The Vampire Debt

by Ali Winters

His tongue grazes my lip, and I part willingly. I can’t get close enough to him. He tastes like brandy and something sweet. My fingers grip at the back of his shirt, and I try to pull him closer… closer… heat builds in my veins.

  The world slowly slips away, and there is only him and me, and this moment.

  When my fingers find their way to the buttons of his shirt, his movements slow. His hands snake down my arms until he’s gripping my wrists, and halting my actions.

  Then slowly, as if coming up for air, we part as if we were magnets drawn to each other but are being pulled apart by some outside force.

  Alaric backs up a step then reaches around me, picking up the book. His tongue darts across his bottom lip in a quick movement, drawing my attention to his mouth once more. For a second, I wonder if he’ll kiss me again, but as time ticks by, he doesn’t.

  “Goodnight, dear Clara,” he says gently. He dips his chin, then turns and leaves me alone in his study.

  I sink down to the floor, my weak knees no longer wanting to support my weight, and bite down hard on my bottom lip.

  When I finally manage to slow my racing heart, I reach into my pocket and pull out Kitty’s letter, thinking of home, and of Xander. His kisses were sweet but wholly unremarkable in comparison to Alaric’s.

  I should feel horrified, but I don’t.

  Closing my eyes, I take three deep breaths before opening them again. A real kiss can’t have this effect. I am more convinced than ever now that Alaric is using his powers over me. Not compelling me, but something in a similar vein.

  I am left feeling like I might be in trouble, far worse than I initially thought.

  Chapter Twenty

  Clara

  Pathetic. For the past three days I have been claiming to be ill to avoid Alaric.

  The sky is gray from horizon to horizon. The rain coming and going at regular intervals until it’s impossible to tell what time of day it is without finding a clock. Of which there are exactly zero in this room.

  The only way I’ve been able to know the time is when Mrs. Westfield or Elise stopped by with meals.

  I am going stir crazy confined to this small place. It is beginning to feel a lot like a beautifully decorated prison cell of my own making.

  Small… it’s absurd to consider my room to be small. But back home, I would never stay inside for long.

  I pause in my pacing before the window and stare unseeing out the window at the gray, cloud covered sky. I press my fingertips to my mouth.

  Demons and saints…

  I remember the moment the kiss went from hard and punishing to something much different. It had lasted longer than any of the previous times, and by the time one or both of us pulled away, he could have asked for anything in this world, I would have said yes.

  And that scares me to death.

  This must end. I know it must, even though my gut twists at the thought. And it is because of that that I know I will not be able to withstand the hold he has on me for much longer.

  Finally, having grown too restless to stay hidden any longer, I head into the bathing room to wash up.

  Once I am finished dressing, I make my way downstairs. The table in the dining room is set, but only for one person.

  Lydia is finishing up arranging the various china and items. I catch the scent of the food that normally triggers my appetite and find that, today, I have none.

  She lifts her head and takes me in, but rather than saying anything she turns and heads back into the kitchen. I sit in the usual spot and pour myself a cup of tea. I sip on it slowly, hoping it will ease my stomach. I hate to let the food go to waste after so many years of never having enough, but the thought of eating right now is unappealing.

  I push away from the table and stand just as Elise comes through the door.

  “I saw you,” she says, her words accusing.

  Gone is the timid girl who asked if she could speak frankly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Her golden eyebrows furrow in anger as she steps further into the room. “I saw you try to stab him the other night.”

  My throat tightens. I’m not sure what to say to that. This whole time I had assumed that none of the staff was aware of how Alaric and I interact.

  Elise looks hurt as if I personally assaulted her. I don’t know why, but I don't wish to share the details of my bargain with Alaric to her or anyone else.

  “That matter doesn’t concern you,” I say, then I stride away.

  The manor is quite possibly the largest structure I have ever set foot in, and yet today it feels confining. Having no desire to spend any more time in my rooms, I wander the halls until I end up at the foot of the stairs that lead to the third floor.

  My usual tactics have not worked to win my freedom. I need to rethink my strategy. I have no idea where to begin, and for this moment, I am too weary to practice or come up with a new plan.

  The library seems to call to me now. I have been here for several weeks and have been too preoccupied to spend any significant amount of time there. I could do with a little mental stimulation after the boredom I put myself through.

  A fire burns hot in the hearth, chasing away the chill that was present the last time I was here.

  I run my hands across the spines humming a tune Mother used to sing to us when we were little as I look for a title or three that catch my eye.

  “Are you tone-deaf, or is this a new kind of torture you intend to inflict upon me until I send you away?” Alaric asks.

  I whirl around, and Alaric is right behind me. My hand flies to my chest as my heart attempts to leap out of my skin. “Demons and saints, you startled me. It’s a nasty habit you’ve picked up.”

  Instinct has me reaching for the dagger I always keep at my side. Alaric’s eyes glint with mirth, and that is enough to still my hand. When I don’t immediately try to stab him, one of his brows raises in question.

  “Are you missing something?” he asks, a single dark brow arches.

