Chapter 38
CHAPTER 38
JULIET
T omorrow is the Vampire ball. I cannot deny that I’m nervous about going, but I don’t want to let my worry consume me. Instead, I focus on my writing. Choosing to get lost in my imaginary world and characters to distract my mind from this dreadful event.
I sit at my desk in the study, overlooking the sea. Inspiration hits, and I scribble a few more words down on the parchment, trying not to smudge the ink as I write.
I lean back in my chair and turn to Valaric. He sits on the sofa near the hearth. The crackling fire lends a soft glow to his stoic and handsome features. His head is bent over a book, his brow furrowed in thought.
“Valaric?”
His eyes snap up to mine. “Yes?”
“Can you help me with something?”
“Anything.” He closes his book and sets it aside. “What do you need?”
I love how attentive he is. Always willing to drop whatever he’s doing when I ask him for something. And he never grows impatient with me, like I often saw my father do with my mother when I was growing up.
Standing from my chair, I walk toward him. I pick up a cane, and he grins, already knowing what I’ll ask.
Valaric rises from his seat and grabs another cane as well. Holding it out before him, he arches a teasing brow. “What would you like to enact?”
I smile and swing my fake sword, and he meets it with his. With our swords locked, we circle each other. “You’re Sir Danric, and I’m the Evil Lord Soryn,” I explain. “You thought I was dead, but I sprung back to life.”
“Impressive.” His lips twitch upward in amusement. “However did you manage that?”
I laugh. “You’ll have to read to find out.” I clear my throat and give him a serious look. “All right. Here’s what we’re doing.”
As I describe the scene in detail to him, he listens carefully. All the while, we pretend sword fight as we move around the room. He laughs as I jump up on the sofa. “Aha!” I exclaim in my best impression of a deep, villainous voice. “I have the upper hand now, Sir Danric. Whatever will you do?”
I add an ominous chuckle, and Valaric laughs before he catches himself and gets back into character. “You think you can defeat me?” he says, adding a dramatic flair to his tone. “You’re no match for my skills and my bravery, Lord Soryn.”
I leap from the couch and swing my sword. Valaric easily stops it with his. “Now you have to pretend to kill me,” I tell him. “You’ll deliver the death blow, and I’ll drop to the ground.”
Valaric’s expression falls. “No.” He straightens, lowering his sword. “I cannot.”
At first I think he’s joking, but when his expression remains serious, I give him a puzzled look. “Why not?”
His gaze holds mine full of some unnamed emotion I cannot quite discern. “Because I don’t want to imagine you hurt.”
“Not me ,” I stress. “Lord Soryn.”
“Yes, but it is your face I see, not his.” He reaches out and tenderly touches my cheek. “Please, do not ask this of me.”
I’m surprised by his suddenly somber mood. “What is wrong?”
Lowering his gaze, he shakes his head softly but he does not speak.
“Please,” I say softly. “Tell me.”