Chapter Seven #2
“Even if that is true,” she spluttered, her fingers knotting into the fabric of her dress. “I didn’t want you to see them. You could have stopped drinking from me, but you didn’t. You stayed, you watched!”
“I took no pleasure from it,” he assured, as if that helped.
“You drained me until I fell unconscious. You promised to stop.”
“I did stop.”
“I almost died.”
He maneuvered himself onto the black piano stool. “Have you come in search of an apology? If so, I am afraid I must disappoint.”
“No. I can’t imagine you being capable of such humility. However, considering I am the key to breaking your curse, I thought you’d maybe check on me to make sure I was alive.”
A wolfish grin shadowed his lips when he stood. “My, my. How quickly you have become outspoken in your short time here.”
She snorted. “I don’t see why I should continue the charade of civility when you refuse to be anything but discourteous.”
“I didn’t think you were capable of being anything other than civil.”
Sucking in her bottom lip between her teeth, she chewed on the admonishment she wanted to throw his way. She still didn’t know how much he had seen in her head, so reined in her anger and steadied her voice. “I want to know if you got what you needed.”
He didn’t answer.
“Do you believe me?” she intoned.
“I saw your conversation with your ancestor in the graveyard.”
She swallowed thickly. “Then you know I can break your curse.”
He paused, tilting his head and giving nothing away in his still expression. Everything about him was unmoving, still, except for his smoky, intense stare, which brimmed with untapped power, revealing the monster beneath.
“Yes. Your ancestor, the one you spoke with, her name was Elizabeth.”
“You recognized her even as a spirit?”
“Mhmm,” he said. “It was interesting, to see a ghost through your eyes. Sometimes, I wondered if they were real.”
“Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
He chuckled darkly. “Spoken like a priest.”
“So now you know the witches lied to you,” she said, ignoring his quip.
His eyes and brows flickered on the intonation of her last word, his lips carving into his cheeks. “Indeed, I do.”
She took one step closer, if only so she could examine the micro-movements of his face better.
“Good,” she bluffed. “So, I will perform the ritual to break your curse. However, I need my great-grandmother’s grimoires to do that. I am not a practiced witch.”
The corner of his lip creased, and the flare of his nostrils sent a shudder through her body. “You cannot go back home.”
She let out a long exhale. He didn’t know the part where she had to die to complete it. It was a minor victory, but one nonetheless.
“I am not foolish,” she blurted. “I know the witches will come for me if I try, but I want my grimoires from the attic, to know if my staff are okay, and most of all, my cat, Duke.”
“Your staff are fine. Alexander heard them when he showed up to retrieve your belongings. Fear not. He spun a lie about your leaving, saying you had gone to visit your great aunt.”
She scoffed. “And they believed him? That I left with no belongings in the middle of the night.”
“We can be very persuasive.”
“Then he, or you, can return and get Duke and my grimoires.”
“I’ll retrieve the grimoires, but the cat is not welcome here. They do not like me.”
“Neither do I,” she snapped, inhaling sharply. “Yet I am forced to live here. If you won’t get him for me, then I will not help you.”
“You will.”
He turned back to face the piano, and she clenched her fists at her sides.
Her glare stabbed into the back of his head. “I will not.”
“I have ways of making you.”
She wasn’t sure what had changed, but he seemed different before he bit her. He wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine then, but he seemed less grumpy, more forthcoming at least.
“Let me guess,” she asked. “By torturing me? I won’t give in.”
He turned back to look at her, challenge threading his stare. “No?”
“I have lost everyone I love and have nothing left to lose, except for Duke. Keep him away from me and believe me when I tell you I will not perform the ritual no matter how much you hurt me. All magic must be done willingly, else it won’t work.”
He leaned forward, his smoky eyes narrowing as he pursed his lips. After a brief pause, he said, “You are stubborn.”
She scoffed. “As are you. So, will you find my cat?”
