Emptiness. That's the first thing. A vast, aching nothing where emotions should be. But underneath it, buried so deep I almost miss it...hunger. Desperation. And something else. Something that feels almost like relief. Gratitude. The echo of a feeling so old he's forgotten how to name it.
His mouth is gentle against my skin, despite the sharp points of his fangs. I can feel him drinking, can feel the pull of it, and that strange heat keeps spreading, spreading, spreading, down my spine, pooling low in my belly, making my breath catch.
This shouldn't feel like this. Should it?
When he finally pulls away, I'm dizzy. Flushed. My heart is racing in a way that has nothing to do with blood loss and everything to do with the way he's looking at me now. He’s still kneeling, still holding my wrist, his lips slightly parted and stained with my blood.
For just a second, his expression isn't empty. There's something raw there. Vulnerable. Almost... hungry for more than just blood.
Then he blinks, and it's gone.
He's still kneeling, but he bows his head, avoiding my eyes.There’s tension in his shoulders, and his hands are shakingworse than before. He releases my wrist carefully, almost reluctantly.
"Are you..."
"Thank you." He stands abruptly, still not looking at me, and there's something different in his voice. Rougher. Less controlled. "You should rest. The bond will have weakened you temporarily. By morning, you will have recovered."
He's moving toward the door before I can respond, and I'm suddenly, desperately tired. From traveling all day or maybe having your entire understanding of my inheritance upended. Of course I knew my grandmother had a familiar but I’ve never met him. Never even seen him. A lot of mages have them, I just never liked the idea of binding myself to another living creature. Plants are complicated enough.
"Cadeon?"
He stops but doesn't turn around.
"We're going to figure this out," I say to his back. "The bond, the cottage, all of it. Together. Okay?"
For a long moment, he doesn't respond. Then, so quietly I almost miss it:
"As you wish."
He disappears into the shadows of the hallway, leaving me alone in my grandmother's study with a bleeding wrist and the growing certainty that I am in way, way over my head.
I wrap my wrist in the handkerchief from my pocket, and look around the room. At the weapons. At the cold, perfect order of everything.
This is what my grandmother wanted me to inherit. This power. This control. This ancient vampire who expects to be commanded like a tool.
"Well," I mutter to the empty room. "She's going to be very disappointed."
Somewhere in the cottage, I feel Cadeon's presence through the bond. That vast, terrible emptiness.
I'm definitely going to need more brandy.
Iris
I waketo pale morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the disorienting certainty that I'm not in my apartment.
The bed is too large. The ceiling is too high. And there's a presence somewhere in the house that feels like winter pressed against my skin: cold and vast and empty.
The bond. I can feel it now, gossamer-thin but definitely there, connecting me to Cadeon somewhere below. It's strange, like having a sixth sense I didn't know existed. Not quite thoughts, not quite emotions. Just... awareness. He's awake. Or whatever vampires are during daylight hours.
I sit up, and my wrist throbs.
The bite marks are still there, two small punctures surrounded by faint bruising. I touch them gingerly and feel an echo of last night's heat, which is absolutely not something I'm going to think about right now. Nope. Not even a little bit.
I swing my legs out of bed and take stock of my surroundings properly for the first time.
The room is nice, actually. Better than I expected. Large windows facing east, currently showing a snow-covered forestthat looks like something from a painting. A writing desk in the corner. Bookshelves, because of course there are bookshelves, this is an Ashwood house, filled with what look like grimoires and herbology texts. The furniture is old but well-maintained, dark wood that's been polished until it gleams.
It doesn't feel like Grandmother, though. Too warm. Too lived-in.
