by Ali Winters
“You are curious, little human,” he says then waits as if expecting me to ask him to continue.
I press my lips into a tight line but raise a single eyebrow.
Apparently, that is all the prompting he needs. “What is it you want?”
“What do you mean?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“I mean. If you could go anywhere, be anywhere without obligation, where would you choose?”
“At home, taking care of my sister.” It’s an easy enough question. I would always choose her—she needs me.
Lawrence tsks and wags a finger. “I said without obligation. Where would you go if no one wanted or needed you or decided for you?”
His question stings in a way I wouldn’t have expected. I open my mouth. Close it. Finally, I say, “I don’t know.”
Lawrence stands, and in a blink, he rounds the table to stand next to me. Another quick movement and he has my chair turned to face him. He leans forward, looking down his nose.
I swallow my heart back down.
He reaches up and brushes my hair back from my shoulder. “Strange though, how you don’t have a bite mark on you where our dear Alaric had his mouth all over you during your little joy ride around the field yesterday.”
My hand clamps down over the side of my neck. The memory of Alaric’s mouth on my skin comes back. Stinging heat works its way up to my face. “That’s… he didn’t… he didn’t bite me then. That’s—” I stop talking, not sure what I am even trying to say.
A pleased smile stretches across his face as he straightens. “I suppose,” he says, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “There are far more… delicious places to bite.”
My mouth parts to deny I have been bitten at all, but he is already walking away. Which is good, because I almost said far more than I should. Not even a day, and I’m already putting our plan in jeopardy. And somehow, we are supposed to do this for two months?
Just as he’s leaving through the open door, Alaric enters. They exchange a brief greeting. I turn away as Alaric’s eyes drift to me. My cheeks still burn from my exchange with Lawrence.
I focus on Cherno as if that would make both vampires disappear. Alaric’s reflection is mirrored in the demon’s large eyes as he approaches.
Both Cherno and the rat move to my discarded plate and begin picking at the food.
“I need to speak with you,” he says, his words clipped.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek and raise my chin to look him in the eye.
His expression is unreadable. Knots form in my stomach. Had I failed last night? Lawrence’s visit a moment ago was proof enough of that. I drank too much. I was careless.
The worst thing is that I have no idea what kind of punishment I will have to face.
Alaric holds out his hand to me. I slip mine into his and a sense of foreboding twists at my heart as his long fingers wrap around my hand.
Chapter Seven
Alaric
“Are you all right, Clara?”
Clara’s flushed cheeks, the way she avoids meeting my gaze, and the demon shit eating grin on Lawrence's face sparks my suspicion.
“I was just leaving,” he says lazily. The scent of blood lingers on his breath, and I look again to Clara.
A low growl rumbles in my throat. Lawrence holds his hands up in surrender as he backs away.
I approach Clara cautiously. Everything about her posture says she is ready to bolt.
“I need to speak to you,” I say.
If Lawrence has so much as laid a finger on her, I will make him regret it.
I offer my hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Clara looks up at me then slips hers into mine. I lead her from the dining room and down the hall toward the music room.
She keeps her head straight forward, chewing on her bottom lip, a movement that draws my eye.
I take her wrist and stop her. She avoids looking at me.
“Did something happen?” I ask. “Did he touch or threaten you?”
She shakes her head, though the color staining her cheeks deepens.
“If that were true, then why won’t you look at me?”
Silence.
“Clara, tell me. What happened?”
She purses her lips and finally meets my gaze. Her cheeks redden further. Her gaze wavers until she looks away. “He implied that you bit me… elsewhere.”
That had not been the answer I’d expected. The tightness in my chest that had formed vanishes.
I want to pry more words from her lips, but she still seems uncomfortable. I let it go, content in knowing Lawrence hadn’t laid a fang on her or threatened her.
“Why didn’t you tell me how to act? What to do? How to talk to them—if I should talk at all?” Clara asks a barrage of questions.
Holding back a laugh, I clasp her shoulders. “Because I wanted you to be yourself. You knew the important parts of what you must do. No one would believe I claimed some timid girl who fawns over any vampire that comes near. You are strong and fearless—and even a little bit reckless. There is a fire in you, and I wanted them to see that.”
Clara inhales sharply and holds her breath several heartbeats as she contemplates my words.
“Oh,” she breathes.
We resume walking, and I reach into my breast pocket and pull out the invitation then hand it to her. She takes it, hopelessly attempting to smooth out the wrinkled edges before reading it.
“We have been invited to the winter Solstice Masquerade at Nightwich in just under two months,” I say.
She remains silent and passes the invitation back when she's finished.
“Where are we going?” she asks when she raises her head to look around.
“To the music room, so I can teach you to dance.”
Clara scrunches her nose. “Teach me to dance? Why?”
“To prepare you for the masquerade.”
I look at Clara, with her head held high, her sights trained straight ahead. She presses her mouth into a thin line.
