by Ali Winters
“Watch your mouth. If it weren’t for me, you’d have died on the streets after your mother was taken.”
He says the words as though he’s some kind of savior who rescued me from that fate, and like I’m not his daughter.
The coppery taste of blood touches my tongue. My teeth cut the inside of my cheek. There will be a bruise by morning. My face burns from his hand but I refuse to touch it with my own to see if it’s already swelling. I only pivot and head into the room I share with my sister.
Kitty sits up a little straighter in bed when she sees me enter the room. A smile brightens her face until it’s stolen by a cough.
“Come, sit,” she says, holding out her hands and beckoning me to her side. “Tell me, is that strange man gone?”
I sit next to her and brush her hair back behind her ear. “And what do you know of him?” I ask.
“Well…” She clasps her hands together and leans forward, whispering in a hushed voice even though we are the only ones in the room. “I know he’s been here all day. He showed up shortly after you left—of course he brought a chill in with him so I had to excuse myself to rest—but from what I’ve gathered, he is in town for business that must be of a demon’s making because he would not speak a word of it to Father.”
I smile and pat her leg. “Don’t go getting yourself riled up. He’s gone and I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again.”
The grin I wear strains across my face, and I hope she can’t tell. Her superstitions about demons playing a role in people’s everyday lives are going to get her worked up until she falls ill again.
Standing, I head to the small armoire we share and riffle through it for fresh clothes to change into—ones not covered in a layer of dust and mud.
“Clara,” she scolds gently. “What aren’t you telling me? How much did Father lose this time?” Her words are as bitter as I feel.
“I don’t know.” I slowly turn to face her. “Enough that Mr. Devereaux will be back in a few days to settle.”
Her pale cheeks turn pink, then red. “We will never be married at this rate if he continues to spend every penny! What dowry does he expect to give?”
Marriage is our only escape from this hell, the only way we can ever be well and truly safe away from Father’s wrath and senseless spending. I think about the stash of money I have hidden under the floorboards. It will take a while yet to obtain what I need for us both.
I must plan this just right. First Xander must obtain his family’s blessing, then I can find a suitable match for Kitty immediately. Perhaps we could even have a double wedding. She would love that.
“Do not stress yourself over this. You’ll make yourself sick.” I cross over to her and cup her cheek. “I will take care of you. Never forget that.”
Once we are away from here, Kathrine will finally have a chance at living her life as a true lady, just like she deserves.
Chapter Four
Alaric
In a stroke of luck, my carriage pulls up just as I step over the threshold of that dilapidated hovel that the man had the gall to act as though it were a palace. A second later Mr. Valmont’s gruff voice rings out. All of the false pleasantries he’d used during my visit are now gone.
“Close the door, girl. You’re letting the heat—” he snarls, his words cut off as the door slams shut.
The carriage opens, and Lawrence Harkstead smiles from within, practically lounging on his side. Without a word I climb in and close the door, sitting across from my old friend just as the horses take off.
I shudder, glad to be out of that horrid place. “Perfect timing, as usual,” I say.
Lawrence scoffs and looks out the window to the rapidly vanishing dwelling. He wrinkles his nose, his voice full of distain as he asks, “What in the depths of the Otherworld were you doing in such a rundown shack? Have you grown so bored with life that you are befriending peasants now?”
He lounges back, his long blond hair slightly mussed, his waistcoat remains straight, his shirt immaculate, though his tailcoat lay crumpled in a heap next to him. He has been feeding, and by the look of that smug grin on his face, feeding well. This visit has reminded me exactly why I don’t partake in this ritual.
“I will be leaving tomorrow and taking Rosalie with me back to Windbury,” I say, ignoring his goading questions.
“What? Before the claiming? You arrive a day early and leave the day it begins. I was under the impression you were finally going to relax and join us in the festivities.”
I rest my head against the back and stare unseeing at the black material of the ceiling. “I have no wish to claim any of these humans. Besides, you know how Rosalie feels about it.”
That horrid girl’s face flashes in my mind's eye. Her entrance had managed to surprise me when so little does anymore. The man had failed to mention he had a second daughter. Not that it would have changed anything. I had no interest in the lot of them.
My anger flares again at remembering the faint scent of vampire blood that lingered somewhere on her person. Had that been of her doing? I scoff inwardly.
She’s slight of build and doesn't seem to have anything extraordinary about her that would enable her to pull off such a feat. Chances were the human had brushed up against the real slayer while doing whatever it is that her ilk did with their days.
“Again? Elizabeth will not be pleased. You must start claiming them. She will not allow this to go on forever. Even if you only claim one and drain them on the way home—it’s about reminding them of our power as much as it is about survival.”
Lawrence would no doubt lecture me until the end of the claiming if I had told him my original plan was to leave tonight. I have no wish to collect a debt from that pathetic man. I have more money than I could spend in several lifetimes. And even then, Elizabeth would not allow me to fall from the status at which she has set for me. Taking money from a poor man who doesn’t know when to stop gambling the funds he should have been spending on his family’s well being, holds no interest.
