Chapter 8
Eight
The beast, who does not eat or drink in any human sense of the word, sat across the long oak table, twirling a glass between slender fingers.
“You’re late,” he said.
Ebony floated toward him, sweeping white across the spread of food against the dark cloth table, then disappeared into the wall.
The dining area, like the rest of the castle, was grand, with beautiful woodworking circling beams to meet the ceiling’s great mosaic.
A man receiving a crown bowed to the ground in a show of piety with nothing but dark hair shadowing his face.
A simple man, an angel compared to the figure wrapped in shadows behind him—the figure cloaked in darkness had only their skeleton hands outstretched with a gold crown to crown him as the world behind them burned.
I pulled back the chair. “If I knew there was a specific time to be down, I’d have prepared myself sooner.”
“I see you changed out of that god-awful gown,” he remarked before slowly sipping from the wine glass as burning gold peered up from its rim.
“It was covered in blood,” I said, frowning.
The glass before me filled with a fine red liquid within its crystal. I held it up to my nose to inspect it.
I’d be damned if I drank blood or anything suspicious from this household without knowing what I was consuming. Perhaps it is how he is to kill me, by lulling my senses into a false sense of security.
I took a small sip and sighed in relief as the soft tang of alcohol calmed my frayed nerves.
“I’m not going to kill you, if that is what you are worried about—especially over dinner. That would be too easy and less entertaining that way, anyhow.” He smirked.
“No, I suppose you would have killed me well before now. You probably could sink your fangs in at any point? More entertaining that way, I suppose. The thrill of the possibility of when!”
He rested his head on his hands, chuckling low and softly. “You are not as mousey as I took you for, Little Dove. Instead, you are a fire that is ready to burn everything in its path. Interesting, very interesting indeed.”
Before I got another word out, a plate of food appeared before me of roasted duck simmered in a red sauce over a bed of soft potatoes.
My mouth watered at the sight, stomach groaning in sheer anticipation.
I had not eaten anything other than the tea from that morning, and in the commotion of everything, I had forgotten.
I picked up my fork and knife, maintaining my composure to still be the lady I was brought up to be. One bite of the duck and I nearly lost it as the meat melted on my tongue.
I devoured the meal in slow, adept bites, trying to remember the last time I ate so well. With the piling debt, most of the money had been diverted to staving off collectors, leaving little for significant luxuries such as the meal before me. I tried to keep my composure, shoveling bite after bite.
All the while, my host looked on with amusement, twirling the memorizing scarlet liquid about the twinkling crystal.
Suspicious at the prospect of what or who was in the glass, I set the fork down onto the table cloth, my appetite vanishing at the sight of the staining red streaks.
“Did you not enjoy Bartov’s cooking?” he asked. “He is a very good chef, from what I heard, both in life and in death.” He drummed his fingers along the table, remaining steady and unmoving.
“It was delicious, but—”
“But what?”
With my gaze lowered to the plate, I fiddled with the ring, sorting the barrage of thoughts cascading through my own fickle mind. “You said I had to guess your name to win my freedom.”
“Yes.”
“If I guess wrong, then I die.”
He nodded. “Correct again.”
“So, why should I even try and guess your name if I am to die if I guess wrong?” I asked.
My mystery host tipped his head as a mischievous smile graced his lips, a calculating predator toying with his prey, awaiting the kill to tear me apart both body and soul. One way or another, this castle was to be my tomb—and him, my executioner.
“Explain it to me.”
I rubbed my hand along the smooth silk fabric. There was still much I was unsure of, especially if I were to stay alive and not end up like the priest. The idea of freedom tethered my wary nerves together. I needed to buy time and find a way to stay alive.
Find the beast name and a cure for my ailment—not an impossible task.
Not at all.
“Why?” he said.
“You kidnapped me from my wedding, and now you tell me I must guess your name to be free of you. There must be a catch.” I scraped my fork against the fine china.
He cleared his throat, offering his glass out to the air to be refilled. “No catch.”
“There must be. What sane person kidnaps someone on their wedding day?”
“Perhaps I am not a sane man.” He smirked. “I simply want what I want, and I take what I please. Besides, it was not as if you enjoyed the arrangement. You looked as if you were ready to run.”
“So, it is a pity that I am here.”
