by Ali Winters
Hot, sticky warmth flows over my hand and sprays over my chest and face. I blink. The vampire clasps both hands over his neck. Shock widens his eyes, his face paling. Blood gushes between his fingers. I drag my gaze from him to my hand, coated in blood.
His blood.
The vampire crumples to the ground—dead.
Demon shit. My warning had turned into a killing blow.
“You killed him… How?” the woman asks, voice trembling. She hasn’t moved.
From her reaction, it’s obvious these vampires aren’t used to humans fighting back. But I won’t be the docile prey they are looking for.
Horror flickers over her features, and I let it bolster the confidence I don’t possess. Adrenaline floods my veins. I feel a little stronger, more determined.
“It’s a night-forged dagger,” I say. “Now, back off—or do you want to die too?”
Her head snaps up and looks from the dead vampire to me. “I-I…” she stammers. “Who would dare give a filthy human night-forged metal?”
The vampire blood that splatters my arm and chest must make me look like a strange nightmare.
“Clara?” Alaric’s voice comes from the far end of the hall. He stares open-mouthed.
I don’t respond, too busy watching the female for any sign that she might attack.
Alaric rushes to my side, and only then do I drop my arm, but I don’t sheath the dagger. My hand is shaking so hard I’d probably end up stabbing myself in the leg if I tried.
More vampires fill the hall. Hushed words of a dozen voices mingle into a din of unintelligible words.
“She will die!” the woman snarls even as she backs up.
Alaric stands at my side but makes no move to comfort or protect me.
Then, in a low, deadly calm voice, he says, “She is not yours to feed upon or punish. If any vampire dare lay a finger on her, she has my permission to end them as well.”
Chapter Five
Clara
We walk through the empty, back halls of the castle in silence. I shiver, my clothes damp from our efforts at removing as much blood as we could. Alaric had healed my arm on the way back. The skin is smooth. Not even the faint line of a scar remains. I don’t know what that vampire had cut me with, but it wasn’t night-forged silver, and she wasn’t one of Elizabeth’s, only a lesser vampire.
I pull Alaric’s jacket tighter around my shoulders. He’s hardly said more than a handful of words since we left the theater.
“Why aren’t there other vampires in these halls?” I ask, breaking the silence.
He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “Most in the castle wish to be seen, so they stick to the main areas.” He turns to face me fully. “If you go anywhere on your own, stick to these back passages as much as possible.”
“So, I don’t have to stay locked in the room?”
Alaric’s mouth quirks up on one side. “Why would you think that?”
“Because of what I did.”
“No. Just stay aware of your surroundings at all times.”
I nod. “Will I be punished for…” My question trails off.
“No,” he says shortly. “I gave you permission.”
Neither of us needs to go into detail. They will not defy him because he is the crowned prince to the throne. That thought that churns my stomach.
We stop before our room. He opens the door but doesn’t follow me inside.
“Are you disappointed in me… for tonight?”
Alaric smiles and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is quick, and when he pulls back, his deep sapphire eyes search mine. “No, I am proud of you. I must leave you now to feed.”
Without thinking, I extend my wrist toward his mouth. “Then feed,” I say.
Alaric wraps his fingers around my hand and places a searing kiss to the inside of my wrist. “No, Clara,” he says. I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “We both know why.”
The mark. The final mark.
Cherno flits past my head and lands on Alaric’s shoulder. The little demon watches me. The intelligence in their eyes and their personality is far more advanced than any greater or lesser demon I’ve crossed paths with.
Alaric takes my shoulders and says, “Get cleaned up and get some rest.”
Then he closes the door between us.
I remove my now ruined outfit and wash the blood off me, scrubbing until my skin is raw. Even when the water is dark pink, I still can’t erase the touch of that vampire. My neck is healed of the bruises from his crushing grip, but the memory his hands around my throat squeezing is a physical echo.
While I hadn’t intended to kill the vampire—at least not at that moment—I don’t feel remorse for my actions. I don’t know if I should or what it means that I don’t. It was only supposed to be a threat. How could I know he’d speed up?
I dress in fresh clothes. Familiar dark brown pants, fitted perfectly to my shape, glide easily over my legs. Then I slip a loose cream blouse over my head. The gently worn outfit is comforting against my skin. I inhale Alaric’s faint musky scent clinging to the material. It’s a relief to know I can wander freely here. The sun will rise in a few hours but I am too wound up with excess energy to sleep.
After closing the door behind me, I turn and crash into a solid form, bouncing off and stumbling back several steps. I rub my nose and tilt my head back to see what—or rather who—I ran into.
Lawrence looks down his nose at me, a single, thick, golden brow raised. “Is Alaric in there?”
Suddenly, all the moisture in my mouth is gone. Should he be back by now?
“No.”
He bobs his head once and turns. I reach out and grab his arm, stopping him. I don’t think better of it until his gaze locks onto my hand and doesn’t move. Slowly, I let go.
“Could something have happened to him?”
Lawrence heaves a sigh. “That depends.”
