by Ali Winters
“Difficulty?” he asks with a laugh. “Is difficult what you’re calling this?”
I shrug with one shoulder and press closer into his side.
A warm glow leaks in through a break in the curtains—dawn is coming.
“You should get some sleep while you can,” he says.
I close my eyes and control my breathing, trying to force myself to sleep. What feels like hours later, I am still awake. I sigh in frustration and sit up a little further, bringing the blanket with me.
I tilt my head up and study his face. Alaric’s eyes are unfocused as he looks straight ahead. I can almost see his thoughts churning. Something weighs heavy on his mind. I want to ask him what it is, but I think he will tell me. When he’s ready.
I know very little about this man, yet I know he’s a good man, and I trust him with my life. The deal he offered me, knowing of my crime, keeping it secret to protect me, and what he did for Kitty—have all proven he is not the monster I once assumed.
I know he loved his sister, but he has hardly spoken of her to me. I don’t blame him. She was important to him. Knowing the kind of man that he is makes me wonder what kind of person she was.
“Tell me about your sister,” I say.
I feel him stiffen at my side. He is silent so long I don’t think he will respond at all.
“Rosalie was sweet, gentle, warm… Everyone who knew her, loved her, even if she was considered weak for a vampire.”
I cringe. I had once accused her of being weak—he had compelled the confession from me—but I had said it all the same.
“I—I—” The words stick in my throat as I twist my fingers in a corner of the blanket.
“You couldn’t have known,” he says, at once understanding what I want to say. After a moment, he continues, “There are many kinds of strength, including the ability to stay kind and gentle in a world that would see such things destroyed.”
He’s right. It would be impossible for anyone weak to have this great of an impact on someone. She might not have been physically strong or had a commanding presence, but she had a strength that I will never know.
“I think Rosalie would have liked your spirit,” Alaric says.
My face warms at that. I reach over and squeeze his hand, not having the words to respond. There’s no way to know if she would have liked me, but he seems to think so, and that is enough.
“She loved humans,” he says. His eyes are once again unfocused, a sorrow filled smile sits on his lips. “Rosalie was the first vampire to refuse to feed on humans. I tried to live as she wanted and give up mortal blood, but I lacked the willpower. It was my fault she was turned—I owed it to her to try. She never blamed me for being unable to live off animals.”
“I’m sorry.” I swallow a lump of emotions, barely able to speak. “I know it’s useless, and it won’t bring her back… but I am sorry all the same.”
Alaric looks down at me, tucked into his side, and wrapped in nothing more than a blanket. His eyes shine from the pain I caused. He opens his mouth, then closes it and gives me a single nod before pulling me closer. I shift and have to readjust myself.
Sliding my arm around his waist, I rest my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. I try to comfort him even though I am the cause of his hurt. I can’t tell if he accepts it or merely tolerates it because he is trying to keep me warm.
Regret changes nothing, and so I try not to. But there is a seed tucked into the soil of my soul that has been planted, and I fear it will bloom and grow, until the day it consumes me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Alaric
In the late afternoon, I wake to Clara clinging to me, our limbs tangled. While we slept, she’d somehow managed to cover us both. Her long, brown hair fans out behind her, leaving her neck and shoulder bared. Her heart beats in a slow, steady rhythm. My fangs ache to pierce her skin.
Instead of giving in, I slip away, readjusting her blanket to keep her warm. I don’t know how much longer I can keep putting myself in these positions with her. Clara has made it more than clear that she will never want my mark.
Most days I can pretend Rosalie didn’t die at her hands. Even in all her attempts to draw a drop of blood… or flat out kill me, she never seemed capable of it. But our conversation has ripped open the wounds and made them raw all over again.
My heart is torn between feeling as though I owe it to Rosalie to damn Clara for her crime… and forgiving her because that’s what Rosalie would really have wanted.
I walk down the silent halls to the office. I need space to clear my head before I do something I will regret.
There’s something unnatural about her night terrors, and I wonder if they are more than they seem… then again, I have never heard of a human attached by a greater demon and living. Most likely, it’s the stress of being under the same roof as so many vampires… but if that's the case, then she will not last a single night within the walls of Nightwich.
The quiet beat of Cherno’s wings follows me down the halls. I sense the others in the deep stages of rest down in the lower layers of the manor.
Since their arrival, Cherno has been doing their best to keep watch over their demons, but that task is taking its toll. I can feel the drain on our powers. Bloodlust gnaws at my gut. I must feed, far sooner than I would like.
I stop outside the office and they land on my shoulder.
“Blood,” I say.
Feeling the need as strongly as I, Cherno launches into the air and is off to gather sustenance.
It takes twice the usual amount of blood before my hunger is abated. Still, I find it impossible to focus on my work. I set my quill down and turn to gaze out the window. Bright reds and golds are smeared across the sky.
A knock from the doorway has me straightening my spine. Without waiting for an answer, Clara enters, peeking her head in first, then her body, before closing the door. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are locked on the floor.
