10. Clara
CLARA
Itap my fingers against the desk in Aldric’s library, looking around. There has to be something on revenants here. Right? I mean, if I got cursed to be an undead creature forever roaming the night, I’d want to know more about it. Or rather, myself. But so far, I’ve come up empty-handed.
Shmoo purrs up a storm from where he’s sitting on a cushioned chair by one of the bookshelves.
“Well, you’re no help,” I mutter. “And couldn’t you have warned me about the sinfully undeadsome master of the keep? Completely useless.”
I slump over, resting my forehead on my crossed arms. I can’t believe I went to third base with a medieval man with missing… bits and pieces.
There was nothing bitty about the pieces he wasn’t missing, though.
“Shut up, you whore,” I admonish my own inner voice.
It’s so slutty. Or maybe I’m the slutty one, letting an ancient warlord DJ me to orgasm.
You’re definitely something. Why aren’t you trying to run away again?
That’s it—I’m punching myself in the face until I shut up.
A rooster does his morning song outside the castle, and I lift my head, blinking into the pre-dawn light. I barely slept a wink tonight. First, the mysterious bath—which should have been my first clue, if I’m being honest with myself—then the mysterious man.
“Think he’ll help me get out of here, Shmoo?” I ask the dozing cat. He opens his eyes and blinks at me, once, slowly. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
I blow air out of my nose and stand up, moving to the bookshelves again. Maybe I didn’t find anything on revenants, but Aldric mentioned a witch’s curse. I run my finger down the spines until I find something I recognize—the Malleus Maleficarum. Also known as the Hexenhammer or Hammer of Witches.
I pull the book out and bring it back to the desk. Within are countless heinous acts that weak men performed on innocent women they accused of witchcraft.
“You won’t find what you’re looking for there.”
I jump at the sound of Aldric’s voice and whirl around.
He’s standing in the doorway, looking dapper in suit pants, a black button-down shirt, and a vest. I can’t even see the blue glow that was coming from his ribcage earlier, but his cursed eye is unmistakable.
There’s no way to mistake him for a living man.
“W—what do you mean?” I stutter, looking between him and the book spread open on his desk.
He moves closer, carefully, like he’s waiting for me to bolt.
“Heinrich Kramer wrote this decades after I was cursed,” he explains when he reaches the desk. He taps a finger on the yellowed pages. “It is also more of an account of repressed men’s sadistic fantasies rather than actual witchcraft.”
I take a deep breath to steady myself, but that only makes it worse. He smells divine, like cedar and herbs, and it makes me wonder whether he tends to his garden himself. Then again, it’s not like I’ve seen anyone else here. What are the chances of two ancient beings haunting this castle?
Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know.
“Where should I look then?”
Aldric smirks and spreads his arms as if indicating himself. “Your answers are right here.”
With that, he saunters around the desk and sits in the chair that must still be warm from my ass.
“Okay then.” I narrow my eyes, considering. “I’m not going to bother asking if witches and curses are real. I have eyes.”
Aldric’s smile widens, though there’s a touch of bitterness in it. Maybe because he only has one eye? I could have phrased that better.
“So tell me who the witch who cursed you was,” I continue. “And why she did it.”
He looks away, breaking our eye contact.
“As you may have surmised from my décor, I was once a warlord.” His tone is self-deprecating. “I conquered territories, seized castles, planted my banners wherever I set off to. This witch’s coven lands were no different.”
I cross my arms and glare at him, even though he’s still looking away. “So you bulldozed through their lands and took them for yourself?”
“What is… Never mind. Yes. I took the witches’ lands like I took everything else I desired.”
Explains the arrogant way he accosted me earlier. I shiver at the memory of the pleasure he wrung from me just with his fingers over my underwear. Aldric’s gaze cuts to me, and his nostrils flare. Can’t his senses be as dead as the rest of him? Well… some of him.
Flushing from head to toe, I turn my back on the revenant and walk to the bookshelves, trying to look like I have a purpose.
“I’m guessing they weren’t too happy about that?”
Aldric’s sigh carries across the room. “I thought I eliminated them all. Unfortunately, a crone was absent and survived.”
I throw him a glare over my shoulder. “You’re a dick.”
“I am the product of my wealth, station, circumstances, and timeline, little intruder,” he counters shamelessly. “I don’t regret pursuing my ambitions. Though this particular consequence is… crippling.”
“No shit,” I mutter, facing the book spines again. “So the crone cursed you to be a revenant. Which is, what, exactly?”
“It means I am not entirely alive, though I am not entirely dead. My wounds don’t heal. You may have noticed the flaws.”
He says the last few words like they’re as bitter as burnt coffee.
“Mm,” I answer noncommittally. I have, of course, noticed his flaws. Did they stop me from coming on his hand like a hussy? No.
I face him again, leaning against the bookshelf behind me, and cross my arms.
“What else is there? Have you tried to, I don’t know, travel the world, find someone who could reverse it?”
He taps the book on his desk again. The many rings adorning his fingers glitter in the candlelight.
“As I said, I am limited to this property. And the persecutions of witches over the centuries led to their extinction, as far as I know. I haven’t had a servant in decades to bring me news from outside my home.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I found a servant ledger. Why did they work for you? No offense intended.”
“Some taken,” he murmurs. “The only people who had access to Blackthorn Keep were the servants who worked for me when I was cursed and their direct descendants. Over the centuries, that number dwindled to nothing.”
I blink at him. “So, what, no one else came here?”
“No one else could come here,” he corrects, one black eyebrow arched. “Except for you, that is.”
When he leans back and crosses his arms, the fabric of his shirt stretches over bulging muscles with an audible protest. The man is built like a bunker, and I can’t stop ogling him. Then his words penetrate the lust haze in my brain.
“Wait, no one? I guess that explains why Marco and his goons didn’t look for me here.”
Aldric leans forward and braces his massive hands on the desk. Hands that… Nope, not going there.
“Who is Marco?” he demands like a man used to being obeyed. “Why was he looking for you?”
I rub the back of my neck, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I don’t want to explain how multiple bad decisions led me into an unwanted engagement with a mobster.
“It’s not important right now. The more important question is, how do I get out of here? Can you help me?”
“No.”
Silence stretches between us for a long, uncomfortable moment.
“Huh?” I finally say, stupidly. “No, what?”
The corners of Aldric’s lips curl into an arrogant smirk. “No, I won’t help you leave, little intruder. In fact, I will do whatever I can to prevent you from leaving.”
My back goes ramrod straight. “Excuse you?”
Aldric doubles down. “You heard me, Clara.”
He stands up and slowly walks to my side.
I try to shrink back, meld with the shelves, become a part of some dull, ancient text.
But there’s no escaping his magnetic presence.
His arms cage me in as he braces his hands on each side of my head.
I don’t know whether to look at his lips or his freaky eye.
“Not only are you the first living human I’ve seen in decades,” he continues, his voice low and raspy. “But you’re the first woman who has interested me in centuries. Why would I ever let you go?”