Chapter 8. William
william
This leap should be easy for William, yet he is running on too little blood, and his joints feel a hint of achiness.
It is a good thing that Legion hunters did not storm the basement tonight because he was grossly overestimating his strength. He needs more blood.
The girl’s legs wobble as he sets her on the grass. She blinks a few times, like she is new to the world. “Warning would’ve been nice,” she huffs, holding her arms open like she is trying to regain her balance.
She glowers at him, and as their gazes meet, he stops breathing.
He can still sense her monthly bleeding.
It was the call of her blood that awoke him, and now it rouses his hunger once again. Yet before he can give in to the temptation, he needs information.
“Come on.”
He starts walking in search of a more secluded space. Open land surrounds them, the lawn adorned with fountains and low hedges and benches.
“Where are we going?”
She sounds like she is falling behind.
“Somewhere we will not be interrupted.” He says it mostly to himself, but she hears him because her footfalls go silent.
“Interrupted from what?”
He does not answer or break his stride. After walking for a while, he still does not hear her moving.
The vampire cuts back to her so quickly that she startles and loses her footing. He catches her by the arm and pulls her in close.
“You will do as I say,” he warns, his gaze trailing down her throat. Her heart speeds up, and despite the fact that he experienced only six months as a vampire and never took to it, he finds himself relishing her fear.
“Why should I help you if you’re just going to kill me?” she asks in a breathy whisper, as if terror has stolen the strength from her voice.
He rips his stare from her neck and meets her eyes. “So that your friends do not have to die with you.”
Distress swims in her gaze, her irises swirling like molten gold.
He lets her go and keeps forging ahead. As he rounds the corner of the manor, William spots a garden enclosed in tall-stemmed plants. He waits for her there.
When the girl enters the semiprivate area, he is inspecting a bush with floppy red leaves. “Where is the rest of my kind?” he asks without looking up.
A pause.
“Y-your kind?” she asks when he pins her with his stare. “You—they don’t exist.”
He studies her expression for any sign of deceit or manipulation.
“Is the Legion near?” he asks. “Have the vampires gone into hiding? Does the Treaty still hold?”
She looks back at him in despair, her face as blank as those books in the basement.
If she does not know about the Treaty, it may no longer be in effect. He must seek these answers, yet he hesitates to leave behind any evidence. And as he cannot compel the girl to forget him, he has only one option.
“Are you sure you’re from this universe?” she asks, sounding almost hopeful. “Maybe—maybe you come from, like, another dimension—”
“This world has changed substantially since the 1700s, but I still recognize it.”
She gapes at him.
“You’re three hundred years old—?”
“I made a mistake with you,” he says, and she shuts her mouth. “I drank too quickly, and you got away.”
She takes a step back, and it is amusing that she thinks she stands a chance at escaping. Endearing, even.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says.
The plea strikes a wound that is somehow still tender, even after all this time. He uttered similar words once.
“Alas, I do,” he says, his approach so slow as to be imperceptible.
“Y-you said I’m your Familiar. What does that mean?”
He knows she is only trying to delay the inevitable, yet he finds that he does not mind. The predatory instinct that he was missing when he was first turned has switched on at last, and he is relieved to give himself over to the monster within.
“In my day, to be a Familiar was a great honor bestowed upon the trustworthy. Particularly as the distinction marks a human as unable to be compelled by any vampire and offers them other protections.”
He is no more than four feet away, and she looks down at his shoes, like she has just registered that he has been moving closer.
“Yet given the precariousness of my circumstances, leaving you alive is too great a risk.”
“I—I haven’t told anyone.” She makes her voice firm, though she reeks of fear. “And I won’t say anything! If you’ll just go, I promise no one will ever know you were here.”
“There is only one way I can be certain of that.”
She blinks, and he is right in front of her, so close she has to tilt her head back to look at him. Her mane of unruly spirals sets off the delicate features of her face, her beauty striking him suddenly.
Still, it will not save her.
“Take off your coat,” he commands.
She steps back. “Your mind control doesn’t work on me anymore.”
“Would you prefer I overpower you?”
He takes a large step forward, and she backs up into the tall-stemmed plants, looking around in desperation for a way out.
When she cannot find one, she looks at him again. Her golden eyes are large and glassy, twin suns that cannot win against the night.
As she still does not oblige, he grips her coat’s collar with both hands and shoves it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the ground. Then he draws down the toothed fastening of her next layer of clothing.
He finds the two tiny puncture marks from last night, and he lightly brushes a finger across them. She gasps softly, and then shivers. She must be freezing.
He is determined to take his time tonight, lest his gluttony have consequences again. As he moves in, a tear rolls down her cheek, and he hesitates for just one of her heartbeats.
Then his fangs sink in, and all other thoughts disappear as her warmth flows down his throat. He circles one arm around her middle and cradles her head with the other. He can feel her trying to speak by the vibrations in her neck, but he clamps down harder, silencing her for good.
As her heart begins to slow, he feels more of her weight in his arms. He takes a brief break, dislodging his fangs from her skin just to monitor himself and make sure he is not going to have another seizure like last night.
Yet all he feels is more hunger.
He leans down to keep drinking—
“I … know.”
Her voice cannot even compete with the light breeze that blows through the leaves of this garden. Yet her words make him hesitate. What if she has had information all this time and is only giving it up now, when death is imminent?
“What do you know?” he asks, his lips by her neck.
“Library.” She sounds breathless. “Midnight.”
“What—?”
Her neck goes limp, as does her entire body, and when he looks at her face, her eyes have rolled up. She has lost consciousness.
She was probably deceiving him. She would have said anything to save her own life.
And yet … What if there is a reason she woke him?
Perhaps he can wait one more day and kill her tomorrow.