“Clara?” I ask, rising from my chair. Her face reddens. “What’s wrong?”
Her chest rises and falls with several deep breaths. She stops halfway into the room, placing a chair in front of her. She lifts her chin, though she still can’t meet my gaze.
“I want the mark.”
I am rendered speechless. Much like her willing return, I would never have expected this request. When I don’t speak, she drags her eyes up to my face.
“Alaric?”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
Her shoulders slump. “Yes.” She nods decisively. “I’ll be going with you to Nightwich. So, if it will keep me safe, then yes.” Her mouth quirks up at one corner. “It’s only one bite after all.”
“No,” I say. Her face falls into a neutral mask. “It’s more complicated than that.”
Clara holds onto the back of the chair and trails a finger along the damask design embroidered into the material. I can practically taste her nerves on the air.
She let’s out a growl of frustration when I don’t immediately continue, then crosses to the fireplace and leans a hip against the wall. She stares at the floor, eyes unfocused.
I step up to her side so that nothing separates us. This is hard for her, but I won’t let her run from the truth. She must understand everything before she commits.
“To mark someone,” I say. “It takes three bites.”
“Three?” Clara’s face pales.
“The effects of the first bite last for a single day, the second for a month, and the final seals it forever. Each mark is valid for the duration, but there is not a vampire alive who would consider a human truly marked until after the third bite. Otherwise, we would run out of unmarked humans.”
I guide a lock of hair behind her ear. Her teeth scrape over her bottom lip as she takes in the information.
“And would I have to accept all of them? What would happen if I changed my mind after the first bite?”
I shake my head. “If and when you wan
t each mark is up to you. But without the third, there will always be a chance of another vampire being able to mark you.”
She pushes her shoulders back and lifts her chin with a defiant tilt. “Give me the first two marks, now. I will… think on the third.”
My heart stops for two whole beats before it restarts. With every bite I will want her more, and I don’t think either of us are ready for that yet. “I cannot give you all three at once,” I lie. “There are side effects.”
Her forehead wrinkles and her nostrils flare. She lets out a frustrated growl and places her fists on her hips. “What side effects could there possibly be? You’ve been trying to convince me to accept your mark since before Kitty’s wedding, and now, when I finally agree to it—” She lifts her hands to the side then drops them. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you don’t want to mark me. You made it sound so simple, and now you are telling me it’s a process, with side effects.” She jabs a finger at the center of my chest. “Out with the whole truth, vampire.”
I brace my hands against the wall on either side of her head, caging her, and lean forward. There’s a sharp intake of breath.
My power flares as I lower my mouth to the delicate place where her neck and shoulder meet. I scrape my teeth over her skin.
Her hands reach up, gripping my shirt as though she’s not sure if she wants to pull me closer or shove me away. And it is because of that I must show her the consequences of what she’s asking.
“With each bite, the effects will be heightened, and by the third, you will have no choice but to give into them.” She swallows. “It will make us want to fuck,” I say at last, brushing my lips on the shell of her ear.
I take her wrists and release them from my shirt, then step back. Her hand reaches up to brush the spot I touched with my fangs.
By the look on her face, it’s clear she doesn’t want the mark after all.
I turn my back on her, wishing it were only my pride that hurt. We might have found a few moments of peace between us, but she still sees me as a monster. I don’t know when her opinion of me became important, but it has.
Her fingers wrap around my wrist and tug.
“Why are you leaving?” she demands. “I said I wanted the mark.”
There is a slight tremble in her voice from fear or anticipation. Clara blocks my path. Standing toe to toe with me, she places her hands on my upper arms, fingers pressing in.
“I’m asking for your mark, Alaric.”
“You don’t want this, Clara.”
“Yes. I do. I know what I’m asking—I understood what you told me, and I still want it.” She licks her lips. “Please.”
“You’re afraid.”
Clara crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “Anyone with sense is always a little uncertain of the unknown.”
This is a dangerous path for us, but I can’t deny her request. I wrap an arm around her waist and brush her hair off her shoulder, skimming my fingertips over her skin. Clara tilts her head to the side.
I lean forward and pause to look her in the eye. “Breathe and be calm.”
She nods once.
I lower my mouth, calling my power to me, and bite down.
My fangs sink into her. The taste of her blood fills my mouth. Clara gasps, her knees collapsing from under her, but my arm keeps her from falling.
I can feel the mark taking hold as she responds, pressing her body tighter against mine.
Slowly, I release her and place my palm over the bite mark. Red veins of power flow over my fingers, hand, and up my arm, swirling. I push the smallest amount into her. Clara hisses through her teeth.
The wound is smaller than her last, and with each subsequent mark, the less she will need my power to heal. When I remove my hand, the bite mark has closed, leaving only two small scars behind.
When she’s steady, I let her go and step back. It has been so long since I have fed from anyone without compelling, so they don’t look at me the way Clara is looking at me now.
