36. Chapter 36
36
Chapter 36
Bronwen
The first thing I felt was the ache in my veins, a hollow emptiness that made it hard to move. My head throbbed in time with my pulse, and every breath felt shallow, as though even the air had been taken from me.
I blinked slowly, my vision blurry as I tried to take in my surroundings. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the fire flickering in the hearth casting waves of warmth against the cold stone walls. The heat from the flames seeped into my skin, chasing away the lingering chill that had settled deep in my bones. I recognized the space immediately—August’s room. The familiar scent of smoldering wood mixed with the faint traces of him, grounding me in the moment despite the ache in my body.
When my eyes finally adjusted, they landed on him. August sat in a chair near the corner of the room, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. He was staring at me, his expression cool, though there was a tension in his posture that made my stomach twist.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice low, almost cautious.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “What happened?” My voice cracked, and I winced at how weak I sounded.
He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor before returning to me. “You lost a lot of blood,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “You’re lucky you’re alive.”
Memories of the night before flooded back, the sharp pain of his father’s bite, the suffocating weakness that followed. Anger flickered in my chest, faint but growing. “You let it happen.”
August’s jaw tightened, and he stood abruptly, pacing to the other side of the room. “I didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice sharp. “If I hadn’t . . .” He trailed off, his hand raking through his hair. “If I hadn’t done what I did, you’d be dead.”
“And this is better?” I croaked, gesturing weakly to myself. My arm felt like lead, but I forced myself to sit up, the movement making my head spin. “You handed me over to him, August.”
He stopped pacing, his back to me. “I know.” The words were quiet, almost a whisper. “I didn’t have a choice.”
I nodded slowly, though the motion made my head spin. “Because he’s your father. You love him.”
He turned, his eyes narrowing with something between disdain and pain. “No. I do not love .” The words were clipped as though he’d rehearsed them a thousand times.
I blinked, the weight of his declaration hitting me harder than I expected. But no emotion compared to the anger I felt towards him right now. A father. August had a father and never mentioned it. “How do you even have a father?”
August’s expression didn’t shift, but I saw the way his hands curled into fists, his knuckles whitening as if he were holding something back. His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering toward the fire before he forced himself to meet my eyes again. “I just do,” he said, his voice clipped.
“That’s not an answer.” My irritation flared, my patience thinning with every vague response. “You’ve had plenty of opportunities to mention this, and yet, somehow, it never came up?”
He turned away from me again, his shoulders rigid. “It wasn’t relevant.” His voice lacked its usual smoothness, like the words felt foreign even to him.
I scoffed. “Not relevant? You have a father who is powerful enough to command other vampires—who almost killed me—and you’re telling me it wasn’t relevant?”
His shoulders tensed, fingers twitching slightly at his sides before curling into fists. “I didn’t think you’d need to know.” His voice was quieter this time, almost as if he were trying to convince himself as much as me.
I clenched my fists, ignoring the way my body ached from the movement. “So what else aren’t you telling me?”
At that, August turned sharply, his eyes flashing in warning. His posture stiffened, but his fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh, betraying his agitation. “Drop it, Winnie.”
“No,” I snapped, pushing myself up further. My head spun, but I refused to back down. “You dragged me into this. You let him sink his teeth into me. You don’t get to tell me to drop it.”
He didn’t respond, his silence heavy, and I let out an exasperated huff as I threw the blankets off me. “I’m done with this. I’m going home.”
The moment I tried to push myself off the bed, my legs buckled beneath me, the room tilting dangerously. Before I hit the ground, August was there, catching me with ease. His arms wrapped around me firmly, his expression a mix of worry and guilt.
“You can barely stand,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Stop being so stubborn.”
“Then tell me,” I demanded, my voice trembling with both exhaustion and anger.
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he would refuse again. Then, suddenly, he ran a hand through his hair and let out a bitter laugh. “You really don’t let things go, do you?”
“Not when they almost get me killed,” I shot back.
He let out a slow breath, his fingers raking through his hair before settling on the back of his neck. His gaze darted away, as if weighing his next words before exhaling heavily. “I was born a vampire,” he admitted, voice tight, like the words pained him. “Not turned into one.”
I froze. My body felt too heavy, as if the weight of his words had pressed me deeper into the mattress, pinning me in place.
“What?” My breath caught in my throat, my mind scrambling to process what he had just said. Born a vampire. Not turned.
He didn’t look away this time. “I was never human, Winnie. I was born this way.”
The words hung between us, heavy and suffocating. The very foundation of what I understood about vampires cracked beneath me, shifting and rearranging itself into something I wasn’t sure I could accept. I struggled to process them, my pulse hammering in my ears. It wasn’t possible. It shouldn’t be possible. Vampires were dead things, cursed things, creatures that clawed their way out of the darkness, feeding on the living to sustain their unnatural existence. And yet, August stood before me—just as real, just as alive as I was.
“That’s not possible,” I said finally. “Vampires are—are dead. They can’t procreate.”
August’s gaze darkened. “My mother was human,” he said, his tone low and steady.
A chill ran down my spine. “Human?” The word felt foreign on my tongue, as though saying it aloud would make it more real.
August. Half vampire. . . Half human.
