The Vampire Debt

by Ali Winters

  I look down. If I fall, it will hurt like hell, but I don’t think it will kill me—at least I hope it won’t. My heart is a deafening beat in my ears.

  I cry out as the part I cling desperately to shifts again. Using every bit of strength I have, I reach up with my free hand and try to grab onto something more substantial.

  One second, I am hanging, suspended in the air, the next, there’s a loud crack, and I’m falling.

  I hit the ground, but it hardly registers as my head cracks against the stone.

  Stars explode across my vision as pain lances through my skull. I lay gasping for breath and wait for the agony to lessen. I roll to my side. The world moves in unsettling ways as though I’m on a small ship in the middle of a stormy sea.

  I turn my head and retch. Each violent movement causes another series of stabbing pain to roll over me.

  Eventually, I settle, lying on the cold stone ground.

  I don’t know how long I lie here, only that some time passes before I can gather myself and sit up without feeling sick from the pain.

  Somehow, I manage to get to my feet, though it takes a lot of effort. My entire body feels bruised and beaten.

  “Miss!” Elise’s voice cries out from the entryway, and I cringe at the shrillness of it. She hurries to me and grabs my arm to help steady me. “What happened, Miss?”

  “The railing broke when I was climbing up,” I say.

  “What were you doing up there? Those old stairs are rickety and dangerous,” she says, and I manage to hold the sharp reply on the tip of my tongue. “Come, Miss, let's get you somewhere I can get a look at you.”

  I don’t have the will to argue with her that I don’t need her to check me out. I only need to lie down.

  Once we make it across the manor to the stairs, I know I won’t be able to climb. So instead, Elise leads me to the drawing room.

  I lean back in the chaise lounge and sigh, glad to be off my feet. The fire crackles and dances in the hearth, and I let my eyes slide closed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Clara

  “I brought you tea, Miss. You had a close call,” Elise says as she enters the drawing room.

  My eyes snap open. I must have fallen asleep. With some effort, I manage to sit upright.

  I watch Elise pour the tea then add a single lump of sugar and a splash of cream. My muscles ache in this position, so I stand, feeling the need to test my body to see if there are any serious injuries.

  Moving around doesn’t feel as bad as I feared it would.

  “Drink up, Miss,” she says, holding the cup out to me.

  The tea's herbal scent is overpowering, and I honestly don’t think I can stomach much at the moment. However, I take a sip to be polite. I know Elise went to some effort, no matter how small, making it for me. Hitting my head must have affected me more than I realized because even the tea seems off. I go to set it down, but she frowns.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “Drink more, Miss. It will help you feel better, I promise. It’s Mrs. Westfield’s special blend,” she says sweetly. She flits around the room, straightening pillows on the chaise lounge and other menial tasks.

  I take a few more sips until I cannot stomach another drop.

  Elise watches me curiously. It makes me wonder how awful I must look right now. “You should finish—”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t right now… please give me a few moments.” I walk over to the large window and push aside the thick, heavy material of the curtain to rest my forehead against the cold glass panes and gaze out into the night.

  A wave of unsettling vertigo washes over me. My fingers curl into the thick velvet as I wait for the feeling to pass.

  Turning back to the room's interior, my vision wavers, and I press a clammy hand to my forehead. I blink several times, trying to clear the blur from my eyes. I’m feeling worse by the second, and it makes me glad I have nothing else in my stomach to purge.

  When the world manages to right itself once more. Elise remains standing in the same spot as before, her arms now crossed over her chest, and she’s watching with a strange intensity.

  “I promise, I will be fine,” I say, dismissing her, even though I don’t know if that’s true.

  “It would have been better if you’d finished your tea,” she says quietly.

  My head is swimming. Her face goes in and out of focus.

  “I think I need to sit down,” I murmur. Making my way back across the room, using the wall to steady me. “I’m not feeling well.” For the first time in so long, I feel entirely helpless. I’m desperate for some sense of safety and comfort. I wish—

  The thought is cut off, and my blood turns to ice as I watch the cold smile spread across her lips.

