“Would you like to watch the bonfire?” Alaric asks, his eyes black voids.
“I’d love that. But … are you okay? It doesn’t remind you of, you know …” I lower my voice to a whisper. “Being burned alive?”
“Fire can heal as well as destroy, Winnie. I want to be wherever you are.” He holds out his hand. “Shall we?”
I can feel the cool of his skin on my fingers. Reginald places a hot chocolate in my other hand and we wander through the villagers to find a place on the edge of the green. I can’t help but notice that he’s positioned us just opposite the entrance to Butcher Street, only a few steps from Nevermore Bookshop.
I glance around the crowd. I see Claire over by Beth and Isis, who are holding out torches for Gideon to light. She sees me and waves. Patrick isn’t with her.
Is he already waiting for me at the bookstore? I glance over my shoulder, but the street is in shadow. I can’t see a thing.
I turn back to the green. The villagers have piled wood and old pallets into a conical-shaped bonfire in the centre. Schoolchildren have placed little cloth dolls they made amongst the wood – offerings they burn for good luck for the year ahead. Atop the fire, someone has fixed a wooden silhouette of a man. I glance at Alaric, but he stares stoicallyahead, unfazed.
Komal reads out a speech about the traditions of Midsummer Festival, and both Isis and the local parish priest offer blessings. Isis is in her element, capturing everyone’s attention in a gold velvet dress that dances in the firelight, her head wreathed in a circlet of orange wildflowers. Maisie moves around the action, snapping pictures for the Gazette.
Beth joins Isis at the front of the crowd, their faces glowing as Dora lights their torches. Komal stands to the side, wearing her volunteer firefighter uniform, in case the blaze gets out of control.
Isis and Beth touch their flames to the petrol-soaked wood, and the fire roars to life. The heat smacks me in the face and I stagger back. Everyone cheers, and the pub band strikes up a jig that has Isis pulling people from the crowd to dance.
I pat Alaric’s arm. “I’m just going to pop off for a sec. Don’t let Isis coerce you into dancing. I want the first dance when I get back.”
“Of course, my wife. Is everything okay?”
I know we’re supposed to be pretending, but I wish he’d stop calling me that. It makes the butterflies dance every time. “Yes. I just need some air. I’ll be back in a second.”
His gaze lingers on my face. He nods. “Say hello to Patrick for me.”
“I knew you heard him. You’re not going to try and go with me?” I must’ve mistaken that jealous spark in his eyes.
Alaric doesn’t take his eyes off the fire. “You may be my betrothed, but I do not command you, nor would I ever try. I can only warn you to be careful. Know that I am here, and I will fly to your rescue if you call my name.”
“Thank you,” I breathe.
Why does every word from this man’s mouth sound like poetry?
As I hurry off towards Nevermore Bookshop, I can’t stop thinking about the other night. I tug down the silk scarf around my neck and touch my fingers to the skin beneath, feeling the tiny bumps where Alaric’s fangs bit me. A wave of pleasure sweeps my body simplyfrom the memory.
That whole night was just …wow.
When I walked into that room with Alaric, I intended only to put on the best act of my life so that Perdita would be disgusted and not want to marry him. But at some point between that first breathtaking kiss and himbiting my fucking clitI stopped acting.
I have been kidding myself.
This might have started as a fun infatuation, but I have fallen for that surly vampireso damn hard.
So hard that whenever I think of going back to London, I get a horrible queasy feeling in my gut, and it has nothing to do with my deteriorating relationship with Faye or my mother’s sundress obsession.
I don’twantto leave him.
And I’mterrified. Especially after Patrick …
Patrick. Where is he?
I’m standing in front of the bookshop, staring up at that strange interior. All the lights are off because Mina dragged her three husbands out for the evening. I’m itching to get back to the festival and Patrick isnowhere.
“Patrick?” I walk around the side of the shop, down the narrow alley that separates it from Celeste’s bakery next door. “It’s cooler over here away from the fire. I don’t particularly care for freezing my tits off while I wait for you to— oh,no.”
My foot nudges a crumpled object on the ground. I pull my phone from my pocket and shine the light down, my stomach sinking into my shoes and my heart ramming itself up my throat.