“Fine,” he said gruffly. “I will look for your pet tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” The words felt like poison on her tongue. She wanted to take them back, but she was used to placating monsters and swallowing her real thoughts.
“Your cat will be good leverage to ensure you uphold your end of our deal,” he added.
She blinked twice, leaning back. “Deal?”
“Yes. I will bring you your grimoires and pet. In exchange, you will practice your magic every day with a witch I trust and prepare yourself to perform the ritual once I have vanquished our enemies.”
“A witch you trust?” she asked, surprised he trusted anyone.
“She is highly motivated to help me,” he explained.
“I don’t need any witch helping me.”
Her stomach dipped, flipping in circles as he closed the distance between us. “Do you think me foolish enough to allow you to be alone with your grimoires?”
Slowly, she rolled back her shoulders and jutted her chin. He was afraid of what she might learn, which meant there was magic that could help her escape and fight them. “Why? Are you afraid of my power?”
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips as he towered over her, so much so that she had to tip her head back to look at him.
The fibers of his shirt strained against the muscles in his arms and chest. “I am not afraid of your using magic. The witch I am bringing here is for your benefit. You are unpracticed,” he said, raking his eyes over her body, and lingering on her throat.
“Who knows what kind of damage you might do trying to perform spells alone.”
She didn’t say anything but repressed the urge to swallow.
“You are precious cargo,” he added, “and I will not have you accidentally killing yourself before you can help me.”
Everyone treated her like that—cargo, chattel, anything but a person. She hated it and him for making her feel the same way William had.
“You are repulsive,” she spat, forgetting herself in his presence. Rage boiled through her core, forcing power into every punctuated word. “You’re no better than the witches you hunt.”
His laugh was as dark and suffocating as smoke. “Then you are a fool. The Avery witches are far worse than any other creature you will ever encounter, including me.”
She stepped closer, knowing that winning the argument could mean her death, but his arrogance made her want to scream.
Heat flooded her face. She hated that he could see the blush creeping into her cheeks.
“I doubt it. Do you know what, I think that while they may be cruel, you are another beast entirely. You hunt the innocent and toy with whomever you please, without a second thought. You wiped out my entire bloodline for your own selfish desire.”
He strangled a laugh, one that was void of any amusement she’d heard from when he rescued her. “Do you know what I think of you, witch?”
“Enlighten me.”
“I think you are nothing but an ingenuous woman with little substance.”
Her lashes flickered, but she refused to look away from him. His lips tipped into a faint, enigmatic smile, as if he enjoyed watching the panic building in her eyes.
“At least I am not a monster.”
His nostrils flared as he backed her into a corner of the room, his pupils forming into vertical slits.
Veins began spreading out from his eyes, as if he was seconds away from shifting into the animalistic version of himself that would tear her limb from limb.
“I may be a monster, but at least I am interesting.”
A strange warmth pooled into the tips of her fingers, and when she looked down she was surprised to see her fingertips had darkened. “Really? Because I see nothing of interest.”
His gaze flicked down to her hands, his tongue dragging over his lips as he leaned closer, pushing her into the wall.
“Are you certain about that? Your heart is racing and I can smell everything.” Her thighs clenched when he pressed himself against her harder.
“Perhaps you are not as immune as you may think.”
“Maybe you are right about me,” she countered. “But at least I am not a coward. I know why you didn’t return after you drank from me.”
The slight flare of his nostrils was the only indicator that her words had any effect on him. “Why is that?”
“You were afraid.”
He scoffed. “Of you?”
“Of my mind. You forget that while you were in my head, seeing my memories, I could feel glimmers of your emotions, too. Oh, how terrifying it must have been for you, a thing that hides in darkness, to suddenly find yourself standing in the light where hope lives.”
His eyes darkened, fingers flexing at his side when he looked at her throat. With a tense exhale, he pushed himself back and said with a growl, “You should go. Now.”