  Elise reaches toward the fireplace mantle. She grabs something and drags it along the top, making a horrible scratching sound against the wood.

  Firelight gleams off the night-forged silver blade. I swallow hard as my mouth goes dry.

  “What are you doing?” I rasp.

  She waves the dagger back and forth in her hand, testing the weight of it. “At first I thought you might be good for the Master. He has never taken part in the claiming, but when he arrived with you, I thought that maybe it would be easier for him, to have a meal on hand rather than having to deal with those annoying girls who want him for the status a mark brings.”

  She presses the tip of her first finger to the point of the blade, then lets out a soft hiss and sucks on the wound.

  I try to stand, but my muscles are sluggish and respond clumsily. I only make it halfway up before my legs give out on me, and I drop back down.

  “This is sharp,” she says almost absentmindedly before continuing. “But then,” Elise says, pacing before me, entirely unconcerned with my efforts. “The Master never marked you. He gave you everything and look at how you repay him.” She whirls to face me, pointing the dagger at my chest. “You try to kill him, and with Rosalie’s dagger at that.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grind out through clenched teeth.

  It all rushes back to me in a tidal wave. The looks she gave me, how she defended Alaric when I first arrived, her outbursts, and countless other instances that had seemed benign at the time.

  “I know he did everything for you, and you are ungrateful. Do you know how many women would die to be in your shoes? He deserves a loyal human, someone who will love him.”

  “It’s not what you think. He is not my enemy,” I say, trying to talk her from her plan to kill me. “We are friends.” I’m not sure how true that is, but it’s close enough.

  “Shut up!” she snaps, her cool demeanor slipping. “You don’t deserve to be claimed by him.”

  “And I suppose you do?” I say derisively. She’s no better than the other girls she looks down on—the ones who see the mark of a vampire as a symbol of status.

  “I have been serving him all my life. Since I was old enough to walk, my mother trained me to be his. I deserve to be claimed.”

  I don’t know a lot about injuries, but my gut is screaming that something is wrong. I should be feeling better by now, not progressively worse. My limbs tingle, becoming harder and harder to move, and my eyelids are heavy. I look from her to the half-drunk tea. Understanding dawns.

  “You drugged my tea,” I say. My words slur slightly.

  Breathe… breathe and focus.

  “Yes,” she says without the slightest hint of emotion, then goes back to playing with the dagger. It’s more than clear by now that she means to kill me. I have to keep her talking until whatever she gave me wears off.

  I close my eyes for a moment and will my body to regain control.

  “I have seen you,” she says. “Practicing with this.” She waves the dagger as if I wasn’t aware of what she meant. “While you lack technical ability, you do have more training than I do. I needed something to slow you down, so I can finally be rid of you.”

  One word st
icks out. “Finally?”

  “Yes,” she sighs dramatically and collapses in the chair across from me. “I had hoped that when you cut yourself, he would have fed on you until you were nothing but a dried-up corpse.”

  “And the atrium,” I say. I wriggle my fingers and toes as feeling starts to return to my muscles, small movements to avoid drawing her attention.

  “Yes, it was easy enough to borrow a tool from Mr. Steward. Though it was a gamble, you would even climb the stairs at all. Though I had hoped you’d climb to the top before falling.” Elise stands and stretches.

  “What have I done to you to make you want to kill me?” I ask, trying to sound as wounded as possible.

  I can feel my anger starting to boil over, but rather than spit out the venomous words on the tip of my tongue, I use them to burn away at the poison and clear my head.

  She lifts her chin and dons a haughty air. “You tried to kill the Master.”

  “I—”

  “You tried to kill him,” she says again, but this time there’s something wild and unpredictable about her. “And instead of getting rid of you like the trash you are, he gives you more special treatment.” Her voice cracks as her large blue eyes fill with tears. “I love him—you should have loved him, but you are ungrateful and undeserving.”

