Chapter 14
Rowan
Violet did not seem to mind the rules I gave her. Her roommate was gone before we returned, giving us privacy to discuss the finer details while sitting in her dorm, the dark wood flooring gleaming under lights that cast everything in amber warmth.
First, meals were to be consumed prior to her shift. If she absolutely had to eat or drink at Oubliette, she would only consume items we brought ourselves. Nothing from the club. Nothing touched by the staff or clientele.
Second, she would keep a spare set of clothes at my place. I hadn’t made this official yet, but with time, I planned to note her sizes and shop for a few pieces myself. The thought of her wearing something I’d chosen sent an unwelcome heat through my chest.
Third, no one-on-one dances. No private rooms. No circumstances where she’d be alone with a patron. Thankfully, this was something she agreed to immediately, her hazel eyes clear and certain when she’d nodded. She didn’t think it would pose a problem for Jules.
Fourth, she would take the bed. I would sleep in the living room. She’d argued this one, but I’d been immovable. The bed was hers. End of discussion.
Fifth, Violet could have freedom from my constant presence, but only if she was strict about traveling from dorm to shower.
Direct routes only. No detours. No wandering unless it was in large public places like bus terminals, where there were plenty of people.
Otherwise, I would shadow her every step.
She had agreed to the rules initially, but—true to her nature—quickly revolted.
After spending a few hours with me, my presence a constant blur at the edges of her vision, she’d begged me to leave her alone for an hour or two before her late evening training.
Studying for tests, she’d claimed, her voice carrying that particular edge of desperation that told me she needed space to breathe.
So, I’d given it to her. . . and I promptly went hunting for answers.
I haunted the university’s grounds like a ghost, testing old skills I hadn’t used since my first life.
The oak trees were ancient, their branches thick enough to bear my weight without creaking.
I climbed them with careful rigor, bark rough and solid under my palms, the scent of green leaves and wood filling my nostrils.
I scaled a few walls, hiding from students who passed below in clusters, their voices bright with weekend plans and exam stress.
It was exhilarating using a younger and stronger body compared to the one I had died in. I almost lost sight of my quest.
Then, finally, I found her.
In an alcove formed by oak trees near the library, I found my vampyress hidden in the treetops—a fitting location for a creature who’d lived centuries.
Her ivory dress was spread around her like an offering to the grove, and the bright fabric caught the dappled light of the setting sun as it filtered through the canopy above.
She’d nestled into the crook of a massive branch, her body relaxed in a way that suggested complete comfort.
In her pale hands, she held a leather-bound copy of The Epic of Gilgamesh, the pages yellowed with age.
She did not look up from her book when I approached, though I knew she’d sensed me the moment I’d entered the grove. She said, “I could have sworn I put up a glamour.” Her voice carried that particular musical quality unique to her kind. Like wind chimes made of bone.
I sat down on a lower branch nearby, careful not to brush against her. Even accidental contact with a vampyre could be dangerous if they were hungry or annoyed.
“It seems you can hide from many, but not all, vampyress.”
She snapped the book closed with a sound like a gunshot in the quiet grove. In the shadows of the grove, her eyes appeared midnight like the vast sky—pupils blown so wide the irises disappeared—turned to me with an intensity that would have made most mortals flee.
“Indeed. Why have you come?”
Excellent question. . . why have I come? This was foolhardy, but I could not seem to steer myself away from danger. Not when Violet was involved.
“Did you do it?” I refused to be subtle. No point dancing around the question when we both knew what I was asking.
Her eyes flashed, literally glowed with offense for a heartbeat before dimming back to passing as human. “No.”
“No?” I sounded as incredulous as one could with a one-syllable word.
She met my abrasion with unexpected gentleness, her voice softening. “I did not kill that boy. Not when it could threaten someone close to me.”
“Oh?” I tilted my head, studying her. The faintest flutter of her heart pattering—a telltale sign she’d fed recently—sounded nothing like the thunderous pounding of a human heart.
The lack of breathing, the utter stillness of her chest, the nearly radiant light of her eyes, and how her skin seemed to absorb sunlight rather than reflect it were just some of the symptoms of vampyrism.
The signs were so blatant when you knew how to look for them that it made me wonder how vampyres had remained hidden throughout all of human history.
Then it occurred to me that she had casually mentioned that she cared for someone attending Shademore.
Was that why she was hanging around the campus and not feeding to her shriveled heart’s content?
It had been days since I had seen her, and I knew she must be ravenous.
Was there a reason why she was withholding herself?
No matter. I continued my inquiry. “But you know who did.”
She shook her head, platinum white hair catching the dappled light like spun webs. “I have an inkling, but nothing solid as of yet.” She pressed a finger briefly to her temple, the gesture oddly human. “Without any evidence, there is little I can do.”
“But when you find proof of who was responsible? Will you turn them over to the police?”
