Lucy
Not only do I not want to eat the spread the thrall has brought into Dominik’s opulent quarters, but I’m also attempting to come to terms with why a vampire nest would have real food in it.
“Where is this from?” I demand of the thrall, a thin, too thin, woman with a pasty face.
She looks at me, and I realize I’ve done the usual Brit abroad and assumed she can speak English.
I point at the food and dredge my memory for the few words of Hungarian I attempted to learn before we came out here for Grace’s wedding.
“Hová?” I point at the food.
For a moment, her furrowed brow makes me think I’ve not made any sense at all, then it smooths out.
“Gerbaud,” she says with a nod.
One of the best patisserie shops in Budapest. Of course.
“Koszonom.”
I think I see a flicker of a smile on the thrall’s face as she withdraws. I can’t imagine the vamps ever say thank you.
I also feel bad about hitting the thrall over the head earlier. They can’t help what they are. And all of them could easily be released to go back to their lives, should the vampires who have them, well, in their thrall, be prepared to release them.
But what is a vampire nest without an army of thralls to attend them?
I contemplate the thought as I contemplate the food. I am starving. My appetite has been pretty impressive in the last month. The biliousness I had a month or so ago which eventually alerted me to take a test having long gone.
To take many, many tests as I refused to believe my eyes.
But since then, I’ve felt fine. Except I appear to be eating for more than two.
All of which means my stomach lets out an impressive growl, and I know I’m not going to be able to resist. But also, why should I?
I doubt it’s occurred to any vampire in history to doctor a human’s food.
Plus if Dominik is looking for a meal later for himself, he’ll probably want it unadulterated.
I have heard of some vamps which seek out the intoxicated in order to get a high themselves, so certainly anything within the blood can and does transfer.
If it wasn’t for the potentially fatal nature of dosing ourselves with narcotics, I’m pretty sure it would have been one of the plays in the Van Helsing Vampire Hunting book.
I pour out the tea. It’s relatively strong, and I have to hope it is decaf, or I will have instant heartburn.
One of the fun side effects of being pregnant.
But then I did need to get my caffeine intake under control.
I pile a couple of pastries on a delicate porcelain plate and perch on the edge of an overstuffed ruby velvet chaise longue, making short work of the items I’ve chosen.
“You were hungry?” Dominik’s accented voice reaches me as he steps out of the shadows.
“Have you been watching me?” I narrow my eyes, carelessly putting my plate down and knowing crumbs spill off it onto the upholstery.
Mess drives vampires wild.
Sure enough, Dominik’s eyes flick to the plate then back at me.
“Love what you’ve done with the place.” I look around me at the dark carved wood, the heavy drapes, and the dark rugs. “Do all vampires have a particular store you use to get the same look?”
Dominik has moved much closer to me, in the silent way predators can move.
“I can’t remember a vampire nest I’ve been in where you shopped at Ikea.”
The plate goes skittering onto the floor as Dominik is next to me, his hand around my neck, my body forced back against the couch. His eyes blaze.
“Whose nest have you been in?” he growls.
“You want a list? I’ll have to check my diary,” I respond.
His grip is tight but not constricting my airway. It’s almost a caress if I didn’t know he could snap my neck without even moving a finger.
“You will not enter any other nests,” he says, voice low and menacing. “You belong to me.”
“I don’t belong to anyone other than my family, and you’ll have to go a long way to exert the same control over me,” I respond with far more conviction than I would usually have.
I wrench myself free of Dominik who, to my surprise, doesn’t resist my escape. My foot crunches on the plate, already broken in two.
“Sorry,” I mutter, being typically British and apologizing for something which isn’t my fault.
I drop down to pick up the shattered pieces, shuffling the fine china in my hand before putting it back on the tray.
A single drop of scarlet blood hits the remains. For a second, I’m spellbound by it, knowing what blood is in a vampire nest.
I’m surrounded by sharks. And I have released the clarion call.
“Oh, Lucy,” Dominik says, his voice even but with an edge to it I’ve heard so many times before with other predators.
I grab a linen napkin from the tray, knowing it won’t help but pressing it to the cut on my hand regardless.
“It’s nothing,” I blurt out, as if that could stop the onslaught.
The one thing we were taught from day one, as the vampire hunter’s vampire hunter. Van Helsing 101.
Don’t bleed.
Never bleed.
Blood is death.
For all my hopes I might be able to talk my way out of Dominik Király’s nest, this one careless action means I will never leave.
I feel his presence next to me. His body is surprisingly warm next to mine. But then I’ve never got up close and personal with all the vampires I’ve dispatched. Other than when I’ve slammed a stake through their hearts and cut off their heads.
“Allow me,” he says, taking hold of my wrist and removing the napkin.
He turns me, oh-so-gently, around to face him as he lifts my injured hand to his lips.
I want to pull away. I want to run. I want to be anywhere but here, with this shark, in this tank. But I can’t seem to do it. I can’t seem to make any part of me obey.
Dominik can’t take me. Not because I don’t want to be turned, but for the first time since I found out I was pregnant, because of the child inside me.
I will protect my baby with everything I have.
My cut finger reaches his mouth. The bead of blood wells from it, almost ready to run down my hand. His fangs extend. His tongue touches my skin, laps at the bright red dot. His eyes close.
I kick him hard between his legs and run.
Probably the last mistake I’ll make, but I won’t let him take me. Or destroy my baby. Dominik Király can go to hell.
And stay there.