Chapter Nine
The vampire is going to kill you.
The intrusive voice returned as a whisper, the words looping in her mind as she tiptoed barefoot down the cold corridor toward the library, the icy gusts raising goosebumps on her exposed neck.
The candle's waning light dripped wax onto the bronze holder, casting a soft glow on her dark curls that spilled over her ruffled, ivory chemise.
With a hiss, the voice slithered back into her mind.
Run before he drains you. Flee through the gardens while they are distracted.
She wasn’t sure if it was her own internal voice or something more nefarious, but it was becoming harder to shut out the noise.
“Stop!” She pleaded aloud, her voice swallowed by the silent corridors, which responded only with a ghostly echo. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to the shadowy end of the narrow corridor lined with locked doors and oil paintings.
The color faded from the maroon wallpaper, transforming it into the identical, charcoal-colored, baroque paper found at Lovett Manor.
Above the paneling, cobwebs glistened over portraits as their expressions warped.
Blood leaked from their dark sockets, trickling down into the bottom of the frames as their painted mouths opened in silent screams.
As she stumbled backward, the candle's flame flickered, turning an angry blue, before disappearing in a pillar of smoke.
You are losing your mind. Just like your father. You can end this now, before anyone gets hurt.
Footsteps dragged on the carpet behind her, sending an icy chill deep into the marrow of her bones. Holding her breath, she slowly turned her head at the touch of an icy hand on her shoulder and the whisper of a breath against her ear.
A scream ripped from her sore throat as she ran, feeling her way through the dark, her fingers tracing the cold chair rail. The library should have been this way, but the manor’s layout was an endless maze of narrow corridors.
Footsteps pounded behind her, the sound of her father’s harsh tone ripping through the air from the night of the massacre.
“Get back here you bastards!”
The sound of his voice froze the scream that was about to escape her lips.
She jerked her head around, but there was nothing there.
The scream of her sister yelling her name still rang in her ears, along with the unsettling memory of Alice grabbing her hand and ushering her into the bedroom, oblivious to the fact it would become her final resting place.
You should have died with her. You let her die. You wanted her dead, so you could take it all.
“No! That’s not true.”
With a deep breath, she shook her head, eyes clamped shut as tears fell down her cheeks. When she opened them again, everything was back to normal, and she hadn’t moved an inch despite recalling running.
Wide-eyed, she glared at the doorway to the library, the scent of burning firewood and parchment carrying into the corridor as the flame of her candle danced shadows around her.
What the…
She was losing her mind.
The pain in her side throbbed deeper when she took a step forward, as if something was tugging her back. It was only when she finally reached the door and saw Nathaniel inside, sitting on the sofa facing the fire, his back to the door, that she understood why.
Something did not want her near him.
Breathless, Charlotte watched him flick a page of his book with his left hand, while swirling whiskey in a glass with his right.
“Don’t linger in the doorway,” he said, closing the book in the middle. “Come in.”
When she got closer, she noticed the title—The Scarlet Letter.
“You didn't hear anything?” she asked, setting the candle down as the fire’s flickering light wrapped him in shadows.
He glanced over his shoulder. “What is it I am supposed to have heard?”
“I mean, anything out of the ordinary.”
“Only your heartbeat,” he said, and her brows pinched together. Surely, he would have heard her scream, her pleading with the voice in her head to stop.
Unless none of it had happened.
“Why?” he asked and she bit her lip. If he knew what had just happened, then he’d think she was insane. While he wouldn’t lock her away like most would, in some asylum somewhere, he would surely strip her of any freedoms she had left and contain her to her room, maybe place bars on her window.
Perhaps he would be right to do so.
With trembling fingers, she took the armchair to his left, and crossed her legs. The crackling of the fire hissing between the logs soothed her racing thoughts. “No reason. I thought I had heard something. It was likely from outside.”
“Hmm,” he said, clearly losing interest.
Rolling back her shoulders, she attempted to focus on anything besides what had just happened. Something was either happening to her mentally, or it was paranormal. She hoped it was the latter, but either way, she couldn't bring herself to trust him with the truth.
She had only left her bedroom intending to borrow a book from their library to entertain herself until she was ready for sleep, but now that she was in there with him, she didn’t want to leave.
In his presence, the voices faded away, and she felt some semblance of peace.
It wasn’t just him. Being around anyone helped.
It was being alone, when everything was silent, that she hated.
“I assumed you would be with Katherine,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Why would you think that?” he asked, taking a sip of whiskey, the firelight casting dancing shadows across his sharp features.
“She likes you. That much is evident.”
Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he swirled the gold liquid and said, “Katherine only likes herself. Besides, she is here to help you, not me.”
“Do you come in here often?” she asked when he let out a heavy sigh.
His pupils flared when he looked at her, reflecting the dim light of embers and fire. “Not for some time.”
“I read that one the other night. It is surprising that you like that one,” she said, pointing at the worn title.
“Why?”
“It is a book about redemption through suffering, and you are....”
“I am what? A monster who could never be redeemed?”
“Is that what you want? Redemption?” she asked, noticing the slight tremor in his throat as he swallowed.
“No, that is not something a vampire could ever ask for.”
“Why not?”
“Because we are not deserving of such things.”
She shook her head, leaning forward, brows curving. He truly believed that. She could see it in his face. “I don’t believe that is true.”
“Then you are na?ve.”
“And you are cynical,” she said, with a deep breath.
“You would be too, if you had lived as long as I.” His gaze traveled over her face, as if he was searching for something, before settling on her lips. “You’ve been reading my books. I noticed the dust disturbed.”