  “No,” I say. I have so many thoughts whirling around in my mind I can’t decide which of them to say. I am too tired to play this game, or I am afraid of what one more failure will do to me, or a million other confessions. So, I say nothing.

  His eyes darken as if he can sense all of this and more.

  “Then I will leave you to it,” he says, and with a half bow, he turns to leave.

  I blink, fully expecting him to flirt or find some reason to touch me. I’ve grown so used to it that the absence of his touch feels strange.

  “Clara,” he says, stopping in the doorway, not quite looking in my direction. “If something is ailing you, I expect you to speak up.” And then he’s gone.

  I’m not sure what that was about. He couldn’t possibly be worried about me… could he? I told Mrs. Westfield that I was sick, so perhaps she told him.

  I already have enough things to mull over to last me a lifetime without adding to it.

  I continue my search for a book and eventually settle on a thick tome of fairytales. I settle into the window seat at the back of the library and open the book. The leather binding groans for being used for what I assume must be the first time.

  And then I get lost in new worlds I have never begun to imagine.

  Blinking open my eyes, I find that the gray has cleared and the remains of the sun’s rays are sinking below the horizon. I stretch and close the book, having fallen asleep at some point.

  It’s dark now, which means the servants have all left for the day. I wonder where they go… home to their families? There must be a small town nearby, within a short walking or riding distance.

  I push the blanket off my legs. One of the servants must have placed it on me when they came to fetch me for lunch or dinner.

  I find I have an appetite for food, but since the sun has set, the staff is gone, and I don’t want to help myself to whatever is in the kitchen. It feels a bit forward to go into their space and rummage around.

  Being listl
ess is unusual. But I find myself missing Kitty more and more as of late, made worse by the fact that I could see her soon if I only possessed the skill to do what was needed.

  At this rate, I will never earn my freedom.

  I close the door behind me and lean against it.

  My vision blurs. I tilt my head back, trying to blink away the emotions that have welded up unexpectedly. A hot tear escapes and runs down my cheek. I roughly wipe it away with the back of my hand.

  I reach back and struggle with the buttons of my dress until it’s undone and let it slide to the floor, then walk to where my nightdress is laid out for me over the foot of the bed and slide it over my head. The material reminds me of the white sacrifice like dresses the devoted wear for their vampires.

  I finger the thin material. It’s strange. Something like this should make me feel like one of them… but I don’t.

  I do not see vampires as gods as the devoted do, and I certainly don’t see Alaric that way. Though I don’t see him as just a vampire anymore.

  I might be a vampire, but I am still a man.

  He is more human than I expected. True, what I had expected, was for him to kill me or turn me into a mindless slave right away, and weeks later, I am still myself.

  Bleary-eyed and tired, I crawl into bed, ready to sleep. I am determined to resume training tomorrow.

  I pull the blanket up over me and snuggle into my pillow.

  Sharp pain lances through my hand and down my arm. Bolting upright, I withdraw my arm from under the pillow and stare down at the long gash running from the middle of my hand down the side of my arm. Red… so much red. Blood wells up, trailing along my skin and drips onto the sheets.

  I’m lightheaded as shock courses through me. With my uninjured hand, I lift the pillow and toss it away. Laying there, the edge lined with my blood is a shard of glass. I lift it, it’s not terribly large, but the damage could have been much worse.

  A violent shiver runs through me. I look back to my cut—blood drips on my sheets.

  I need to stop the bleeding.

  I walk to the bathroom, the blood leaving a morbid trail. It seems to be bleeding faster now. Inside the bathroom, I pause to look around for something to use as a bandage. The servants must have forgotten to replace the towels earlier.

  My legs feel week and cold envelops my entire body. I just want to sit for a minute and think.

  I look from the slice in my hand to the shard I hold in the other, unsure what to do.

  The door to the room swings open, hitting the wall with a hard crack.

  Alaric stands in the doorway, eyes blazing, the red ring is nearly glowing in the dim light, his fangs have extended, and there is anger in his expression. His chest heaves with labored breaths.

  This is bad. This is very, very bad.

  “I’m cut,” I say stupidly. Of course, he can see that. I drop the shard of glass. It cracks as it hits the white tile.

  He looks less human at this moment than I have ever seen him before. I think now might be the moment he finally kills me—bargain or no bargain.

  “Clara, what have you done?” he demands, crouching before me.

  I flinch, expecting him to lose himself at the sight and smell of blood, but he doesn’t.

  “I don’t…” I look from him back to my hand. There is so much blood on the floor. I don’t think it’s right. “I went to bed, and there was glass…”

  Alaric’s hands tightly grip my shoulders, almost painfully. “I will not let you take the easy way out of our agreements. If you die, then it will be by my hand and my hand alone.”

  He grips my elbow and pulls my injured arm forward to examine it, and I swear that the red in his eye threatens to swallow up every last bit of blue. Then without warning, he grips the hem of my nightgown and rips. I gasp at the violence of the motion, but his hands move deftly, wrapping the strip of cloth to stanch the bleeding.

  I shake my head. Does he think I did this on purpose? My tongue darts out between my lips as I try to form words to explain what happened, but he picks up the piece of glass and stands before I get a chance to and says, “Do not move.”

