by Amy Miles
I stand before my door, waiting for Vladimir to come for me. Tension ripples through my stomach, turning it sour with anxiety. He has never made such a request of me before, certainly never in such an oddly polite manner. I ponder what his intentions are even as I hear his door open and close. His boots clomp heavily on the floor, then pause before my door.
I reach out and unlatch the handle, opening the door to find his hand raised. I blink, surprised to find him slightly taken aback. He lowers his hand and clears his throat. For some reason, his awkward glance increases my despair.
He holds out his arm and I step forward to take it, though I loathe to be near him. He does not clasp his hand over mine the way Fane did as he led me into the village on the night of the battle. Instead, Vladimir stands rigid beside me, appearing just as deeply uncomfortable as I am.
Why does he behave in such an odd manner? I wonder as I allow him to lead me down the steps. When the stairwell grows too narrow for us to walk side by side, he pauses to let me pass, quickening his step once we reach the second floor to take my hand once more. I glance at him from the corner of my eye as we wind through the halls. He nods in acknowledgement as we pass immortals emerging from their chambers, giving the appearance of a proper lord of the castle rather than the fiend I know him to be.
There is a tremor in his arm as he draws me toward the lower level. It would hardly be noticeable if I were not acutely aware of every move he makes, terrified that at any moment he will strike out at me or thrust me into a darkened room.
“Vladimir?”
He halts and turns to the side to face Lucien, who emerges from the stairs that lead down into the kitchens. I can feel the heat following at his heels and instinctively take a step back. Vladimir moves with me, though I have little doubt that this was not done for my comfort, yet rather his own.
Lucien eyes me with great suspicion. “Might I inquire as to where are you off to?”
“I intend to show Roseline the sepulcher.”
His brother’s eyes narrow, growing cold. “You think that is wise?”
Vladimir nods. “It is time.”
Their cryptic conversation continues as Lucien falls into step with us. I tune them out, feeling lightheaded at the thought. Lucien is worried. Vladimir is nervous. What could possibly be occurring?
Lucien parts ways with us at the front door. I can feel his eyes upon my back as Vladimir leads us past the stone well at the center of the courtyard and through the castle gates. The night is dark and the moon veiled by thick layers of cloud. I struggle to see my footing, though I have nothing to fear of falling. Vladimir clings to my arm with a painful grip.
We walk for several moments, skirting along the castle wall instead of heading out into the meadow. Up ahead, I sense a shift in the wind and realize we are drawing near to the cliff.
Castle Bran is built upon a tall outcropping of rock and earth. From this vantage point, I imagine much of the mountains would be laid out before us, though I have never been to this spot before.
Perhaps he intends to shove me off the cliff. To make my death look like an accident instead of suffering the humiliation of watching my death during the hunt.
The winds beat against my long skirts. My hair lashes against my face, tangling with my eyelashes. “Do we travel much farther, my lord?” I call against the wind.
“Our path lies just ahead.”
His words are nearly lost to the gale that rises from within the canyon below. I place a hand upon the wall to steady myself, feeling dizzy to look upon such great heights. As I walk, the clouds shift above, allowing me just enough light to spy the deadly drop-off.
My heart thumps wildly in my chest as I cling to the wall and to Vladimir’s hand. I detest him knowing my fear, though I am incapable of veiling it.
A moment later, Vladimir shocks me by turning and stepping straight over the cliff. My cry of alarm is strangled in my throat as he lands a few feet below. I step toward the ledge and discover a set of natural steps carved into the mountainside.
Before I can react, Vladimir clamps his hands about my calves and lifts me down to him, his hands sliding along my sides as he lowers me to my feet. “You are trembling,” he says. His gaze is demanding as he stares down at me.
“I am not overly fond of heights.” My voice sounds pinched and meek.
Vladimir chuckles. “Then that is something we shall have to remedy.”
The remainder of our descent leaves me breathless and deeply shaken. He pushes me to rush down the steep gradient. I cry out multiple times as the earth becomes unsettled and pelts down around me, though the rocks beneath my feet never move. When my feet touch the ground, I am captured by the need to drop to my knees and kiss the dirt.
“This way.” Vladimir has already begun to disappear into the darkness. My legs feel weak as I move to follow after him. We weave through tangled brush and thickly overgrown trees. This part of the land is wild and untamed by man.
In the distance, I hear the call of a wolf. It’s howl echoes off the walls of the canyon, making it nearly impossible to locate it. Vladimir walks ahead with no sign of fear or exhaustion. I, on the other hand, feel unkempt and shaken.
Nearly ten paces ahead, Vladimir pushes aside a fallen branch and stops. His head lowers and he looks upon the ground. I approach silently behind him, curious about his odd behavior.
He moves aside to allow me room to stand beside him, all the while holding back the branch so there is space for us. I stare down at the ground, confused as to why he has brought me here.
