Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Ihad only meant to watch to ensure he did not take too much.
Now shame burned bright in my chest like a fire waiting to turn into an inferno.
Mademoiselle Valois’ mind was powerful, her magic stronger than even she realized.
The fact she was able to stand against the bite compulsion was impressive.
I slipped from her mind before I could do any more damage, and yet I found I could not look away.
Her face did not crumple with anger. No, her response was worse: her beautiful features smoothed into the impassive mask she’d worn for most of dinner. After another long moment, her eyes slid back to the candelabra on the mantel. Lord Montag continued to feast, though he would need to stop soon.
“She is beautiful,” Mateo commented quietly.
I gave a hum of acknowledgment, observing each breath the vampire took as he drank from her.
“You covet her,” Mateo continued.
A muscle ticked in my jaw. Her eyes were closing, head tilting to the side with the languor that always accompanied blood giving. “I do not know her.”
“And yet you covet her all the same.”
I nodded, squeezing my hands together so tightly my unbreakable bones threatened to crack.
Mademoiselle Valois stiffened beneath the vampire’s hold, pulling away as her cheeks paled.
Mateo immediately rose from his seat, crossed the room in only a few strides and placed a hand on Lord Montag’s shoulder.
“I apologize for the intrusion,” Mateo said just loud enough for me to hear. “However, I believe your giver might be in need of a break.”
Such things were not uncommon when drinking amongst other immortals.
Even in the blood dens wards were in place to alert those in charge if a vampire was in danger of taking too much.
However, there was no telling how an immortal would react to being interrupted during a feed.
I breathed out a sigh of relief as the vampire withdrew.
Yet my heartbeat continued to thunder in my ears and I had half a mind to throw the lord bodily from my house. His only saving grace was the stricken look crossing his features as he regarded Mademoiselle Valois. Mateo handed her a handkerchief, which she pressed to her throat.
“Please accept my sincerest apologies, Mademoiselle Valois,” Lord Montag whispered. “I do not know what came over me.”
She gave him a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. These things happen, my lord.”
Mateo crouched in front of the witch and not for the first time I thanked the goddess that, though my brother might have been a monster, he’d chosen beings with beautiful hearts as his fledglings. “What do you need, Mademoiselle? Allow me to get it for you.”
A little color returned to her cheeks—she must have been on a strict regimen of serangunah for situations just like these.
I couldn’t help but wonder how often it happened, and my inability to protect her roiled beneath my skin.
But her smile was warmer now as she shook her head. “Perhaps some fresh air.”
Both males rose at once, offering their assistance. Heat prickled on the back of my neck when it was Lord Montag’s hand she took.
“Allow me to accompany you,” he said, a flush staining his cheeks.
Her blood. Running through his veins.
But she shook her head. “No, stay, my lord. Catch up with your friend.”
I caught Bernard’s eye where he stood in the shadows, tilting my chin toward the group.
He appeared beside them in the next moment, startling Gerald and Adrienne.
Bernard was one of my oldest friends and in life he had been a wayward actor and musician.
In death, he was one of the most powerful ghosts I’d ever encountered.
When he’d died, I’d mourned him deeply, beating my breast beside his grave, only for his spirit to stride up beside me and ask what was wrong.
He’d decided after a few decades of boredom to manage my household since I was, as he put it, “running it into the ground.” Most never realized what he was.
His brown hair had a similar luster to my own, golden complexion just as flushed with life as any other living being’s.
Yet he could disappear into nothing, create his clothes from energy itself, and haunt the houses of people who were rude to him.
“Follow me, Mademoiselle,” he murmured, stepping back to gesture toward the door.
Immediately Mateo drew Lord Montag into conversation.
I waited a beat before rising as well, meandering through the room and checking on the others.
Most were done with their feeding and were now speaking quietly or providing food and drink to their givers.
No one noticed as I slipped through the door on the opposite end, striding at a mortal pace through the long hallway toward the gardens where I knew Bernard would take her.
He passed me on his way back, handing me a small tin.
A gentle breeze rustled through asiva blossoms climbing up the retaining wall of the terrace beside where she sat on the first step.
The warm light from the house spilled across her back, burnishing her hair and gilding her pale skin.
I watched for a moment as she breathed deep and tilted her head toward the sky.
“Are you well?” I asked, gentle enough that I hoped it would not startle.
She did not turn, her whispered “yes” spoken to the stars while she wrapped her arms around her middle.
I did not move closer. Every part of my soul pushed to gather her into my embrace, to tuck her head beneath my chin and hum soft melodies that were now only wisps of memory.
Again, I wished for a mating bond—a perfect reason to act upon the instinct.
Her scent was heavy on the air, wildflowers and sunshine dancing across my face. I could not help but breathe it in.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what, my lord?”
My lord. The title rankled coming off her tongue, yet we did not know each other.
I could not ask her to call me by my name just as I could not ask to use hers.
When I hesitated for a beat too long, she turned her face in my direction until I could just make out her profile. “It was not your fault.”
The rasp in my voice was quiet, but it was still there. “It was.”
