Chapter 18
Eighteen
Silas waited for me once I returned to the castle. The sun slowly set, casting a glow upon the dark-gray stones. The rays weaved themselves through the window, a rainbow of color dancing onto the marble floor, illuminating Silas’s mischievous smirk.
I shuttered the door closed, lugging the bag higher onto my shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
Silas stepped toward me, walking alongside and guiding us up the staircase. “I thought I’d greet you at the door, Little Dove.”
I raised a brow.
Silas’s dark sleeves were cuffed at the elbow.
Streaks of blue and green ran up his arm, smearing it as he wrung them.
The same streaks were found painted onto his cheek, and silver hair was tied back, with strands coming loose over his face.
A messy angel, glorious to set human eyes on and he appeared so normal—human, even.
At the top of the staircase, Silas cupped my hands, jerking me close. “I want you to see something.”
“Sure.” I nodded.
Silas guided us to the west wing. The hallways were the same from the last time, yet they appeared to be lighter, not shifting itself as a maze would.
The voices were hushed, falling silent as Silas and I went deeper into the wing.
The shadows did not even dare to come near him, repulsed by his presence.
Or perhaps not hungry for the suffering of an immortal who rarely left.
Silas led us to a door painted in blue and green colors that stained his cheek.
The mural, gorgeous as it was, depicted a meadow of red tulips in the great expanse of long, tall grass.
A willow tree stood proudly as the focal point of the mural, as its tapered limbs swayed gently in the breeze artfully crafted by skilled fingers.
The scene was split between the warm light of the sun kissing the red blooms and the silent guard of the moon.
An odd sensation flooded in, one I could not place, as I stared at the image.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
I nodded. “It’s beautiful, a dream—an absolute dream.”
Silas knocked on the door thrice, and it creaked open on its own accord. Inside was as magnificent.
I nearly fell to the floor, elation buzzing through my body wildly staring in on the beauty of such a simple space.
A grand piano, sleek black and dusted in gold trim, stood in the center of the space, overwhelming the room in grandeur.
The study’s collection of books was outmatched by the sheer ones towering toward the ceiling as if it was touching the kingdom of God.
A ladder clutched the shelves in reference, beckoning the mighty seeker to delve further into the stacks.
The shelves wrapped themselves circularly against an iron staircase that went to the very top.
Off to the corner lay a desk, less cluttered than the one Silas had been using in the east wing but not far off.
Books stacked close to the desk made it so it blended in with the cherrywood.
The mahogany scent mixed with sweet paper, and I almost forgot where I was for a moment.
I ran a finger or two against the white keys of the piano, their notes singing out in crisp clarity.
I cautiously played a few bars, watching for Silas’s expression.
He gave no indication of recognition, much less displeasure in me playing.
I tapped another bar or two, thinking back to the night with Miriam and her green faerie men.
The pull of the piano was too much, and I soon lost all sense of self, sitting on the bench and diving further into the piece I had committed to memory long ago.
Fingers ached as chords sang in sweet melody.
The tune was a sad song turned to triumph under the pounding of keys.
The soft melody boomed from my fingertips, filling the space and calling to the spirits to listen.
I began to crescendo into the final movement, tapping the ivories with little effort thudding with the trapped force of my heart.
Soft tears kissed my cheeks, and I descended into a hush pianissimo, fluttering the keys until the end note hung in quiet solidarity.
I wiped my cheek. “Apologies, I got a little too excited.”
“That’s alright, Little Dove.” Silas ran a hand over the piano, leaning against it wistfully. “I heard that you have been helping the town with illnesses. Coughing, aches, pain, all the basic medicine.”
“You disapprove?”
“No, not at all. Ebony simply was telling me that you were studying hard on various plants and herbs. You’ve become very efficient at coming up with a simple fix to yesterday’s conundrum. It’s an impressive skill to have.”
“Thank you. I must admit I had a teacher who taught me most of what I know. Fills the time, and I can be of better use to the community since I—well, since I—”
“Can’t kill me.”
I grew abashed. “Yes. Although it is by far the one skill I was to have, I do find it useful to have, but it is not what I had expected for myself.”