She glanced at the long shelf beside the mantel. “Alexander said they were your favorites, and I wanted to get to know you better.”
His lips pursed. “Why?”
“So I could know what I’m up against.”
He pointed his glass at her, slowly nodding before leaning back against the sofa cushions. “You’re not up against anyone, Miss Lovett. We are on the same side.”
His dark shirt and pants strained against his muscles, his top buttons undone. The men she knew, who dressed in such fanciful clothes, never wore them so casually. Yet, he didn’t seem to care.
“Stay and read, if you want,” he said gruffly and returned to his book.
She grabbed the closest one and placed it on her lap but couldn’t get past the first page.
Every so often, he’d peer over the top of his, glance at her, then avert his eyes.
She couldn’t focus on a damned word. After several minutes of that, she closed the book and sighed.
“I’ve noticed there are no mirrors anywhere. Not even in my room.”
He lowered the book, staring at her, eyebrows pinched. “Aren’t you inquisitive this evening?”
She leaned forward, picking at her cuticles. “I know they reveal the true evil in demons. I assume they do the same to vampires.”
“That would be correct,” he said nonchalantly.
“Hmm.” She sat back, a slight smile curving her lips. “It must be a nightmare to groom yourself.”
He laughed, actually laughed, the sound whooshing air from his nose. A smile almost curved his lips, a genuine one, not a smirk, when Alexander strode in and his face fell back into the same disappointed, stoic expression.
“What have I missed?” he asked, tilting his head when he saw Charlotte’s grin.
“Nathaniel smiled.”
“A trick of the light, I assure you,” he grumbled.
Alexander tsked. “Ignore him. He forgot how to feel joy hundreds of years ago and punishes us for it.” He winked, green eyes glistening. She was pretty sure he was exaggerating, but there was a chance he wasn’t.
Nathaniel pointed a finger at me from the side of his glass. “Be careful with that tongue, lest I tear it from your mouth.”
“You would miss my conversation too much,” Alexander remarked.
“You jest. You are not interesting enough for me to feel your absence.”
“Well, that all comes down to your dull taste,” he stated with a boyish grin and turned to look at Charlotte. “Let me show you the rose garden and we can discuss the ball and how we plan on entrapping the witches.”
“You mean, I can go outside?”
Nathaniel shook his head, shoulders tensing. “Absolutely not.”
Alexander’s lips quirked at the corners, hands in his pockets. “Don’t listen to him. You need some fresh air.”
“I am being serious,” Nathaniel said, lowering his voice.
“Yes, well, that is your regressive state,” Alexander quipped, earning a smirk from Charlotte who quickly tried to hide when she noticed Nathaniel glance at her.
“Once the Avery witches are taken care of, she can live in the gardens for all I care.”
“Please,” she asked, standing. “I fear I may go insane if I remain trapped in this manor. I want to look at the roses. I can see them from my bedroom window and they’re in full bloom.”
“It is too dangerous,” he said and stood. “It is only one more week until you are free. Until we all are.”
“So, that is it? What you say goes?”
“Yes.”
“If I disobey and go anyway?” she questioned with a defiant stare.
He smirked, hooking a brow, his eyes threading with challenge. “I dare you to try.”
“Fine. I shall return to prison then.”
A heavy knock resounded on the door just as she was preparing herself to go to bed. Assuming it was Hartley, or Alexander, she called out, “come in,” but it was Nathaniel who opened it, and took one step inside.
“I got you this.”
Her brows pinched down when she looked at the freshly cut rose in his fingers.
“A rose from the garden,” he said when she didn’t speak, or move.
“Oh.” With a thick swallow, she climbed off the bed and took the bright red rose in her fingers.
She had always disliked receiving flowers as a gift.
While it was a kind gesture on his part, they were a symbol of death.
The moment they were snipped from their plant, they were dying and would soon wilt. “Thank you.”
“You do not like it.”
“They die once cut,” she explained in a whisper, hating herself for saying that when he’d finally shown some measure of thoughtfulness. Why, however, she could not understand.
“I apologize. I should not have assumed.”
He turned to leave, but she reached out and grabbed his arm. “Why did you bring me this?”
“You said you wanted to see them,” he said, revealing nothing in his expression. “You were upset when you left.”
“You just didn’t want me trying to escape.”
With a clenched jaw, he said, “No. I just wanted you to have something beautiful.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
“Thank you,” she said, if only to break the awkwardness.
“I am disturbing you,” he said with a glance around her bedroom. “I will take my leave.”
“You’re not,” she confessed. “Honestly, I hate being alone. Ever since my family died, I cannot cope with silence. My thoughts are loud,” she admitted, unsure why. Anxiety spilled through her veins, and she added, “they’re dark too and they’re getting darker.”
“When did they start?”
“After I buried my sister.”
He pushed his hands into his pockets and said, “Our minds do that sometimes after a tragedy. They challenge us with the very worst parts of what happened, but you are not those thoughts. Let them pass, but don’t linger on them. They’re not you.”
“I will try,” she said, her anxiety easing.
His gaze drifted to her throat, before he quickly averted his eyes. “The sun is almost up.”
“Yes, of course. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay.”
“I shouldn’t.” He took a hesitant step to the door, before turning, his mouth opening as if to say something, but instead, walked out.
“Good night,” she called after him, staring at the door long after he was gone, her stomach in knots. Slowly, she brought the petals to her nose and breathed the scent in, before closing the door and turning to Duke who was sleeping in the chair by her bed.
Those dark thoughts were not her own. Those evil things that sometimes crept into her mind were not her. His words helped and she clung to them when she climbed into bed before blowing out the candlestick, feeling much better with Duke close by.