Secrets
Breathless, my body thrumming with a heat that has nothing to do with the summer air.
Blake pulls back, his eyes dark with satisfaction. His thumb traces my lower lip, and I feel the ghost of his touch long after he withdraws.
“You’re not going back?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
He arches a silver brow. “Where?”
“To your tomb.” I gesture vaguely toward the window. “To under whatever rock you crawled out from.”
A low laugh escapes him. “No. Not really. I am feeling stronger than ever.” He steps closer, his hand finding my waist. “Though I would rather spend the day here. With you.”
I stiffen, pulling back. “But I am not alone here. The other girls—they are in this tower. What if they find us? I cannot pretend casually as if you are just… my new human boyfriend.”
“Hell no, Lucille.” His grin is sharp, wicked. “Are you ready to introduce me as your vampire boyfriend to your friends?”
“No!” The word bursts out of me. “Are you serious? The idea of them seeing you—of anyone seeing us together—it is absurd. And you are not my boyfriend!”
He laughs, the sound rich and unrepentant. “You wound me, Lucille.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Lucy” he corrects, drawing out the name like a caress. “You are adorable when you are flustered.”
“I’m not flustered. I’m—” I stop, my cheeks burning. “You are impossible.”
He steps closer, and his hand cups my face, tilting my chin up. His eyes bore into mine, serious now. “Are you jealous, Lucille? Jealous that I might want to feed on them? Fuck them?”
My breath catches. “What?”
“That was me in the old times.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I took what I wanted. I had no loyalty. No attachments.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “But now I have only eyes for you. No one else.”
I should be terrified. Instead, I feel a thrill of possessive satisfaction that I don’t want to examine too closely.
“If you want to stay,” I manage, “you can’t be seen. The other girls—they will ask questions. They will—”
“I know.” He releases me, stepping back. “That is why I am going to show you something.”
He moves toward the far wall, his hand trailing along the stone. His fingers find a seam I didn’t notice, and with a soft click, a section of the wall swings inward.
A dark narrow passage yawns before us.
“After you,” he says, gesturing with a flourish.
I hesitate. “Where does it lead?”
“To a place only I know. A place that has been locked for two hundred years.” His eyes catch the dim light, gleaming with hope. “Trust me, Lucille.”
I take a breath. Then I step into the darkness.
The passage is narrow, the walls rough-hewn stone that scrapes against my shoulders. Blake follows close behind, holding my hand, his presence a constant, hot pressure at my back. The air grows colder as we descend, the faint scent of dust and age filling my lungs.
We emerge into a spiral staircase, the steps worn smooth by centuries of use. We climb until my legs burn and my breath comes in ragged gasps.
“I built this tower,” Blake says, his voice echoing in the narrow space. “To watch over all my land. It is impenetrable. Full of hidden places only I know. Like a vertical maze.”
“You built this?” I ask, incredulous. “The entire tower?”
“I built everything.” There is a note of dark pride in his voice. “Every stone. Every secret passage. This was my stronghold. My sanctuary.”
We reach the top. A heavy oak door stands before us, bound in iron that has rusted with age. Blake presses his palm against the wood, and the lock clicks open.
He pushes the door inward.
The room beyond is vast—a master bedroom that hasn’t seen light in centuries.
Dust coats every surface. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling like ancient lace.
The bed is massive, its posts carved with twisting vines, its curtains rotted to rags.
Old furniture looms in the shadows, draped in white sheets that have yellowed with time.
“Home,” Blake murmurs, and there is something achingly sad in his voice.
I step inside, my footsteps stirring clouds of dust. “It is beautiful.”
“It was.” He moves past me, his hand trailing along the bedpost. “But it can be again.”
He raises his hand, and a gust of wind sweeps through the room.
The dust lifts, swirling upward like a vortex.
The sheets snap free from the furniture, folding themselves into neat piles.
The cobwebs dissolve. The grime vanishes from the windows.
The bed curtains transform, the rotted fabric becoming rich velvet in deep burgundy and gold.
Within moments, the room is pristine. Magnificent. A chamber fit for a king.
