Chapter 17
Soigner
CLAIRE
An hour passed, and my temper had cooled, but my conviction hadn’t wavered. I had to kill Bastien. If Mama had heard what Shreesa said about the relics, he’d already be a corpse. The light gone from his eyes. His body limp.
Some strange feeling soured my stomach at the thought of seeing his lifeless form, and I wondered if it was because of the bond between us.
My blood now lived in his veins, and perhaps a tiny part of me didn’t want him to die.
But it was a small part. There were a million reasons why I had to follow through with this plan.
I was packing my trunk when a knock made my breath catch. Without looking, I knew it was him. I could feel his presence on the other side of the door. Surely, he’d come to yell at me for not listening to him. I bid him enter, and Bastien slipped inside the room and closed the door.
I lifted my chin and forced myself to look at him.
It was hard to hate something so beautiful.
So perfectly put together. With soft lips that could speak such pretty words.
Lips that I swore I tasted, if only in a dream.
But he wasn’t just a pretty package. Bastien could snuff out a life like he was blowing out a candle.
He was a killer, a demon, and I was the soft prey to sink his teeth in.
I trembled where I stood, filled with such hate and such desire. One I understood, and the other burned against my will. We simply stared at each other. The air charged with unspoken words.
“Say something,” I commanded him. Yell. Rage. Raise a hand. Fuel my hatred with your vicious nature.
But he said nothing. And by Diana’s light, I wanted to scream.
I didn’t want to pretend anymore. I wanted to hurl accusations at him and make him answer for being on their side.
I wanted to make him explain why he treated the Dark Witches with so much care but never did the same for us.
I managed to keep my words behind my teeth, unable to set aside the pretense that I was nothing more than a simple orphan girl who wanted a chance to better her life.
Bastien stalked across the room, and I braced myself for what he might do.
He was a vampire prince, and I’d disobeyed him.
I was no stranger to violence—the back of Mama’s hand or the crack of a switch.
But he didn’t do any of those things. He simply pushed the back of the armchair against the bed, then he retrieved the little cauldron of herbal tea the witch had left behind.
I didn’t move, and neither did he. He commanded me to sit with his unwavering gaze. I wrung my hands together, trying to decide how to proceed. Did I let this happen? Did I let him wash my wounds? Or did I tell him to go to hell?
Without another word, he opened the connection between us, muting every sound—including the crackle of the fire and the distant sound of voices below—and I was helpless to stop the connection’s influence on me.
It was like he could burn everything away except the sound of his voice inside my head. Not compelling me to act but forcing me to listen. “I was wrong to leave you alone with Shreesa. I see that now.”
His voice was matter-of-fact. And the sound of it inside my head had the same effect on me that his tongue had on my neck. Weakening my knees and causing a tingle to settle low in my core.
He continued. “And for that, I’m sorry.”
He was apologizing? To me? For failing to keep his promise?
My lips parted, and disbelief had my brows drawing together.
Why? He didn’t need to take care of me. He didn’t need to keep his promises.
I didn’t want his help. I could fend for myself.
But the words died on my lips, and when he beckoned me forward with a finger, my traitorous feet shuffled toward the chair of their own accord.
My eyes never left his as I sat, hands folded in my lap. He stared at me with an unreadable expression—those long lashes of his beating like butterfly wings.
“Lean your head back against the bed,” he instructed.
I hesitated for a moment, then did as he asked, slowly tipping my head back until it made contact with the soft quilt. My throat open and exposed for him. My chest straining against the boning of my bodice. I shouldn’t let him do this, but for whatever reason, I didn’t stop him.
With care, the Duke pulled a sopping wet strip of linen from the cauldron and brought it to my neck. The tea dripped onto my skin. Each tepid droplet had me wringing my hands together and squeezing my thighs tight.
Slowly, he wrung out the cloth over my skin, causing rivulets of lukewarm tea to race over the lace, saturating the material.
Some of the liquid pooled at the base of my throat.
Some puddled on the floor. Some funneled down my cleavage.
The sensation and the surprise had me gasping, and I moved to grab a rag to clean my dress, but Bastien stopped me.
Our eyes connected, and the intensity of his look stilled my breath.
“My dress,” I explained, worried that the tea would stain the delicate blue fabric and ruin it. I only came with a handful of dresses appropriate for a vampire court.
Once again, he spoke to me inside my head, and it was like he was whispering in my ear. The rasp of his voice was as soft as lace.
“Don’t worry about your dress.” He eased me back. Then carefully placed the strip of linen over my neck. “I’ve sent word to have dresses made for you. When we arrive at my castle, you’ll have so many gowns, you could ruin one every day for five years and still not wear them all.”