It was only that trace of blood that has me staying.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single vampire in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a mortal snack,” he says with a dramatic hand gesture, then slumps back, legs sprawled.
“I survive by willing offerings just fine.” It’s the same thing every year, the same conversation. And I am weary of it all.
“This isn’t about your ego. It’s about tradition. It’s what we are—who we are. You can’t continue to use Rosalie as a reason to shun our ways.”
“They are not my ways.”
“Except they are, my dear friend. You are one of us no matter what you choose to tell yourself.”
I say nothing, and the silence drags on between us for a long moment. I refuse to lose the last bits of my humanity. I refuse to be anything other than what Rosalie wants me to be. Her fate, after all, was my doing.
Lawrence sits up folding his arms across his chest and glares at me until I straighten to meet his gaze.
“If your objection is the unwilling few, there are plenty of parties.” A grin spreads across his lean face. “They have more than enough willing prey who would give just about anything to have the mark, and so much more. Especially from you.”
My lip curls at his intended meaning. I might try my damnedest to hold on to my humanity by only drinking from the willing. The last thing I desire is to let one of those pathetic worshipers drape themselves all over me. All they want is the mark—they do not care whose mark it is.
Lawrence drones on about the endless parties that are to come, all the while oblivious to how much I detest the idea with each passing word.
The horses’ hooves clop along on the cobble stone road. I focus on the rhythm of the sound as I turn my attention to the passing scenery, dark stone buildings, slanted roofs, and hardly a human in sight. A typical occurrence before sunset to be sure.
Pathetic. They only give the lesser demons mor
e strength by offering their fear.
Soon the town gives way to trees lining the road, the cobblestones turn to dirt.
As much as I long to leave this place and return home, I must find the mortal who owes the life debt.
But then that girl… no, she was not a girl but rather a young woman dressed in men’s trousers, shirt, and jacket. The clothes were large on her, making her appear smaller and younger than she no doubt is. She smelled of earth and mist and sweet treacle.
With the defiant tilt of her chin, she had actually looked down her nose at me. It was absurd. For a second it seemed she had recognized me for the vampire I am, and not the rich son of a banker her Mr. Valmont had assumed I was. But there had been no trembling in her stance, no cowering, and no adoration.
Again, my mind goes back to the scent of vampire blood that lingered on her, faint though as it was. I cannot leave here until I know if they were slain by her hand, as unlikely as it would seem, or another’s.
Most importantly, who had been murdered in cold blood. I will get the answers I seek tonight, and tomorrow I will find the mortal responsible.
I knock on the wall of the carriage and the driver halts in the middle of town. The sudden stop has Lawrence speechless, cutting off in mid sentence.
“Thank you for your impeccable timing as always, but I have some other business to attend to.” He raises a brow as I climb down out of the carriage. “I will see you after the claiming.”
Lawrence lowers a window and sticks his head out, saying, “At least think about claiming one.”
One human in this city has blood on their hands, and they will pay one way or another by the court’s decree. Though it is not a punishment I intend to inflict. I nod anyway, hoping it will be enough to make him drop the subject. “I will think about it.”
Another knock on the side of the carriage and it’s moving once more.
I stay standing in the abandoned streets until it is out of sight.
In truth, I do not know where to begin so I walk around the edges and follow the buildings. The night falls early this time of year, and it brings with it a chill. Wandering around the empty streets for hours makes me eternally grateful I have avoided coming to these towns all these years.
These humans choose to live in squalor, their buildings coated in grime and dirt. Paper and other detritus litter the gutters. For a moment it has me regretting my decision to stay in this town and search out the guilty party.
And then I catch the tang of blood.
My head snaps in the direction it’s coming from, and in seconds I close in on it. It’s partially hidden by half rotted food and… I shudder to think of what else.
Standing at the entrance of a narrow alley between buildings, I stare into the darkness. The smell is stronger than it had been on the girl, but it isn’t overpowering, as it would be if the vampire were tossed carelessly back in the shadows of this small corner.
My nostrils flare as I walk slowly closer. The blood smells too familiar for my liking.
I don’t spare another second moving slow. I rush to the far wall. My gut clenches in fear.
No… It takes seconds for me to toss all discarded things out of my way.
The fear that had been growing settles and forms into a hard lump in my throat. I reach down and lift a discarded bow and one of the scattered arrows. Dark red, nearly black, coats one of the steel tips. My vision blurs as I inhale deeply.
Rosalie. The blood belongs to my Rosalie.
Time loses all meaning as I fight to understand. Rosalie, whose fate I had created by my foolish actions, the only one in this fucked up world I give a damn about. I sink to my knees, not caring about the filth and grim coated ground.
I have failed. My only purpose in life was to protect her and now her body lies somewhere being desiccated by the local demons. It’s far less than what she deserves.
An arrow that smells of Rosalie’s blood and the bow that accompanies it has the same distinct woodsy smell as the girl. My vision fills with red and the wood splinters within my grasp.
