Chapter Fifteen
There were only just one day left until the ball and if she didn’t act now, then the Avery witches would surely die.
Ticking from the grandfather clock followed her as she crept down the corridor and into the foyer that next afternoon, careful not to make a sound while everyone else was sleeping.
Sunlight sliced through the stained-glass windows either side of the arched, double doors. She’d almost forgotten how good it felt to bask in the warmth of the sun.
Duke darted ahead of her, stopping in front of the main doors.
Fortunately, no staff members were there.
She lifted the skirt of her favorite pale-green tea dress, trying to think of anything else but the tightness straining her muscles.
The throbbing in her back and knees deepened, the cold of the marble seeping through her slippers.
With every step, the relentless discomfort clinging to her every limb worsened.
She knew it was coming after all the physical exertion she had done recently. If she had paced herself, it wouldn’t have been as bad, and she knew better. It was getting close to intolerable, but she only had to reach the sigil. Then she could rest.
A groan bubbled in her throat when she reached Duke, who tilted his head, his bright eyes blinking softly. “I’m okay,” she whispered but scrunched up her nose.
She looked at the Avery family sigil carved into the wood frame. When she grazed her finger on the wood, a zap of energy shocked into her nail beds.
Laying her palms flat against the wood, she recited the Latin from the grimoire that she’d memorized yesterday. The hum of magic whispered against her fingers as she siphoned the magic from the spell Katherine had placed on it, her heart hammering as every pulse burrowed deeper into her soul.
If any of them discovered what she had done, they’d surely lock her away, maybe chain her up in the cellar, but she had no choice but to take the risk.
If Nathaniel’s plan succeeded, her own death would follow soon after.
Even if she refused to perform the ritual after he discovered the truth, he wouldn’t stop trying to make her, and she couldn’t fathom thinking about the various torture methods he likely learned over the centuries.
She needed more time to figure a way out of this and unfortunately that meant keeping their enemies alive a little longer.
A wave of power washed through the room, making her gasp.
The power ran through her like currents, spiking in her torso.
She pulled away from the sigil, heart racing when the last of the magic pulsed into her fingertips.
She waved her hand over the door, but nothing except an echo of a spell was left lingering in the splinters of the carved marking.
She only hoped no one would notice before the ball.
The mark on her hip burned when the magic seared back into her body, sparking pain into the necrotic center. Despite applying the tonic daily, it had only gotten worse.
Now run, while you have the chance.
The voice rattled through her skull, making her jump.
Shaking her head, she stepped back, gazing through the window beside the door. Even if she did somehow make it past the death hounds, she had no coin to get out of London, or England for that matter. She couldn’t return to her manor, and they would never stop hunting her.
No, the answer lay with magic. It had to. She just needed to get hands on her grimoires again without Katherine looking over her shoulder.
The answers lie in the Realm of the Dead. Return there.
The hiss of words ached in her forehead.
“No!” She stepped backward, Duke’s eyes tracking her as she did. Was it her own thoughts urging her into those things, an inner monologue brought on from trauma like Nathaniel said, or something worse, like the demon that had been stalking her?
She wasn’t even sure what was real anymore.
Turning quickly, she hurried back to the stairs before she gave into her baser urges and fled out the door without a plan.
The muscles in her legs spasmed when she climbed the stairs, despite placing all her weight on the polished banister. With labored breaths, she made it to the top before collapsing under her own weight, letting out a scream when her ankle rolled and knee let out a crack.
No matter how hard she tried to pull herself up, she couldn’t.
After a couple of minutes of sitting there, she pulled herself into a crouching position and grunted. She couldn’t keep going. It was too much for her body. Taking a quick nap on the floor was looking more appealing.
“What happened?” Nathaniel’s voice sounded from somewhere behind her. He appeared in front of her in a flash, his hair a mess, dressed only in a white nightshirt.
Frenzied, smoky eyes inspected her entire body by the time she spluttered, “Nothing. Really. I simply tripped.”
The shooting pains searing into her calves were threatening to buckle her legs again. Her expression crumpled as she whistled a breath through gritted teeth, her eyes squeezing shut.
“You are hurt. Is it the sickness that confines you to your bed?”
