I could barely make out the contours of his face in the dark room. Fortunately, considering I hadn’t brushed my hair in days, it lay piled on the top of my head.
“Here.” Draven tossed me a housecoat. “Put this on and get out of bed. I have something to show you.”
I moaned and rolled over. The last thing I wanted to do was leave the warmth of my cocoon to venture out with Draven into the darkness of the mansion.
“I understand your emotions, Miss Bertrand. However, you are not doing yourself any favours by withering away in bed.” Draven’s words were sharp. “Do not get me started on how badly you smell. You are a guest in my home, and I expect you to bathe. Unless you would like to leave,” he added, as I held my breath beneath the covers.
“I will be waiting outside in the hall,” he declared before his footsteps echoed along the wooden floor, and the door closed behind him.
His words stung. The audacity of him pretending to understand my feelings! Yet the remark on my smell struck a nerve, making me self-conscious. Reluctantly, I dragged myself out of bed, my limbs stiff as I put on the housecoat. I touched the fabric. It was unlike anything I’d felt before, as soft as I imagined clouds to be. The garment draped down to my ankles, a few sizes too big for me, but the silky and luxurious fabric almost made me feel like I was still in bed. I brought it up to my nose; its rich, heady scent filled me with comfort, and after a moment, I met Draven in the hallway.
As I opened the door, I swear I saw a grin appear on his lips, just for a second. Though I could not be certain. Draven held out the candle, and I followed him down the dark hallway and down the staircase.
The soft tapping of our footsteps echoed as we descended the creaking steps, the scent of beeswax in the air. Reaching the bottom, Draven guided me down a narrow corridor. The distant clink of cutlery from the servants in the kitchen faded as he led me past it, opening a door at the end of the hall.
He gestured for me to enter, and as I stepped inside, I was greeted by the cracking sound of the fireplace and the warm light that flooded the space. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books met my eyes, and I marvelled at the sheer volume of literature surrounding me. Growing up, I repeatedly read the few books we owned, longing for more. I walked over to a shelf, running my fingers along the fabric and leather spines, and pulled out a small, blue book. Memories of my mother immersed in her reading flooded my mind. The last image I had of her was on the porch, seated with a book in hand.
Tears welled in my eyes, cascading down my cheeks and staining the pages of the book. I turned away from Draven, desperate to shield my vulnerability from him. Yet, I felt his hand rest on my shoulder, guiding me back to face him.
With a gentle touch, he tilted my chin upward, compelling me to meet his eyes. His gaze sparkled in the firelight, and he reached into his pocket and offered me a pristine handkerchief, which I accepted.
“I presumed you might appreciate this library, as you are undoubtedly seeking an escape from whatever it is that is keeping you locked away in your room. What better way to escape than with your nose in a book?” Draven offered, his words carrying a thoughtful warmth.
“I want to help you,” he added, as I wiped the tears from my cheeks. His hair cascaded like a curtain around his face, and for a moment, I was drawn to his comforting presence. However, as I looked into his eyes once more, I realized hewas still a stranger. Someone I had just met, and I couldn’t shake my feeling of insignificance.
“I don’t even know you,” I blurted out, my words tinged with frustration and apprehension, taking a step back.
Draven’s arms dropped to his side, and he stiffened at my words. His gaze, with those piercing, ice-blue eyes, bore into me, casting a chill that seeped into the room. The atmosphere shifted, growing colder. My outburst must have caught him off-guard, and for a fleeting moment, a trace of hurt flickered across his face before it returned to its usual stoic expression.
“You are correct.” His voice was soft, devoid of the earlier irritation. “You do not know me, Rosalia. However, you cannot be isolated in your room forever—”
“It is notmyroom!” I interrupted, my voice rising in a raw, desperate cry. Tears blurred my vision, and I struggled to hold them back. “You do not know me or what I have been through, and all these books, and food…it is not going to…” I couldn’t finish what I wanted to say.It is not going to bring my mother back. “Do you believe you can mend my heart with these material things?” I paused, glaring at Draven, my bitterness growing. “You sit in your grand house with your superficial objects. You think you can fix everything with your wealth, but you have not the faintest idea of what it means to truly care!” I spat at him. I knew I was overreacting, and it wasn’t his fault, but I couldn’t help lashing out at his shallow attempts to help me.
Draven spoke after a moment, his voice sterner than before. “I know you are hurting. But I will not be spoken to like that in my house. I will leave you alone if that is what you wish.”
I stood there, my emotions a tangled web of anger and grief. I wanted my words to sting, but I knew Draven wasright. I couldn’t keep wallowing in my misery forever, locked in a room that was, indeed, his.
I lowered my eyes, unable to meet Draven’s intense gaze, feeling ashamed for my outburst. “My apologies,” I whispered. “I did not mean to be discourteous. I … I believe I require some time … to heal.”
“Then time is something I can grant you,” he said, taking a step toward me, but he stopped. I looked up at him, sensing unspoken words from him. “Make yourself at home.” Before our eyes could meet, he turned around and left the room.
With a steadying breath, I wiped away the traces of my tears and felt the dormant strength within me stir. I blinked, looking around the grand library.
I was out of bed, and I was in a new room in the house.
It was a small victory.
ELEVEN
January 2, 2010
The firelight flickered, casting shifting shadows across our faces. Across the fire, Ivy and Sam were making out, lost in their own world. Beside me, Vail sat deep in conversation with Diana, her expression calm, though her fingers fidgeted slightly. She looked more at ease than before, but I knew her too well—no matter how composed she looked, George’s absence was still on her mind.
I glanced over at Connor to find him watching me. The firelight softened the angles of his face, making him appear like a subject from a Renaissance painting. As soon as our eyes met, he looked away, redirecting his attention to Donovon. I couldn’t help but smile to myself, pleased by the attention Connor had unwittingly given me.
The lake was beautiful at this hour, its surface reflecting the quiet majesty of the night. We were on the far side, tucked near the dense trees, away from the public park and the hum of the city streets. I hadn’t had the chance to truly take it in the other day. I walked toward the shore, and the moonlight spilled across the water, weaving a celestial tapestry that shimmered in harmony with the vast, starlit sky.
As I stood there, the night air nipped at my skin. I felt a pang of regret for not having savoured this enchanting viewthe other night. Time, when someone is immortal, slipped by faster than it did when I was human. The fleeting moments of my Vampire existence often felt swifter than the years of my past life. I reminded myself to cherish these small, beautiful fragments of time.
