‘My father as good as died with her that day. And John Pierre just sent us a message saying he was ordered to do it – paid to do it. And we’ll never know who gave him that order. But I’ll find out … I’ll hunt him down, kill his love first, suck his children dry, rape his daughters, make the fucking heartless demon suffer. Because I more than hate him, Violet. He took my mother away.’
He fell into silence then, leaving me with dry lips and loosening arms. I was that daughter.
Rattle, rattle …
I threw up huge barriers around my mind, letting his horrific words sink in. I desperately wanted to tell him not to say such things – to take it all back, because he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t mean it – but I knew pushing the subject was far too risky.
‘None of this matters. You’ll be just as great as your father was before all this, despite what you say. I know you will,’ I whispered into the dark. He did not answer, only pulling my hand up to rest on his chest where his heart should be and I soon slipped into sleep.
FORTY-FIVE
Violet
Tick, tock …
‘They know.’
‘What?’
‘They know we slept together. The servants told them.’
‘But—’
‘My father knows.’
My breath caught, fear rising along with bile in my throat. ‘She betrayed us. Annie betrayed us.’
He nodded gravely, pulling me into his arms.
‘But what will he do?’
‘I don’t know.’
You don’t want to know, my voice added. I silently agreed. His wristwatch glinted in the light from the high windows of the entrance hall where we waited.
11:59 …
The air was cold, the servants and members of the household assembling behind us in a long row, waiting to welcome the Varns and the entire council; every member of which knew. Fabian knew; Cain knew; the King knew. I felt the heated glares of the servants on my back, feeling their hate and disrespect, everything ounce of respect lost. I was one of them now in their eyes. Whore. I was his hostage. I was never meant to know the Prince. Especially not now.
Tick, tock …
‘This Athenea is where they’re coming back from right? S-shouldn’t you let me go?’
He released me from his arms, but kept one hand in mine. ‘Listen, Violet. Girly. I’m sorry about last night. I should never have—’
‘Me too.’ He seemed taken aback, but I nodded furiously, avoiding eye contact. I pulled my hand from his, feeling my heart squeeze painfully.
‘I—’ Suddenly his head shot up, his eyes blazing red, his nose flaring. ‘They’re here.’
He snatched my hand back and lifted my chin with the other, planting a soft kiss on my lips. He let me down and I felt my knees go weak I was so sore and stiff. And then I was stood on the other side of the room, breathless, wind knocked from my lungs, tossed away by Kaspar.
Tick, tock … Deep from within the mansion a great boom sounded; the first strike of a great clock and I counted each one, unable to block out the sound.
Twelve … I shuddered as the sound passed through me, my stomach churning with nerves. I wanted to cry but refused to in front of the servants.
Eleven …
The butlers stood beside the doors, immaculately clean gloves poised on the handles, ready to swing them open.
Ten … The dread and the horror was rising as my mind raced, reeling at what the King could possibly do to punish such disobedience; things never would have turned out well if we had slept together under different circumstances, but now on the eve of such anger, when Kaspar had already thrown so much shame upon his father, I didn’t dismiss anything.
Nine …
What can he do to me that will be worse than not allowing the two of us to touch?
Eight …
He can’t force me to become a vampire without giving my father an excuse to call upon the slayers and rogues. Turning doesn’t seem so horrific now anyway.
Seven …
Why did I waste all that time hating him?
Six, five, four …
‘Kaspar, what’s Athenea?’
Three …
He didn’t answer.
Two …
‘Kaspar, what lives in Athenea?’
One.
The doors were flung wide open, the high noon sun masked by towering clouds. A group of thirty or so cloaked figures strode up the steps, flinging their hoods back and almost instantly becoming pink under the daylight, skin burning.
Furious at their head was the King, and I glanced at Kaspar, fear holding a vice-like grip on my heart. He stared straight ahead, passed the gathering crowd, all glaring at the both of us, his expression fixed and detached.
I felt a tear trickle down my cheek and turned back. The figures were gone. My eyes searched the room but I was cut off as the King came towards me, his eyes afire and raging. I let out a meek whimper as he came to a halt. I wanted to run. Instead, I curtsied.
His head turned towards Kaspar, eyes still fixed straight ahead but cringing now.
‘Kaspar!’ He did not speak the words. He hissed them. ‘Go to Varns’ Point. I will talk to you there.’
Then he turned to me.
‘Do not touch my son again, Miss Lee, or I will ensure you never hear your heart beat again. Is that clear?’
When I did not respond he shouted, ‘Answer me!’
I nodded, choking, holding back tears.
‘You are not stupid. You realized that you were to never become involved with any of my children.’ His mouth set in a firm line. ‘This is the end of your freedom, Miss Lee. The end. And as a symbol of the end, I think we’ve found the perfect sacrifice at Ad Infinitum. Don’t you think?’
Kaspar hissed and I raised my head. He immediately fell silent and steadily held my gaze with an intensity that took my breath away. And then he was gone. Yet again.
