Chapter 49
As soon as I’m inside, he locks the door.
‘What is this place?’ I ask as my gaze shifts from one part of the little cottage to another. There is no furniture. No kitchen. No fridge. It’s a bare carcass of a building. The windows are covered in newspaper. Then there is the smell, like straw or earth or an animal. ‘What are we doing here?’
I look over at him and he’s watching me, but the kindness I saw in the drawing room, or just a moment ago in the garden, is gone. Now he’s cruel Oscar again. It makes my stomach twist.
‘You’re strong enough, you just showed me that. It’s time for you to learn to control your prey.’
‘You mean hypnotise?’ I ask, struggling to keep up with him.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Rupert mentioned you were worried about that. In my experience, if a vampire is fed and still has trouble with their power, it is a question of will.’
I hear a sound on the other side of a wall, and look over to it. And there, wandering in from an adjoining room, is something big and orange and black.
My breath catches . . . a tiger.
A TIGER.
I stare at it, the room around me blurring, as I try to make sense of what’s going on. I look back to Oscar but he’s already closed himself off in a small room to my left. Through a Perspex door with a small hole in it, I can hear him when he says, ‘Aubrey, meet Tina.’
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
I stare into the animal’s eyes—they’re amber, like mine—trying to gauge how much danger I’m in.
Her pupils are still small, so at least she’s not angry.
That’s good. I look around for a weapon, because there’s no damned way I can hypnotise her, I can’t even hypnotise humans half the time.
But I don’t see a weapon. No pots, pans, light fixtures.
Instead, as I look up, I see a bloodied, charcoal piece of fabric.
My heart thuds against my ribs in a way it never does.
Was that Felix’s jacket? Did Oscar bring his body here first and then bury what was left in the garden?
‘Get me out of here,’ I say to Oscar, under my breath, not looking away from the animal.
‘Like I was saying, in my experience,’ comes Oscar’s voice from behind the safety of the Perspex, ‘it’s usually a question of will. And the best way to access will is through fear.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ I ask, my voice shaking now. Because I think he’s actually serious. And I could die here. This tiger could rip my head off. Like Oscar did to Felix. He knows this and yet he’s put me in here.
A hot fury rises within me. First he pretends to be kind with that bullshit Dirty Dancing move and then he does this. I am simply his plaything.
‘I want you to hypnotise the cat,’ Oscar says, nonchalant.
‘This is not a cat. This is a tiger,’ I say, my voice small and desperate.
I turn around and pull on the door, even though I know it’s locked, but it doesn’t budge.
I turn back to the animal, my breath stuck in my lungs.
It moves before me carefully, eyeing me.
Placing its feet carefully as it assesses me.
‘Hypnotise it to do what?’ I spit out.
‘To lie down. Sit,’ comes Oscar’s low voice. ‘She doesn’t listen to anyone but me, so if you can get her not to attack you, you will have passed the test.’
My vision gets wavy.
‘Oscar, this isn’t funny,’ I say, as I start to shake. Because I can see the animal’s teeth now, and they look dirty. I know I’ve always wanted to die, but not like this, not when it wasn’t my choice. And certainly not for Oscar’s amusement.
‘You’re a psychopath,’ I seethe as I stare at the tiger. ‘Sit,’ I say, trying to calm my voice, trying to access the soothing quality I know I need. But I’m terrified, paralysed in place, and it comes out crackly.
The tiger takes another step towards me and it’s crouching down now . . .
‘Sit,’ I try again, my heart beating in my throat and my breath is so shallow I feel like I might pass out.
I take a step backwards, my back hits the door. Tina crouches a little lower; she’s about to pounce.
‘Don’t be scared, Aubrey,’ Oscar’s voice croons. ‘Use your anger, harness it.’
Arsehole.
I stare at the tiger, eye to eye, and in the most velvety voice I can muster, I manage to say, ‘Tina, sit.’
I watch as the tiger’s eyes glaze over. She . . . sits.
She fucking sits!
I am filled with joy, elation. I did it. I did it. I won. Fuck Oscar and his mind games. I did it!
I look towards him, and he’s grinning at me. But then something shifts in the animal’s stance, and I look back. So quickly, so fluidly that I barely register what’s happening, she lunges at me. Like she has springs in her joints.
I could fight. I could scream. But . . . I don’t.
That split second stretches like it’s in slow motion and all I can think about is my blank phone screen, how Jonathan has moved on, and how without him there’s nothing to hold me in the light.
I can feel myself slipping into the darkness, becoming a monster.
And my sire, who I longed for, is cruel and has put me in this room for his amusement.
The world isn’t that great anyway; I’ve seen the moon enough times, thanks.
There is nothing to live for. Nothing to hope for. Nobody will miss me, not really.
I don’t fight it. I clench my eyes shut. Wait for impact. Wait for the inevitable oblivion like I have so many times before.
This is it.
Finally.
But first comes a swooping noise, then the bang of a door closing, then big arms holding me. My eyes flick open.
Oscar’s face is right there, his eyes stare into mine, his arms hold onto me. I can’t read what’s in his eyes but it’s violent and furious and hurt all at once.