  In another life, another world… another situation, I could almost feel pity for her and the unrequited love she feels for Alaric. But not now, not when she is too cowardly to admit her feelings to him, to do anything she could have and instead take it out on someone who has no bearing on whom he loves.

  It’s the moment the first tear slides down her pale cheek that I know my time is up.

  “Why won’t you die already?” she practically screams the words at me.

  I take a deep breath and prepare myself.

  Her face adopts a wholly blank expression, and then she lunges for me.

  Chapter Thirty

  Clara

  Elise lunges for me, the dagger pointed out and away as her free hand aims for my neck. She would prefer to strangle me until my life leaves my body than deliver a quick death.

  I throw myself to the side, falling to the floor and rolling away. When I come to a stop, Elise’s face turns a bitter shade of red.

  This time when she throws her body at me, the dagger is pointed at my chest. I kick out, my foot striking her in the stomach. She lets out a groan and stumbles sideways.

  I scramble to my feet, my legs shaking. I have but a second to prepare myself for the next attack when she comes again. This time, I grab her wrists and pull them out to the side.

  The sharp edge of the blade drags against my forearm as she screams her frustration. Blood, hot and sticky, runs down my arm. I let out a hiss of pain. Elise flicks her wrist, again and again, slicing at my arm at the odd angle.

  More and more blood runs down my arm, and I feel the effect of further injury. I push her as hard as I can, stumbling back several steps to gain distance.

  I don’t get far before she is coming at me again, the dagger slicing the air. I retreat, holding my arms in front of me and blocking her from striking me in the face or chest. But with each swing of the weapon, a new slice forms across my skin. Again and again and again and again.

  Blood soaks my arms and sleeves, and each cut solicits another cry of pain from my lips. I can’t take much more.

  Desperate for a reprieve, I drop to a crouch and kick out my leg, swinging it toward hers, catching her ankle and knocking her to the floor.

  The dagger clatters on the hardwood floor, red staining the blade. I make to grab it, but she recovers too quickly, and the drink she gave me still lingers in my system, slowing my body but not my mind. With no hope of reaching it before her, I reach out and grab hold of her as her arms are outstretched.

  I pull myself over her and press my weight down. Elise manages to roll to her back, dagger in hand before I can get her arms pinned. For several long seconds, neither of us move.

  Then her eyes are wild and unseeing. She is once more fighting against me, screaming.

  “I love him, and you could not care less for him! You tried to hurt him… and still, he chose you!” She spits, and it hits the side of my face. “You deserve to die!” Her voice cracks, her pain a nearly tangible thing.

  Then she begins to weep. I don’t ease off, though she squirms and tries to get out from under my hold.

  We struggle for several more moments until she realizes she is unable to stab me. Elise drops the dagger and jerks on her wrists, made slick by my blood.

  She grabs hold of me now and digs her fingers into the wounds she has inflicted. My breath is sucked from my lungs, and I can’t move as the world spins. She takes advantage and throws me to the side.

  I heave, my stomach churning from the pain.

  Elise recovers the dagger and straddles me as I lay on my back. The drug in my system will be my undoing.

  Wrapping both hands over the hilt, she holds the dagger high in the air and thrusts downward. I reach up and wrap my hands around her wrists. The end of the blade hovers a few inches above my chest. She presses down harder, leaning her weight into it.

  My arms shake with the effort.

  I am losing.

  The drugs, combined with the blood loss, have weakened me. Spots gradually form before my eyes, and I know the end is coming. If I stopped fighting right now, that dagger would plunge into my chest, and it would be over.

  She is screaming, but the words have lost all meaning and have become guttural shrieks of pure rage.

  My grip on her arms is slipping, the dagger is inching closer and closer until the point presses down on my chest. I grit my teeth as it begins to pierce my skin. Little by little, it digs further in, crimson forming around the tip.

