Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Charlotte
The Aerie
Charlotte’s Bedroom
“Are you certain?”
“I’m content to stay in and read. I have tea, and I found a fascinating account of Radcliffe’s trial. I require nothing else,” Charlotte said.
Draven looked agitated. Charlotte presumed it was due to the winter solstice and the increase in Nexus energy. Since their argument, his mood remained dark. Not that she felt obliged to provide levity. They dined in silence nightly. The agreement was to share a meal, not to share a conversation. It was petty of her, but she didn’t care.
Watching the way he adjusted his cravat like it was strangling him, she wished she had asked Solenne and Luis more questions about being an anchor. On an academic level, she knew that beasts and vampires were different. Young beasts had no control over their transformations and were prone to fits of rage. An anchor helped keep them grounded, tied to their humanity, and less prone to turn into a mindless monster.
Vampires? They transformed once. Did they suffer from rage? Hunger? Charlotte had no idea. Draven shared very few hard facts about his condition. She didn’t know how she could help anchor him if she didn’t understand his symptoms.
Foul mood had to be a symptom.
“Yes, I am certain. I arranged a dinner and dance for you. That was not a whim,” he answered. His tone was genial enough, but his movements were twitchy, as if he were in discomfort.
The luminous red eyes were telling as well.
Charlotte was hardly an expert, but she knew three people affected by the Nexus energy cycles. Draven had not been himself in the last few days.
“Are you well?” she asked. “You seem on edge, and it is the winter solstice—”
“I am well aware of the day,” he interrupted.
He took a moment to adjust his cravat, presumably to collect himself. “Pardon. I thank you for your concern, but I am well.”
“Your eyes are red.”
“And yours are brown.”
“As were yours when we first met.”
He leveled those red eyes on her, looking thoroughly unamused.
She placed a hand on his arm, the wool of his coat remarkably soft. “I am thankful for the holiday entertainment, but I would not see you suffer for my amusement if you are unwell or in pain.”
His hand covered hers. The tremor was so slight she might never have noticed if he hadn’t growled before snatching his hand away.
“After the feast, there is a matter we need to discuss,” he said.
Ah. So that was it. He was sending her away.
Disappointment hit her harder than she expected. She had anticipated this—dreaded it, to be honest. She liked Draven. Yes, he was a surly, brooding bastard but…no, she needed to stop making allowances for his abysmal behavior. He asked her to come to his mountain fortress in bad faith and now rejected her because she could not do the impossible.
Still, he might have no regard for her, but she remained concerned for his well-being. “You did not answer my question. Are you well?” she asked.
“A headache. It is of no consequence,” he said.
“So you are in pain. Honestly, why make such a production of it? We’ll stay.” Charlotte kicked off her slippers. “There. My shoes are off. It is done. We’re staying in. I have headache powder. It’s best in tea. Let me make you a cup.” She kept a kettle warming on the fire out of habit, so there was no need to wait for hot water.
“Charlotte, the entirety of the Aerie is expecting us.”
Heavens, he was stubborn.
Draven stood in front of the fireplace. Dressed in his finery with his hair neatly pulled back in a queue and a legendary sword on his hip, he looked cool and composed. Only the tightness around his eyes hinted that something was amiss.
“One cup of tea,” she said in a gentle tone.
“We’ll be late.”
“Impossible. It’s your party.”
That earned her a slight smile. “Very well. Have your way with me, sweetness.”
Charlotte poured the hot water into a pot, careful not to splash the fine material of her gown or think too much on what it meant that he still used a pet name for her when he was sending her away. No good would come from such reflections. Playing nursemaid to a vampire with a headache was not what she expected to be doing while suffering her crushing disappointment, but it seemed a better option than forcing herself to smile through a lavish dinner and dance.
“There,” she said, handing Draven the cup. “That took no time at all.”
Draven muttered his thanks and drained the cup. He pulled a face but made no complaints. “Satisfied?”
Not really, but she was reluctant to question why he would hold a party when he was unwell. Why did he insist on parading her about when he had already rejected her? It seemed needlessly cruel. Couldn’t he just let her hide for one night? They’d circle around again in an endless argument.
It was time for a different line of questioning.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, pouring him a second cup.
“I’m always hungry,” he muttered, frowning as he accepted the cup.
“Do you need—” She held out her wrist, her hand clenched lightly in a fist. Other than her first night in the Aerie, they never discussed his…unusual diet. She felt the scrape of his fangs on her neck and throat, but he never bit. She had to admit, she was curious about the alleged aphrodisiac qualities of his venom.