‘Slut,’ a voice hissed.
Lyla, hand in hand with Fabian stood in front of me, smug smile dirtying her face. She clung onto him – he refused to look at me but as she tugged him on I heard him mutter one word.
‘Bitch.’
They all hated me now.
FORTY-SIX
Violet
I mentally kicked myself as I realized I was thinking about that day again, the events replaying themselves endlessly in my mind. I could still feel the bitter breeze around my ankles and the soreness around my legs, every word analysed; every thought churned over and every detail remembered.
It was almost two weeks ago, let it go, my voice advised and I was inclined to agree. Yet however much I wanted to, I couldn’t.
Kaspar has been gone for two weeks. You try letting go.
My hands gripped the sheets of my bed again and I stared at the ceiling, reciting words that had become engraved on my mind.
‘Vampires were not gentle, loving creatures. It was not in their nature to change, or to adapt, to accept others. Their love is not what humans would call love, and lust consumes them on a level we will never understand. They do not grow old as we do, but age as stone does: they gradually weather, slowly perish, so slowly it is unnoticeable. But in the end, stone is a fixture forever, as are they.’
Kaspar had become a fixture in my heart. I thought the King could not punish us any more than not allowing us to touch. But he had.
October had given way to November, the trees in the grounds bare now. But the forest was as dark as ever and tomorrow came the promise of yet more torture: tomorrow was the twelfth, and the twelfth meant it was Ad Infinitum.
I was the sacrifice. I had learned the steps and the dress had been measured and made. I had met John, the other sacrifice. He was a quiet guy, turning at Christmas to be with his love, Marie-Claire. That was the strange thing about sacrifice. It could be done for love – or for hate.
I played along at being the sacrifice, learning my part like a nice little human, but for one reason only: it was the only wa
y I would be allowed to go to the ball, and Kaspar would have to return to attend. Return from wherever he is.
Wiping my dry eyes I swung my legs over the side of the bed, dragging the corner of the sheet with me. I grabbed a comb off the bedside table and ran it through my hair, ragged and knotted from almost endless days spent in this room, avoiding the rest of the house. That seemed to suit them just fine; nobody ever talked to me, save for Cain, who had lately picked up an annoying habit of asking about my family – particularly Lily. Always Lily. I couldn’t take that.
So it was just me and my voice.
For a moment I wondered whether it was really worth going downstairs, but I was hungry and could hear loud talking. Pulling on a pair of socks from the wardrobe I quietly slipped out, creeping down the corridor. Just a few feet beyond my room I swallowed hard. Kaspar’s door.
I had not gone near or in that room since that night. It was only two weeks, yet I was curious – I felt as though something must have changed inside, as though the room could not remain the same without its master.
A stupid thought, but I was having them with increasing vigour.
In contrast, at the forefront of my mind was a thought of a totally different nature. Try hard as I might, I could not stop thinking about Kaspar’s naked body pressed to mine, or his firm grasp of me or his demanding, controlling nature that secretly, I sort of liked – although I would never admit it to his face. I could still reignite the perverted thrill that had shocked my system when he had thrown the key from the open doors, leaving me trapped.
My hand was already pushing the door to his room open when my mind caught up. Somehow I thought that not touching Kaspar included not going in his room. Which it probably did, but I had to look; I had to know.
The door shut quietly behind me and I took a deep breath before raising my eyes. The room was unusually light, winter sunlight flooding through the French doors. The dark drapes were thrown back and tethered, the sheets tucked beneath the mattress and the pillows straightened. Gone was the scent of cologne and the air was not tainted by the smell of blood either. Dustsheets covered most of the furniture, blanketing the room in white. The sheets were soft as my bare feet trod on them, cold too, like cotton snow.
Deep in the pit of my stomach, something ached.
I felt tears welling in my ears and back-pedalled, wanting the comfort and safety of my own room. But I stopped as something glistened in the corner of my eye. My steps slowed and I wiped my eyes. There on the mantelpiece, below the picture of Kaspar’s parents, was a necklace.
I glanced towards the door, afraid someone might come bursting through. But all was silent and the shouting voices had faded. So cautiously I took a step forward, and then another, and another. I refused to look at the painting; the intensity of the eyes of the oiled figures was unnerving on a good day, and today was not good.
My feet ventured onto the cold flag of the foot of the fireplace and I stood on my tiptoes so I was level with the mantel. The necklace was coated in a fine layer of dust, tiny flakes clinging to the fine chain on which the pendant hung. It was placed on a piece of thick, heavy paper, which I ignored.
Gently lifting it, I stared in amazement as it caught the light – tiny, tiny lines of emerald engraved into the silver. It was a rose dripping with blood, a small V beneath: the royal coat of arms. In the centre was a minute emerald stone. I let it fall into the palm of my hand, gazing at its beauty. I was no expert, but something so extraordinary and delicate must be worth thousands.