The space before me is nearly thirty paces across and half that again, creating a small clearing. The ground appears to be sunken. Grass grows in errant clumps, though hardly well enough to spread out and thrive. A chill trickles down my spine as I catch a scent on the air. It is dank and tinged with death.
A great cracking from behind startles me as Vladimir appears to tire from holding the branch and rips it clean from the tree. He hurtles it into the woods where it crashes to the ground with a splintering of dead wood.
“This place feels ripe with age,” I whisper into the darkness. The moonlight shifts unevenly through the trees, casting a dappled glow over the ground.
“Can you smell it?”
I shake my head. “No. It is more…” I pause, unsure of how to explain the knowledge. “It is more of a feeling, I suppose.”
I sense him nodding behind me, though I do not turn to look. “This place is cursed,” he says. The haunted tone of his voice makes my stomach coil with unease. “You stand before a grave site.”
I swallow roughly. “Of your victims?”
He is silent for a moment. “No. Of my wives.”
Horrified, I try to step back, though I find myself pressed against my husband’s chest. He is tall and unmovable. His hands come to rest upon my arms, locking me against his chest.
“Why have you brought me here?” I ask as tears begin to well in my eyes. This space is large enough to contain dozens of bodies… if they were left as bodies at all.
I can feel the warmth of his breath against my neck as he presses his forehead against the back of my head. “I do not wish to see this be your fate.”
“And yet you force me to fight.”
“Yes,” he whispers. His fingers tighten and release against my arms. I can feel his emotion, raw and volatile. “It is the only way to keep you from harm.”
“Keep me from harm?” I break free of his grip as I turn to stare at him with incredulity. “A battle to the death is your way of keeping me safeguarded?”
He averts his gaze. His jaw clenches tightly enough for me to hear it pop before he looks back at me. “You do not know our ways. There are rules, laws that even I am unable to abandon.”
I bite my lower lip as I curl my arms about my waist. I turn to look back at the grave, wondering how many women have been brutally slaughtered before me.
“Fane will teach you how to survive.” His words draw me back. I am surprised by the te
nsion in his voice and of the manner in which he speaks.
My chest clenches as realization falls over me. He cares for me. In his own twisted and revolting way, he cares.
“You wish to see me survive?” I ask with great hesitation.
He nods, his gaze lowered. To see such vulnerability in him is deeply disturbing. Thoughts race through my mind as I struggle to match up the beast who defiles me each night with this insecure man standing before me. How can he treat me in such a repulsive manner yet appear to have affection for me as well?
A newfound awareness dawns as I stare back at the man who has stripped bare every part of my soul. I can hurt him
I press my shoulders back and lift my chin. “I will need to be healthy while I train.”
He glances up at me, his eyes wide and glistening in the dim moonlight. He tilts his head, as if listening to the distant howls instead of my words spoken just before him. “What is it that you suggest?”
My mouth feels parched as I try to swallow. Do not press too far, I warn myself as my tongue darts between my lips to wet them. Vladimir follows the movement and I see a change in his gaze.
For the first time since I arrived, I realize I am not completely without power. His desire for me is a weakness. Lucien knows this and has voiced his concerns on more than one occasion.
I take a deep breath and watch as his gaze flits down to the low, sweeping neckline of my dress. “You need to take more care with me.”
Vladimir’s gaze snaps up to meet mine. His lips peel back from his teeth. A low growl begins to rumble in his chest. I raise a hand. “I am not finished.”
His eyes widen with surprise. I have no doubt my own do as well as he subsides to listen. I did not expect him to do so. Feeling the empowerment surge around me, I take a step forward and place a hand upon his chest. This is the first time I have ever willingly approached him in such a manner.
I pray that I know what I am doing. My hand quakes as I step once more, closing the gap between us so we are nearly chest to chest. I can feel his heart thumping beneath my hand. His scent grows strong in my nostrils. His skin flushes as he looks down at my hand.
“I cannot train if I am unable to walk,” I whisper, slowly sliding my hand up from his heart. A low groan rises from his throat as my fingertips move across the hollow of his neck. I watch the increase in his pulse at his neck. “Perhaps for a while you might manage to hold back some of your… passion.” I fight to hide my disgust as I choose my words carefully.
He reaches up to grasp my hand, pressing my palm against his cheek. He breathes in deep, drawing me close. His arms wrap about my waist. Internally, I can hear myself shrieking, beating against his chest to be free of his embrace, though I show none of it outwardly.
“You would be willing?” A musky scent rises from his skin as he presses me back against a tree. I can feel the warmth of his flesh as he presses the length of his body against mine. He dips his face and buries it into my neck. His teeth nip at my shoulder as his hands lower to cup my waist.
A single tear slips from eye as I roll my neck to the side and allow him access. “Yes,” I whisper, knowing all too well I have just made a deal with the devil.
TWENTY-FIVE