Winifred’s head slumps against her shoulder. She must have been tired from her day, as it is well past normal human bedtime. Mirabelle leaps down from my chair and prods Winifred’s eye with a white-socked paw.
“Don’t do that,” I caution her, pushing her off Winifred’s slumbering form. “Winifred doesn’t want to play with you right now. She needs her sleep.”
Poor Winifred. I have asked so much of her. She is here, in my castle, even though she is afraid. I can smell the fear in her blood, mingled with other scents that make me struggleto focus. She is helping me, even though I fled from her in the pub and say things that make her sigh and curse under her breath. She is touching my things, bringing order to the chaos of my mind.
I am not used to kindness from humans.
I am not used to the way her kindness makes me feel.
She has no clue of the danger she’s in. At least she will be long gone before my mother arrives.
I stare down at her as she slumps in the chair, her sleek, impossibly straight blonde hair falling over her face like a silken veil. She may wake shortly – humans don’t sleep as soundly as vampires, for ours is a dreamless sleep of the dead. She will regret slumbering with her neck on that angle.
Before I can remind myself how wrong this is, I slide my hands beneath her and lift her into my arms.
She is warm. So warm. Her blood pumps beneath her skin, coursing against me where I hold her, beckoning me. She smells like sunshine, like strawberries. Like things that are not for me.
I cradle her head against my chest, her ear right against where my beating heart would be if I still possessed one, and I begin the long walk to the tower.
Mirabelle trails behind me, keeping up a steady stream of cat chatter about our new houseguest. I trudge through room after messy room, a wave of mortification hitting me. Winifred has been so polite about my mess, but she must think me an animal, the way I live.
She’s not wrong. I live like what I am – a dreaded creature; a monster.
I only allowed Reginald to employ the Clutter Queens because my mother will make my life miserable if the castle looks like this for her ball. But now that Winnie is here, singing along to her horrible music under her breath as she dances around my study, treating my distractions as though they are precious, as thoughIam precious …
I find that I want her to love Black Crag as much as I do.
You are sick. Too much exposure to humansis addling your mind.
I hold her head against my chest as I climb the narrow stairs to the tower room. Sometimes her feet scrape against the stone, but she doesn’t wake. When I enter her room, a wave of heat engulfs me. Reginald has lit the fire here, too, knowing that Winifred will feel the bite of Black Crag’s chill. I’m pleased that one of us remembers what is required to keep a human alive.
I lay Winifred on her bed. Her shirt has come untucked from the purple trousers that hug her hips in a way that makes my undead heart clench beneath my ribs. I catch a glimpse of the flesh of her stomach and a whiff of her sunshine scent. I have to look away as I pull the blankets up to her chin.
I whirl around and race for the stairs. I must get as far from her as possible before the monster inside me takes over.
I pace in front of the fire, my nerves taut as bowstrings.
A book lies open on my chair: a history of the laws of the Three Courts.
Thou shall not lie with a human or invite them to share your life, outside of the bonds of the blood rite. This is to prevent the begetting of the corrupted Dhampir. Thou shall not reveal the secrets of the Immortal Upyr to humans, except as required from the blood rites. A betrothal between a human and vampire is forbidden. A vampire may petition their court for permission to turn a human, but only if?—
I thought that reminding myself of the shackles that bind me would stop this pulsing, keeningwant, but it’s only made the hunger worse.
After the kiss, I thought the monster in me hungered for a taste of her, like an epicurean salivating over a particularly delicious dish. But after spending the evening with her, I know it is more. I cannot stop thinking about her golden hair and honey eyes, and the laugh she drew unbidden from me.
I haven’t laughed in …
I’m not certain I’ve ever laughed. Ishall ask Reginald.
“My lord.”
I whip my head to the doorway. Reginald stands rigid, his forehead furrowed with concern.
Reginald should not be worried for me. I’m not the one in danger here. “She has settled?”
“She is sleeping soundly, my lord. The fire is warm and Mirabelle has snuggled on her pillow.”
I slump back into my chair, the hunger burning.