The connection between us reverberated inside my chest and the force of his promise echoed in my heart.
He reached for another strip, repeating the process all over again until the front of my gown was soaked through, and even the fire couldn’t stop gooseflesh from covering my skin.
I shouldn’t be trembling like this, but I couldn’t stop myself.
My back arched as he set the second scrap of linen over my neck and grabbed a third.
More drips. More shivers. More breaths catching and hitching before expelling in a rush of air.
More of his focused attention. More eyes tracing my body as he reached for yet another.
“Tell me, Miss Donadieu,” he said. The low tenor of his voice unfurled around me like a warm embrace, “Is this experience as bad as you imagined?”
I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever imagined. I hadn’t expected him to be so adamant. Or so… attentive.
I swallowed hard, knowing my dress was a ruin. Knowing I was a ruin.
“Not every experience you fear is worthy of it,” he said. “No one thing, or person, is all bad.”
Bastien wiped his wet hands on a cloth before walking around the chair to face me. “The road ahead is rough. I should feed before we leave. But I will abstain if you do not consent.”
I should say no. I should make him suffer. Maybe he’d get sick enough that I could take him unaware. As much as I knew I had to kill him, I selfishly wanted to feel the euphoria that came with his mouth against my thigh.
Once he was dead and I returned to my coven with his secrets, I’d return to being no one—the Ghost of Prideaux Hill. The magickless witch who no man of worth would want. This pleasure was all I’d ever get, and I’d have to live with my shame forever.
That’s all I’d take from him—this pleasure, his secrets, and his life.
I nodded and consented to the feeding.
Bastien sank to his knees in front of me.
His hands gripping my calves. His skin cold through my thigh-high nylons.
I lifted my head to witness him on the ground before me.
His teeth dragged over his lower lip, and my thighs snapped back together as a pulse of desire rolled through me. Everything inside me clenching tight.
Those blue eyes. Those soft lips. Those strands of pale hair falling around his face.
His pledge resonated inside my chest, but it wasn’t his words or false promises that I wanted. No. His rough, calloused hands dragged up to my knees, spreading my legs apart inch by inch. Hate and desire lived inside me, and right now, desire was winning.
He lifted my skirts just as carefully, letting the material slide up my sensitive skin until the dress was around my waist. Every place his gaze landed burned, and the soft flesh between my thighs dampened. Turning slick with my need.
Carefully, he unhooked the garter holding up my silk nylons and peeled them down.
Then lifted my legs over his broad shoulders before settling between them.
The ghosting touch of his lips came next, following by the wet stroke of his tongue.
The shadows under his eyes darkened, and his fangs appeared.
Then came the full-body release of his bite.
I melted into the chair, knowing that each time he did this might be the last. And I decided to relish every moment of it.
We left for Roselyn at dusk. The coach swaying as the horses tore off into the night. Our vampire guard riding alongside.
Once again, I was accompanied by Tyson and Okeri, but I paid them little attention as I stared out the frost-stained window, contemplating how I was going to kill a vampire.
The thought plagued me for hours, and every time I decided on a way to end his unnaturally long life, an ache formed in my chest that I didn’t quite understand.
I rubbed at my breastbone, trying to ease the tension.
This was the right decision. I just needed to stop being such a coward and choose a path.
I was no warrior, so cutting off his head wasn’t going to work, and I didn’t think I could poison his food without killing myself in turn.
I’d proven that much during my failed attempt to slip him a sleeping draught that only resulted in me falling asleep.
The only option was to get close enough to him that he let his guard down. And right when he thought I was the person he could trust and confessed all his secrets, I’d strike.
I rubbed my hand along the tender spot on my thigh where he’d fed from me hours ago, remembering the ecstasy he’d coaxed from me. Of the moan that had torn from my throat halfway through. Of the feeling of his lips kissing and sucking at my skin.
The problem with getting close to Bastien was that my body always wanted more than just his nearness.
It wanted to be looked at and desired and touched.
It wanted to experience things that filled my cheeks with heat and my head with lurid thoughts.
I licked my dry lips and crossed my legs to relieve the growing ache between my thighs.
Was this the answer? Was giving my body what it so longed for the way to lull him into a false sense of trust? Perhaps so. Yet the thought made me equal parts excited and terrified. What if I was no good at wooing him, and I only pushed him away with my awkwardness?
Leaning my forehead against the cold window, I closed my eyes and expelled a long breath as images of me and Bastien entwined filled my head. It wasn’t wrong to think these things if it was for the right reason, was it?