I strayed a few notes. The ache of the dream of playing in a concert hall has been etched forever into my soul.
The gathering crowd clapped as I finished piece after piece like the many other famous pianists.
I thought of playing as simple as breathing until everything was put on hold.
Like that, my dreams were gone the moment we’d discovered what Father did and what Mama had to do—what I needed to do for the McCallister name.
“Why is it that you are showing me this? If I remember correctly, you said the west wing was off limits.”
“I did, and yet you had broken it several times, but I suppose if I was angry this would be an entirely different conversation.” Silas slid down onto the bench next to me and pressed a kiss to my hand.
I watched as the ruby gems sparkled under dying light as Silas rested upon the black band.
“Let’s . . . let’s start over, shall we.
I have been neglectful in my marital duties to you, as I have been so consumed by this curse business.
Even though you still think of me as a beast, I am still your husband.
As such a declaration, I am gifting you access to this space and my laboratory to use how you like. ”
He dug into his pocket and produced a set of keys of black obsidian. “The west wing will yield to your command and show you the doors you wish to enter. These will make it so you are not lost.”
The beast bowed his head, casting a halo of glow from the evening light.
The same beast I had been calling a monster for months bowed his head and released my hand to the piano, the keys clasped in my palms. I did not want to fight the illusion any more than I was of the man set aflame by the dying light with the singular thought eclipsing my senses.
I wanted to touch that light.
“This is lovely,” I said, the heavy weight of the keys settled across my lap. “I don’t know what to say.”
Silas lifted my chin, meeting his soft gaze. “Don’t. This is yours to do as you please.” He dropped his hand, shuffling out of the bench and standing. “I will see you for dinner in a few hours. I’ll send Ebony to fetch you when it’s time.”
Silas turned, making his exit known, and I, stupid as I was, grabbed his shirt and croaked out, “Wait!”
Face flushed, I was startled by the fact the last time I had been this close was when I attempted to kill him. His lips still seared across my flesh, humming with electricity ready to explode and consume me in a grand blaze.
I choked it all down. “Can you keep me company just for a while?”
Silas cupped my cheek, pressing a light kiss to my head. “I thought you would never ask.”
Hours passed in that little room, the clock tolling the hour reminding us the dinner was upon us.
I closed the cover of the piano, and Silas stashed his book away before escorting us down to the dining room where we took up our seats. He was still covered in the blue streaks, his image different from the pulled together man who had greeted me time after time at this table.
I still was in the tan blouse and dark trousers I’d worn to the market on such a chilly afternoon, a stark contrast to many nights.
Both were so different from the start of our little relationship.
My stomach grumbled, and food materialized out of the veil.
Steam rose off a bowl of soup, mingling with the smell of spice that dotted the pool of reddish hue, potatoes and carrots floating with chunks of red meat.
Grabbing my spoon, I dug in, savoring in the warmth and comfort of the stew.
Silas sat back in his chair, his standard wine glass in hand, with his head resting on his fist. “I guess you did not eat while you were in town?”
I swallowed, shaking my head. “I try not to stand out too much. It’s harder to explain where I am from if I have to interact with the townspeople.”
I left out the part where the weekly markets were the only times I truly interacted with the townspeople, and even then, I was always met with suspicion.
The man from earlier came to mind. I tried not to wince at what would have happened if I had told him the truth. That I dine with what they considered the enemy. The glass perched between Silas’s fingers held crimson liquid that sloshed along the sides, streaking down the crystal in thick streaks.
I placed my spoon down onto the table and felt queasy at the very budding question he held in that glass. “Silas, can I ask you something? It’s about the townspeople.”
I did not want to upset him after the nice evening we shared, but I had to ask it before it burned through me in awful unpleasant ways.
Silas perked, his movements were similar to a cat. Graceful and elegant, leaning back and sipping his wine—or what I wanted to believe was just that. “What would that be, Little Dove?”
“Well—I um—it’s—where do you get your blood supply from?
You say you don’t drink from the townspeople, but there have been many deaths, some of which they think you are responsible for so I—” I fiddled with the rose ring on my finger.
