You win.
Your not-so-humble servant,
AD
I writeColette a note as well, telling her when to expect me. I’d much rather be at her place than have her here. That way, I can leave when I need a break from talking. I sprinkle notewater on the message and release it from my front door. With a shower of sparks, it takes off into the morning sun.
The rest of the day is spent writing poetry by the fire with a very large bottle of dark red wine.
Perhaps during the co-writing, I can shift Colette’s writing into something deeper. Surely, she’ll see the point in facing pain in characters’ lives and exploring the shadowed sides of their personalities. She is a writer, after all. Yes, I’m determined to open her up to appreciating the darkness of life and how fiction can mirror that and help us learn about ourselves. Once the bottle is empty, and my hand is cramping from writing, I go upstairs to sleep.
Before the birds are chirping to announce the next day, I wake with Hunger.
The sensation isn’t one I feel often. I can’t remember the last time it hit me. The Hunger burns through my veins in a way that demands action. I lift my hand and see every line in my palm clearly, each mote of dust in the first hint of sunrise, and the details of the weave in my bedcovers. When I’m Hungry, my eyesight improves even further forhunting, and my ability to move quickly only increases in its supernatural quality. That’s not always the best thing for me, considering how clumsy I can be.
I am likely the only vampire ever to be clumsy. My mother said it was due to my father’s blood. He was a goblin, but he wasn’t clumsy, and that’s not a trait shared by goblins in general. They aren’t graceful like vampires, but they tend to be strong and as agile as any human or fairy.
Mother held an uninformed view of other creatures, and her heart was as cold as the winter wind, especially after she became involved with the Vampire Council. They turned her against my father and all of her children, including me. The brainwashing happened when I was too young to know what was developing. I just recall my parents fighting, and then going quiet, which was worse. By the time she left, Mother was very clear about holding respect only for fellow vampires.
I dress in my hunting clothes. A simple tunic in black and trousers to match. My scuffed-up boots work well in the thorny, darker parts of the forest outside Honey Sands.
The wind is salty and cold when I slip out of town andinto the scrub beyond the road.
The sun will rise soon. I don’t have much time.
When I’m in this condition—the most powerful version of a vampire’s existence—I’m very sensitive to the sun’s rays. The light will hinder my supernatural vision and sear my skin. Vampires are meant to be night dwellers, but I was never at ease being nocturnal, especially when most of my family weren’t, so I trained myself to live during the daylight hours like the rest of the people in the Veiled Kingdoms.
The hunt goes smoothly. I find an aged stag that seems ready to let go of life, and I make his death quick and painless.
Once I’m sated, I hurry back to town. The burn in my blood eases in its intensity, and when the sun comes up over the horizon, I’m back to normal, and its rays do nothing but warm my face.
A conversation I had with another vampire years ago sneaks into my mind. He was an older vampire—some of us live to 150 or longer. He said you won’t know Feasting until you taste of your true mate. The thought makes me shudder. I can’t imagine feeding on a person. I’ve never tried. As much as I’m horrified by it, I must admit the darker half of me finds it alluring. And that’s what scares me.
The soft skin of Colette’s thighs and the smoothexpanse of flesh across her chest blink through my head, and though I try to shake off the memory, my cock rises. Those ribbons tied at the top of her stockings and that arse of hers…
What in the name of the Blessed Stones? Why am I suddenly lusting again over Colette?
I swallow and try to focus on packing up for the trip back to Leafshire Cove. I’m glad the Hunger is quieted within me. Flirting with one’s co-writer would be completely unprofessional. Besides, I need to keep Colette at arm’s length what with this big story about our kiss circulating. If my betrothed hears about it… Well, I don’t want to think about what might happen. Hopefully, she is no longer in the city and has settled in the mountains with the rest of the Vampire Council.
Chapter 7
Colette
When I walk over to open the inn’s front door, the door swings open by itself, and there is Archer, standing in the snow. Flakes drift over him and land in his black hair. His cheeks are flushed instead of pale, his eyes are bright and even more richly colored than I remembered, and his hair is loose and full over the tops of his broad shoulders. He’s wearing a black cloak, a cream-colored shirt, dark green trousers, and that same pair of tall boots. A necklace sits on his powerful-looking chest. It’s gold with a ruby of some sort set inside.
My stomach lifts like I jumped off the ocean cliffs. I did that once when I was a wild adolescent.It’s such a similar sensation—I’m falling, and I don’t know what will happen when I land.
A world lives behind Archer’s red-brown eyes. I know so little about vampires and even less about Archer himself. I’ve never wanted to untangle a mystery as much as I long to figure him out. In one word, he’s fascinating. I must restrain myself from asking rude questions such asWho did you eat today?
“Good morning!” I say, trying to speak like I’m not incredibly nervous about this maddening project our publishers have set on us. I traded three more letters with Mistress Avalon before caving.
He lifts his black eyebrows. “Is it?”
I wave him in, and he nods his head politely before entering.
Those staying here stop chatting as we pass their tables, but at least I don’t hear any gossip. I’m sure it’ll be the talk as soon as we are up the stairs and in my room.
“I assume you have received the same order from your publisher as I have from mine?”
