CHAPTER 17 #3
He moves through the water with ostentatious grace, each ripple an extension of his meticulous performance. I try to roll my eyes, but the herbs have made even that simple gesture difficult.
“Plenty of vampires have accepted that limitation,” I say.
“Because they lack imagination.” His hand brushes my shoulder, making me flinch away. “I could want you too, if you’d stop being so difficult. We could be magnificent together.”
An instinctive gag claws its way up, and I swallow hard to keep it down. “I’d rather die.”
He laughs, the sound deafeningly hollow. “Patience, darling. After I’m done with you. Although there’s no need to be dramatic. It’s just a little magical bond between acquaintances. Think of it as an arranged marriage, except instead of meeting the parents, you meet my fangs.”
He mimes a biting motion, bringing his mouth so close to my neck that I can feel his breath brush against my skin. I jerk back repulsively, the water rippling around us, but there’s nowhere to go.
In addition to the heat of his breath, his energy coils around me with hunger. Not the kind that craves blood, though that’s there too—the kind that’s heavier. Tighter. More carnal.
A tension beneath his skin, vibrating with anticipation.
I want to spit in his face, to scream. But all I can do is freeze, too aware of how easily this moment could tip into something irreversible.
“Right here,” he murmurs, stroking the spot with his thumb in a slow, deliberate motion, as if he’s savoring the moment. “One bite, and your blood sings in mine. I wonder…” His lips part, his fangs exposed, just shy of breaking skin. “Would you hate me more or less?”
I bite my tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but the way he looks at me, full of lust and desire, makes me falter.
Before I realize it, the words have slipped out, raw and unguarded. “As if more is even possible.”
There’s a flicker of frustration before he masks it with a dangerous smile. A sharp knock interrupts whatever he planned next.
A guard appears at the entrance, looking uncomfortable.
“What?” Cain snaps, not releasing me.
“Lady Clementine requests your presence immediately. She says it’s urgent.”
Cain’s expression darkens. “Tell my mother I’m busy.”
Mother?
The guard shifts nervously. “She was most insistent, my lord. Something about unexpected visitors at the surface entrance.”
“For Blod’s sake.” Cain releases my wrist. “Fine. I’m coming.”
He rises from the pool without shame, water cascading down his pale form as he reaches for a towel. Eyes averted, my mind races despite the herbal fog. Clementine birthed this piece of shit?
I try to picture it: bedtime stories, scraped knees, soft kisses on the forehead. It’s absurd. Like imagining a wolf being tucked in at night.
On the other hand, I am not surprised. She is a menace herself.
“Don’t let her out of your sight,” Cain says as he dresses.
“Yes, my lord,” the guard responds, his eyes fixed on the floor.
Cain pauses at the doorway, looking back at me with a smirk that’s all mockery and veiled warning. It chills me more than if he’d shouted. “Don’t even let her out of the bath.”
Then he’s gone, his footsteps fading as he hurries to answer his mother’s summons. I sink deeper into the water, letting it cover my mouth as I consider my options. Whatever’s happening at the surface entrance might be my only chance at escape.
But first, I need to get past the guard.
The herbs make thinking difficult, but one fact cuts through the haze: Clementine is Cain’s mother.
And mothers have influence, even over monsters like him.
If I can somehow get to her, appeal to her…
No, that’s naive. She is clearly in on his plan.
Though the knowledge itself is valuable, another piece in understanding the hierarchy of this place.
I glance at the guard, who stands rigidly by the door, eyes averted. Young, probably a recent turn. Nervous around nudity, which means he still has human hang-ups. I can use that.
“Could you hand me a towel?” I call out, trying to sound small and vulnerable.
He hesitates, but not out of innocence. His gaze flicks toward the corridor, listening.
Then, without looking at me, he steps closer and sets the towel on a nearby bench. When I’m about to say something, he presses a finger to his mouth, signaling me to stay quiet.
The shift is jarring. He’s no longer the meek, unsure fledgling, but someone playing a careful game. His posture changes subtly: straighter, more alert. Every movement is done with intent.
Whoever he is, he’s not just a guard.
After a moment of strained silence, he finally speaks. “Coast is clear. Now get out of that ridiculous bath. We don’t have much time.”
I blink at him, still sluggish from the herbs swirling in my system. “Don’t look, I’m naked.”
“Like there’s anything to see,” he snorts, not even glancing my way.
“Rude.”
“It’s me, idiot. Your brother.” He turns just enough for me to catch the edge of a smirk, though there’s a flicker of impatience beneath it, like he’s annoyed I didn’t figure it out sooner.
I’m completely and utterly dumbfounded. “Saul?”