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t.
“On what?” I prompt. The question comes out harsher than intended.
“On when he left,” he pauses, mulling over his next words. “And if… Elizabeth required an audience with him.”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “He left to feed about an hour ago.”
He nods. “Then you have nothing to worry about yet.”
Before I can question him further, he is down the hall in a blink, heading toward the stairs.
The mention of the vampire queen twists my insides into knots. I hate the idea of Elizabeth requiring anything of Alaric, mostly because I know she wants him, and that alone is enough to make me jealous. It’s an ugly feeling. She is a powerful vampire, like he is, and I am only a human—a temporary fixture in his life.
One day I will die, and he will continue on, unchanging and unending. It doesn’t matter what I feel for him because he can never be mine.
Swallowing down the thoughts that will lead nowhere, I debate whether to follow Lawrence and ask him for more information or to wait to the room for Alaric to return.
But I have too much pent up energy, and I doubt Lawrence would be willing to entertain my questions.
In the end, I do neither, opting to go left toward the less populated halls through the servants’ quarters. Looking for the library would give me something to do. I don’t know if I’m allowed there, but who would miss a few tomes, especially if I return them when I finish?
I only make it to the top of the stairs before I pause, turning to look at the bust that caught my attention earlier. I approach slowly, as if she would come alive, which is ridiculous. It’s only a carving. Leaning forward, I bring my face close.
The figure’s eyes are closed, and there isn’t a single imperfection visible. It’s so lifelike. Each strand of hair, each eyelash, and curve of her features is carved in minute detail. She looks as if she were once a living and breathing person turned to stone.
I reach out and brush my fingers over her cheek, almost expecting it to be warm.<
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Two voices sound from the far end of the hall, startling me. I straighten, accidentally tipping the bust. I lunge, managing to catch it before it topples off its pedestal, and settle it back into place.
The voices draw nearer. I don’t recognize them. Stone grinds. Then the back of the alcove gives way revealing a dark passage. I inch toward the dark opening.
I have two choices: stay here and find out who the voices belong to or go into the hidden tunnel. I’m not overly fond of meeting new vampires, so I duck my head and head into the passage.
The door slides closed behind me as I stand in place, waiting for my eyes to adjust. It takes several minutes, but eventually, the faint outline of stairs comes into focus.
I press a hand to the wall. It’s damp, almost slimy to the touch, but I don’t pull away as I descend.
The stairs are narrow and steep. I make my way down. Every once in a while, a sliver of the wall is cut out, allowing in fresh air and the thinnest beam of light. It wends in a tight circle, continuing far deeper than it should to reach the ground level.
After a while, the slits in the wall stop, bathing the stairs in pitch darkness. I take two more steps, unable to see anything at all anymore. Just when I’m about to give up and turn back, an orange glow flickers from the depths, barely noticeable, but it’s there.
I glance back up the stairs. I have already come this far. I might as well see what is at the bottom.
It’s not a doorway but a narrow passage about seven feet deep. A torch, lit on the wall, flickers on the other side. I turn sideways and squeeze through. It’s tight. Not many could fit in such a small place.
I inch to the end, stopping before I leave the shadows, and listen. Time ticks by, but there’s no sign of anyone or anything else.
Then I hear it—the soft sound of chains moving and a quiet, pitiful moan. I wait for guards to make their rounds, but the area remains empty and quiet.
Slowly, I lean my head out and look from side to side. There’s not much there. A door, thick and heavy, is reinforced with two polished metal bands across the width. On the other side are three cells with identical doors. Each is made of dry, splintered wood with a small barred window near the top. The pristine locks and hinges glint. They are about the only thing in this dank place that isn’t covered in dirt or grime.
I wriggle out of the tight space. Once in the dungeon, I press my back to the wall, keeping to the shadows as I make my way farther inside.
Chains shift, rattling again. Then a moan, so familiar my blood freezes in my veins, rises from the near silence. I retreat a step. My foot hits a pebble sending it skittering across the floor.
“Is… someone there?” a dry, cracked voice asks.
I move closer as quietly as I can and press my palms on the warped, splintering wood.
“Hello?” I whisper against the door. I strain to listen. When there’s no answer, I ask, “Is someone in there?”
I push up on my toes and peek through the small window. The air shifts around me.
“A visitor? After all this time?” the voice rasps, so dry and papery that I can’t tell if they are young or old.
At first, all I see is the inky dark then the slightest movement. I struggle to make out the shape of the chains, the person, the room.
Demons and saints… Who could be so dangerous that they are shoved in a hidden dungeon below a castle belonging to the most powerful being in the world… and why?
The dark figure shifts. Pale light flickers within their eyes. —red eyes.
Fuck.
“Clara,” they whisper my name.
I stumble back, covering my mouth to hold in the scream that works its way up my throat. My heel catches on the uneven stone floor, and I land hard on my ass.
Otherworld take me… I stumbled into a demon’s prison cell.