I fight the smile threatening to form. That expression hasn’t left Clara's face since I found her in the dining room. Did Lawrence’s words affect her that much?
My smile slips and my amusement fades. The masquerade is only two months away. It's longer than Clara has been here, but it is not as long as we need.
I don’t know if I can keep her safe. There is only so much that even I can do.
Clara stops walking at the threshold of the room. She takes it in, her brows pinching.
I make my way to the phonograph and turn it on. Soft music flows and crackles through the funnel.
“I don’t understand,” she says.
I only hold out my hand, beckoning her. She doesn’t hesitate—which is unusual. She is always absorbing information and questioning everything before acting.
“How can we dance here? Won’t the furniture get in the way?”
I hold back a laugh. “Normally, yes, but I assume you have no prior experience with dancing at formal parties?”
She glares, folding her arms over her chest.
“That is not an insult, my dear Clara.”
“You saw how I lived… we both know there are no parties for people like me.”
“We will start from the beginning, but you need to practice moving about while paying attention to your surroundings. We have much to cover and too little time.”
She slips her hand into my outstretched one. Uncertainty is written across her face.
I place her other hand on my shoulder and mine on her waist, pulling her close.
Catching the rhythm of the music, I take one step, then on the second step, Clara runs into my chest.
“Let me guide you,” I say.
She huffs and drops her chin to watch our feet. A few more steps into the dance, and she is trying to lead me. I barely suppress another laugh.
“It’s no use, I was not made for this sort of thing.”
Removing my hand from her waist, I take her chin betwee
n my thumb and forefinger and lift her head. Her eyes go no further than my throat, her frustration with herself is apparent.
“You are doing fine, Clara. We have only been at this for a few minutes.” I release her and reposition our hands. “Follow me—don’t try to lead and keep your chin up.”
Clara blows out a breath and finally meets my gaze.
For a third time, we begin. She steps on my feet several times before catching the rhythm.
The song ends, but our dance continues.
It feels strange, the two of us touching in such a mundane way… and her not attempting to stab me for once. She moves against me, and I am tempted to ask her again to accept my mark. Desire stirs, and if I mark her, my hunger for her will grow with each bite.
When she clears her throat, I release her and walk over to the phonograph to restart the music.
“Again,” I say.
Wordlessly, and dutifully, Clara repositions herself. Her gaze flicks to the back of the room and I wonder if she’s remembering the last time we were in here together a few nights ago. Her fingers flex against my hand, and her cheeks flush as she straightens her head, her eyes remain locked on my cravat. I can’t help the smile that tugs on my mouth.
The feel of her skin beneath my palms, the taste of her lips. That is a moment I wouldn’t mind revisiting.
She had wanted more that night. We both had. There is an attraction we share for each other. The mark would only heighten whatever she feels toward me—whether it is desire or hate. But if it is desire… I’m not sure I could resist.
“You are doing better,” I say. Though the tilt of her brows says, she doesn’t believe me.
We manage to make it through an entire song, and not once does she turn away or avert her eyes. The moment is more intimate than any kiss we have shared or any touch.
We slow to a stop along with the music, but neither of us pulls away.
Uncertainty fills her features, replacing the determination and focus she had as we moved together.
Can this really be the woman I hunted down? The murderer I claimed, intending to make her pay for taking Rosalie’s life. Because Clara is a killer… the reason my heart has been rent in two.
And here I am, dancing with her, trying to protect her.
I grieve for Rosalie, and yet part of me wants the woman before me. I am doing everything I can to honor the fact that Clara would rather die than bear my mark. And I am risking everything for her.
My heart is a twisted thing. This is a sick joke played on me by the powers of the Otherworld. I should want to kill her. Instead, everything about her calls to me, and I am powerless to fight it.
She killed my only reason for living… but she has also told me why. A vampire had already claimed and murdered her mother. She only wanted to protect her sister from the threat she had been raised to see us as.
I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t have done the same for Rosalie.
Clara’s mouth opens then closes. Her tongue darts out between her lips, then she swallows. The movement of her delicate throat catches my eye.
“I…,” she starts.
As if choreographed, I cup her face with both hands, sliding my fingers into her hair as she pushes up onto her toes. I lean down, guiding her closer. We have kissed countless times before, but this is something different.
Clara’s eyes slide shut, and she sighs, her warm breath brushes my lips.
“Pardon me, Master, but a letter has just arrived for the Miss,” Mrs. Westfield says.
Clara pulls back as if she were caught doing something she ought not to do and expects to be punished.
I release her and retrieve the letter from the head housekeeper. She bows her head then takes her leave. I return to Clara and hand her the envelope.
She stares at it for a long moment, then her eyes brighten. Clara sits on the nearest sofa and crosses her legs then rips open the letter. Her eyes scan the words on the pages, then again, a second time, slower.
Clara places the letter in her lap and looks up, eyes glazed.
“What is it?” I ask. Tendrils of dread work their way through my bones.
“Kitty… she,” Clara pauses, looking at her letter again. “She’s getting married in a month.”
