The Dark Heroine: Dinner with a Vampire

by Abigail Gibbs

  Gritting my teeth I lifted my eyes and found Kaspar, who slowed and stared at me, a thousand unreadable emotions written in his face – but horror was uppermost, evident and distinguishable.

  ‘I said don’t look!’ the same cold voice said as a hand met my cheek. I winced, but kept quiet, as blood, alongside tears, trickled down my cheeks. I tasted it on my lips and grimaced.

  As the hand lifted once again, Kaspar broke free from the crowd and surged forward, only to be grabbed by his older brothers and Ashton, who lugged him back, their voices vying to be the loudest as each shouted, grunting as they fought one another.

  ‘It’s a wondrous thing knowing you will die at the hands of a man so adamant to fight for you now, is it not, Lady Heroine?’ a voice hissed beside my ear. I shuddered. Twisting my neck I came face to face with Valerian Crimson, kneeling, one hand clawing my wrist, the other holding the knife to my neck. Restraining my right arm was the other vampire.

  ‘You knew,’ I spat, droplets of blood pooling between the gravel.

  He chuckled. ‘Oh, I have known you were a Heroine all along. You see, my dear son Ilta was gifted with foresight, much like Eaglen. But instead of being a bumbling fool, he took action.’ He tightened his grip around my wrist as Kaspar continued to struggle. ‘You see, a human should not be bestowed with such a title as Heroine. You have no right to it. Unfortunately though, his plan was fooled by his own desire for you, and your pretty Prince saving you over there. But I think it’s rather apt that he will finish what Ilta started, don’t you?’

  I scowled. ‘You’re sick,’ I muttered.

  ‘Now, now,’ he chided, with false politeness. ‘I was just about to compliment you on how well-guarded your mind is: for us not to find out about your father’s little secret all this time is a clever trick.’ His voice lowered and out of the corner of my eye I could see him smiling. ‘But you were betrayed. Somebody sent a note.’

  He pointed to the King as he raised his hand, silence gradually falling. Clutched in-between his fingers I could see a tiny slip of paper.

  Valerian laughed.

  ‘Open your mouth about being a Heroine and I’ll slit your throat. Do you understand, My Lady?’ As if to prove he would do it, he pressed the blade right up against my flesh and I flinched away, believing him.

  Silence fell and I let my gaze rest on the gravel, not daring to meet Kaspar’s eyes because I knew what the King would say next.

  He opened his mouth, his voice a harsh whisper. ‘She deceived us. It was her. Her father ordered my wife’s death. And she knew. She knew all along.’

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Violet

  Spots of blood were still appearing on the gravel.

  I closed my eyes and let my head droop forwards. The pain was easing in my arms, forced behind my back, but only because they were going dead. The knife pressed under my chin seemed warmer and I could see a lonely droplet of sweat – my sweat – trailing down its length and pausing momentarily at its tip as a perfect teardrop, like rain on a leaf waiting to fall. But it could not hang so precariously off such an edge for long and after a second it fell, mixing into the tarn of blood.

  I was too scared to look up. I didn’t want to see Kaspar’s face.

  ‘Do you deny it?’ the King barked against a refrain of murderous words whispered by the council and the servants; but not the family. They remained deadly silent.

  The blade of the knife pressed against my neck and so with the sort of guilt impossible to hide on my face I raised my gaze, then my eyes, and shook my head.

  ‘No?’ the King croaked. ‘No? You lie to me and my Kingdom for so long and yet you do not deny it?’

  I paid little attention to him. Instead, my gaze had become transfixed on one person: Kaspar. On his eyes. Black. But not just black. Glistening. The tears that were trickling down my cheeks were matched on his.

  He’s crying.

  My lips parted and closed again as I gulped. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mouthed. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The wind nestled in his hair as pride raised his chin slightly and exposed his neck, pulling taught the skin across his throat. His eyes stared into the sky and I followed his gaze to where two crows were circling, dipping and diving amongst one another, opening their beaks and shrieking.

  I brought my eyes back down to him and in one blink, he had averted his gaze. He made no effort to wipe the tears away and I saw them plummet, falling and fracturing into tiny droplets on the stone steps. Slowly, they dried on his pale cheeks until they became nothing.