  Then he leaves the room. I have to blink several times. My eyes are playing tricks on me because there is no way anyone can move that fast.

  I hold my breath for a long moment, watching the blood seep through the white, darkening it, spreading… spreading… spreading. When my lungs ache, I release my breath.

  “Clara,” he says my name, kneeling before me and setting a small black doctor's bag at his side. I scoot back, but he grabs hold of me, keeping me from retreating. “Be still,” he orders.

  He releases my arm only to lift my hand to unwrap the makeshift bandage. Alaric’s fingers caress my wrist. I want to jerk away. He is helping me, but it feels too intimate.

  Instead, I turn my head and gaze at a small spot on the tile while he works. There’s pressure and the occasional sting as he takes care of it.

  While he works, he mumbles something about it not being too deep. Already it feels better, but I can’t tell him that.

  His fingers are still for a moment, and when he doesn’t continue, I look at my hand, wrapped from palm to the middle of my arm, holding my hand with both of his, staring at it.

  “Thank you,” I say when he still doesn’t move or speak.

  He looks at me, and I tug on my hand. Reluctantly, he releases me, only to lean forward until he hovers over me. My gaze flicks to his mouth, and I think he might kiss me until I see the look in his eyes—dark, and distant, and not a single spot of red.

  He picks me up and carries me into the main room, setting me on a chair while he changes the sheets, then lays me on the bed. Once more, he hovers, his gaze focused on my injury.

  “Am I so terrible to be around that you would prefer this?” he asks.

  My mind is still fuzzy.

  “I—” I start then cut off, not sure how to answer.

  “You need to sleep more now,” he says.

  I try to speak again but Alaric straightens his back and pulls a white handkerchief from his pocket, then begins scooping up what is left of a glass vase scattered over the night table. When had I managed to knock that over? I must have been far more tired than I realized if I broke it without noticing.I don’t even remember seeing it at all.

  Then he leaves without so much as another word. The door closes softly behind him, and I am left feeling strange and melancholy.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Alaric

  I wish to go to her, but after what she attempted last night, I don’t think I can bear to look at her. There is something about what she did last night that haunts me, though I cannot put the feeling to words in an accurate way.

  So far, she has not sought me out as usual. Though if she did, I am not sure what I would say.

  Pulling back from the woman whose name I don’t know, nor care to learn, I wipe away the drop of blood at the corner of my mouth.

  “Go, and do not return,” I say, infusing power into my voice, compelling her to obey.

  She straightens and turns to leave, walking out of the atrium's glass doors to the carriage waiting to take her back home. Once she has departed, I sit on a stone bench next to the water's raised pool in the middle of the room.

  Roses grow all around, their petals beginning to close as the sun continues to lower. The sweet heady perfume of them is almost cloying. The warm light seeps in through all sides of the glass room, making the bronze arches that meet in the center of the domed ceiling glitter like gold.

  Cherno flies into the room and hovers before me. “You must mark her.”

  “She despises my very being to the extent that she would rather die than suffer my presence.”

  Cherno flutters their wings, flying around me in nonsensical patterns. “Do you wish her to like you?”

  “No,” I say, perhaps a little too quickly. I want Clara, but that is not the same as wanting her affections. Most importantly, there is the reason
I brought her here in the first place. “I want her to pay for what she has done.”

  A loud squeak fills the air as Cherno swoops and dives. The little beast is laughing.

  “I’m glad one of us finds this amusing,” I say dryly.

  “Strange,” they say, landing on the brick ledge of the pool. “You say you want her to pay, but her punishment is a kiss. Are you saying a kiss from you is punishment?”

  “Silence, you little demon,” I snap. I don’t know why I allow this demon the freedom they have. No other vampire would tolerate such obstinance. “She cannot stand me any more than I can stand her. The kiss was never supposed to happen. It was intended to deter her from trying to kill me at all.”

  “You could always refuse to follow through.”

  “I could,” I say. “But then she’ll know the threat isn’t real, and I’d have to watch out for her attempts on my life even in my sleep.” I shake my head. “No, this is the most effective way.”

  I rest my forearms on my knees and slump my shoulders, letting my head hang. She was never supposed to try… And now I am more certain than ever I'd be unable to kill her. I should let her go. There is no longer a reason to keep her here, the misery it causes her brings me no joy.

  But pride and anger for the loss of Rosalie keeps me from freeing her yet. And I am left not sure what to do with Clara.

  Cherno takes to the air and says, “Kill her or mark her, Alaric, you cannot have it any other way. You might have avoided the claiming in the past, but you know how this works.”

  Then Cherno flies away.

  In the quiet, my thoughts grow loud. I scrub my face with my hands. In my attempt to punish a murderess, I have unwittingly set myself up for a punishment of my own.

  I make my way through the halls toward the third floor. I need to forget if only for a night.

  It isn’t until I am rounding the corner to climb the stairs that I hear the softest footfalls. Reaching out, I grab Clara’s wrist, preventing her from skewering me with Rosalie’s dagger. The point of the blade rests against the material of my vest but does not pierce it.