Chapter Seventeen
After searching for thirty minutes, she’d finally found a staff member to direct her to the attic.
She had gone completely mad. That, or her intrusive thoughts were correct, and she did have a death wish.
Slowly, Charlotte cracked open the small, black door at the end of the dim hallway from Nathaniel’s bedroom, revealing an enclosed, spiraling staircase.
With a deep breath, she took one stone step at a time, wondering what he would do when he saw her.
The last time they’d been together replayed in her mind.
Cut yourself now. Feed the beast until he cannot stop. There is no better way to die.
The sudden voice in her mind jolted her, pausing her mid-step. She didn’t want to die. At least, she didn’t think she did.
Did she?
You are turning into your father.
She shook her head, repeating to herself in a whisper, “My thoughts are not who I am. I do not want to die,” until the voice drowned into the rest of the noise in her head.
Her calves ached as she climbed the remaining stairs, the walls narrowing on either side, the darkness only relieved by gaslight when she walked out into the attic.
Exposed rafters covered the steeply pitched roof, and at the very back of the room, the moon shone through a circular window, casting shadows on the floorboards from the diamond-patterned tracery.
The hard muscles in Nathaniel’s back tensed when the boards creaked as she hesitantly closed the distance between them, spotting the tall mirror in front of him, encased in a gold frame. His eyes latched onto her in the reflection, and the harsh line of his jaw clenched.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
She glanced at the gas lamp set upon a stack of old, leather suitcases covered in cobwebs, to the old, green armchair, and cabinet filled with an array of items.
“I needed to speak to you, after what happened,” she said softly.
He rolled back his broad shoulders, straightening his posture. “There is nothing to discuss. You were intoxicated with my blood.”
Her cheeks pinched with heat as she tipped her head back to look at him, heart pounding frantically against her ribcage. “Not that part.”
His glare bore into her, the gray in them darkening like mortuary smoke. “You came to find me, on your own,” he stated, disbelief caressing every word, “So you could talk to me about how I desire nothing more than to kill you?”
She nodded, recognizing how foolish that was, but she had to confront him. “I don’t believe you will kill me.”
His brows flicked up. “No?”
“You can control yourself.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“What else would it be?” she asked. “The ball is tomorrow and if you cannot be around me, then your plan will not work.”
It wouldn’t work anyway, but he didn’t know that.
“Why did you really come up here?” he asked and she swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat.
What could she say that wouldn’t make her sound pathetic? Certainly not the truth, that being around him made her feel better, how his advice grounded her, or that his touch made her feel alive.
Perhaps because she was worried she had no way out of this and hoped the flicker of humanity in him would spare her when the time came.
What a ridiculous thing to consider.
“I’ve been seeing the ghost of one of your victims,” she said, deciding on that out of the many things that swarmed her mind. “The same one I told you about before, but she keeps haunting me. I don’t know what she wants, but I feel as if I am going crazy.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, disappointment washing over his features. “That is something Katherine can help you with.”
She frowned. “You’re the one who killed whoever the spirit was. She looked sad, angry too.”
“Well, yes,” he said incredulously. “What ghost wouldn’t be if they were murdered?”
“I think she wants something from me.”
He took a step back, letting out a low groan, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Must you insist on helping every damned thing that crosses your path?”
Was he…flustered?
“You are upset with me.”
“Frustrated,” he corrected. After a sharp inhale, he closed his eyes, and let out a long, deep breath. “I apologize. I find it hard to be alone with you.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Try hanging rue and rosemary over your bedroom door,” he said after a brief pause. “I’ve heard it repels evil.”
“What if the spirit is not evil?”
“I really consume little else, except for you,” he confessed, leaning forward to drag a finger down her neck, rooting her to the spot. He quickly recoiled and offered her the armchair. “You are correct. I need to control myself. Soon, the bond will be broken, and things can be different.”
His words ached with something she wanted to dissect but was scared to try.
“Speaking of, is everything ready for the ball?”
“Yes,” he said, and relief flooded her. They must have still believed the spell on the entrance was intact.
“What if your plan doesn’t work?” she asked tentatively. “I mean, if the Avery witches don’t come or something else happens?”
“They will not pass on the opportunity to get close to you. I assure you, once they enter my manor tomorrow, they will not be leaving.” Her eyes closed gently and he said, “do not worry, I won’t let them hurt you,” mistaking her fear for what the witches might do to her and not what would happen if they died.
“Mortality will not give you a fresh start,” she stated, broaching the subject that had lingered since he’d said he was undeserving, since Katherine and Alexander made revelations to her about him.
“Do not say anything else,” he warned, and faced the mirror.
“What is it you see?” she asked when he grimaced at his reflection.
“A rabid beast.”
“You know,” she said, stepping up beside him. “Sometimes, we need monsters to help us fight against the true devils in this world.”
“I am the devil in this world.”
She gave him a look. “I do not see that.”
“No, but we have already established you see the best in anyone and anything, apparently.”
“Does that frighten you?” she asked when he winced, and he averted his eyes from whatever image haunted him in his reflection.
