My whole body feels warm despite the cold house, and I'm suddenly, viscerally aware of how close he's standing. Close enough that I could reach out and touch him. Close enough to see the way candlelight reflects in those pale eyes.
Close enough that I wonder if vampires can hear heartbeats. Because mine is racing.
"You're cold," he observes, and it's not a question. His voice is smooth and cultured and does absolutely nothing to help my current situation. "The house has not been warmed in three weeks. I will start the fires."
"I can..."
But he's already moving, disappearing into the next room with that same unsettling fluid grace.
I stand alone in the entrance hall, surrounded by weapons and winter silence, and try to process what just happened.
Grandmother left me a vampire.
Not a cat. Not a familiar in the warm, fuzzy sense of loyal animal companion.
A vampire. An ancient, powerful, devastatingly attractive vampire who is magically bound to serve me and who expects me to... what? Command him? Feed him? Treat him like Grandmother apparently did, like a weapon to be maintained andused?
A vampire I apparently want to kiss despite knowing him for all of five minutes.
A vampire who has no choice but to obey me.
"No," I whisper to the empty hall, though I'm not sure if I'm refusing the situation or my own treacherous thoughts. "Absolutely not."
By the time I work up the courage to follow him, the cottage is already warming.
I find him, Cadeon, in the main sitting room, kneeling in front of the fireplace with wood and kindling arranged in a perfect geometric pattern. He doesn't use matches. Just holds his hand over the wood, and flames spring up obediently.
Magic, or vampire ability? I don't know enough about vampires to tell.
The room is... well, it's more of Grandmother's aesthetic. Heavy furniture. Dark colors. A massive desk positioned to face the door, because of course Grandmother would want to see anyone entering before they saw her. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with grimoires and texts that could no doubt could level continents.
And more weapons. A sword mounted over the fireplace. Throwing knives arranged in a decorative fan pattern.
I'm starting to remember why I never visited. Well, besides the fact she loathed me.
"Your quarters are upstairs," Cadeon says without turning around. "Second door on the left. Your grandmother's room is the first door. I've taken the liberty of airing them both."
"Where do you sleep?"
He glances at me over his shoulder, and there's something almost like confusion in his expression. "I don't require sleep in the traditional sense. I rest during daylight hours in the cellar. It's warded against sunlight."
Of course it is. Of course Grandmother had a vampire-suitable cellar.
"Right. Okay." I set my bag down carefully, trying to project confidence I don't feel. "So. We should probably talk about... all of this."
"There is nothing to discuss." He stands, brushing ash from his hands with precise movements. "The bond is absolute. I serve House Ashwood. Your wishes are my commands."
"I don't want to command anyone."
The words come out sharp, and he goes very still. For a moment, we just look at each other across the warming room.
"What you want," he says finally, his voice carefully neutral, "is irrelevant to what I am."
It's the emptiness in his tone that gets me. Not anger or resentment. Just... nothing. Like he's reporting the weather. Or waiting for punishment.
"How does it work?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. "The feeding. You said you need to feed from me within three days."
"Yes." He moves to the desk, opens a drawer, and pulls out what looks like a ceremonial knife. Silver, with symbols etched into the blade. "The ritual is simple. You offer your wrist or throat, but the wrist is traditional. I take what I need. It will weaken you temporarily but cause no lasting harm."
