Chapter 5 Penelope
PENELOPE
The smell of charred, salted fish and fried bread filled the dining room, too heavy for such an early hour.
Penelope sat across from her father, idly prodding the fish with her fork while he carved into his own meal, stripping bones with careful precision and discarding them into the small white bowl between them.
Her mind was fogged by the vampire—by Elias. She couldn’t possibly consider his offer. Could she?
He was a vampire.
A monster.
A killer!
And how dare he make such a proposition, leveraging her one friend against her? The one person she longed for almost as dearly as her departed mother. It was a cruelty only a vampire could conjure.
And to leave her as he had. To vanish into the night and let her stew—for three whole days now—over what he’d asked.
To become his blood supply. To let him taste her.
The thought of his lips, his fangs, his tongue upon her set her heart pounding so violently she thought it might break through her chest. Her mouth went dry with something deeper than thirst.
Yet, the way he spoke of her music as if he truly understood the words she was unable to say.
In truth, no one had ever said much of her music beyond compliments on the grace with which she played, and the delicacy of the notes.
Especially not the men of her town. They were focused on the important things, on running the town.
On keeping everyone safe. Of course they would not have time to notice such things.
Still—no. No. She would refuse him. Penelope was not as brazen as Eleanor, but she was resourceful. She could find another way to send her a letter. Somehow.
She did not need a cunning, silver-tongued vampire.
Just as much as she did not need nor want a vampire tasting her.
Eating her. The thought alone reminded her of just how large he was.
His broad shoulders and massive build was enough to hide her completely should she stand behind him.
And if he were to tower over her? No one would know he was devouring her.
And each night, you will let me drink from you until you have satisfied me. His words made her stomach clutch. He offered her this as if he was truly doing her a favor. As if he were to be trusted.
Penelope’s fingers gripped the fork tighter as she nudged the fish again.
And even if she did teach him, had he ever been near a piano in the first place?
His hands were large, surely he would have no trouble in reaching the keys unlike Penelope.
It had taken years for her to learn how to play as well as some of the other students.
She had always been smaller, yet next to him—well she had never felt smaller in her life.
Elias would surely be able to reach the keys with ease.
And wait—no! She could not actually be considering his offer? It would never work.
Finally, her father cleared his throat.
“You remember Henry, the Whitlock’s boy?” he asked, still chewing his fish. “He’s returned from his studies across the waters. Quite established now. A match worth considering.”
The scrape of her fork against the plate cut through the silence as Penelope lifted her eyes to meet his. “A match?”
His face lit up as he nodded as if watching her unwrap a carefully selected gift. “Such an arrangement would steady your future. Secure you.” His tone was light and almost excited. “Perhaps even offer more allowances in your life that you do not currently posses.”
“Such as?” she asked, placing her fork flat on the table.
Her memories of Henry were little more than shadows—fond, yes, but faint.
Their meetings had been brief, scattered, but she remembered he had been gentle.
His father, too, had wielded discipline without cruelty, which alone made them rare commodities.
Their family had sponsored more than a few of her father’s political wars, even making Autumntun their second home during the re-elections.
After he left for his studies, word from him all but dried up. It had been so long she could scarcely summon his face—only the faintest scraps of a boy she once played beside. Though she knew those fractured memories would never survive against whatever the years had carved him into now.
He was a man now, as she a woman.
It was only natural her father would wish to arrange such a union. Still, his name felt strange in her ears after so long.
“Perhaps regular walks in the garden. Ventures into town. A proper evening.” His voice became muffled as he stuffed another bite of fried bread into his mouth.
“I have invited them for tea tomorrow. Henry is looking forward to meeting you. Be sure to study Mrs. Pencrook’s teachings tonight.
If all goes well, you could be Penelope Whitlock. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“Yes, father.”
He nodded once, satisfied, and returned to his meal.
Penelope Whitlock…
This was her duty. This was what she had been waiting for her entire life and yet…
unease pressed low in her stomach. A year ago and Penelope would have been begging her father to take her into town to buy a new gown.
Her memories of Henry may have been distant, yet she, of course, like all other families knew of the Whitlock name.
Every girl in Autumntun would sell her own mother to marry into that family, should the chance arise.
So why was her mind still shackled to that damned vampire?
She could tell her father now. Confess everything—that Elias had been in her room, had spoken his obscene bargain, had touched her with such relentless ease. She could cast it all aside—the deal, the lessons, the letters. She could walk away unscathed.
And yet… her lips stayed shut.
By the time she excused herself, her jaw ached from restraint. She climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last, her pulse dragging her forward.
The door shut behind her with a quiet click. She felt herself giving in to the weight of her body as she leaned against the door, finally enjoying the peace and—
“Who is Henry?”
Penelope shrieked as her hand found her chest, attempting to stop her heart from leaping away.
Elias, who was sprawled across her bed as though it were his own, smirked at her reaction with condescension practically dripping from his fangs.
And even worse, he looked like every bit of sin the books told about vampires.
A show of arrogance and flesh, white hair that was perfectly unkempt and brown skin that wrapped around taught muscles that could be confused for boulders.
And then his eyes—a sharp, blood-red that watched her with every bit of intensity of a fox stalking its prey.
Penelope froze. “Get out.”
He smiled wider without moving from her bed. “I rather like it here… I must say, wealth seems like it is good for the back. Your mattress is quite comfortable.”