I had not intended on returning to that dilapidated structure those humans have the nerve to call a home. The moment I smelled the blood on her, I had not quite believed that she could be capable of such an act. Weak, was the first word that came to mind. But the evidence that my assumption had indeed been proved incorrect, now lay broken at my feet—both Rosalie’s blood and the girl’s unique scent were irrefutable.
That slip of a girl will not pay for her crimes by suffering at the court’s hands, but at mine.
Chapter Five
Clara
The fire crackles in our small wood burning stove as Kitty hums to herself on the wooden bench, sewing designs on plain white handkerchiefs. I sit at her feet, rereading my favorite—and only book—for what might possibly be the hundredth time. It’s a rare morning where I allow myself the luxury of relaxing and pretending that my life is almost normal.
But only for today. I have every intention of avoiding the woods for as long as I can.
Father’s room bursts open, the door cracking against the wall as he stumbles into the room blurry eyed, hung over and rubbing at his face. He stops when he sees me, his face turning petulant the second his eyes lock on my face.
“Taking the day off, Clara?” he asks. “Shouldn’t you be out there, working?”
I bristle at his tone. He acts as if it’s my duty and my duty alone to make sure this family is fed, clothed, and that he has plenty of gambling money to waste.
Kitty’s fingers freeze mid motion, but she doesn’t look up at Father. Her nerves are already frayed at the fight that might come. I hold my tongue, for her sake, as much as it pains me to let those words of his go unchecked.
Carefully, I close my book and set it next to Katherine as I lift myself up to stand.
“I was about to go out,” I say as pleasantly as one can through gritted teeth.
His bloodshot eyes narrow on me, not having missed my true feelings. He takes a step forward, his fists clenched at his side, and I ready myself for what’s to come.
Three knocks on the door halts him in his tracks. “Don’t just stand there, answer it.”
Kitty starts to rise but I motion her to sit back down as I make my way to the door.
I blink several times as I stare into the most beautiful, deep blue eyes that sparkle in the early morning light, made even more striking by the thick lashes that frame them. He’s even more stunning in the light. I open my mouth to speak but my words catch in my throat.
Mr. Devereaux smiles when he sees me, but there’s something cold and wicked in it. Today his expression is pleasant in a way that doesn’t ring true. Where yesterday he had seemed nearly apathetic, unimpressed… bored, today there’s malice in it.
My body reacts without thought, moving to slam the door in his face. There’s something dark about this man and I want nothing to do with him.
A red ring forms around his irises, then I blink and it’s gone.
Father’s meaty hand grabs onto the edge of the door, preventing it from moving. “Mr. Devereaux,” he says, frowning. “I hadn’t expected you to return so soon… eh—why don’t you come in?”
I know what I saw. He is so much more than just a man. Already my mind is forming doubts. A ray from the rising sun flashed just right causing the effect—a lingering lesser demon causing mischief.
Father’s hand wraps around my upper arm, dragging me back out of the way.
Vampire…
No… no, don’t let him in!
Father is giving me a murderous look, he will beat me the second this man leaves, but I don’t care. My gut is telling me he’s dangerous. The two men walk to the center of the room, and I am left with my back against the door.
“I am afraid, Mr. Devereaux, you didn’t leave me with sufficient time to gather the funds I owe you,” Father says cajolingly, his false pleasantry dripping from his words.
One more punishment I will suffer once our g
uest has left. I know he will blame me for taking the morning off.
“I regret that more pressing matters have come up and I must leave sooner rather than later.” Mr. Devereaux looks at me, taking me in from head to toe, stark hunger in his eyes.
His gaze is unrelenting. I feel exposed, even with all my layers of clothes. Once more his eyes flash with the thin ring of crimson around his irises.
Mr. Devereaux wants me to know him for what he is.
He is looking for weakness or fear from me. If I didn’t know better, with the way he holds his shoulders, I would say he’s looking to make me cower in his shadow, trying to cow me into submission, ready to be manipulated, ready to be used up… and killed, as though I was nothing more than some dumb animal bread to slaughter. Though, I suppose compared to them, that’s all we really are—a simple and powerless food source.
I can feel his ire as though he were running his fingertips over every inch of my skin. This monster that doesn’t know a thing about me has found displeasure in my very existence. It makes no sense. Though, when has a monster ever been known to behave or feel logically?
I close my eyes and pull in a shuddering breath and sigh inwardly, careful not to let signs of my fear go any further than thoughts.
My eyes flick to Kitty then back at him, and I could swear that his eyes sparkle with ill intent.
I glare at him and focus on calming my breath, focus on slowing my heart to a slow and steady beat. I chase the fear away.
Or at least I tell myself that’s what I’m doing. My body has gone cold, chilled to the bone. I only manage to keep my pulse in check due to all those years of practice from hunting, forcing my body to relax so my arrows don’t fly off target. But vampires aren’t mind readers. He can only sense my physiological responses to him.