CHAPTER SEVEN #3
His hand fell from my face to my waist. Long, elegant fingers wrapped around the hilt of my dagger.
As his hand grazed my stomach, a traitorous wave of warmth rolled through me.
He slowly removed the blade from its sheath, his eyes locked with mine the entire time.
He held the blade up to my face, resting the tip on the pad of his pointer finger.
He twirled the hilt once, as if to taunt me with the only weapon that could kill him.
My eyes flashed to the drop of scarlet on his finger.
He gently placed the dagger back in its sheath at my hip.
Everything about him was slow and calculated, every move planned with careful consideration.
He had the movements of a lithe cat, a graceful fluidity.
So, when he moved suddenly, I barely registered it.
He grabbed my throat with one hand and shoved his finger into my mouth, pressing down on my tongue.
My eyes widened at the metallic taste that bloomed across it.
I gripped his hands with my own, squeezing as tightly as I could.
My nails dug into him, but he was not phased in the slightest. I stomped down hard on his foot, and nothing even crossed his eyes.
He kept me still at the throat, his finger still jammed inside my mouth, until I reflexively swallowed, and then he disappeared.
I stumbled forward at his sudden absence.
My mouth fell open at the horrid taste. My limp tongue hung out.
I grabbed a handkerchief from one of the side tables and aggressively wiped my tongue, spitting into the fabric.
My stomach turned at the aftertaste. I paced back and forth a moment reeling at the thought that he had just stuck his finger into my mouth and then disappeared. He truly was unhinged.
I had to do something.
He was right. My father would not believe me.
My credibility had already been long tarnished.
I had read through every book he had on the vampires, and I myself had never read about their abilities.
There was so much we did not know. I was not sure he would believe the words no matter who they came from.
He often only took his own word. But I had to try.
* * *
I wasn’t sure if Father was home. He could be somewhere around the manor or out on business.
I pressed my ear to the cool wood of his office door, listening intently, squinting my eyes as if that would help.
Nothing stirred the silence, not even a crackle from the hearth, which meant it was not lit.
And with the autumn chill, he certainly would have it lit if he was in there.
I knelt to the ground peeking through the golden keyhole.
It didn’t offer much, just the corner of his desk and the bookshelf beside it.
But sometimes I could see movement, the shadow cast from a flick of paper, his hand reaching for something. All was still.
To cover my tracks, I knocked lightly. I was never allowed to disturb him in his office, let alone even think about entering.
I had never disturbed him, though I had certainly entered countless times.
But just in case, I could come up with some elaborate emergency if needed.
I took a breath and slowly turned the knob.
I peeked through the crack and dropped my shoulders at the slumbering room.
Blue twilight flooded through the windows as the sun descended into the ground.
I slipped inside and closed the door gently behind me.
I grabbed a piece of parchment, a quill, and an ink pot and brought it to the windowsill to use what little daylight was left.
I couldn’t risk lighting a candle in case someone spotted the light from the window.
An anonymous letter would be odd. There was a very slim chance he would believe it.
If anything, it would cause alarm if he thought someone broke into his office.
But I was well and truly floundering at this point.
I had a vampire prince pretending to court me, whom I had to work with to close the portal, a task well beyond my head.
And a deranged vampire masquerading as a poltergeist who put his bloody finger in my mouth, which certainly could not be good.
I was far below the surface now, and I needed help.
I placed the letter in the center of his desk, doing my best to be as vague as possible, explaining how the vampires could cast illusions.
An urgent warning to look into this. Although, I myself had no idea how we could possibly measure up to this.
But maybe Father could figure it out. Otherwise, I didn’t see how we could defeat them.
What was once demons slipping through an accidental portal to prey on humans, was now a deliberate fight for the crown.
Alaric was aiming to take over. This was a war.
I exited his office, closing the door gently again, now with shaking hands.
As I made my way back to my room, I froze at the sound of Father’s voice. “Charlotte.”
I turned slowly, plastering on a sweet smile. “Yes, Father?”
He stopped before me, giving a quick smile. He hesitated a moment. The silence stretched before us, and I hoped he couldn’t hear the violent beat of my heart. “Charlotte, were you in my study just now?”
My entire body threatened to sink into the floor, and I did the only thing I could do. “No, of course not.” Lie.
“One of my members thought he saw you leaving my study, and when I entered, I found a peculiar note.” He eyed me as if he could read my thoughts. I hoped he couldn’t.
“Father, I know I’m not allowed in your study. I’d never do such a thing.” I mustered all the effort I could into keeping my voice still. My chest ached as my heart rattled my bones.
“The illusions haven’t returned, have they?” Oh gods. He knew. He used that word deliberately, referencing the letter. He knew it was me, and this couldn’t possibly get any worse. No, wait, it certainly could, and it would.
I sighed, shaking my head, feigning nonchalance and the demeanor of an impatient young lady at her father’s frivolous worries. “No, Father. I’ve actually been feeling quite well.”
He eyed me a moment longer and raised his eyebrows in defeat.
“Your mother has been worrying.” Of course she had.
“But your interest in Sebastian has uplifted her spirits. I do hope you continue to be well.” He may not have meant it to be, but that was undoubtedly a threat.
He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Goodnight, Charlotte.”
“Goodnight, Father.”
As I closed my bedroom door behind me, I sank to the ground unable to fight against the weight of all that settled.
He knew I wrote the letter, that I snuck into his office, and the letter only implied that I was still struggling with illusions.
And I knew it then. That was the last time I’d seek help. Alaric would be pleased.