Chapter 9 Rhianelle
Where is he going?
The vampire turns down a narrow alley, and I follow, pressing myself against a wall to peer around the corner.
The soft pads of my feet make no noise at all on the broken cobblestones.
Even my breathing is controlled, shallow and measured.
I am a ghost, something that exists between one heartbeat and the next.
Astefar taught me many things. How to survive on nothing and how to move through the darkness without making a sound. I’ve tracked gods and monsters through the cursed forest, learning to read the land and to become part of the shadows.
Following one vampire through city ruins is nothing.
Arescaine doesn’t look back. He doesn’t show any sign that he knows I am there. We move deeper into the ruins. The sun is nearly gone now, a sliver of gold on the horizon. Shadows stretch long and dark between the buildings.
I keep my distance, using rubble and broken walls for cover. My breathing is silent, my footsteps even more so. Suspicion coils in my chest.
I don’t trust the vampire.
We move deeper into the ruins where no one has bothered to rebuild yet. Buildings here are just blackened skeletons, roofs caved in long ago, walls crumbled into knee-high rubble. He passes through the remains of an archway, and I follow, pressing myself against a crumbling wall.
Beyond the ruins, I see the forest. Arescaine walks into the trees, following what looks like an old path. I hesitate only a moment before following.
The forest is thick here. Ancient pines and oaks filter the dying sunlight into golden shafts. Arescaine moves along the narrow path as though he’s walked it many times before.
I trail behind, keeping well back. My feet find quiet places on their own, soft moss and solid stone. I place each step carefully to avoid twigs and dry leaves. Curiosity begins to replace some of my suspicion.
The trees open suddenly into a small clearing. A cottage sits there, half-hidden by the forest around it. The roof is intact and the windows have shutters.
The vampire has a cottage. A secret cottage in the woods outside the capital.
Why?
Arescaine approaches the door, produces a key, and lets himself in. The door doesn’t latch completely. It stands slightly ajar. I creep closer, heart pounding. This is it. Whatever he is hiding, it is in there.
Is he meeting someone?
I press my ear against the door and listen. I hear only one set of footsteps and no conversation.
He is alone.
If I can find somewhere to hide, I might finally discover what he is doing here.
I ease the door open and slip inside.
The cottage is one large room, simple but comfortable.
A bed takes up most of the far wall. Firelight flickers to life in the small hearth, casting a warm glow over a sturdy table and chairs.
Heavy curtains separate off a washing alcove, creating a small private space away from the rest of the cottage.
Perfect.
I slip behind the curtains silently while his back is turned, pressing myself into the shadowed space. My heart hammers, but I slow my breathing until it makes no sound. Through the thin gap where the curtains do not quite meet, I have a clear view of the room.
Arescaine removes his cloak and drapes it over one of the chairs. He stands before the flames for a long time, staring into them as though he has forgotten where he is.
He moves to the bed and sits on its edge.
The vampire does nothing.
He simply sits there, his shoulders slightly bowed, looking at the floor.
Maybe this is where he comes to be alone. There might be no secret meetings or conspiracies at all. I have followed him into the forest like a complete creep for absolutely nothing.
Then he moves toward the alcove.
Toward me.
I press myself flat against the wall, barely breathing. He passes close enough that I could touch him.
I thank the Seventy-seven that he doesn’t look behind the curtain. He pushes through a narrow door on the other side that I hadn’t noticed, and I hear the sound of water beginning to run.
A washroom.
I exhale with relief.
He begins unlacing his breeches.
Oh no.
I should leave. Right now.
But I don’t move. My feet root to the floor, and my eyes lock on him even as my brain screams at me to look away.
He pushes the fabric down, and I see him. All of him.
My face burns. This is wrong. I am hiding in his private space, watching him undress. I need to leave immediately.
But he is stunning. That is the problem. Lean muscle shifts beneath pale skin, quiet strength etched into every line of his body. I should not be noticing any of it, yet I notice everything.
He turns the tap, and water begins to flow from the malachite-crystal showerhead. Then he steps beneath it and lets the water run over him.
Oh. The vampire is bathing.
Nothing suspicious here. I really should go. His hand wraps around himself and every thought in my head goes silent. My lungs stop working. The first stroke pulls a sound from him so quiet I almost miss it.
His head falls back, dark hair spilling over his shoulders. He closes his eyes, his expression almost pained as he strokes slowly.