Draven looked at her like she lost her mind.
“I don’t mind,” she said.
“No,” Draven said quickly, sounding appalled. “I do not require that from you.”
Charlotte pulled her arm back, schooling her features to remain calm and hide her disappointment. Another barrier between them. “It was only a thought. I’m concerned for your well-being.”
“Charlotte,” he said, warning in his tone. “I am well. I am at the height of my powers. Drinking now would be superfluous and indulgent.”
She held up her hand to indicate her surrender. He had no use for her. She understood. “Very well, but now I am curious as to how the solstice is affecting you.”
“How is it affecting me?” His eyes—red, so red—burned. He stood abruptly, knocking the chair to the floor. He grabbed the compass hanging on a chain around her neck and yanked it forward, forcing her to follow. Roughly, he gathered her to him. He held her tightly, his fingers digging into the softer flesh of her back.
He claimed her lips in a harsh kiss, more teeth than lips. Her body responded to his demands, melting against him, and wanting more. Always more. She barely noticed as he lifted the hem of her dress, his hands sliding up her thigh. When he pulled back, she was breathless. And confused.
He twirled the silver dagger, his lips nearly in a smirk, then offered it to her, hilt first. “What interesting toys you keep on your person.”
“Don’t act so scandalized. You’ve seen it before.” Charlotte snatched her dagger back and bent to secure it in her garter. “You’re one to talk with a sword on your hip.”
“It’s a symbol.” He lightly touched the hilt of Blackthorn.
“If you must know, I find the dagger comforting.”
“Your emotional support dagger is charming.” He leaned in, pressing his lips to her ear. “To answer your question, hunger is all I feel. It consumes me. All my thoughts are how much I want to devour you, sweetness. Every breath. Every sigh. Every last drop of you. My control is thin. I’ll give in.”
A hungry vampire who wanted to devour her had her in his clutches. She lacked the strength to free herself or fight him if he gave in to temptation. Anyone with a sense of self-preservation would be nervous or try to push away. Charlotte had neither.
“Perhaps you should,” she said.
Teeth nipped at her ear. She couldn’t hide a yearning groan.
“My hunger is constant, and nothing will satisfy it except your sweet, rich blood. I want to tear out the throats of anyone who looks at you. I’d paint the Aerie crimson to please you. Would it, sweetness?” Another nip, this one harder and less playful. Serious. Dangerous. He wasn’t teasing or being poetic. He struggled not to slaughter them all, starting with her.
“No,” she answered, trying desperately to keep her voice steady. If she were a proper anchor, he wouldn’t feel the strain.
Draven stepped back. The cool, distant mask was back. “That is the strain of the solstice. I am one impulsive thought away from ending you. Does that answer your question?”
She nodded. “What can I do?”
He flashed a smile. “Put on your shoes. Show the people of the Aerie that they have nothing to fear from their monster tonight.”
Draven
The Aerie
Assembly Hall
“I see Jane. I have a question about poinsettias.” Charlotte lightly touched his arm before departing. She had been acting strangely all evening. He wanted to keep her by his side until he understood the reason but binding her with rope was generally frowned upon in polite society. Not that anyone would include Draven in their description of polite society. Regardless, Charlotte left, and he nodded to the guard, giving a silent command to follow.
“Another success,” Lemoine said. She mimicked his posture, folding her arms behind her back as she surveyed the assembly hall.
Along one wall to form a barrier, branches flocked with white fluff meant to mimic snow and festooned with blood-red ribbons. A winter forest, he supposed, but the overall effect was bleak, despite the liberal number of ribbons and red-petaled poinsettias. Benches had been pushed to the side to make space in the center. Spirited music played, and people indulged in country dances.
Normally, such affairs were an exercise in patience. Tonight, the atmosphere was off. Wrong. Draven studied the crowd. Did they laugh too loudly? Were they too tense? Skittish? Did they hide weapons on their person or have them stashed about the hall?
Charlotte spoke to another woman, presumably the Jane with the poinsettia knowledge. He did not know the first thing about what was fashionable, but he knew Charlotte was a vision in her gown of blushing rose, glimmering under the candlelight. She wore her hair loose about her shoulders and the familiar compass rested against her skin.
Charlotte paused mid-conversation and turned toward him. She smiled. For him. His chest felt tight, like he struggled for breath, and the only source of oxygen was her smile.