“Then there are the nights that you come in covered in blood. I don’t know what to think. ”
His jaw tensed, lips curling in answer. “You want to know if I drink the blood of the townspeople. Honestly, I thought we passed this, Little Dove. I had hoped you were not like them.”
“Are you?” I winced at my own words.
I wanted to challenge him. To give me the answers I desperately needed. Silas sat his drink down, eyebrows furrowed. Lips parted and then closed, golden orbs hardening from across the room. Muscles in his arm flexed, his neck straining, jaw clenched with every click of his tongue.
He shook his head. “Does it make a difference?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I’ll ask again.” He rubbed his thumb along his index, his face twisting. As if contemplating, constructing possibly. “Does it make a difference to you?”
I wished it didn’t. I imagined myself on several occasions pinned against the red backsplash of the wall, my own blood adding to its various hues, mixing with the sky-blue splotches.
I’d imagine his fangs bearing down upon my neck, taking with it my life with little effort ebbing from my frail body and flowing into his.
The nightmares of dying by his hand, hard to ignore—and even more so when he stumbled into the castle covered in bright crimson.
“Yes,” I whispered meekly. I shook my head, straightening in my seat. “You come in covered in blood and still say you are not killing the villagers. As you said, we are married, and as your wife, I want to know what you do out so late that you come back covered in blood.”
Silas sighed. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m your wife, or so you call me,” I scolded, not fully understanding the weight of a single word. The red jeweled ring with its black briar band weighed heavily upon my finger. “At least try to make me understand. I want to understand.”
In a flash, his seat was empty. I searched the room, time turning into precious moments. My pulse quickened, blood roared with fury. Trembling, I shuffled closer to the door.
“Where do you think you are going?”
I was slammed against the wall, the wind knocked out of my lungs, meeting Silas’s wild gaze hovering over my neck as nails dug into my shoulder. The metallic taste coated my tongue, and my breathing hitched. Silas’s face twisted, teeth protruding from his upper lip.
“It’s not the villagers’ blood. It’s mine.”
Silas pressed his head against my neck, body shaking as icy warmth shivered down my spine. Silvery snow strands tickled my nose as the ache in my chest bloomed, wanting for the touch and conflict.
“Your blood? Silas, why do you say that it is your blood?”
Silas looked up from thick lashes with round eyes as if he were a child who got caught.
They fluttered shut as he kissed up the length of my neck before stopping at a sweet and tender spot.
“I can hear how your pulse quickens at my slightest touch. I can hear it jump when you are afraid. Your blood sings to me, and I often want to heed that call, but I can’t.
I can’t, Valeria.” Silas ran a finger across my neck, listening to the drumming of my heart.
“Silas,” I croaked.
His body was warm. The heavy set of his hands rested at the crest of my hips. Lips wandered to the bone of my collar as Silas pressed light kisses to my skin. I kept my palms against the wall, afraid but not of him. No, not of him but of the consequences at play.
“To not hurt you, I have to hurt myself. Hunting down shadows to take the urge out and protect the innocent as much as I can. But it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore.
I don’t want to hurt you, Valeria.” Silas shuddered a breath against my neck.
“I care for you, and for the first time in a long while, I am afraid of the thirst.”
“The blood in the wine glass you drink night after night.”
“A poor excuse for a blood substitute that never leaves me fully sated,” Silas whispered. “I’d been so careful for so long, and now, there is something valuable to me that I don’t want to lose. Not again.”
With his breath hot against my skin, I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around him. Evergreen and spice enveloped us in the tight embrace. Silas trembled. I needed to be sure—to know if he was capable of hurting me. To confirm the confusion tearing me apart between desire and duty.
“It’s okay. You won’t hurt me, and I—I trust you. If you need to sate your thirst, then do so. I trust you and know you won’t bring me any harm. You won’t harm me.”
I opened my eyes. Silas’s muscles strained, quivering as he bared his teeth, grazing my neck. He shuddered, ticking my ear. “I can’t. I won’t.”
That’s all he said before he left the hall.