I should not be watching this. Yet I cannot stop watching.
His other hand braces the wall, knuckles clenched. The muscles in his arm flex with each stroke.
Arescaine is beautiful.
The thought crashes through me and shame floods after it.
This is a nightwalker. A Strigon. A creature I don’t trust.
My eyes betray me anyway.
His sharp features are softened by pleasure, dark hair falling across his face.
The hard line of his jaw has gone slack, his lips parted.
He looks nothing like the vampire who watches me from across the war table with those unreadable eyes.
The cold composure he wears like armor has dissolved, leaving someone I have never seen before.
I am going to Hel. Whatever gods are listening must be judging me and finding me completely lacking. Still, I cannot look away.
His breathing changes. Faster, rougher. A soft sound escapes him, something between a groan and a gasp.
The door is right there. He is distracted, completely lost in this. I could slip out and he would never know I was here. I think about it. I don’t move.
I stay pressed against the wall and I watch. I’ve made my choice.
His pace increases and he makes another desperate sound.
I should leave I should leave I should leave.
I don’t leave.
His back arches. The crystal glow catches everything, the flex of his stomach, the tension along his jaw, his hand moving faster now with each stroke.
He is close. I can tell somehow, reading his tells like I know him.
But I don’t know him and I don’t want to know him.
The careful rhythm shatters into something erratic and urgent, his free hand slamming against the wall. His breathing stutters, his whole body pulls tight.
“Rhianelle.”
My entire body locks.
Did he just groan my name?
I must have misheard.
“Rhianelle,” he breathes again. “Gods, Rhianelle.”
The sound is wrecked, like he’s been holding it back and finally can’t anymore. His hand doesn’t stop. He keeps moving in quick desperate strokes, completely lost.
He is pleasuring himself to thoughts of me?
Something sharp twists low in my belly. Confusing and unwelcome. I don’t know what to do with it so I just stand there, frozen.
“Please,” he whispers to the image of me in his mind.
His whole body goes rigid. Every muscle locks at once and he shatters, a groan tearing out of him that breaks into something almost like a sob.
He spills over his hand and his abdomen and I watch every second of it, unable to look away.
He slumps forward after, breathing hard, dark hair falling around his face.
“Please, Nel.” His forehead presses against the wall, breath still ragged. “I need you. Come back to me.”
I gasp.
Nel?
This evil vampire even has a nickname for me. I clap a hand over my mouth quickly. Thank goodness he doesn’t hear it.
I realize I am holding my breath. I force myself to breathe slowly and quietly again. I need to leave. Right now. Before he recovers and this gets any worse.
Arescaine straightens and reaches for a towel. He begins to dry himself. I should close my eyes. I should give him this at least.
But I keep watching the cloth as it moves over his stomach, his thighs, between his legs.
I am the worst person alive.
The absolute worst.
Arescaine finishes drying and sets the towel aside. He stands there naked from the waist down before reaching for his breeches.
Relief floods through me. He is getting dressed. Soon he’ll leave and I can escape this nightmare.
He moves toward the fireplace.
My heart sinks.
The vampire isn’t leaving. He is standing there in front of the fire, staring into the flames like he has all the time in the world.
I stay frozen, barely breathing. My legs are starting to cramp from standing so still.
Maybe he’ll fall asleep standing up like most Nightwalkers during their dormancy. Maybe I can...
“You can come out now.”
His voice shatters the silence.
I die.
My soul leaves my body, and whatever remains is just a mortified shell.
No.
There’s no way. He cannot possibly know I am here.
“I heard you in the washing room,” he says quietly. “That surprised little breath you tried to hide.”
Oh gods.
He still hasn’t turned around. Arescaine continues staring into the fire.
Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.
The vampire knows I am here. Which means he knows I was watching. I am going to be sick. My stomach twists, and my hands shake. Every part of me wants to dissolve into shadows and disappear into the floor.
“Come out,” he says again. “We need to talk.”
My legs refuse to move. I remain behind the curtain like a coward, wishing I could reverse time and choose never to follow him.
“Rhianelle.”
My name sounds different in his mouth now. Firm and commanding, nothing like the broken desperation I heard before.
He does not call me Queen Rhianelle or Your Highness.
Considering what I have done, perhaps I do not deserve the courtesy.
“Come out.”