“No,” she answered. “The laws of you muritors mean next to nothing to us. The freshly formed Pax Tacere, however, carries significant weight.”
“Obviously,” I said.
Truthfully, though, I knew next to nothing of the Pax Tacere—some secret pact formed between the supernaturals before the veil fell—because it was already ancient history by the time I was born in my first life. Of course, she didn’t know of my ignorance, and I wasn’t about to parade it around.
But I made a note to look into it. Knowing it was recent meant there could be information hidden somewhere in the libraries Charlie and I ventured to. It was something.
She shifted on her branch, her ivory dress whispering against bark. “Even if I did have evidence that proves who killed that boy, I doubt I would bother to take it to my father. Neither he nor the other kin wish to ruffle the veil, and I do not blame them. Not when gods are roaming.”
That got my attention. “The veil is a physical thing? And which gods?” I met her eyes, curious whether she’d answer, knowing I was pushing my luck. She was being oddly forthcoming with information, more than I’d expected from a creature notorious for hoarding secrets.
“I’m surprised you have to ask that question, handsome.
You seem so,” she bit her lip as she pondered her words, “well informed.” Her fingers traced the embossed title on her book’s cover, the gesture almost nervous.
“All I will say is that no kin nor clan wants the scales tipped either for or against them right now, lest they suffer the attentions of the current reigning gods. . . gods who are ever so insecure on their thrones.”
Classic immortal politics. Everyone is jockeying for position while pretending to maintain the status quo. It’s not much different from my first life.
“It sounds as if you are in a tight spot, then. Are there any kin specifically giving you. . . trouble?” It was no business of mine what went on between supernaturals and gods.
However, considering I had cheated Death once after dying to The Library’s Hunter, I felt it was in my best interest to understand the current political landscape.
She regarded me with a dissecting stare, her head tilting at an angle wrong enough to remind me she wasn’t human. “Why do you ask, muritor? Are you offering your aid?” She laughed as she said it, as if the very thought of my help was hilarious to her.
This is a stupid thing to say, I thought as I said, “And if I am?”
She laughed harder, the sound like silver bells mixed with breaking glass. “And if you are what? How could you possibly help me?”
I knew this was a gamble, but I’d already come this far. I took a deep breath before I said, “You said you have a suspect for the murder, but lack evidence? What would you do if I found that evidence?”
Her laughter died down. “Oh, you were being serious?” She sat straighter, and as she spoke, her voice carried the weight of centuries, coloring each word.
“Between the Strega’s Nine Sins and Death’s ire, nobody wishes to have attention drawn to them in this moment.
. . lest they desire to join a Grim on their journey to the beyond. ”
Nine Sins? That was something else I should look into, but her comment on Death is what had me curious.
“So even you immortals fear Death?” That tidbit of information was fascinating. I knew supernaturals could die, having hunted a few myself in my previous life. But immortals? This was gold. And while I had seen depictions of Grims in lore, I had no desire to meet one in person.
She snickered. “Some things are worse than dying, muritor. All things end. That is the way of things.” Her eyes held mine, ancient and knowing. “Even those who evade a Grim or cheat Death itself come to learn that lesson before the end. The finality of Time greets them. . . eventually.”
“Unless you manage to cheat even that,” I said quietly.
“An interesting choice of words,” she mused. “I only know of two that have escaped Death and Time’s grasp.” She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “I would be careful if that is the information you seek.”
I took note of her warning, filing it away with all the other dangerous knowledge I’d accumulated. “Thank you. I will remember that.”
Her gaze was steady, scrutinizing, peeling back layers I’d rather keep hidden. “Tell me, what do you plan to do if you find out it is one of our kind? Banter until they confess, or simply offer your neck with your stupidity?”
“Vampyress,” I said, my tone grave and sincere. “I would never insult the intelligence of your kind.”
“You insult it by seeking me out when it should be the other way around.” There was no heat in her words, just observation.
I stood, brushing bits of bark from my dark jeans, and turned my back to her. A clear sign of trust among predators—exposing the throat, the spine, all the vulnerable places. “I merely wished to know if it was you.”
“And you trust me?” The question carried genuine curiosity.
I waved as I walked away, my footsteps silent on the grass. “You have given me no reason not to.” I looked back at her, still perched in her tree like some ethereal creature from a fairy tale. “If it is one of your kind, I pray they know the old ways and will adhere to them like you do.”
“Do not pray, muritor. You will only be disappointed.” Her voice carried across the distance between us, clear as crystal.
“Were I any other of my kin, you would have been dead the moment you stepped near.” She hesitated, seeming to consider her next words carefully.
“What I heard through my connections was that the boy’s body had been ravaged, similar to a wild animal. . . do with that what you will.”
That gave me weighted reassurance. Our acquaintance was etched in a thin line of trust, built on hidden stories neither of us wished to disclose.
“You may leave,” she commanded in mock authority, a small smile playing at her lips.
As if I would have waited for her permission.