Chapter Thirty-Three
Kitty pushed open the door to her shop and inhaled deeply.
With the revelation that she could remain in operation, the musty air felt fresher.
Sweeter. The last time she’d been inside, she’d struggled to keep tears at bay.
Now, she couldn’t help but look at the dusty, dank corners with fondness.
She’d started her business here, and it was thanks to Cordon buying the building that she could continue.
She put her palms on her worktable and caressed its marred surface.
Despite the events of the past few days, her heart was not entirely at ease.
She would be Cordon’s wife, but he had refused to turn her.
How could a human and a vampire remain together?
It was far more complicated than the difference in their class.
He would never age. Eventually, people would notice.
She touched her neck, where a slight scar remained from his bite.
The moment Cordon had plunged his fangs into her had been intensely pleasurable, but it had also changed something between them.
There was a new awareness in her mind, a sense like he was sharing her body, even though he was miles away.
It was intensely uncomfortable, and so she shied away from it.
Would she be enough for him, or would he have to find other women to bed to satisfy his hunger? Dr. Rysel had said her blood was necessary to keep him from growing sick, but how much blood did he require? She didn’t like the idea of him feeding from anyone else.
She opened the first of the boxes on the floor, but the questions swirling around her mind would not end.
What kind of life could she have with a man who remained asleep during the day?
They would only have a few hours together each night, unless she adopted a nocturnal schedule to match his.
Then there was Kitty’s family. How would Betty react to learning her sister had committed herself to a vampire?
She removed a padded stool from the box and placed it on the floor and stared at the upholstered top of the piece of furniture.
She remembered sitting in a beam of sunlight at her parents’ home and stabbing her needle aggressively through a half-completed embroidered handkerchief, furious with her parents for something they’d done that she could no longer remember. Was she willing to let go of that life?
She shook her head and moved to the next box, which contained the item she was looking for.
She removed the lid, set it aside, then lifted the soft fabric of a suit jacket by the shoulders.
It was some of her best work, made of the finest wool she could purchase from Mr. Julien.
It was her gift to Cordon, in appreciation for everything he’d done for her, including saving her shop.
The creak of the door opening had her jumping back to her feet. Mr. Blaylock stood in the doorway, wearing the same worn, black cloak he’d worn when he’d broken into her shop, as well as a fearsome scowl.
“It’s all your fault,” he said. “I could have ruled this city if it hadn’t been for you.”
She clutched Cordon’s suit to her chest as her pulse hammered in her head. “What? M-Mr. Blaylock, I—”
“You are a menace,” he roared. “I had found the perfect maker to turn me and the leader of the most powerful family in the city had all but accepted death. Without him, the rest of his nest would have been weak enough for my followers to defeat. Then you came along, and he changed.”
Oh, God, it was worse than she’d realized. Mr. Blaylock was now like Cordon, a vampire. She shuffled backward until her back bumped against her worktable. “What do you want?”
He barked a laugh. “What I want is you out of my way for good. I wasted so much time dealing with your sister, creating problems to keep you distracted, but you just wouldn’t stay away from Cordon.
As if you hadn’t already caused me enough grief.
Before I even knew it was possible to achieve immortality, I loaned your father money, and for what? ”
He swung his hands around as he gestured at the shop. “This?” He scoffed, then removed a knife from his pocket. “A mere shop.”
She slowly reached behind her. Most of her shears were still inside the box atop her worktable, but there was one pair within reach.
If she could distract him for a moment, perhaps by knocking the box to the ground, she could take him by surprise.
Her shears were devilishly sharp. It wouldn’t take much to bring him to an unfortunate end.
Assuming a vampire could be killed that way.
“But, no,” he said. “You had to step in. Now the members of my nest have started questioning why a fledgling has so much authority.” He pressed his hands to his head, including the one that held the knife. “I’ve lost it all.”
“Killing me won’t change anything,” Kitty said, even though she had very little idea of what he was talking about.
She clutched her fingers around the shears, and ran the pad of her finger down the sharp edge.
One more thing to do, and it would require all her skills to sell him a lie.
“Cordon doesn’t care about me. Why do you think I’m here, instead of with him?
” She nudged the box closer to the edge of the table.
“He got tired of me.” The box teetered. One more push and it would fall.
Mr. Blaylock’s face turned red. “No. When you’re dead, he—”
“Will find another mistress. That’s what he does.” Kitty chuckled. “You never had a chance.”
He lunged forward, pressing the knife against her throat. “You take that back.”
The stench of decay made her gag. Up close, she could make out how his hands trembled.
He was going to kill her, and she wouldn’t learn what her life with Cordon could have been like.
The petty grievances she’d been mulling over moments before vanished like chaff in the wind.
What did it matter that he was a vampire?
She loved him, and he loved her. All that mattered was that they were together.
If she ever spoke to him again, she would tell him that, and many other things.
But she had to survive this encounter first, which meant crafting more lies.
“Cordon never loved me,” she whispered. “You failed because you thought he was weak, but it was a trick. He wanted you to think he had given up.”
Mr. Blaylock’s eyes bulged out of their sockets.
She nudged the box. It crashed to the ground and exploded, sending needles and other sharp implements clattering across the floor.
Mr. Blaylock drew his hand away from her throat.
She whipped the shears, cutting through his flesh so quickly, he didn’t even seem to notice at first. He gave her a puzzled frown, opened his mouth, then grasped her arms and brought her crumpling down with him, shattering a wooden stool in the process.
The moment she hit the ground, pain exploded in her back.
Mr. Blaylock pawed at his throat. Blood spurted out of him like a gurgling fountain, drenching his coat and her gown.
She shoved him off her and tried to roll over, but there was something protruding from her side.
Her chest didn’t feel right, either. There was a bubbling in her lungs, like she’d inhaled water. She touched something cold and metal.
Shears. Embedded between her ribs. She coughed and sprayed crimson mist.
It wasn’t over. Mr. Blaylock was wounded but still alive. She grasped for a broken stool leg, then stabbed it deep into the vampire’s heart. Only then did the man stop moving.
“Cordon,” she croaked. “Cordon!”
She could feel him through the tenuous bond that had formed, although he was still weak. Venturing outside so soon might stress him, but losing her would be far worse, and she was not prepared to die.
So instead of closing the bond, she flung open the doors in her mind and screamed as loud as she could.