“Why? Are you feeling violated?” she asked, ignoring the voice in her head reminding her he could easily destroy her.
He ran his tongue over his sharp, gleaming fangs. She really was going to get herself killed. Power moved through her veins, pulsating through every pore of her body as she prepared to fight.
After a few seconds, he regained his composure, and her brows shot up her forehead. The veins around his eyes were gone, and his pupils were back to their circular, normal shape.
“Your magic is strong,” he said in a strangely contained voice. “I can feel it pulsing through you.”
She glanced at her fingers, which tingled with a thousand needle pricks, as if something was moving inside them. That had never happened before.
“It will come in useful when the witches come for you,” he continued. “I’ve known many, and felt their power, but not like yours. You are strong, especially when you’re angry.”
“You want me to fight them, too?”
“Yes, I do,” he said, tilting his head, the curve of his smile and deepening of his dimples making her heart stammer.
“I am glad to see you have an instinct for self-preservation. All it took was a little push to get that magic to the surface. Alexander assumed kindness would pull it out of you, but I wagered it was rage. I can feel it in your soul, desperate to be unleashed.”
“I’m not an angry person,” she said and he chuckled darkly.
“Your power begs to differ.”
“So, that was all intentional? No, no one can feign that amount of anger.”
He pushed his index finger under her chin and closed her gaping mouth. “Don’t look so shocked. I need you angry and ready to fight.”
Her face flooded with heat. Never had she met anyone more infuriating. “No. Y—you were losing control!”
“I never lose control,” he stated nonchalantly, and she was ready to throw something, anything at his head, just to see if that was true.
He continued rambling, as if he didn’t notice the battle of confusion playing on her features.
“While you may disdain mortality,” he said, pacing in front of her, “I do not. I want the life back that was stolen from me, but I cannot get it while the Avery family are alive. They manipulated me into killing so many in your bloodline. I will not fall into their trap again. They will never stop their attacks on me, even with you dead.”
“Why do they hate you so much?”
“There are many reasons,” he said vaguely, and added, “but the most recent being I killed a couple of their own after their elders sent their daughters to spy on me. It was their fault for sending them here, but they will not see it that way.”
Charlotte shook her head and scoffed. How wonderful it was to be immortal and never have to take accountability for anything. She watched him closely, his smirk curving his plump lips far too enticingly for her to look away.
“Like something you see, little lamb?” he asked, lifting his brows and making her stomach knot in ways she hadn’t felt before. A surge of butterflies swarmed into her stomach when he moved closer, his scent utterly intoxicating her senses.
It was that vampire charm. It had to be.
“No,” she stated too quickly. “I was just curious about your fangs.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth, and her chest heaved. “What about them?”
“Does your whole mouth shift or…”
“Our jaws dislocate,” he explained, but looked away from her. “We have three sets of fangs.”
“I don’t see them now.”
He tapped the space above his upper lip. “They retract.”
“What about your eyes? They changed just now.”
His shoulders tensed. “Yes. The shape allows for sharper visuals, for more precise strikes.”
Unconsciously, she bit down on her bottom lip, and with a brush of his thumb on her clavicle, he inhaled sharply, groaning when he pulled back. “If that is all, I will bid you a good evening, Miss Lovett,” he said in a strained voice, his palm twitching.
With another grunt, he pulled back and walked out the room.
After a few deep breaths, she steadied herself and peeled herself away from the ancient stone. She could still smell his scent on her.
Closing her eyes in a soft blink, she breathed him in before walking to the piano.
She had to think of something, anything else.
On top of the wood, where music sheets sat dusty, she spotted a piece of stationery in the shape of a rectangle.
On it, the word prey was written in red ink. At least, she hoped it was ink.
She turned it over in her palm and winced on seeing the blood splatter over the information printed on the back, detailing something called The Hunt.
It was three days ago at midnight, one day exactly before he had come for her, and the location was the grand salon, the very room she was standing in.