“There you are,” Lawrence says, striding into the room.
If only I could send the lot of them away. They offer nothing but inconvenience and bad timing.
“Clara,” I say, keeping my eyes locked on Lawrence. “Why don’t you finish reading your letter in your rooms? I will come to see you later.”
She uncurls from the couch and stands, too wrapped up in the news she received to pay any attention to how the mood has shifted.
Clara trails a hand down my arm as she passes but doesn’t look up. To my amusement, she doesn’t even acknowledge Lawrence’s presence.
He watches Clara until she is gone. Then he is at my side, his expression of intrigue and humor replaced with stony seriousness.
“What are you doing with her?” he hisses.
I raise a single brow. “Teaching her to dance.”
Lawrence throws his hands up and paces. “Demon shit, you know what I mean.”
I walk around him and turn off the phonograph.
“She is still unmarked,” he says quietly. “You haven’t even started the process. She barely has your scent on her and only because you touch her. Any vampire that comes within a foot of her will know.”
I keep my back to him. This again. He’s done nothing but hound me since the moment he arrived.
I look down at my hands and flex my fingers. The feel of her touch still lingers.
“You must mark her before the ball. I don’t care if she agrees or not—unless you’d rather see her ripped to shreds and feasted on.”
“No,” I snarl, rounding on him. My voice echoes off the walls, filling the room.
“Then mark her, even if you have to compel her into agreeing. Fuck, I will compel her myself if I must so you can keep your hands clean.”
His offer is tempting but pointless. I would have compelled her myself if the thought of doing that to anyone didn’t disgust me.
“That will not be necessary,” I say.
And now it truly won’t. Clara will not need my mark.
“I will not be able to keep this a secret from Elizabeth. You know that. She would have my head on a pike if I even tried.”
“I know.”
“Then, you’ll do it?”
“I will make sure that Clara is taken care of,” I say.
It is not a lie. I have every intention of making sure she is safe long before I must leave for Nightwich. It will be tricky, but it will work.
There is no other choice.
Chapter Eight
Clara
Kitty is engaged to a young man named Abraham Morgan. It’s a good, strong name, and he comes from a good family.
I’m stunned and so happy for her. I don’t know how she managed to secure the engagement. Perhaps they fell in love and his family overlooked the meager dowry I'd managed to save.
I clutch the letter to my chest and hurry down the hall. I want to write back and congratulate her.
I come up short as I go to round the corner that will lead to my rooms when I nearly run into Della, with Cassius and Victor a few paces behind her. While Victor shows no emotion, the smile on Cassius’s face borders on sensual in an unnerving way.
Della’s eyes narrow, glancing from my face to the letter I hold to my chest. I smile demurely and move to walk along the wall, almost expecting one of them to stop me, but they don’t.
Once I’m back in my room, I leap onto the bed and read the letter a dozen times over. Abraham, her fiancé from what I can tell, he is completely enamored with her. When she mentions him, her handwriting swoops more and has a hurried look to it. I can tell she is just as infatuated with him.
Soon, Kitty will have everything I’ve ever wanted for her.
And yet, under all my h
appiness, I can feel my heart trying not to break because I will not be there for the happiest day of her life.
A knock on the door startles me. Looking up for the first time since I sat down, I realize several hours have passed. The door opens before I can get up to answer it, and Alaric steps in, closing it quietly behind him.
“Are you all right, Clara?” he asks.
I nod and he is at my side in a second. I flinch. I don’t know if I will ever get used to his ability to move so fast.
“Kitty is to be married in one month,” I say.
“And that upsets you?”
I grab one of his hands. “No, I couldn’t be happier for her.”
He cups my cheek, a thumb brushing along my lower lashes. “Then, why are you crying?”
I pull back and wipe the backs of my hands over my eyes. “I’m just sad I won’t be there,” I say.
There is no chance for me to draw blood and win my freedom now. Doing so with the other vampires present here would be a death sentence. Our bargain is on hold until we return after the Solstice Masquerade.
I pull in a breath and hold it as I look into his night blue eyes. He quirks a brow as if he already knows what I wish to ask.
“Alaric, I know I have to stay here… but, if I could go home, just for the wedding and return, then…” I trail off entirely unsure of how to end my request. Then what? I would be a good human pet?
Those are things I cannot promise. I still want my freedom. I want to return to Xander, to be near my sister… to live the life I always strove for.
The two of us might have an agreement to appear as though we are bound together, to act as if I belong to him, but that doesn’t change the reality—I would never choose to be here, and Alaric wants me alive to pay for killing his sister.
Alaric’s expression darkens. He looks as though he is trying to find the words to let me down gently. The thought of him refusing already makes my heart ache. My emotions bubble over in the form of hot tears that prick my eyes.
“Clara…”
“Alaric, please.” I hadn’t intended on begging. Why would he grant this? He doesn’t owe me any favors. And there’s no reason for him to trust me, regardless of what was said yesterday.