No. No, that didn’t make any sense. My mouth opened, but no words came out. My throat was dry, my stomach twisting. The logical part of me screamed that this was wrong, that he was lying, but deep down, I knew he wasn’t. He was still a vampire, but it made him different. He could move freely in the daylight, his eyes could shift between a deep, mesmerizing brown to a blood-curdling red, and his restraint—his control—was like nothing I’d seen in any other vampire. It explained so much, yet left even more questions swirling in my mind.
His jaw ticked as he carefully placed me back on the bed, his touch firm yet gentle, as though I might break. “If you want answers,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with an uncharacteristic vulnerability, “then you have to lay down and rest.”
He avoided my gaze, his tension palpable as though speaking these truths had cost him something he couldn’t get back. I sank into the bed, my body too weak to argue, but my mind raced, piecing together fragments of a puzzle I hadn’t known existed.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his thighs, and let out a deep breath before turning to me. His expression was a mix of weariness and determination, as if preparing himself for the weight of what he was about to say.
“Vampires are a lot more civilized than you think,” he began, his voice calm but carrying an edge of something defensive, as if he had explained this before and been dismissed. “There’s a hierarchy in our society, just like in yours. And my father? He’s old—very old. With age comes benefits: power, influence, protection. Like what you saw in the woods. That wasn’t just a coincidence.” He paused, his gaze flicking to the floor for a moment. “The night we met, someone was with me. My father sent him to follow me, to ensure his . . . interests were protected.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms despite the ache in my limbs. “So, it’s not just a bunch of bloodthirsty monsters lurking in the dark, waiting for their next meal? That’s what you’re telling me?”
“No,” he said, the corner of his lips twitching upward, but there was no real amusement in it. It was more like a mask, something to hide behind. “Vampires can go weeks without feeding if they choose,” he continued, but I didn’t miss the slight hesitation before he said it, like he was carefully measuring how much to reveal. “And when they do sustain, they indulge in other things. Excessively. Parties, sex, decadence—it’s all a performance, a ritual to prove to themselves that they still have control. That their only thought isn’t blood.” His expression darkened slightly. “Not all of them succeed.””
I tilted my head, watching him. “And yet, here you are,” I said, arching an eyebrow. “Living amongst humans. Pretending to be one of us.”
He hesitated, his eyes flickering with something unspoken before he replied, “Something took my attention.”
“So,” I pressed, “are there half-vampires walking around everywhere?”
“No,” he said simply, his tone growing quieter. “Not every male can procreate. It’s tied to certain lineages, specific bloodlines. Mine happens to be one of them.”
We sat in silence as I tried to take in everything he told me. But nothing I learned was as terrifying as what had happened to me.
A knot of worry tightened in my chest. “Has he marked me now?” My voice barely rose above a whisper. “Will it be him who kills me every night instead of you?”
He shook his head. “I already checked. My mark is still there. I don’t think you can be marked twice.”
He brought his hand up and brushed his fingers through my hair. “No more going out into the night,” he added, his voice heavier now. “I don’t know how this will affect him, and he isn’t someone to provoke.”
I nodded slowly. No part of me wanted to fight him on this—it was clear this wasn’t a suggestion but a plea born of fear.
“What happened to your mother?” I asked quietly, the question hanging between us like a fragile thread.
He hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands. His fingers twitched slightly, as if grasping at something invisible, something lost. “She left a long time ago,” he said finally, his voice even but not emotionless. There was something there, something buried beneath layers of practiced indifference. His fingers tightened into a fist before he forced them to relax. “My father became too much for her.” His voice was quieter now, almost detached, but the way his throat bobbed told me more than his words ever could.
My heart ached at the thought of a young, vulnerable August. “She left you?” I whispered, the words catching in my throat.
His jaw tightened, and he nodded once, but the motion was stiff, as if he were forcing himself to acknowledge it. “My father would have killed her before letting me go.” His breath came a little shallower, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for something that had already happened long ago. “No matter his disdain for me,” he paused, his tongue running over his teeth as if debating whether to continue. “The lineage ensured my survival.” His voice lacked the usual arrogance—it was hollow, resigned.
I reached for him instinctively, pulling him down to lie beside me. His tension didn’t fade immediately, but the weight in his eyes softened slightly as he settled next to me and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his chest.
“Rest, Winnie. Market starts in a few hours, and I’m sure Odelia will be looking for you.”
I brought my bitten hand to his face, my fingers trembling slightly as I pressed it toward him.
“Bite me.”
August’s eyes flickered, his jaw tightening as he studied me. “You’re too weak right now.”
“You want me to rest? I can’t with the nightmares.”
His fingers twitched around mine, his gaze darkening as if he were waging a silent war with himself. He dragged his thumb over the delicate skin of my wrist, almost absently, before sighing. “You always do this,” he muttered. “Push until you get what you want.”
I held his gaze, unflinching. “Then stop making me push. ”
His gaze flickered between my face, my hand before he let out a slow, measured breath. Whatever battle raged inside him, I could feel it in the way he lingered, grounding himself before surrendering.
August bit down, the sting sharp and immediate. His touch remained careful, but I felt the restraint in the way his grip tightened, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly. His lips lingered against my palm before placing a gentle kiss and pulling away.
“Now heal yourself.”
“I thought you didn’t like me pulling from you,” I murmured, my voice quieter now.
August let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. As his gaze met mine, something softer flickered beneath the usual sharpness.
“You could set me on fire right now, and I wouldn’t try to stop you, Winnie.”