I stare, my jaw dropping. “Impressive.”
He turns, a smirk curving his lips. “I have my uses.”
“I see… If you were a maid, you would be very efficient.” I laugh despite myself. “A maid vampire. That is a new one.”
He grins, and for a moment, he looks young. Carefree.
“This is our secret place,” he says, his voice softening. “Nobody else knows about it. You are safe here, Lucy. During your heat, you can stay in this room. The shadows will bring you food. Water. Whatever you need.”
I look around the room, taking it in. The bed. The privacy.
“What about when my heat ends?” I ask.
His expression flickers. “You will have to leave.”
“What about you?”
He is silent for a long moment. “I stay cursed here. I cannot leave these walls. My power, my essence—they are locked in the portrait. I am bound to this house until the curse breaks.” He meets my eyes, and I see the weight of two hundred years of loneliness staring back at me.
“I cannot leave, Lucy. Not even if I wanted to.”
He moves toward the door, pausing at the threshold. “The shadows will take care of you.” His voice is rough. “Sleep. Rest. You are safe.”
Then he is gone, dissolving into the darkness, leaving me alone in the magnificent room.
The bed is impossibly soft, the pillows like clouds beneath my head.
The shadows bring me food—warm bread, fresh fruit, a decanter of deep red wine. I eat. I drink. I drift into a dreamless rest.
When I wake, moonlight streams through a high cathedral ceiling, its colored glass casting patterns of ruby, sapphire and gold across the floor. The ceiling soars above me, impossibly high, painted with scenes I can’t quite decipher in the dim light.
The shadows slide across the floor, tendrils of darkness that wrap around my limbs. I tense—then relax as they guide me from the bed. A basin of water appears, steam rising from its surface. The shadows bathe me, their touch gentle, washing away the blood and exhaustion.
They dress me in a silken rich fabric that gleams like liquid gold. I suspect it is real gold thread woven into the cloth. White gloves encase my arms up to the elbow. Ruby gemstones adorn my hair, catching the moonlight and throwing it back in flashes of crimson.
I stare at my reflection in the ceiling glass, hardly recognizing the woman who stares back at me.
I look like royalty. Like a queen from a fairy tale.
A passage opens in the glass ceiling above, and Blake descends.
He floats through the opening, his silver hair streaming behind him, his velvet coat replaced by something even more magnificent—black and silver and deep midnight blue, embroidered with patterns that seem to shift and move.
His eyes blaze with crimson fire, and he lands before me with a grace that steals my breath.
“You always have to make such dramatic entrances?” I ask, my voice coming out breathless.
His smile is slow, devastating. “Would you have it any other way?”
He circles me, his eyes traveling over the dress, the gloves, the rubies in my hair. Something dark and possessive flickers in his gaze.
“Stunning,” he murmurs. “Absolutely stunning.”
I feel heat creep up my cheeks. “You are not so bad yourself.”
“Not so bad?” He laughs, and the sound is warm, genuine. “I have been preparing this for centuries, Lucy. I have had time to perfect my appearance.”
He offers me his hand. “I have prepared a surprise for you. Will you come with me?”
I hesitate only a moment. Then I place my hand in his.
His cold and strong fingers close around mine, no claws today. He leads me across the room, and the walls melt away, replaced by a ballroom.
It is breathtaking. The ceiling arches overhead, painted with scenes of stars and gods and lovers. Chandeliers blaze with candlelight, their flames reflected in a thousand mirrors. The floor is polished marble, gleaming like a frozen lake.
And in the center of it all, a feast awaits. Tables groan under the weight of delicacies I have never seen—roasted meats, fresh fruits, pastries dripping with cream and sugar. The shadows move among the tables, arranging and rearranging, acting as silent servants.
I turn to Blake, my heart pounding. “You did all this?”
He bows, a mockingly elegant gesture. “I hope it is to your liking, my lady.”
I laugh, and the sound echoes through the empty ballroom. “This is insane.”
“Probably.” He straightens, his eyes meeting mine. “But you are worth it, Lucy. Every impossible, insane moment of it.”