  He did not turn back and with that, my tears fell uncontrolled; not withheld, not restrained but free to fall: not for my father’s sin, not for myself, but for him.

  ‘Do not look at my son,’ the King murmured, even the quietest of whispers audible in the still air – the chants had eased to a murmur at the King’s words. ‘Do not look at him.’

  I spat blood onto the ground as Valerian pushed on the back of my neck and I was made to stare at the gravel at my knees. Fear, real fear, was beginning to rise again as the murmur of chants became a babble and the babble a chorus. But that was nothing compared to the sound my shattering heart made.

  With the little lustre I could manage, I spoke. ‘Then who would you have me look at?’

  There was no reply and Crimson grabbed a large chunk of my hair and wrenched my head back, straining my skin against my exposed throat not with pride, but with humility. I thrashed in his strong grip, fighting as he reached around and pulled the Queen’s locket from my breast, holding me still long enough to undo the clasp. He reached down and pulled the pendant from beneath my shirt. The locket fell away. The skin it had rested upon seared, naked without the cold metal resting upon it. I struggled, but the grip around me tightened and slowly I stilled, recognizing the hopelessness of fighting. Valerian was a thousand times stronger than I was and half the bloodthirsty court stood in front of me; if I tried to speak up the knife would be driven through my neck.

  How can you prepare to die on a perfect Autumnal morning?

  Yet surviving did not seem so appealing either. I was tied to a man who could not even watch me die. A man who will let me die.

  I let my eyes fall on Kaspar’s back before raising them to the sky. Just before I closed them I saw the blurs of the two crows, continuously circling, around and around.

  ‘We won’t hurt you, you know.’

  The bloodbath would not end here. They would kill my father; his junior ministers; anyone that was associated with him and I didn’t want to think about what they would do to my mother and Lily.

  I couldn’t help them. I couldn’t warn them. In my mind I began praying to anyone or anything that would listen.

  ‘You do not need to do this, Vladimir. The girl has done nothing wrong.’

  My eyes flung open and rested upon Eaglen. The crowd recoiled and I did the same, staring at his wizened hair and wrinkled hands, hardly daring to believe that I had heard correctly.

  The King hissed.

  It must have been coherent to Eaglen’s ears, because he chuckled with mild amusement. ‘No, you do not. You are blinded by anger and it is preventing you from understanding the irrationality of your actions.’

  The King pushed through the crowd. His face was twisted with menace and he bared his fangs, sneering. ‘Stand aside, Eaglen.’

  I stared, frightened for the old man, wise but frail. I didn’t need anyone else to die for my father’s actions, least of all somebody who – although I did not know why – was defending me.

  ‘No.’

  The King seemed taken aback, as did the crowd – a steady stream of whispers flowed from the steps.

  ‘You do not need to die for a scum of a human,’ he spat.

  Eaglen chuckled again and adjusted the cloak around his shoulders, impervious to the King’s foreboding glare. ‘I am an old man, Vladimir. Death does not scare me; I will die a martyr if you insist upon it.’

  The taunting wit in his voice was clear and it onl
y served to anger the King even further. He gestured behind him and hesitantly, Ashton and another vampire came forward. They lingered behind the King, seeming reluctant to get too close to Eaglen.

  ‘I command you as your King, and beg you as your friend, to stand aside.’

  The King’s expression softened but hardened again as Eaglen closed his eyes, sighed softly and bowed his head.

  ‘I like to think I have been a loyal and faithful subject and mentor for each and every one of your many, many years walking this earth, but alas, this day, I cannot be.’

  The King raised his hand and with two fingers, gestured first towards Eaglen and then to me, as he nodded curtly to Valerian. My eyes widened and realizing this was it, began to fight, managing to struggle to my feet within Valerian’s grip. He cursed, releasing my arms but wrapping one of his own around my middle. His other reached up, clasping the knife in his hand as he fought to reach my neck, my fingers scrabbling at his wrist and the knife, whatever I could get a hold of, leaving searing slashes across my skin. But the other vampire surged forward and together with Ashton, pinned my arms to my side. Valerian pulled me back to his chest and pressed the knife into the skin below my jaw. In desperation, I reached down and bit down, hard, on his fingers.