“Do you agree, Lord Draven?” Lemoine asked. She followed his gaze and huffed. “Charlotte is making a spectacle of herself.”
“Lady Charlotte,” Draven said.
“Pardon?”
“You refer to me as Lord Draven. She is my wife. The honorific applies. Kindly repeat yourself because I’m afraid I misheard. It sounded as if you were less than kind regarding Lady Charlotte for enjoying the holiday party you insisted we must have for her honor. I must be mistaken because you’d never be so rude.”
Her jaw clenched. “My apologies. The noise from the crowd makes conversation difficult. Lady Charlotte appears to be enjoying the festivities.”
A halfhearted apology and a lie. Lemoine insulted him.
“You disapprove of Lady Charlotte,” he said.
“You do not require my approval, Lord Draven.”
“True enough. Then explain to me why you are determined to dislike Lady Charlotte.” Lemoine had worn a sour expression since Charlotte’s arrival and never uttered a kind word.
“May I be frank?”
“Certainly. It’s a holiday. Let’s indulge with scathing honesty.”
Lemoine’s posture relaxed. “I see how fond you are to that…to Lady Charlotte. I worry that this attachment will hurt you when she doesn’t last.”
“Your concern touches me,” he said. Truly. The woman was not a confidant and certainly not a friend—Draven hadn’t had one of those in two centuries—but she was reliable and devoted to him. “What makes you think she won’t last?”
“She tore apart the Aerie the week you were away, searching for who knows what,” Lemoine’s words tumbled out in a rush. “She’s a snoop. She has no regard for the established order of the Aerie. She asks questions about operations and is always writing in notebooks. That’s spy behavior. Check her trunk. You’ll find proof.” Lemoine nodded, thoroughly convinced by this spy fantasy.
“She was searching for her friend, who she believed to be held captive.”
Lemoine scoffed. “A likely excuse. I told her that was not the case.”
“And she should trust you because?” Draven asked. “You were the one who delivered the wormwood-laced wine to her. Frankly, since we are still being frank, I wouldn’t trust a word out of your mouth. Now that I think of it, have we ascertained how the wormwood found its way into Lady Charlotte’s wine that day?”
Color drained from her face. “Not yet, Lord Draven. The kitchen was very busy that day preparing the feast. Any number of people had access to Lady Charlotte’s tray.”
“Curious how with the perpetrator still at large, you insisted that we hold another celebration.” Not a question, but an accusation. “Knowing I care little for the holiday. Explain yourself.”
“Sir…Lord Draven…I meant no offense.” She stumbled over her words.
He only half-listened to her apology. The wrongness of the atmosphere struck him again, but he was unsure how much of that was real and how much was his annoyance.
He never cared for the holidays but bowed to their necessity. People needed joy and hope. Lemoine was correct in that regard. Long winter months wore on the spirit. A day of indulgence and dancing kept people content and productive. His discomfort did not matter.
Charlotte had questioned how the solstice affected him. The hunger was unending. The strain was constant. What he had not shared with Charlotte was how the barrier that kept him removed from the world, from his past, was thin. Memories were closer to the surface, and they offered nothing worth remembering.
On Earth, there had been little to celebrate other than surviving another year on an overcrowded, overheated planet. On days like this, he feared that the modern age romanticized Earth with its highly advanced technology. No one ever mentioned the wildfires that turned the air to poison, the droughts followed by inevitable food shortages, or the riots over clean water.
Draven had been more than willing to volunteer for a colony ship. Any ship. Knowing the ships only took the best Earth had to offer, a young Draven knew he would never be a prized physical specimen. He was neither a soldier by physique nor inclination. He focused his studies on the skills most useful to a colony and settled on genetic manipulation. Humans were amazingly flexible, and with a subtle nudge to the genes, they could adapt to whatever planet they settled on.
In theory. The execution had not been so simple.
Life on Nexus was harsh. He understood that. Terraforming only covered a fraction of the planet. The native species treated Earth flora and fauna as an infection, always battling. Fortunately, he had carved out a refuge and that was what they celebrated every year. Two hundred and eight years ago during the winter solstice, he took the military base by force and renamed it the Aerie.
Lemoine was still prattling on.
He waved a hand and she fell silent. “I do not wish to hear your excuses. Now see to it that no one attempts to poison my bride a second time.”
The music ceased as the song reached its end. The noise of the crowd fell into a lull. His fangs ached and his body tensed, detecting a danger he had not perceived yet.
Then the screaming started.