Lifting it again, I gasped. It had fallen open and inside it there were eight miniatures, each enclosed by an equally small frame. A locket.
I instantly recognized the figures inside. It was the King and Queen and each of their children, eldest to youngest, sandwiched in-between. I flicked through the tiny frames, each suspended and strung together by hinges like spiderwebs.
I lifted it up to the light again, mesmerized as it spun on the chain. Behind it I could see the large painting that unnerved me so much, the scarily lifelike figures of Kaspar’s mother and father, the King and Queen, staring down at me. But something caught my eye. Around the Queen’s neck was an identical silver pendant, a jewel set in the centre.
I looked back at the locket in my hand, realizing that what I held belonged to the late Queen.
Lowering it I snatched the paper it had been placed upon, unfolding it and taking a moment to examine the broken royal seal. It was a letter, written in an elegant, curled hand. I quickly scanned the first few lines.
‘Dear sweet Beryl,
First, I must ask how you and Joseph are? It truly has been far too long since we last met …’
I did not need to read any more to know what the rest contained. It was the same letter from the King’s study. Yet here it was, the Queen’s final letter, weighed down by her locket in Kaspar’s room. I admired it; still open, spinning and spinning …
The dream began differently that night. Usually it started almost peacefully, as though joining the mysterious cloaked man was an escape. It probably was – his thoughts seemed to revolve around liberty and being free of whatever restraints he hated so much.
Yet this night, I had to first endure tortured images. Kaspar and the locket I had left in his room swirled in my mind, more faces and voices and sound than actual images. Above it all, I could hear a clock striking twelve, and then nine, and then six, like it worked in reverse. But soon – not soon enough – the scene switched and was replaced with the thoughts of the King’s rogue informant and the familiar forest.
Even thought was an effort and the cloaked figure yearned to enter the trance-like state that was as near to sleep as a vampire could get, but he would not allow himself. He had to return in time for the Ad Infinitum ball. He would not miss it.
His cloak billowed in his wake, the hem trailing in the moist ground. November and its damp air had descended quickly and he knew the humans felt the sudden drop in temperature. Winter is approaching.
Suddenly, he caught the unmistakable smell of a slayer through the dampness and in the blink of an eye they had taken to the trees. Creeping forward, he moved from branch to branch, inching towards the hideous smell, and as they got closer, voices.
‘We want no more excuses, slayer. You can tell your precious Lee that unless he chooses to attack soon, we will have no more to do with him. We’ve waited long enough.’
Now this was an interesting meeting.
‘Lee needs a reason to attack to ensure the Prime Minister’s backing. So far he hasn’t had one.’
‘Perhaps you will change your mind when you have heard us out, slayer.’
The slayer, high-ranking judging by his dress and the array of weapons that hung from his belt, leaned forward into the light from the moon. ‘I very much doubt that.’
The rogues, six of them in total shuffled. One sat further forward than the rest and seemed to be the spokesmen. He continued.
‘Have you heard of the Prophecy of the Heroines?’
The slayer leaned back again. ‘Of course.’
‘And are you familiar with the first verse?’
The slayer simply nodded this time. The cloaked figure, high up in the canopy, sat rigid.
‘And do you believe it?’
The slayer grunted, half-groaning his reply. ‘It’s a load of destiny crap made up by Athenea. Not worth your time or mine.’
The vampire smiled. ‘Then perhaps you should reconsider that too.’
The slayer chuckled. ‘Why should I? I do not buy into fate, and besides, what does this have to do with Lee?’
The rogue stood up. ‘Everything, because the Varns don’t know yet.’ He turned away, scraping at the bark with a long, withered fingernail. The vampires around him shifted uncomfortably, rising too, almost as though ready to flee.
‘Know what?’
‘I thought it wasn’t worth your time, slayer?’
The slayer’s face was contorted with curiosity and he half-rose from his
log. ‘Spit it out, vampire, or I’ll ensure my stake meets your chest!’
The rogue chuckled darkly, gouging out a large chunk of bark and tossing it to the floor.
‘They’ve found the Sagean girl of the first verse. The Prophecy is true.’
The vampires began to move away, already swallowed by the darkness, save for their leader.
‘What?’
The rogue stopped, turning slowly, his lifeless skin illuminated by the half-moon.
‘They have found the first Dark Heroine. But after all, you don’t believe it, so don’t trouble yourself. We’ll let Lee know before Ad Infinitum is over.’ He smiled, like the thought amused him, and then turned and ran.
There was total silence in the trees for a full minute, as everything became frozen. Even the birds in their nests did not squawk at such a statement.
So it’s true. Athenea had been right all along.
The cloaked figure leapt from the tree, dropping to the ground as a black blur. He had to get to Varnley. But first, he would feed.
The slayer did not have time to turn or draw his stake before the vampire dove on his back, pulling him to the ground. Fangs sank deep into the flesh of his neck and his expression twisted into one of agony, before it pacified.
Dinner With a Vampire Page 29