Clara steps forward and wraps her arms around my neck. I know what she wants… what my mark has made her want.
It’s not real.
Another man would give in. I want her, but she needs to understand how each bite will feel. Once the effects of this first mark wear off, I don’t want her to regret anything.
I cup her face with both of my hands and wait for her eyes to clear enough that I know she’s ready to listen. “You should go to your rooms and rest. I will send Cherno to watch over you.”
Her expression falls into one of confusion and hurt. She untangles her limbs from me, and I let go. Her brows furrow, eyes glistening and darkening as her mind and body war with one another.
It would be easy to give in, but if I took advantage of her, she would never forgive me.
As Clara opens the door to leave, she stumbles to a stop. The door opens wider.
Lawrence stands with one fist raised to knock. He lifts his face and sniffs the air. She glares openly at him, then moves past without a word.
The power hits me harder than I would have thought possible. I need time alone after giving her the first mark, but it looks as if that won’t be happening.
Lawrence closes the door and chuckles as he crosses the room to sit in the chair at my desk. “That one has spirit, but I don’t know how you do it…”
He’s baiting me and I know it. I rise and take it, ready for him to say whatever it is that he came here to say. Though, I have my suspicions about what it is.
“Do what?”
Lawrence rests his arms on the desk and leans in. “Get an unmarked human to lie for you when the truth will only get her killed once it comes to light—and it will come to light.” He sits back in the chair. “Does she even know the extent of the danger she’s in?”
“Of course, she knows,” I snap.
Lawrence narrows his eyes. “You finally gave her the first mark,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Finish it, or she will die.”
I clench my teeth, a muscle in my jaw ticking. “Whether she is marked one or two more times is her decision. I’ll not take that from her.”
He throws his hands in the air, frustrated as if he’s talking to a child. “You and Rosalie with your unnatural affinity to humans. They are inferior to us—they are not our equals.”
I say nothing. We have debated this topic for years, and we will never agree.
His eyes narrow, his mind going in the same direction as mine. “Where is Rosalie? It has been over a month, and we have not seen or heard from her. Why hasn’t she been around?”
I hang my head and rub my brow. Taking a deep breath, I release it slowly. “She is dead…” I admit. “Murdered—during the claiming.”
Lawrence is on his feet, palms coming down hard on the desk. The resounding slam echoes through the room.
“Why have you not reported it?” he sneers.
I drop my hands. “No, I have taken care of it.”
“Who is responsible?” He stands before me now, fists grabbing my shirt and his eyes flashing with bloodlust and rage.
Vampire law dictates that she must pay with her life for what she’s done. But it’s not what Rosalie would want.
I hate Clara for what she did, but in the same breath, I desire her, and even care for her. A voice in the back of my mind whispers that I would be incapable of following through with punishing her—even if I hadn't turned Rosalie one hundred and seventy-two years ago.
I grab his wrists and twist until he lets go and bare my fangs. “It has been taken care of.”
His breaths come out in short pants as he restrains himself. I am two ranks above him. If we fought, he would lose. Lawrence balls his hands into fists, and for a second, I think he will fight me anyway.
Then, to my relief, he turns and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Clara
Alaric’s power lingers in my veins, caressing every part
of me, humming with energy and want. But I’ll be dammed to the Otherworld if I’m going to be sent to my room like a child. I slept all day. I don’t need or want any more.
I head downstairs, intent on doing anything other than sequestering myself. Cherno flies in circles over my head.
I pause on the bottom step. “Bat…” I growl through clenched teeth. I close my eyes and count to three, then blow out a breath, tamping down my irritation. It isn’t fair to Cherno to take my frustration out on them. “Will you please give it a rest?”
Wings brush against my hair and their little feet land, gripping thick locks. I half sigh, half laugh.
Reaching up, I grab Cherno and move them to my shoulder. Leathery wings cling to my neck as I continue toward the library—my sanctuary away from my room.
“Alaric thinks—” Cherno starts.
“I don’t care what he thinks,” I snap. Hearing his name twists my gut.
I’m feeling too many things and I need peace to sort through it all.
When I finally agree to accept his mark, he makes it feel cold and impersonal. Like a transaction between strangers. He knew how it would affect me and sent me away, instead of…
I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow, trying to push that thought away. Already, my body reacts, and the desire to run to him is overwhelming. My injured pride is enough to keep me from giving in.
Inside the library, the room is cold and dim, as if no one has been there for days. Outside, the sun has just dipped below the horizon, leaving the deep purples and blues of night to swallow up the last of the light.
I don’t know what I expected or wanted from him, but his blatant disgust wasn’t it. Somewhere in the space between the two of us pretending to be lovers and his unexpected kindness, I have started to see him as more than just an ally.
I bite my lip, thinking of the conversation we had about Rosalie. Of course, we weren’t friends. We could never be friends. How could we be when I killed his only family? It’s unforgivable.