A sigh ruffled the hair around her cheeks and she looked away. Silence lengthened while she stared at the blossoms beside her. Blue and white star-shaped flowers mimicked the night sky.
“Do you like it here?” I asked finally.
She hummed, reaching out to stroke a petal. “I do, very much… Do you?”
I chuckled. “No one has ever asked me that.”
Finally, she turned enough to regard me. Her expression was the most open I’d seen and the beauty of it staggered me. I took a breath before I strode forward and sat on the same stair, though I left ample space between us.
“Do you?” she repeated.
I rested my forearms on my knees. “Yes, I do. The gardens at least.”
“And the house?”
My chuckle was quiet. “I think the word a bit weak for the monstrosity behind us, Mademoiselle Valois.” Her humor mixed with mine.
Warmth bloomed through my chest and I took another deep, steadying breath.
“I see the gardens and the forest beyond as my home. The house is a facade that is much more for the benefit of others than myself.”
She continued to observe me, her attention a caress upon my soul and the heat of her body a balm to the ache inside my chest, regardless of the fact that I could not touch her. “What do you mean?”
I ran a hand over my face. “Only that time makes my kind hungrier for more than merely blood. To exist within this society I must adhere to the constraints in which it is built, even if they chafe.”
She leaned forward, head tilting to the side. The light of the house illuminated her beautiful features. “So why not change it? You are a figurehead amongst your people. Countless immortals look to you as a leader.”
The warmth in my chest expanded that she would speak of me so highly. “I am, but true change cannot happen in the blink of an eye, so therefore”—I gestured to the house behind us—“I am forced to play the game.”
With a nod she turned toward the night sky and half-moon. “I’m sorry.”
I reached out, stopped myself at the last moment and clasped my hands together tightly. “Whatever for?”
“It sounds lonely, to pretend. To…stifle those pieces of yourself for the betterment of others.”
I did not think we were talking about me anymore. “It is,” I answered.
The scent of salt blossomed in the air as she wiped beneath her eye.
Silence stretched between us again, words lingering in the ether unsaid I wished I could put a voice to.
I wished I could tell her that if she allowed it, she would never be alone again—never want for anything again.
Mating bond be damned, I wanted her. Yet Jules’ caution echoed through my mind.
Instead, I lifted the tin between us. “Would you like this?”
She turned her head the barest amount to look down at the healing salve in my palm.
Streaks of tears gleamed on her cheek before she wiped them again with the back of her hand.
My heart leapt as she nodded. Rather than grabbing the salve as I expected, she slid a little closer and tilted her head to the side.
Drawing off the lid, I dipped two fingers into the cream and shifted until my thigh brushed hers.
With my free hand, I swept back the hair from her throat, observing as her skin prickled and a shiver ran down her spine.
I would have thought it was discomfort if not for her scent blossoming in the air between us, the tang of sudden arousal so heavy I could practically taste it.
I settled one hand on her nape to hold her hair back and smoothed the salve over the angry bite marring her throat.
Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth as I massaged the spot, ensuring enough of the salve entered the wound that she would have no scar.
And if this was all I could have—this moment to care for her—then I would thank the goddess for the rest of my existence.
Her heartbeat thudded in time with my own, in sync as our breath was.
The words were on the tip of my tongue, to ask her to stay, to beg her for a chance.
Again and again, they echoed through my mind.
The only comfort I could take was her leaning into my touch and a soft sigh of pleasure humming through her chest. When the bite vanished, leaving behind smooth, pale skin, I ran my thumb across it once, memorizing the feel of her in case it would be the last time.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
I dipped my head. “Of course.”
My hands tingled with her warmth; her scent coated my palms. It was as if I’d grown roots into the stones as I shifted away, each inch of space growing between us a crack splintering outward.
But as soon as I did, Lord Montag came striding through the glass doors, Bernard on his heels with a disgruntled look on his face.
Perhaps it would be Gerald’s house Bernard would haunt this month.
Lord Montag eyed us speculatively as I rose, offering Mademoiselle Valois my hand.
Though she took the offer, she dropped it almost immediately.
Lord Montag was quiet for once and I caught the barest whiffs of jealousy around him as we made our way through the halls.
I stayed close, using the excuse of guiding them to their carriage.
“Thank you again for your hospitality, my lord,” Lord Montag said, bowing low.
I dipped my chin. “Please feel welcome at the next ball.” My eyes slid to the witch beside him. “Or at my home anytime.”
She curtsied, pressing three fingers to her lips. Lord Montag entered the carriage first and I stepped to the door, holding out my hand as she made to step up. Her palm touched mine like a brand, her soft exhale ghosting across my face.
“Tomorrow and the next,” I said in Kysoi. Perhaps it was inappropriate, used as it was as an intimate goodbye between lovers.
Mademoiselle Valois’ cheeks flushed, the blue of her eyes suddenly deeper than before. But when she smiled, it wasn’t as if I was seeing the dawn for the first time. No, it was as if I was taking my first, and perhaps last, breath. She squeezed my hand once before turning to take her seat.
“Tomorrow and the next,” she answered softly.
And I could only pray to the goddess it would come true.