Chapter 12
TWELVE
again? really?
After changing into something more comfortable, I sit on the bed long enough for the sun to rise. My mind has reeled through everything that happened at the party, trying to make sense of the test and how I failed it. Is the rest of my life going to be one big test?
It’s not until a beam of light pierces my eyeball that I move.
My stomach rumbles, sending me on a quest for blood.
There are no sounds in the house other than my own movement and stomach rumbling.
Did Simon leave me alone? I scoff at the thought.
If he did, I’m sure it’s a test of some sort. Probably one I’ll fail.
I find what I’m looking for and slowly sip the red liquid as I walk into the living area. Other than the kitchen, my bedroom, and the living area, I haven’t explored much of the house. Closed pocket doors are the first thing that piques my interest. Mother always said I was nosy. She wasn’t wrong.
Sliding the door open, I peek inside, discovering the room is an office.
The walls are lined with shelves, each full of texts of all shapes and sizes.
In the middle of the room is a large wooden desk.
Other than a few pieces of neatly stacked paper, a quill, and ink, there’s nothing to snoop through.
I resist the temptation to open the drawers. That feels intrusive, even for me.
I run my fingers along the spines, noticing how clean they are. Even the cleanest libraries have dust. This one is spotless.
A marble fireplace sits opposite the desk, with two chairs facing it.
The mantle grabs my attention. Sitting in perfect rows are old photographs.
Most are of Cyrus, wearing modern-day clothes, but one catches my eye.
He’s wearing a uniform that looks to be from the Civil War.
His hair is perfectly combed, and his mustache matches the photos of other soldiers I’ve seen from the era.
“Look at you,” I whisper to the photo, picking it up for better inspection.
A second photo falls to the floor, apparently hidden behind it.
It’s a tin-type etching of a soldier from another era.
His helmet is pointed and looks to be made out of metal.
The puffy shoulders on his shirt are shoved into what looks like armor made out of leather. He’s holding a sword in front of him.
I stare at the face of the man. A full beard covers his chin and lip, but the eyes…the eyes tell me who it is in an instant. Even in black and white, pale-blue eyes stare back at me. Oh, my God. This is Cyrus.
“That was before Aurora found me,” a deep voice says from behind. I drop the photo, along with the framed one I held before.
Cyrus is in front of me before I have time to register what just happened. “I’m sorry,” I say, realizing shards of glass cover the wooden floor.
“I can replace it,” he says, picking up the pieces.
“How are you…I mean, I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
My buyer scoffs. “Aurora had to be somewhere…alone.”
“Cyrus, I’m sorry. I messed up, I…”
He closes his eyes. “You did nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have put you in that situation. You weren’t ready,” he interrupts. “With Aurora’s arrival, I tried to rush through things. I know better. It was my fault.”
“I don’t even know what I did wrong,” I admit.
“Victoria. Aurora doesn’t like her minions to communicate with each other.”
“Minion? Is that what I’ll be?”
“No, but that’s how she thinks of it.” Cyrus sighs. “Simon never should have left you alone. You and Victoria talking caught her attention quickly.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” I defend the lycanthrope. “I should’ve sensed the danger. Simon told me I need to stop thinking like a human and step into my power.”
“He did, did he?” Anger radiates from Cyrus.
“He’s right. I think too much like the sheltered human I was. I’m not human anymore. I need to start thinking like a vampire.”
His energy calms slightly. “How do vampires think, Violet?”
“I don’t know, but I plan on figuring it out.
” He picks a piece of loose hair off my cheek, sliding it behind my ear.
“I know you protected me last night. I’m sorry to have put you in that situation.
” He looks at his boot, not responding. “I want to learn. Help me figure it out.” I swallow the lump in my throat, daring the tears to form in my eyes. “I’m ready to learn.”
One side of his mouth lifts higher than the other. “Perfect. I have one condition,” he adds.
I lift my eyebrows in anticipation. “What?”
“Go on a walk with me.”
I stare, not sure what that has to do with anything. “Okay, why?”
“I would like to show you something. Plus, exposure to humans will build up your resistance to the blood lust.”
“Do I have time to change?” I ask.
“Of course. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m back downstairs, wearing a dress I found in the wardrobe.
It’s a beautiful shade of violet and fits like it’s custom-made for me.
Listening through the house, there are no sounds, no ticking of clocks, nothing.
