25
I sit at the candlelit table fronting the river in Seville and toy with my food.
It’s a beautiful, hot evening, just dark, even though it’s past eleven. The Games crew have cordoned off an entire lemon-tree-lined street full of cafes fronting the river so that we can enjoy our first one-on-one date.
Only, I’m not enjoying it, and if I’m not mistaken, neither is the bachelor. He hasn’t even touched his cake, and from what I’ve heard he has a notorious sweet tooth. Why he’s out of sorts I don’t know, but I sense his melancholy and it compacts upon my mood as I struggle with my own concerns.
Our flight to Spain yesterday had been uneventful, the contestants falling into two distinct categories: those who had participated in the first challenge and wanted to discuss it, and those who hadn’t and wanted to discuss it.
In between there was me.
Several people tried to draw me out, but I had no intention of sharing my thoughts on what went down.
Usually I’d sleep during the day, but I was deep in strategy mode most of the flight trying to figure out what to do about my pursuers while simultaneously stressing about the date I was scheduled to attend by default.
Right now both these worries are still at the forefront of my mind.
Normally I have a positive outlook, but learning that I’d been correct about Regina’s fate, realising I still don’t have an ally in this game, and now being forced to have a one-on-one date with the bachelor, which I somehow need to come out of with blood still coursing through my veins, is starting to chip away at my confidence.
It’s one thing to fight to the death against twenty-four other competitors for the hand of a vampire royal, to solve riddles, undertake physical challenges, and keep one step ahead of their deadly intrigues.
It’s another entirely to have to, at the same time, hide your true identity and avoid capture by your enemies from outside the game.
Now, as I stare at my deep-fried sardines and twirl my glass of red sangria around and around on the white tablecloth, the director’s shout brings me out of my reverie.
“Cut!”
“Contestant, you’ve been coached. When on a dinner date it’s imperative you angle your body to face the bachelor and meet his eyes at all times. Surely that’s not asking too much?”
“Ah, no, sorry.”
He nods and sighs heavily.
“And…Action!”
I raise my glass to my lips and look at the Viscount, as directed, trying to appear interested as he gives me a penetrative stare, his lip quirking at my expression.
“I know you don’t want to be here, but generally these dates are aimed at having you and I exchange information,” he drawls. “I expect the purpose is to help me decide whether to keep you or kill you, and to give the audience a deeper insight into both of us.”
‘Shit.’
“What makes you think I don’t want to be here?” I frown.
“Perhaps the fact that you deliberately came in second behind Laura,” he murmurs.
My face pales, then blazes, but I decide the truth is probably my best option. He’s clearly more perceptive than I’d anticipated.
“I didn’t want to come first because it’s too soon in The Games to come out as a forerunner,” I shrug, “and as it happens, had I done so I’d probably be where Laura is right now.”
“Did you see Miranda put the snake in Laura’s pack?”
“No,” I frown, “but she must have done it when she reached the beach. Laura didn’t work with her in the challenge.”
“And you know this how?”
“I just know.”
“Challenges aside,” he shrugs and changes the subject as though bored and desiring to speed things up. “You’re here now. Why not use the opportunity to tell me about yourself?”
“Sì,” I gulp, suddenly aware that the cameras are panning in on my face. “Ah, what would you like to know?”
“If the formula is to be followed I’d ask you why you entered The Games,” he sighs, taking a long drink of his whisky before putting the glass down firmly on the table between us.
“But let me save you the trouble of answering and take a wild guess,” he shifts his gaze to stare away from me towards the opposite bank of the river at nothing I can perceive.
“You’re looking for love; you saw my profile and knew I was the one immediately.
You think you and I are destined, and you can list a thousand reasons why I should choose you to be my wife. ”
‘Wow, he’s already made up his mind that we’re all the same. Fuck. I need to turn this around, and fast.’
“Not at all,” I swallow hard and wait for him to look at me once more before going on. “I’m not looking for love.” I meet his surprised gaze unflinchingly. “I would have had any vampire in any series. This is the series. You are the vampire.”
He raises an eyebrow.
I shrug.
“You wanted the truth, or at least I have to presume that’s what you want. It sounds like you’ve heard enough bullshit since this game began to last even your long, long lifetime.”
His lips quirk slightly.
“You’re right,” he turns back to the river view. “But truth or no. I don’t care whether you aspire to love, or power, or eternal life. I’m here to marry whoever wins; end of story.”
“Although the choice is yours,” I frown. “So what contestants say to you must have some sway on your decision — you just pointed that out.”
He turns back to me.
“I couldn’t care less what any of you say or do.”
“Cut!”
“Ah, Viscount,” the director interrupts, “I know we’re all just waiting for, you know,” he bares his teeth, “but, ah, can you try and pretend some interest? For the audience? After all, this is supposed to be romantic entertainment.”
The bachelor sighs and nods.
“And…Action!”
I frown. This isn’t going at all how I expected, and the director has just confirmed my suspicion with his farcical teeth-baring that I’m about to be killed.
‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’
“So…” I start.
“So,” he clears his throat, “given that any vampire would do, you must have applied to participate in these games before?”