He knew, but only because he’d peered into her damned soul and memories the night he’d bitten her.
“Yes,” she admitted in a hiss when the pain became too much to carry. “It happens sometimes, when I walk too much, or do any exercise. I was looking for Hartley,” she lied, still feeling the remnants of the magic she had siphoned in her hands.
Heat rose through her chest and into her cheeks, reddening her skin. Thick tears slid over her freckles, and she quickly wiped them away, angry at herself for showing this to him. He would think she was being hysterical.
Yet, when she glanced up at him from her crouched position, he didn’t wear the same weary look that everyone else had who’d witnessed her at her very worst. Lines creased the corners of his eyes as her jaw locked to hold back another sob.
“You should have told me,” he grumbled and kneeled to place an arm around her.
“Oh no, you don’t have to—”
He lifted her into his arms before she could protest.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, tense in his hold.
“To your room.”
He looked down at her as he walked at a mortal’s pace, careful when turning the corners down the corridor. When they reached the doorway, he scraped his back so she wouldn’t be anywhere near the frame and placed her on the bed with Duke in tow.
His wet nose bumped her chin after he jumped on her chest, his purrs vibrating through her ribcage and into her soul. It somehow helped take the edge off the ache.
Nathaniel took a step back, his breaths heavying. “Where does it hurt the most?”
“It’s not localized,” she said in a whisper. “It’s all over, everywhere.”
With a labored breath, she tangled her fingers in Duke’s fur and closed her eyes. Even the act of stroking up hurt her wrist. Until now, she hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten. The exhaustion went beyond physical tiredness. A deep-seated weariness settled over her, eclipsing her every thought.
“I will call a doctor,” he said, watching flickers of discomfort crease her soft features.
“No, please don’t. I’ve seen four doctors, and they all think it’s a nervous disorder. Except for one who said the pain is a manifestation of my dissatisfaction from not yet being married. Another believed me to be malingering.”
“How long have you had this?”
“Years,” she confessed. “It comes and goes. “
In an effort to undo the tightness in her shoulders, she rolled them back, groaning as she turned onto her side.
She stretched her neck, letting out a soft moan, and quickly opened her eyes. The bond.
Katherine told her not to be alone with Nathaniel and there she was, elongating her neck in front of a vampire that craved her above all else.
Slowly, she sat upright when Nathaniel did.
“Let me help you,” he offered in a deep tone.
Before she could react, one set of his fangs elongated, the sharp points slicing into the skin of his wrist. With a swipe of his thumb, he collected a few drops and brought them to her lips.
“Drink,” he murmured, eyes darkening as he tipped her head back.
“My blood suits you,” he said silkily when he painted her mouth with it, leaning back to appreciate his art.
Her mouth fell open and in a moment of madness and desperation, she licked the blood from her lips, surprised at how un-blood-like it tasted.
His essence tingled on her tongue, sending sharp shocks into the roof of her mouth and throat.
She dragged her fingers up her neck, her palm pressing over the area that tingled with desire.
“More,” she begged when the tingling shot through her body, eclipsing the pain in her legs.
Wild-eyed, he pushed the wound on his wrist to the mouth. She closed her lips around it, swallowing as mouthfuls leaked into her mouth.
Katherine was right. It was unlike anything she’d experienced.
She never would have thought she would enjoy drinking blood, but his was sweet, vibrant, and fizzled on her tongue like an explosion of bubbles.
The wound quickly healed, and he pulled back, watching as crimson liquid dripped down her chin and onto her fingers.
Duke purred from the sheets beside her, as if he could feel the effects too.
Nathaniel’s other hand ran up her back, sinking into her curls, his thumb stroking the back of her head.
“Good girl,” he said in a deep purr as he stared down through hooded eyes, lips slightly parted, as if he was enjoying it as much as she was.
With her tongue, she licked the rest of the blood on her lips, before cleaning herself with the sleeve of her nightgown.
Lying back down, she shifted back onto herself, her back facing Nathaniel, and mumbled, “You taste good.”
With a low hum, he pressed his lips against her hair. “It will help, but it won’t heal you permanently.”
“I’ve tried everything the doctors suggested,” she whispered with her eyes closed. “Nothing has helped, but that does.”