Did Cyrus leave? I search the kitchen, living area, and garden with no luck.
Stop thinking like a human. Simon’s words run through my mind.
Closing my eyes, I tap into the part of me that I’ve only just begun to accept.
I take a needless breath and center my focus on the house.
I visualize walking through the home, mentally looking for something out of the ordinary.
It doesn’t take long to find it. In the office, the energy feels different.
What are you feeling, Violet? I reach even further, using my heightened senses, and see what I’m looking for… Cyrus.
I move into the office, finding him exactly where I felt, sitting in a high-back chair, reading one of the many books in his collection. “You look lovely,” he says, smiling as I enter.
“Thank you. This dress is beautiful.”
“I felt you looking for me,” he adds.
I can’t hide my smile. “I thought like a vampire.”
Cyrus stands, offering me his elbow. “Shall we?” I link my elbow in response. Minutes later, we’re outside the garden wall, walking toward downtown.
It’s still early, which means not many humans are out yet. Most of the ones we pass are on their way to work or have a specific mission in mind. Surprisingly, I smell them, but they don’t tempt me. In other words, I don’t feel like eating my way through downtown.
“You’re doing well,” Cyrus says, away from human ears. Hearing his praise lifts my spirits.
“Where are we going?” I ask, as we leave downtown, walking closer to the river.
“Castillo de San Marcos.”
“A castle?” I ask, secretly thanking my two years of high school Spanish.
“More like a fort.” He pulls me to a stop, pointing at the structure.
“When we landed here, there was an abandoned indigenous settlement already in place.” He looks around.
“In fact, the fort is built on top of the remains.” I follow his gaze, trying to imagine what it might have looked like.
“The first fort was wooden.” He laughs softly.
“After a few of those versions burned to the ground, this one was built.”
“It’s impressive,” I agree.
“Yes, it is. I watched them build it from afar.”
“You’ve stayed in St. Augustine since…since arriving?”
“Most of the time, yes. I’ve traveled the world many times, but I always come back.” Cyrus looks toward the water, seemingly caught in a memory.
“I don’t blame you. It’s beautiful here.”
He wraps my arm back through his. “Come. There’s more to see.
” We walk at a human pace away from the fort and toward an open field full of headstones.
“This is where I’m buried.” We move past the more modern and easy-to-read headstones toward the back of the cemetery.
He stops at a nondescript tree with no markers. “This is me.”
“This is a tree.”
Cyrus scoffs as he looks around. “This field is full of Spanish conquistadors. Most died from starvation or disease.” He nods toward where we entered.
“The men buried here were the first to land and the first to die. Most are buried in unmarked graves. The Spanish couldn’t appear weak, hence the unmarked graves.
As far as anyone knew, we were all alive and well. ”
“Who’s buried in your grave?” I ask, realizing that’s one of the strangest questions I’ve ever asked.
He shrugs. “One of my fellow conquistadors. I’d been missing for a while. A body was found, and it was assumed to be mine.”
“That’s sad.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps the man buried under our feet escaped this madness, and we’re the ones living in sadness.”
I stare at my buyer. “That was profound.”
“I’m not just a pretty face. I say profound things every once in a while.” My laugh echoes through the area. Cyrus smiles in return. “I like that sound.”
“What?”
“You…laughing. I like it.” He wraps my arm through his once more. “There’s more.” He guides me back to the entrance of the cemetery, leading me to one of the older headstones. He stops, staring at the unreadable inscription.
“I can’t read it,” I admit.
“This is the grave of Isabella Knight…my wife.” He runs narrow fingers over the engraved dates. “She died in 1815.”
Wife? “I’m sorry, Cyrus.” With the revelation of two wives, my brain wants to know how many more are out there.
He stares at the inscription. “She was human.”
I turn toward him, not sure I heard correctly. “Human?”
“Yes. Before you ask, yes, she knew what I was.” I don’t even know how to ask the millions of questions flying through my mind. “Thank you for the consolation, but it was many years ago.” He looks up, making eye contact with me. “Ask,” he says with a smirk.
“What happened to her?” I ask the number one question in my mind.
“Officially, consumption,” he answers. “I tried to save her.”
“You didn’t…You didn’t turn her?”
“I offered. She refused.” He latches my arm through his again, leading me away from the cemetery.
“What did she think about vampires?”