Unless vampires have the hidden ability to fly, I don’t understand how they move about. I sigh, remembering that I should have asked Blaise if the rumor about them turning into bats is also false. That would explain a lot of things.
I would have asked him when the thought first occurred to me the other day, but the second-in-command has vanished, out in the kingdom at his king’s orders.
I move back towards the bed, eyeing the dinner knife sitting on the silver tray. I have been avoiding falling into temptation, and stashing the only knife they provide me with during dinner, as its disappearance surely wouldn’t go unnoticed. Polishing off the food is one thing. I could always blame it on my big appetite. Butholding onto the knife would definitely be suspicious. Besides, what can a flimsy table knife do against hundred years old vampires, trained to kill on sight?
No, for my plan to succeed, I need to get my hands on a dagger, preferably more. I exhale in despair as I grab the wine glass and down it before refilling it promptly. The dagger part of my plan seems as impossible as climbing those darn outer walls. A small part of me is starting to believe I will remain trapped here forever, or at least until they realize my sister will never come running to my rescue, and then they will kill me for proving to be the useless Fae that I am.
I cringe at my inner monologue, just as dark red mist pours in from the crack between the stone floor and the closed door, and the wretched Vampire King appears from a cloud of shadows.
“Fuck’s sake!” I startle, clutching my chest with one hand, my heart galloping through my ribcage. The bastard lifts a corner of his lips in a barely there smirk, as if he finds it amusing to scare me. Motherfucker.
“There’s this thing called manners. Knock first, will you? So I can refuse your entry,” I say, lifting my chin in defiance.
I wince at my choice of attire. My gossamer lavender nightgown is most probably giving him a good view of, well, everything.
He studies me for a beat in that unnerving way of his, his onyx eyes crinkling just a fraction.
“I’ve been courteous enough to invite you to dine with me several times, little girl, but make no mistake. This is my castle, my bedroom, my rules.” His narrowed stare penetrates me to the marrow in my bones. “I do not need an invitation to enter this room, nor will I wait forever for you to accept joining me for supper. I am done playing games.”
“This is my bedroom, not yours!” I sputter in response. My brain seems to lose all ability to form coherent thoughts. I crossmy arms defensively in front of my chest, but it’s the wrong move, drawing his wicked attention towards my breasts.
He closes the distance between us in two steps, his shadows tickling my naked feet.
“Your staying in this chamber doesn’t take away from the fact that it’s part of my castle. Everything here is mine, little girl, including you,” he says in a menacing voice.
“I am absolutely not yours!” I raise my voice on instinct. “And stop belittling me with that stupid nickname. I am not a little girl.”
“No, you are not, indeed. You are proving to be quite a little menace, aren’t you? The question is whether you’re all bark and no bite, or if you can back up your attitude with actions.” He smirks in a deprecating manner, and before I can think better of it, my arm rears back, preparing to throw a punch in his handsome face.
My fist collides with a swirl of his shadows, and he has me pinned on my back against the mattress in seconds. His heavy weight presses on me, and the telltale prickles of a panic attack envelop my senses, as the tray of food falls on the ground with a resounding thud.
“Get off me, you brute!” I scream in his face as my chest heaves uncontrollably.
No. No. No. This is not happening! I feel the locked-away memories of that incident fighting to resurface.
White dots swim in my vision.
His hands pinning my own against the bed are no longer his.
His breath fanning my face turns sour and acrid.
The knees spreading my thighs apart are of vicious teenage Faes. I’m fifteen again, in that dilapidated shed on the outskirts of Vroni.
My breath catches in my throat painfully, a single tear rolling down my cheek.
“Please, please, stop!” I whisper in a broken voice that sounds like it just got dragged through shattered glass.
Killian recoils as if I’ve just burned him, releasing my hands and jumping from the bed. He searches my eyes for a long moment; whatever he sees there darkens his features with something akin to guilt.
“I apologize for losing control like that. I did not intend to cause you distress, littleumbra.”
He retreats another step before continuing, “I will send someone right away to clean the mess from the floor. I insist, though, that the next time I extend a dinner invitation, you accept it.”
With that, he disappears into a mist of crimson shadows, leaving me breathing erratically on the bed.
I spent the remainder of the night pacing up and down my room, incapable of succumbing to sleep.
The visceral reaction I had to Killian’s manhandling cracked open the mental vault where I keep my most terrifying memories locked away. Even worse, my reaction might have tipped him off about what is wrong with me. I shake my head dejectedly. Here I start again with the self-deprecating thoughts.