“Three years in a row,” I keep my eyes upon his. So far his haven’t strayed to my throat, which I have to assume is a good thing. “Although I’m glad I wasn’t selected last season,” I murmur, “I doubt I would have suited the Bavarian.”
“No?” He mutters. “And what makes you think you’ll suit me?”
“Perhaps I won’t,” I shrug, “you seem very melancholy. Feelings rub off onto me, and I always try to remain positive no matter what adversity I’m facing.”
“Melancholy?”
He turns to look at me, really look at me, for the first time tonight, maybe ever.
“And I suppose your positive attitude and aptitude for puzzles is why you’ve entered into games that will most likely end in your death.”
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” I smirk. “But as it happens I realised early on that I only had two choices, become a nun or enter The Games.”
“A nun?”
He looks surprised, the first real expression I’ve seen on his face since sitting down opposite him.
‘Perhaps he is alive inside after all.’
“Yes. The veil was my fallback plan if I didn’t get onto The Games this year. I was either going to take the black or win this game and take the white.”
“You’re religious?”
“Not especially.”
“And how do you think you would have fared in a convent?”
The corner of his lip quirks slightly as he says this, as though anywhere else, with anyone else, he might have laughed.
“Not well,” I sigh, “I mean I would have welcomed the chastity vow, wouldn’t have even minded the poverty vow, but I don’t think I could have stayed in the end because of my vengeful heart.”
“Your what?” He snorts, smirking around his glass.
“I have a vengeful heart,” I shrug, “at least that’s what my Catholic priest told me.”
“And you believe him?”
“I have to,” I shrug, “it’s true.”
“And how could someone so young have enemies they would wish such vengeance upon that it would corrupt their heart?” He leans back in his chair, giving me a penetrating look.
“Well, that’s a long story,” I say quietly. “And one you won’t learn if you bite me.”
“Indeed?” He takes a long, deep drink, tops his glass up again and drains it in one huge gulp.
“Unfortunately, that’s not how The Game’s played, Catriona.
There are things I’d like to learn about you that we haven’t touched upon, but I’m getting the wind-up signal to say our date has come to a close. Our time is up. I must bite you.”
I stare at him, the colour draining from my face. There’s no escape. I mean, I could try and make a quick run and vault over the railing into the river, but even then the ever-present guards would catch me. No, I’ve put myself into this mess, and now I need to see it through.
‘So this is how it ends? All my strategizing, all my sacrifice, has been for nothing? Christ, that sucks. Ha, sucks. Oh shit.’
“Catriona,” he says, his voice deep, powerful. “Will you accept my bite?”
‘Fuck no!’
“Dalle stelle alle stalle,” I sigh.
“From the stars to the stables,” he shakes his head, “but isn’t that the way of life, triste petit chaton?”
“I’d hoped not, but it would seem so. And I’m not a sad little kitten, not by any means. I made my own fate. Regardless of how it ends, I made it.”
I raise my chin as I say this, and the camera pans in on my expression. My enemies will hear the message in my words, even if the vampire doesn’t.
“Regardless,” he stares into my eyes, his own darkening, “you have to say the words; we have to play the game. Will you accept my bite?”
“Yes.”
I rise as he offers me his hand. It’s warm, completely encompasses mine, and I feel the same tingle at his proximity that I did the first time our fingers touched.
Standing opposite him I wait for what’s to come as the director urges his camera men to zoom in close and “catch it all.”
‘I guess I deserve it. I mean, I’m a murderer, a liar, a traitor to my family and bloodline, playing the game under a false identity... it’s just…this isn’t how I thought it would end.’
At a cue from the director, and still holding my hand, the bachelor pulls me perfunctorily towards him as though spectacularly bored by this whole process and, using his free hand, brushes my long hair away from my neck dramatically.
I close my eyes and tense, screaming inside as he leans close, his lips brushing my throat.
At first his bite is just a sharp sting, but within seconds it becomes more, so much more.
Groaning, he drops my hand and snakes one of his around my waist; the other he buries into the hair at the back of my neck, his grip iron as he draws my life’s blood in deep, long gulps.
The pain is excruciating, and I grit my teeth and stare wide-eyed at the camera crew.
The director looks, for some reason, as shocked as I feel, which I find vaguely amusing.
I suppose it’s only because I’m the first contestant to be murdered by this bachelor.
But I soon stop wondering about this, about anything, as the sucking goes on and the vampire groans and grips me so tight against him I feel every line of his rock-hard body — and suddenly the pain becomes pleasure like I’ve never known.
Moaning, I relax in his arms, wondering if it’s just loss of blood that’s causing me to feel this euphoria as wave after wave of ecstasy ripples through me.
Closing my eyes to the camera crew, the lights, I shudder and my legs begin to fail me just as the bachelor pulls away and, snarling like an animal, hurls me from him.
Careening backwards, I almost smash into the table, but I’m caught by strong hands before that can happen and lowered gently onto the cold brick pavers. The same hands that had saved me grip my shoulders and shake me gently, and a voice full of remorse, agony, reaches my ears before I pass out.
“Oh, God. Catriona, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I’m so very sorry.