He reaches for my face, and I’m not sure if he’s going to stroke it or rip it off, so I flinch, pull away, my eyes still on his. He frowns, like he’s wounded.
‘I’m not going to hurt you, Aubrey, I’d never do that,’ he says, his voice a whisper. His eyes bore into mine.
Which is fucking rich. He just put me in a room with a tiger.
I sit up, looking behind him for the cat.
The door to the adjoining room is closed now.
She must be in there. My breath is quick as I stare him down.
I’m shaking. I don’t know what’s happening.
Why he saved me when he clearly hates me in some way.
‘Why didn’t you fight to live?’ he asks, his voice shaking. ‘You just stood there.’
As I look at him, all I can think about is how many times I’ve tried to die. And why.
‘I’ve never fought to live,’ I whisper, looking straight at him. ‘I want to die because of what you made me. Because I hate myself and I don’t trust myself. And because you are cruel and you do things like this to me. I yearned for you, Oscar, for years. But every kindness you show me is a lie.’
And for a splinter of a moment, it feels like he understands, like he’s moved. But then his eyes are hard and blank again. He just walks over to the door and unlocks it and says, ‘You can go now.’
I think of those photographs I found and that box of love and 150 years of yearning for him and the tiger in the next room and I whisper, ‘Fuck you.’
Then on shaky legs, I leave the cottage. The moment I hear the door close, I run. From him. From that tiger. But mainly, from me. From whatever part of me ever loved someone like him.
It’s starting to snow; tiny flakes hit my nose, my forehead. I look behind me but he’s not coming. I get inside and take the stairs two at a time, my lungs heaving, my heart bruised and then whoooosh he moves past me.
When I get to the top he’s already there.
He grabs me by the throat and my back hits the wall and his face is so close to mine.
I can feel a heat rising within me and all I can hear is static.
He’s got me trapped, is staring me down.
His pupils are huge, the gold around them flaming like molten lava, and he’s letting out short, sharp breaths.
I’ve never seen him this angry, not even that night with Felix.
All the softness in his eyes from earlier tonight is gone again, like it’s been leached out.
Like I imagined it all along, like it was never there. And so much for never hurting me.
‘Let me go,’ I say. But he just holds me still and now every part of me flames. ‘Let me go!’ I yell, my eyes on his, and I don’t look away, not for a moment.
He glares back, unblinking, like he’s trying to burn a hole right through me. ‘Be careful how you speak to me,’ he says slowly, threat in his voice.
‘Or what?’ I challenge. ‘I know you won’t actually hurt me and even if you do I don’t care.’ The air around us rings with silence.
He gives a small smile, and calmly says: ‘No? What about if I hurt . . . Jonathan?’
The walls pulse in towards me. I can’t breathe.
How long has he known about Jonathan?
He gives a small smirk, like he knows he’s winning. And now that familiar heat is boiling in my solar plexus, it’s moving to my throat. Gathering there. Swirling. I’m not even scared anymore, I’m just fucking furious.
‘Right,’ I say, my voice cracking. ‘That’s what you want, isn’t it, for me to be as alone and messed up as you? What, should we both live here in this miserable house?’
A small part of me is telling me to stop. To shut up. Am I insane? Why am I yelling at this man—this vampire—who I’ve witnessed killing two others? Who has a pet tiger he could feed me to? But I can’t stop now, to not say it all would be to let him win. And no. Just no.
‘I saw your pictures of me, Oscar,’ I spit.
‘That little box I gave you. I loved you. I trusted you. You should be ashamed of how you abandoned me. Of what you did to me last night. Of how you’re treating me right now.
Because I know I’m the only one, that you don’t have any other proteges.
I know in some way you care. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have sent me Hans, you wouldn’t have been watching me all these years.
I see the way you look at me. But you can’t even admit it, can you?
Which means you’re nothing but a coward. ’
Thoughts dance behind his eyes.
I can hear my own breath.
‘Aubrey,’ he says calmly, letting go of my neck.
‘Don’t embarrass yourself. I have those pictures because I had to check on you to make sure you weren’t going to compromise any of us.
I kept that box because I’m not a complete arsehole, no matter what you might think of me.
No, I don’t have any other proteges, but that’s because I learn from my mistakes.
But please be clear on one point: I don’t care about you.
I’m just protecting myself, and all this,’ he says, looking around at his high ceilings and ornaments, ‘from you and your uselessness. When we’re done here and I am certain you won’t be a problem for the rest of us, you’ll never see me again. I can promise you that.’
And then he’s gone, and something deep in my chest throbs.
I run into my room and slam the door. I sit on the floor, hugging my knees as my lower lip quivers.
I smell rust. Once the tears start, they won’t stop.
I can feel them streaking my face, gathering on my neck, my face contorting as I sob.
I can’t tell if I’m crying from fear or from still being here or because of Jonathan and Olivia or the fact that I don’t want another new year alone, pretending to be happy .
. . Or if I’m sobbing for every night I’ve spent alone for 150 years, for every dream I had of Oscar, or for the vampire who I thought I’d find, the one who could have made everything better.
And even though Oscar can surely hear me sobbing through the walls, he leaves me here alone. Like always.