The demon slams against the door. A dark tendril stretches out, curling against my cheek, smoky soft and icy cold, sending a weird burst of their power zinging through my body. I scramble backward, unable to look away as the demon slams against the wood again and again. The door rattles, creating thick clouds of dust.
Turning, I push up off the floor and run to the crevice, squeezing myself through the tight space. I claw at the stone, struggling to move faster. My breathing becomes shallow. I can’t get enough air. Panic surges up, making me light-headed.
Then I burst through to the dark stairwell, panting and gasping as I rest my hands on my knees.
Voices shout on the other side where I was moments ago, their figures blotting out the light of the torch as they pass.
As soon as I can breathe again, I race up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time until I reach the top.
I grope the wall for a way to open the door again. After what feels like several minutes of searching, my finger finally snags on a depression in the stone wall. I press down. After several seconds, the door slides open, and I hurry through. The scrape of stone sounds loud in my ears as it closes.
I race back to the room and stand with my back against the door until my breathing returns to normal, and my heartbeat slows. I wait and wait for the demon to break through the cell and make their way up here.
But they never do.
After my initial fear has faded, I strip down and pull one of Alaric’s shirts from a drawer and slip it over my head, needing the comfort of his scent. Then I crawl into bed.
Now that I am calm again, rational thought returns. Of course, the demon wouldn’t break out to chase me. It’s silly to think they would sit in the dark underground, allowing themselves to be imprisoned until they found a human stupid enough to venture into the forgotten depths of the castle.
I lie on my side and stare out the window as the sky gradually lightens. Eventually, my eyelids grow heavy. The pull of sleep tugs on me, and I fall into unconsciousness.
Chapter Six
Clara
Cool fingers brush against my face, the soft touch calling me from the recesses of sleep. It takes effort, but eventually, I manage to open my eyes, blinking groggily up at Alaric. He takes my hand and holds it between both of his.
My head swims, and a quiet ache pulses in time with my heartbeat, like I’ve been asleep for too long. The dark edges of a dream linger in my mind, but the details are hazy. I don’t remember any of it, but I know it felt real.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asks.
My muscles resist movement, but I force them to obey, managing to sit up.
“I’m fine,” I say with a weak smile.
“You’ve been asleep all day. You should get some food in you,” he says, rising from the edge of the bed. “We have a long night ahead of us.”
With those words, I’m wide awake. This is it.
I throw the blankets off and stand, swaying slightly. Alaric grips my upper arms and steadies me. The back of my legs press against the mattress, my front pressed against him. My nerves chill the blood in my veins.
“Already?” This is the moment we have to pretend perfectly. There will be no room to allow even the tiniest bit of doubt in anyone’s mind. They must believe that I am fully his.
He nods.
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Alaric hooks a knuckle under my chin and lifts my head. “You will do fine. You are stronger than they know.”
My brows pinch together.
“Let them underestimate you,” he says, his voice thick.
“And let them live to regret it,” I finish. It’s clear by my tone that I don’t believe it.
The ghost of a smile touches his lips, then he places a quick kiss on my mouth before releasing me. He turns and strides to the door.
I’m not sure if he’d meant to kiss me or if it was a reflex.
Alaric’s hand hovers over the doorknob as he looks back. “I won’t be able to see you until the masquerade tonight.”
I say nothing because what can I say to that in this situation?
“Someone will be by later to help you get ready.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone. Again.
This visit isn’t exactly how I imagined it would be. I thought we’d be with each other until we grew sick of it, but the truth is I’ve hardly seen him in the short time we’ve been here.
“No.” I back away from the woman advancing on me. “I can do my own hair.”
The older human woman who was sent up here to help me get ready frowns, her hands fisted on her hips. Her displeasure seeps through as she takes me in. As if allowing her to spend the last half hour stuffing me into a corset and dress wasn’t enough. I can barely breathe in this wretched thing. I don’t need my hair pulled tight and pinned uncomfortably, giving me headaches.
“I can’t allow you to show up looking like a feral demon.”
I stop retreating and narrow my eyes at her, folding my arms over my chest. “I can brush my own hair. Believe it or not, I’m capable of that much, despite what you may think.”
She rolls her eyes and drops the brush onto the dresser. “All right then, I’ll leave you be, but at least wear the jewelry set out for you.” She turns to leave, muttering under her breath about how vampires are never this difficult.
I’m relieved when she’s gone, allowing me to finish getting ready in silence without the pressure of being told I’m not good enough.
The dress is all red with a full skirt of layer upon layer of tulle. The corset is low, covered with intricate beading that drips down over the skirt. Delicate sleeves start just below the shoulder and widen slightly, extending just past my wrist. There’s a brace strapped to my left arm for the dagger. I slide it into the sheath. With the loose fabric, it’s not even noticeable. I practice drawing the blade several times until I can do it without almost cutting my arm or slicing the dress.
I clasp the necklace, a simple, delicate chain accented with three rubies on the left trailing down from my collarbone. It looks like drops of blood. Tracing a finger over the slender piece, I scrunch my nose at it. Three rubies, three drops of blood… three marks.