  ‘You little whore!’ he cried, dropping the knife. But instead of going to pick it up, he wrapped his free hand around my waist as Ashton brushed the hair from my neck. Blood, sweat and tears trailed down, following the curve of my skin; with complete disgust I tried to recoil from Valerian as his tongue darted out, lapping up each drop, hungry for the river he would find below my skin.

  Vaguely, I heard the sound of Eaglen’s voice, calm demeanour gone and replaced with an urgent plea. ‘Carmen died for her, Vladimir! Your wife died so that one day, your son would meet Violet Lee. If you kill the girl, your wife will have died in vain. Hear sense!’

  But the King did not even acknowledge Eaglen’s begging as he was pulled aside, others moving forward to help restrain him. The King nodded in approval, and then turned back to me.

  ‘Any last words, Violet Lee?’

  I could barely see through my tears and I was too frightened to even swallow, let alone speak under Valerian’s eager fangs. But I stared at Kaspar until he turned my way and I could lock eyes with him.

  ‘Fuck the day I first met you. Fuck you and everything you have done to me. I hate—’

  I couldn’t finish as my voice broke and I was reduced to sobbing, fighting and muttering prayers for mercy. I had expected my terror to abate at my words, or my heart to stop shattering over and over, but it didn’t. It just made it worse. Guilt washed through me and all I could think about was dying with Kaspar thinking I regretted the past four months. Because I don’t. God, I don’t.

  Neither do I, my voice murmured.

  I raised my eyes and tried to scream the truth through my sobs but all I saw was Kaspar weaving through the crowds towards the doors, his head turned firmly away. I shut my mouth and stilled as Eaglen began a fresh wave of protests.

  ‘For the sake of your Kingdom, Vladimir, listen! She’s the Dark—’

  He stopped and stared behind me. I was able to focus long enough on his face to register a brief look of relief before suddenly, my feet had left the ground and I was wrenched from the grip of Valerian, Ashton and the other vampire into another’s arms. I screamed as I was pulled backwards, half on my feet and half-dragged away from the King.

  Just as abruptly I was dropped as we reached the grass. Whoever held me pulled me fully to my feet and I flung around, ready to struggle or run if I needed to. But to my astonishment, it was Arabella who clung onto me. Her eyes were as wide and astonished as mine as her gaze flitted from Sky to her father to the King and she turned back to me, looking shocked. I felt her gaze linger on the cuts littered over my neck and hands.

  ‘Are you seriously hurt?’ were the first words from her mouth as her eyes scanned my body. I shook my head but even if I had been hurt, I wouldn’t have acknowledged it because I was staring in the direction of the King: pointing directly at his throat was a sword.

  ‘King Vladimir Varn, I am required to inform you that under the Terra Treaties Act of 1812, the harming of Miss Violet Lee, henceforth known as the Lady Heroine, is an offence punishable by immediate execution, without trial.’

  A gasp as loud as a howling wind spread through the crowd and many dropped to their knees as Sage appeared from nowhere, right sides encased in vibrant scars, swords in some of their hands, magic in others. They grabbed the guards and freed Eaglen, who dashed to Arabella’s side. Daggers appeared at the throats of the Varns and Kaspar was marshalled towards his family.

  Valerian was dragged back and pushed to the gravel, magic circling around his wrists as restraints and a sword pointing at his chest, held by a girl. She looked a few years older than I was; her scars a deep burgundy red and startlingly similar to Fallon’s. She glanced up as I stared and nodded in my direction.

  The speaker – Canadian, judging by his accent – held the sword to the King’s neck, waiting silently for a response. The King, however, didn’t seem capable of speaking as he looked wordlessly from the man in front of him, to me, just as shocked as everybody else.

  ‘Her?’ was all he managed.

  The man nodded. He waved his hand and a large rolled up sheet of parchment appeared in his hand, sealed with wax and a deep red ribbon. ‘Confirmation of the removal of the Lady Heroine from the protection of King and Crown in the second dimension, to be replaced with the protection of King Ll’iriad Alya Athenea.’ He handed it to the King who snatched it from his hands and ripped the seal open.