  A light brush of air swirls around the room then her weight on top of me is gone. The dagger is gone. My cry dies on my lips, and my arms fall limply to the floor. I suck in deep breaths.

  Elise cries out, a sound more of surprise than pain.

  My head lists to the side, my energy completely spent. Glittering pools of blood form under my arm. Lethargically, I lift my gaze to see a pair of men’s legs. I look up, up, up to Alaric standing over me, holding Elise by the arm, his eyes are locked on mine, taking in my state.

  The red ring that appears around his irises when he smells blood has swallowed the pools of blue entirely. His face distorts in a look of pure rage as he finally turns to her.

  Alaric slams her against the wall, his hand moving to her neck. “You dare to be so bold in my house?”

  She whimpers, her fingers clawing weakly at his hands.

  He will kill her. I’m sure of it.

  “You are only a servant, and yet you think you can take matters that affect me into your own hands,” he snarls, and even from here, I can see his long fangs as he speaks.

  “I did it for you…” she says, tears streaming down her face. The madwoman from only moments ago is gone and left in her place is a woman whose heart is breaking. “That bitch would have killed you.”

  Alaric’s eyes narrow. “Do you think me so weak as to be so easily killed?”

  “I-I did this for you.” Her arms fall limply to her side. “I love you.”

  “You will die for your transgressions.” He tilts her head to the side, exposing her neck. Her words go unheeded. He readies himself then sinks his fangs into her.

  “No,” I croak. I reach out for him, but I’m not close enough to stop him, and I’m too weak to get up. “Alaric…” He stiffens at the sound of his name. “Don’t kill her.”

  He turns to me, bemused. Blood leaks from two puncture wounds in Elise’s neck, but she doesn’t move, as if she’s waiting for him to continue.

  “Please… don’t kill her,” I say. I have every reason to not plead for her life, every reason to want him to end her. But I can’t lie here and watch this.

  His eyes narrow as if he’s questioning my sanity. Then to my surprise, he takes a step back
and releases her. Elise slumps to her hands and knees.

  “Go,” he says, baring his teeth at her. “If you ever return, I will not be so lenient.”

  A pitiful sob breaks from her lips as she stands. Elise takes one step toward Alaric, but he turns his back on her. She buries her fists in the folds of her skirt then hurries out of the door.

  Alaric is at my side in a blink. “Clara…” he says.

  He looks as if he has a million things to say but can’t put his thoughts into words. Alaric rips the sleeves of my shirt and wraps my arms to stanch the bleeding. The red that had swallowed up his irises has diminished to a thin ring.

  I smile up at him, and say, “I’m all right.”

  He laughs derisively.

  When he finishes with the makeshift bandages, he lifts me up into his arms and cradles me against his chest.

  I nearly fall asleep before we reach my room.

  My eyes fly open as he shifts me, my hands gripping onto his shirt. Alaric pauses his movements, giving me time to realize he’s only setting me into my bed.

  There’s a rapid fluttering, and Cherno appears on his shoulder, looking at me as if the animal can understand and assess the situation.

  Alaric sits on the edge of the mattress and takes one of my hands in both of his. I know he has questions, but I am in no state to answer, though he can piece it together well enough.

  He’s quiet for a long time, but I don’t mind. The feel of his fingers caressing my hand is relaxing, and I feel safe.

  “I’m sorry, we cannot heal this. The wounds were made with night-forged silver, which opposes our powers. It will take everything just to stop the bleeding so it can begin to heal.”

  I give him a weak smile. “Thank you.”

  “I had not meant to place you in harm’s way,” he says.

  “This isn’t your fault,” I say. There’s no way he could have known she would go that far or felt that way about him.

  He assists me as I push myself to sit up.

  “I am responsible for her actions—she was in my employ.” Then he lifts his gaze to meet my own, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “I promise, my dear Clara, if you are to die, then it will be at my hand and my hand alone.”