“You cannot—” She strode to the bedside, seizing the pink sheet as though she might wrench it from under him. “If my father finds you—”
Elias’ hand fell on hers, wrapping around her wrist, stilling her toiling.
“If your father finds me, he’ll discover how fragile men’s throats can be.”
Her stomach dropped. “You think this is amusing?”
“I think,” he said, stretching lazily, dropping his hold on her, “you are amusing. Besides, I am still waiting on an answer to my offer, Lamb.”
She bit back her reply—because at that moment came the knock. Sharp. Her father’s voice just beyond the door.
“Penelope? Is everything alright?”
Her blood iced. Elias smirked, as though he’d timed it himself.
“Y-yes, Father! I merely saw… a rat.”
“A rat? Do not move. I’ll fetch the broom.”
“A rat?” Elias muttered, his brows drawn together in genuine offense like a sulking child.
“Hide,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
He gestured around at her room, which suddenly felt much too small. “Where?”
“Anywhere, just go!” She shoved at his shoulder, and with infuriating grace he let himself roll off the bed, landing soundlessly on the floor.
She smoothed her skirts, forced her face into composure, and opened the door just as her father’s gaze swept the room, frantic and searching.
“Where is it?”
“Where is what?” she asked, arranging a smile.
Her father’s brows furrowed as his eyes met hers. “The rat?”
Penelope puckered her lips, feigning thought, then gave a delicate shrug. “I cannot say what you are referring to. There are no rats.”
“You screamed?”
“I did not.” Her eyes flicked to the broom he brandished like a weapon. “Perhaps the sweeping should be left to me. You ought to rest. Stress is no friend to the mind.”
His eyes flicked between hers and the room a moment longer before finally lowering the broom, handing it to her. “Yes—well… mayhap, I shall take a rest?” He turned to leave, pausing in the doorway as he glanced over his shoulder. “No rats?”
“No rats,” she said softly.
After another lingering moment, he closed the door behind him.
Footsteps receded. Silence returned.
Behind her, Elias’ laugh rippled up from the shadows. Low. Satisfied. “A rat of all things?”
Penelope groaned as she turned around and there he was again, sprawled out on her bed as though he possessed ownership of it.
“We were almost caught!”
“You ken I can hear when he nears? You needn’t worry. I could be across town before he made it to the top of the stairs.”
“It does not matter! You’re not the only one who has something to lose!
” Her voice broke, her hands flailing despite herself.
“You are selfish! You storm into my room, dangling my friend in front of me, demanding I trust you after you break in, after you—” she gestured furiously at the breadth of him, the fangs, the obscene ease with which he filled her space, her bed “—after you ask me to make myself indecent to feed your… your hunger?” His mouth parted, but she steamrolled on.
“And, out of all times—you choose now? The worst possible timing!”
“Because of Henry?” he cut in smoothly, his voice slipping between her breaths.
“Yes! No! I—” her voice cracked, betraying her. Her whole body trembled. “I don’t know, alright?”
Elias rose, slow as if not to startle her already prattling mind.
“Then allow me to offer some clarity, as a sign of good faith of our deal.” His voice dropped, as did his eyes which fell to her heaving chest before trailing back up.
“Your heart did not leap at his name. It did not quicken. It dropped, heavy as stone. I heard it. As for my rudeness, this was unintended,” his hand wrapped around hers, lifting her fingers to his lips, placing a tender kiss upon them while never allowing his heated gaze to leave hers.
“I do hope you can forgive me. It has been some time since I have been in such close quarters with a Lady.”
Penelope felt blood rush to her cheeks as heat rose where it had no right to.
“I am fine,” she said, pulling her hand back and clutching it to her chest.
Elias took another slow step forward, causing her to step back in time until her back met the door with a muted thud. His eyes seemed to deepen in their shade of red as he leaned down. His fangs brushed her ear sending her stomach flying as her breath hitched.
His hand lifted, fingers tracing slow, swirling patterns over her breastbone, directly above the thunder of her heart in the slightest whisper of a touch—but he was touching her nonetheless.
And damn her, she did not hate it. It did not disgust her or scare her.
To her horror, it excited her. Being caged in by his massive form, knowing she could not escape—it sent a thrill through her core.
She closed her eyes as she took in a wavering breath. His fingers drifted lower, gliding along the cut of her dress, coaxing the unspoken, unseen parts of her into awareness before—
“For future reference, Lamb,” he rasped. His breath fanned her ears as her pulse fought to drown out all other sound. “This is what it feels like when your heart dances.” His touch vanished. And with it, the spell he had cast upon her.
Her eyes fluttered open. His smug face loomed above her, a predator satisfied with the point he’d made, daring her to deny the desire he had just awakened—taunting her with her singular moment of weakness.
Penelope shoved him back, forcing space between them and whatever hold he’d planted on her. That was all it was—a trick, a game, a spell meant to toy with her. Nothing more.
Elias let her push him away, a soft, amused laugh slipping past his lips.
She clenched her fists, struggling not to scream at him, though every fiber of her burned with frustration at his unshaken composure.
“I have conditions,” she snapped, voice sharp, almost brittle. “If you want this… this deal, if you want us to… help each other, you do not hurt me. Not once. Not ever.”
“And?” he repeated, his voice blank.
“And, the letters,” she pressed on. “One for every lesson, and another when you need my blood. Agree to this, and I’ll do it.”