21. Winnie #3
I wanted to claw my own thoughts apart before he could touch them. Instead, I continued helplessly. “He listens when the children speak.”
Something unexpectedly painful took hold of my heart.
“He remembers things they say. Tiny things. Billie wanted bright pink rain boots three weeks ago, and he bought them without being reminded. Bianca mentioned liking a particular historian, and he ordered her books. CJ told one bad joke about penguins, and Conrad spent two days learning penguin facts to tell him at dinner.”
Bogdan stared at me for a long moment. Then he laughed softly. “Oh, this is far more serious than I realized.”
I hated how vulnerable I suddenly felt. Predators always understood attachment. That was how they weaponized it.
He tapped one long finger thoughtfully against the planner. “And the children?”
I grimaced, every inch of my body freezing up in an attempt to fight the urge to share about the children.
The compulsion pulsed again.
“CJ is a wonderful storyteller,” I said, my voice cracking.
“He lies beautifully because he wants the world to become softer than it is. Bianca hides behind facts because emotions overwhelm her. Billie…” My throat thickened unexpectedly.
“Billie remembers grief without remembering her mother properly and it confuses her.”
“You care for them deeply,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Enough to die for them?”
“Yes.”
The word hung heavily between us. I had said it with no hesitation. Bogdan became very still. Rain battered harder against the windows now, branches scraping against the roof. The silence grew and stretched until it became impossible to handle.
Then Bogdan smiled, and every instinct in my body screamed.
“You know,” he murmured, “I always suspected domesticity would be your undoing.”
I glared at him. “You mistake kindness for weakness.”
“No.” His eyes settled meaningfully on the planner again. “I recognize attachment as leverage.”
Fear hit me so hard my undead heart spasmed painfully. All I could think of was Conrad and the children.
Bogdan continued flipping through pages casually while my entire body locked into rising panic.
“What school do the children attend?”
I answered.
“What routes do they take home?”
I answered.
“Security systems?”
I tried not to answer. The compulsion punished me instantly.
Bogdan sighed with exaggerated disappointment. “Winifred.”
I nearly doubled over from the pain slicing through my skull. “Newly installed alarm system,” I gasped finally. “Motion sensors. Exterior cameras. Reinforced locks.”
“Good.”
Bogdan’s fingers paused suddenly on another page. A small hand-drawn flower sat beside last Sunday’s date. Mother’s Day. His gaze lingered there. Then slowly lifted toward me. “You almost told him who you are. How unfortunate that must have been for you.”
I said nothing.
Bogdan studied me carefully. “Do you think he would have accepted you?”
Some awful hopeful part of me had wondered. Conrad had accepted every strange thing about me so far. The clothes. The habits. The odd knowledge. The hearse.
He had looked at me like I was precious long before he ever kissed me. And for one risky, stupid moment after Mother’s Day, drinking tea together while the children slept upstairs—I had imagined telling him the truth about me.
Bogdan read the answer on my face immediately. His smile turned almost pitying. “Oh, darling.”
I hated that tone most of all.
“As though mortals ever survive loving creatures like us.”
“We are not talking about this.”
“No?” He leaned back comfortably. “Then perhaps we shall discuss your punishment instead.” Bogdan closed the planner. “You trapped me beneath the Atlantic Ocean for a hundred-and-seventeen years.” Every syllable landed with terrifying calm. “You humiliated me.”
I forced myself not to react.
“I should kill you for that.”
I already knew this conversation would end with my death. The certainty of it had settled into me the moment I opened the cottage door. But if he intended to kill only me?—
Fine. I could survive that. I could survive almost anything if it kept Conrad and the kids safe.
Bogdan rose slowly from the chair and crossed the room toward me.
I remained perfectly still while he adjusted a loose strand of my hair behind my ear with maddening gentleness.
“You always were at your prettiest when frightened.”
Revulsion crawled through me. His hand lingered briefly against my cheek. Then he smiled.
“I want you to put them to rest.”
Everything inside me stopped. For a second, I genuinely could not breathe. No.
No, no, no?—
Bogdan’s expression remained pleasantly conversational. “The widower. The children. I’d like for you to drain them dry.”
My entire body recoiled instinctively. “I won’t.”
Pain exploded instantly through my nervous system. I dropped hard against the kitchen counter, teeth clenched against the cry clawing up my throat.
Bogdan watched calmly. “You misunderstand, poppet.”
The bond tightened harder. Just enough to remind me exactly who owned my blood.
“You do not possess the ability to refuse.”