  His eyes scanned the paper. ‘Does your father no longer have any respect for the power I wield within my own Kingdom, Henry?’

  The man took the roll back into his hands and lowered his sword. ‘I believe I speak on behalf of the Sagean people when I say we have no respect for a man who would murder an innocent girl for the crimes of her father.’

  The King said nothing and the man – Henry – sheathed his sword. ‘Do you accept the terms?’

  The King raised his head with an air of pride, but it seemed hollow at his next words. ‘I have no choice.’

  Henry nodded and with a wave of his hand, the Sagean girl lowered her sword from Valerian’s chest and the gleaming restraints around his hands disappeared. He shot her a filthy look, but said nothing as he darted back to the crowd.

  ‘I suggest you wait for the remainder of your court to arrive and hold a council meeting this evening. There is much to discuss,’ Henry said and with that, turned and walked towards us. The girl joined him and slowly, the other Sage backed away from the vampires, but not by very far. None of the vampires moved.

  I stood, rooted to the spot and not really sure of what had just happened. As they neared, they both dropped into full court bows.

  ‘My Lady,’ they said and I stared, flushing as they both rose and took a further few steps forward. From here I could see that the man had scars of a similar colour to the girl’s – deep red and brown – and that both their eyes were the same brilliant blue.

  ‘I-it’s just Violet,’ I choked, unsure of how to react, stealing glances at where the Varns stood. The man nodded.

  ‘Henry,’ he said. ‘I’m Fallon’s older brother. And my sister, Joanna.’

  He gestured to the girl and I realized that they must be a Prince and Princess of Athenea. I didn’t pay them any more attention as I locked eyes with Kaspar. I stared at him. He stared back, until he turned on his heel and disappeared inside.

  As my vision began to blur I could just see Henry whipping about to follow my gaze before he darted forward to catch me as my knees buckled. I felt myself sink and I could sense the cool dampness of the grass soaking into my shirt.

  I knew I was becoming unconscious and the last thing I registered before I retreated into my mind was a voice.

  ‘No, Henry, leave her. Too much has happened for her mind to cope with. Leav
e her …’

  Wherever I was felt oddly familiar. I knew the feel of the rug beneath my feet, plush but worn beside the door and beneath the bedposts. I knew the wood of the walls. The smell. The way the light loitered around the French doors.

  I dropped down onto Kaspar’s bed and threw myself back, utterly convinced I was dreaming – I was too calm to be awake.

  Everything was so clear now – the course of my life, before a puzzle, had slotted together to make a straight line; one that led to here; now; the beginning of my life as a Heroine.

  Greg, an innocent, had died and I had turned to Joel. Joel had cheated and I had turned to clubbing every weekend, and that had pulled my line right across Kaspar’s. The Queen had died so he would kill Claude Pierre and create the Bloodbath. And at that moment, the two lengths of string we both trod knotted and we became tied.

  ‘But now he hates me,’ I whispered to the stillness.

  ‘My son does not hate you. I highly doubt he is capable of it,’ said a voice, eloquent and undoubtedly belonging to a woman.

  I sat bolt upright and stumbled up from my bed – which wasn’t even my bed anymore – and back-pedalled into the wall. I hit the wood panelling and stared dead ahead, a breeze stirring the black voiles around the French doors, open to reveal the balcony outside.

  Stood in front of the mantle was a woman, dressed in a long emerald dress which clung to her waist, cinched by the bones of the bodice. Her wavy brown hair clung to the curvatures of her neck and breast, long enough to reach her hips. She was smiling in my direction, revealing the tips of two small fangs. Although a woman past the years of youth, she was beautiful – most stunning of all were her eyes, which were a bright, vivid shade of emerald.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ I spluttered, bobbing into a curtsy.

  Her lips came together and the corners of her mouth upturned, her eyes seeming to sparkle with the same amused half-smirk, half-smile I had seen Kaspar use on so many occasions. Her head bowed and she gathered the sides of her skirt, dropping into a low curtsy. ‘You have no need to bow to me, Lady Heroine.’