Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
I flew into the bedroom. My mind was wild with possibilities. I dove for my bed, pulling the book up from its hiding spot. Victor’s footsteps hurried through the hall.
“I am fine, Victor.” I urged as my fingers met the spine. I plucked it free of the hole it was in and moved forward. Opening the book to the page, the ink swirled like water before settling into the story.
“The young man who hunted in the night like a hound for blood was not one for niceties. Instead choosing to remain celibate instead of finding interest in another woman. He had only ever loved her. Each night his blade met another man's flesh but he always only saw one face. The artist. The man who took his love from him. The loveless one thrived in the dark. He had said it matched his soul. He was tainted. The blood from his victims mixed with his own each time he fought. It wasn't until his twenty sixth birthday that the man realised he wasn’t truly invincible. That he was still in fact a human. He had been walking the halls through the manor. Not wanting another to see him as he snuck into her room once more. He had heard chatter of her growing ill but he needed to see it with his own eyes. Only he didn’t find her ill. He found her well. Curled up in the bed with a bouquet of flowers beside her. Dozing softly. He stalked forward. Noting too late that they were not alone. A man darted out of the shadows with a blade. The sharp knife raced toward his love in the bed. Still unaware of what was happening. Despite the darkness in his soul, he knew he had no choice. He could not save his mother but he could save the woman he loved. The man hurried forward. Instead throwing himself in front of the knife as it came down. His throat burned as it made contact, but only for a second as the man met the same fate as his mother.”
The sketch came to life on the page. The young man laying over his lost love with blood maring the sheets. The ink continued.
“The morgue is a cold and tired place. No one alive wants to visit and the dead long to leave. But the young man was pitied. A God of Death watching him from afar. Never interjecting or interfering, only watching just as the boy's mother had requested. He was the one to carry her soul off after all. The man cloaked in black looked over the man’s body. Still fresh from death. His skin was lifeless. The god watched as his skin healed when his hand met the man’s chest. The warmth slowly came back to him. The god grinned wickedly before leaving in a cloud of smoke.
The smoke flew all the way to London. To look for an artist with a pretty blonde in his sheets. Paint dotting her skin just as his young love at home washed the stain from hers. The god grabbed him before he could make a sound. Carting him back to the old manor. He discarded the artist’s corpse in the maiden’s bed. Leaving him there for her to find whilst he lingered in the corner. Waiting for her like a wolf to a lamb. Aching for her scream.
She entered slowly. Saying his name as she noticed him. Her scream was a delight as she looked upon his contorted face. The woman howled in sorrow. Throwing herself upon the man now in the same position as the loveless man was only hours before. The god peeled himself from his perch. His shadowed hand reached for the woman. His hands covered her eyes. When he removed it, her world was dark. Void of colour. Void of the beauty she found with her artist.
She screamed and screamed for the god to have mercy and to give it back. The god hated her for the pain she had caused his loveless friend. For making him hunt in the night so that she may never feel that same fate of his mother. The god cursed not only her but the babe in her belly and each daughter after. Cursing them to never know colour until they meet their truest love. Until they accept their life and not waste their love on a man who needs it most only to rip it from him. They were cursed to not see beauty, to not see anything worthy of the title until they found what the loveless man once called the most beautiful thing in the world. The god left the woman to find the young man once more now awakening in the morgue. To teach him of his new role. To help guide him back to the light, to find beauty in a soul. To find love once more.”
This time the sketch was softer. Less pronounced as if aged over the years. The woman held her partner whilst the cloaked man held out a finger to her. Cursing her. Cursing Lisbeth Florian and each of us after.
My body trembled as I looked at the sketch of my ancestor. So twisted with heartbreak over her artist. A life ahead of her without colour. A lifetime of curses to hand down. Six generations of torture.
“Why are you staring at a blank book?” Victor quirked a brow. Having sat beside me on my bed without my notice. The silver lining my eyes fell as I leant into him.
“It isn’t blank to me,” I whispered. His warm scent filled my nose.
His hand wrapped back around my waist, holding me tighter to him as I remained like stone. Staring at my ancestor drawn so perfectly on the page. His warmth stuck to my side. Warming my cold heart that was dropping the longer I looked at the twisted image,
“I apologise.” Maaier’s deep silken voice grumbled from the doorway. I peeled myself from Victor, looking over at him from his shoulder.
“I should probably go check on Dorian,” He muttered before getting off the bed. Leaving me feeling cold and alone. Maaier said nothing but looked over the room. His eyes landed on the book on Dorian’s bed. A tilt of his lips filling his face.
“Glad to see someone putting it to use,” He said. I slowly tucked the book under the blanket on the bed. Hoping to god he didn't see me do it. If he did, he didn't say anything.
He moved closer. I wiped my eyes. Looking up at him, my gaze met his. Dark yet also full of desire. Rain patted on the window outside, a sign of a storm incoming. One almost as deadly as the light in Maaier’s eyes.
“What has made you cry?”
I assured him it was nothing but he was not convinced. He laid me down on the bed. His lips but a mere inch from mine. My breath hitched in my lungs. The scent of him encapsulated me. It wasn't enough. I needed him everywhere. I needed to know if he would bring me colour or if I should risk another brush with Death to find out.
“I hate when you lie to me,” He growled.
A whispered apology on my lips. Before I could say anything further, or lean in closer. He shifted back.
“Should I scold you for lying?” He breathed, the question more to himself than me but my insides still clenched. Heat rising through me. What was wrong with me? I just learnt of the origin of my curse and here I am almost begging to be held by a mad man who might just kill me. At least if he did, I would meet Death again. I would tell him I was sorry for my ancestors’ past behaviour. The sound of a match being struck filled the air. The candle flickering as he held it near letting it burn in silence before meeting my wary gaze.
“Then I should save this slight scolding for another time. When you are feeling better.” He smirked before extinguishing the candle. My hope ignited in me instead. The thought of being with him again enough to colour my skin with a slight blush.
“What did you see when you saw me?” I asked without thinking. What was I saying? He considered me for a moment before answering.
“A beautiful woman with her whole life ahead of her.” His gloved hand brushed my cheek.
“I meant your sight Maaier. What do you see?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Vespera.” He furrowed his brow in confusion. His touch turned more gentle than seductive. I lifted my hand to meet him on my cheek. Holding it close to me. I looked into his eyes. Seeing myself reflected back in the dark expanse.
My reflection dishevelled with misty eyes. My skin was void of colour. I wasn’t beautiful, I was a mess. Maaier stepped closer, drawing me to him. My head rested just below his chest as I buried myself in him. I breathed in his spiced scent. The heat of him. His hands pressed into my back, holding me closer as I slowed my breathing. Pulling away only slightly so I could see him once more, I asked my most pressing question. The one I knew would change everything.
“Do you see everything in colour?” I whispered. He froze. His thumb stalling close to my lip.
“I always see colour when I see you,” He said softly before moving back off me.
My chin dropped to my chest. The tears fell heavier now.
He left without another word. This was wrong. It had to be him. I couldn't be tied to Death. I needed him. Something in Maaier’s gaze when he said the tender words told me it was a lie. A slip of emotion pent up to leak out.
I hurried out the door. Only to find him heading out the back toward the woods. My voice dropped as I called his name over and over again. He ignored me each time. Disappearing amongst the trees.
I stopped. My chest heaving. I needed to go after him. To tell him it was fine. This wasn’t right. The colour should have come to us both. Not just me. He was lying he had to be.
I needed to figure him out. I needed to tempt him. To get him to touch me. To open my eyes, to admit he loves me. Maybe then I can admit that I was falling in love with him.