I clenched my jaw, forcing the images away. They didn’t matter. Only the hunger mattered.
I tried to focus on the taste of his blood, but the more I drank, the harder it was to shut the memories out. Locking up the bar at night, me staring back at him on the street.
I wrenched his head to the side and snapped his neck with a sharp crack. His body went limp beneath me, and Idrank deeper, enjoying my meal without the echoes of his life.
Once I was satisfied, I released my grasp. I stood up and turned around, catching a glance of myself in the mirror. Wet, dishevelled hair clung to my face, fangs extended, and blood running down my chin. The creature staring back at me was one I knew all too well.
I turned the shower temperature up to the maximum, letting the scalding hot stream hammer down on my skin. Normally, the pain would have been unbearable, but in that moment, it felt like a fitting punishment. I stood there, allowing the burning sensation to wash over me, my mind reeling with the weight of what I had just done.
The shower drain made the cleanup quick and effortless, swirling away the evidence. I rinsed the blood from my skin, from the tiles, from his lifeless body sprawled on the floor. I wasn’t going to move him. It was better this way—better for him to be found here, in his own home, rather than risk getting caught dragging him through the streets.
Not even two days into this city, and I was already leaving bodies behind.
So much for a fresh start.
I left his apartment and walked out into the rainy night. I stood there for a moment, and closed my eyes, tilting my head back and letting the rain soak my already wet hair.
What am I doing here?
I needed to leave. God, Vail is going to hate me.I pulled Connor’s leather jacket tighter around me and walked back to her house.
TWELVE
March 16, 1891
I twirled a curl around my finger idly as I sat in the library, my gaze skimming the pages of a book. My hair was soft and freshly washed, cascading in dark, bouncing ringlets. I hadn’t bothered pinning it up. I had been alone all day in Thornwood, tucked away in this quiet library.
Imalda had brought me tea that morning, and I had remained in the same spot ever since, absorbed in the comfort of routine, the illusion of normalcy. The open curtains allowed the crisp evening air to sweep through the room. My red dress pooled around me as I read the book in my hands. It was a welcome distraction from the weight pressing down on my chest.
I wasn’t ready to leave this place. The Blood Hunters still roamed the forests, and the thought of facing the world beyond these walls sent a chill through me. I thought of Vail often, wondering if she noticed my absence. She hadn’t visited in months. Maybe she had already let me go.
And my mother’s home by the river … I couldn’t bring myself to even think of it. The pain was too raw, too consuming. If I let myself feel it, truly feel it, I feared it would pull me under, drown me in sorrow all over again. I didn’t know where else to go, and the thought of leaving Thornwood, of stepping into the unknown, terrified me.
The comforting aroma of roasted chicken wafted through the air, breaking my thoughts. I followed the scent down the hall into the dining room. There, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, was Draven seated at the head of the table. A second chair had been placed next to him, as though it had been reserved just for me. His presence stirred something within me, and anticipation fluttered in my chest as I stood frozen in the doorway.
“Sorry for intruding,” I said, wanting to shrink back into myself and retreat to the library.
Draven looked up at me, a warm smile playing on his lips. “Not an intrusion at all,” he reassured, his voice calm and inviting. “Please join me.”
He gracefully rose from his chair, and as he did, the room seemed to come alive with the gentle flickering of candlelight. I approached him, and as I sat in the chair, he settled back into his own.
I looked at the polished mahogany table, gleaming under the soft glow of light. It nearly looked untouched. I wondered when it was last surrounded by people other than Draven. Imalda came and placed plates of roasted chicken and vegetables in front of us, along with two glasses of dark wine. I speared a piece of chicken with my fork, stealing a quick glance at Draven, who was watching me as he drank from his glass.
The warmth of the food made it hard not to savour every bite. It struck me that it had been days since I allowed myself to eat a proper hot meal. As I chewed, my eyes wandered across the room at the portraits and tapestries that hung on the walls. I glanced back at Draven, the glow caressing the sharp features of his face, and I felt momentarily embarrassedat the air of intimacy surrounding us. I quickly averted my gaze as our eyes met. Swallowing, I took a sip of the wine.
“Your hair,” Draven remarked after a while. “It is different.”
I returned my gaze to him, unsure how to respond. “I left it down.”
“Hmm,” he grumbled, watching me intently as he took another sip. I could see the muscles move in his neck as he swallowed. I noticed he had not touched his food yet.
“Mr. Blackwell, this supper is excellent. Are you not going to eat it?” I asked.
“I am not particularly hungry tonight,” he explained, keeping his eyes on me. I averted my gaze again, feeling like I was on display, eating in front of him. “And please, call me Draven. No need for formalities in my home. I have been meaning to apologize for my words yesterday. I was not myself. Hunger tends to make me irritable,” he confessed, turning his body to face me, his hands resting casually on his lap.
I blinked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected apology. “I must be the one to apologize. You have been nothing but a gracious host, and I have been a less-than-respectful guest.”
Draven’s lips curved slightly. “It is my pleasure to have you here.”