The graveyard encounter, night in the garden—all before I learned what he was, had repeated in my mind. I envisioned over the course of what it would’ve been like to taste those soft, delicate lips. Yet the embarrassment plagued me as much as the fear of the man.
I held my hand, the ring glinting under candlelight. “Pity is it that I wear your ring and now shall suffer at your whims.”
“Not pity, no—never pity.”
“Then, why? Why me and not—”
The pressure in my chest mounted. Groping for the cloth napkin, I affixed it to my lips. With my head spinning from the pressure, the world came into focus when I spotted a familiar handkerchief from the corner of my eyes.
The man held it firmly between pale, slender fingers, dried blood upon the pink fabric as evidence of the illness. One that could not be avoided.
Burnt gold studied me as I snatched the cloth. “Where did you get that?” I wheezed, body tensing once more despite the ache.
The cough became harder to choke it down as another fit erupted. I pushed away from the table, the cloth firmly pressed as fresh blood splattered onto it. I panted as my lungs relented once more to force air through them.
I stumbled back, black spots danced in my vision. The ground tilted until I was falling. The warm embrace of arms caught me, and the intense aroma draped me until the sharpness of his face angled to mine.
“How long have you been sick?” he rasped.
I pushed him away, struggling to get to my feet as the next fit came. The man grabbed my wrist, the blood on my palm in plain view.
“I asked you a question, Valeria.” Grip tightening, he darted between the blood and my startled face, pulling me close against his chest. “How long!”
“You’re hurting me,” I croaked.
Ebony floated through, white and willowy, encircling us.
Gentle and careful, she said, “Master, you’re scaring the young woman.
I am sure she’d be willing to answer your question if you let her.
” Ebony placed a chilling hand on my wrist, a cold phantom touch seeping into the searing heat of his grip.
The man sighed, tension releasing from my wrist as his hold slackened enough where he held me with curled fingers. My own body betrayed me, and heat burned across my cheeks as he leaned in.
“So, care to be truthful, Little Dove?”
“A while,” I whispered. “At worst, I won’t last the season. At best, it’s torment. So, please—let it go.”
His gaze softened, taking those curled fingers against my wrist and bringing my palm upwards.
“What are you doing!” I fought, his tongue lapping up the blood stained upon my palm in even strokes.
A chill crept up my spine as his tongue left my palm wet but clean of crimson.
“Master!” Ebony chastised, swirling about us. “That is uncalled for!”
I retracted my hand, cradling it to my chest, trying to keep my breathing even.
“There,” he said, placing his hands behind him and licking his lips. “Would you like to guess my name tonight?”
I shook my head. “No, I’d like to go to my room! Good night, demon!” I stomped off.
Fatigue washed over me, my body becoming heavier with every step I took toward the door. The ache in my lungs wheezed against my chest as another fit threatened to run loose.
I got no more than to the door when he said, “Silas.”
I stopped, fingers grazing the handle of the door. “Excuse me?”
“Silas. You may call me Silas. It is not my true name, but it is a name you may refer to me rather than ‘demon’ or ‘beast’.”
I stared for a moment, the name settling over the air between us as the beast.
Silas, my captor, placed his hand into his pocket and cocking his hip, awaiting my answer.
I nodded, turning back to the door. “Good night, Silas.”
I found the heaviest item in the room and barricaded it along the door, the armoire my only defense against the beast—not that it’d help much.
I was not going to take my chances with Silas or any other creature.
I went to the window and locked it. After grabbing a nearby chair, I shoved it under the handles, shaking it for good measure.
Once the room was secured enough, I laid back onto the bed, cradling my hand—the feeling of his tongue still fresh upon my skin. With my mind a mess, my body was just as confused between the fear and the budding fascination. I shook my head, dislodging any and every thought of the man.
The darkness called to me. With the pull of the pillows of soft satin against my back, the exhaustion from the day was sweet, inviting, and warm. All I had to do was close my eyes and fall.
Forget sleeping soundly. Leaving myself defenseless in an unknown place wasn’t an option.
I jolted from the bed, stripping the comforter off from it. Grabbing a pillow, I dragged myself into the bathtub. I was not going to make it easy for the monsters in the night to make me their midnight snack, and having an extra door to barricade myself in was better than being out in the open.
Pitless black eyes waved in front of my plan. “What are you doing?” Ebony questioned, poking her head through the wall.