark's effects. I don’t want things between us to be forced or created by some outside influence. I couldn’t stand to lose my friend like that.
A pebble skips across the stone walkway behind me, drawing me out of my reverie. I pull my dagger in a fluid motion as I turn.
“Stay back. I will kill you if you try anything,” I say, surprised my voice is calm and steady. Not long ago, the words would have been an empty threat, now I mean them.
I am no longer afraid to do what I must to stay alive.
Lawrence lifts his hands, showing me his palms, and stops several yards away. “I am not here to harm you. I only wish to talk.” He gestures toward a bench
half-hidden by perfectly manicured shrubbery. “We can stand here if you like, or… sit?”
I study him—his posture, his expression, and even the way he looks at me. When I find no deception or hint of malice, I nod but keep the dagger in hand.
“Standing will do,” I say.
“He should have killed you,” Lawrence says. I’m not sure if he means Alaric when he claimed me or…
“Are you threatening me?”
“No. But it is the truth.” He shakes his head. “Victor should have killed you—he was demon cursed.”
“What is your point, Mr. Harkstead? I assume you have one?”
He takes one step forward, testing me. Then another. I refuse to retreat. “My point is that he was not the first vampire you’ve killed.”
I blink several times. “Just how in the Otherworld did you come to that conclusion?” I ask. “I was in shock.”
He is standing right in front of me now, his hand on my wrist with the dagger. He doesn’t squeeze or try to take it from me, but rather keeps the weapon aimed away from him.
“You were in shock over the blood loss. But your expression was not one of someone who’d seen their first kill.”
I laugh, it’s a harsh sound. “That doesn’t prove anything.”
“It does,” he says in a low voice that cuts me off. “There is no human alive who doesn’t fear the repercussions of killing a vampire. It is only with their second that they have come to terms with the pain they will have to endure if caught. You were injured, not afraid.”
I say nothing. His hazel eyes search mine, then, after a moment, Lawrence releases my hand but doesn’t move away.
“I loved her,” he says.
My breath leaves me as though I were dealt a physical blow. His suspicion, the hostility… it makes sense now. Why is he telling me this? To extract a confession from me, or to confront Rosalie’s killer, or just to express the heartbreak he feels.