“It makes it harder to keep you alive, when you’re so easy to kill.”
He almost smiled and she took it as a sign to relax, and took a seat in the dusty, green armchair to rest her throbbing feet. “Why do you come up here? To look in the mirror?”
“To remind myself of what I am,” he stated. Also, as a child, I’d often sleep in the garret when I was afraid. Now, the loft is where I store everything I want to remember.”
“Or everything you want to forget,” she said, pulling back one of the oil paintings leaning against the chair, covered in dust. She let it go and looked at him, standing before the window, his hands in his pockets, his hair unruly as always.
“Is that a heart?” She asked upon looking closer at the small display cabinet. Slowly, she stood and walked to the glass panels. “A human heart?”
“Yes.”
She examined it closer, wiping away a layer of dust on the mahogany cabinet with her index finger. The pristine jar was filled to the brim with a clear liquid, and the organ inside, pale and brown.
“That is…”
“Horrifying?”
“Yes,” she admitted, “but only because it is the cleanest item in this cabinet. You polish the glass like a trophy.”
“It belonged to the first good man I killed.”
“An odd thing to commemorate.”
“It was when I lost all hope and truly embraced what I am,” he explained and she tsked, stepping back.
“What are you, Nathaniel? A vampire, yes, but that does not make you evil,” she challenged, desperate to break his tie to wanting mortality, to desiring nothing more than to break his curse simply because he did not think he was deserving of anything with it.
“I should know what evil is, little lamb. I’ve consumed it. Embodied it. Created it.”
“By turning other vampires?”
His face remained stoic as he let out a humorless laugh. “Yes, but my sins go back before then. Vampires are nothing compared to the witches I grew up with.”
Her throat tightened as she swallowed hard. “You mean your family?”
“Yes.” He leaned forward, hands clasped on his knees, staring at the ground before slowly lifting his gaze to meet hers. “I was betrothed to a powerful witch, you see, when I was still human.”
“You were in love?” she asked, brows rising.
“No,” he said with a scoff. “My mother arranged the entire affair. My betrothed was a witch from your bloodline.”
Goosebumps pricked over her skin. Every so often, she forgot what he had done, and the reminder pierced her soul like an icy dagger.
He continued, turning to look at everything but her.
“She practiced sacrificial magic, the woman promised to me. She became obsessed with gaining more power. I’d known her since I was a child, but she was older.
My mother’s friend had when I became of age, she set her sights on me.
The moment I became a vampire, I broke off the engagement, knowing there wasn’t a damned thing anyone could do about it.
” With a sigh, he added, “It was a crueler world then. Women were killed constantly, accused of dealing with the devil, most of the accusations unfounded. Except for the ones against her. The witch bloodlines were obsessed with protecting themselves against persecution. I understood it, but their methods were not something I tolerated. They killed hundreds of innocents in their quest for more power, and my former fiancée became the most infamous child killer in all of London. So, I tore out her throat before she could become untouchable.”
“Is that what you mean by your sins?” she asked, jaw slacking. “That is not your fault.”
“She swore to me she was going to stop practicing sacrificial magic when she believed she would become my wife until I broke her heart.”
“You didn’t make her that way. People have their hearts broken every day and do not murder innocents as a result. She was already inclined toward darkness from what you said. It had taken root in her long before you.”
“It bloomed in my abandonment of her.”
Charlotte’s heart ached when she looked at him, when he stood, shoulders back as if he had the weight of the world on them. “She did not become evil over losing you.”
“You cannot know that,” he barked and she clicked her tongue.
“No?”
“No.” He faced her, and she crossed her arms.
“Don’t be so conceited, Nathaniel.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” she said, jutting her chin. “You think you made her evil, but I say you didn’t. You are not so special that a woman would abandon all her morals in your absence.”
His pupils darted around her face, searching her expression, before the corners of his mouth curved with tension, and he laughed for the second time since they’d met. It was infectious, boyish, and she loved the deep, hearty sound.
Through hooded eyes, his smile settling back into a smirk, he said, “You might be right.”
“I usually am,” she teased, and his dimple deepened.
“I must leave. I have some final checks to go over for the guest list for tonight,” he said silkily, her gaze following the path of his fingers when he pushed back a stray curl, tucking it behind her ear.
Slowly, he brushed his thumb over her cheek, before pulling away.
“Do you want me to carry you back to your room?”
Her chest heaved when his hand landed on her waist, eyes softening when he looked at her. “I’m okay,” she promised, even though her muscles screamed at her in protest.
“Do you know your nose scrunches when you lie?”
He noticed that?
Her eyes widened.
“I’m not—”
“Don’t be stubborn. Hold on to me,” he commanded. “I’ll take you back so you can get some rest. We’re going to need all our strength for tonight.”
As she wrapped her arms around his neck, his breaths hot against her throat, she glanced at the mirror and jolted when she saw a flicker of the demon’s reflection, its humorless grin in contrast to the entities furious eyes when she glared at them before he whisked her out of the attic and to her room.