Death Comes for Her, page 12
He’d asked for the dagger when he arrived at the scene. Maybe after our violent tryst, he’d realized the significance of it—to me. Regardless of the dagger having once belonged to the Lorevain family, it had been his acquired trophy at the end of the war. But now it rested under my pillow where I’d fallen asleep the past several nights, tracing my fingers over the details on the handle.
How do you cherish an item that held untold importance for your heritage, but also existed as one of the greatest weapons wielded against you?
My heritage? I scoffed. That dagger severed me from my birthright.
“Did you say something?” Imani snapped me from my musing. Her large doe-like eyes blinked at me, full of innocent curiosity. Her smile infected me, and my lips curved up despite my sour mood.
“No, sorry. Just lost in thought.” I skimmed my finger over the rim of my teacup, gaze lost in the dregs of lukewarm tea.
Imani shut the wardrobe and carefully closed all the dresser drawers. Then she tidied up my half-eaten dinner and tea, neatly stacking the used cutlery on the tray she brought all my meals on. Her head perked up the instant she lifted the tray.
“Oh, they told me I could leave your door unlocked.” She beamed.
I leaned back, blinking dumbly. A breath passed my lips before I bolted out of my seat, darting for the door.
“Oh, my,” Imani’s surprised murmur faded into background noise as I fled down the endless corridors. Only the soft thumping of my bare feet on the plush hall carpet followed.
Up narrow stairs, down gloomy, dusty rooms, and through an abandoned door barely clinging to its hinges, I streaked through the upper floors. I burst through the door, stumbling onto the roof. My arms flung out as I spun under the inky sky, relishing the sensation of gentle wind on my cheeks.
I stole Dante’s trophy and burned another. I’d expected to be locked in my room for the rest of my immortal life, waiting for them to come and go for feedings. Being released after a week of solitary… that was unprecedented.
Dark clouds, pregnant with the promise of grueling rain, rolled across the rust-colored sky. A familiar phantom ache down my spine wished for appendages that fluttered long gone. Still, I kept my arms out, swaying. Bitterly cold wind nipped at my fingers and the tip of my nose, but I welcomed the bite—
—I welcomed the bite.
No, I couldn’t—I didn’t.
The temporary victory over my shallow revenge seemed paltry in the shadows of that ruinous thought. I sat down, palming at the throbbing beat in my chest. Each sharp breath made me sway. I closed my eyes against the icy breeze whistling over the manor and the far away howling of wolves.
A crunch of leather on loose stone pricked at my ears. I jolted, back stiff and nerves on high alert. Expensive leather boots scuffed over the roof as heavy steps neared. Steps that I knew could be as light as feathers if necessary.
He wanted me to know he approached. As If were some skittish prey animal, bound to flee if spooked.
Dante lowered himself beside me, throwing his legs carelessly over the edge of the roof. His thigh pressed against mine, overly familiar yet not close enough at the same time. It sickened me that my insides clenched and heated at his proximity. And I wanted more.
Silence extended beyond the point I thought he’d speak. Tension coiled around us, tying us together with the memory of our forbidden indulgence. It was more than a slight inconvenience to my sensibilities. His presence was a pressure on my mind, haunting me with what I’d done.
“I’m not sorry, you know,” I spoke first.
He turned his head, eyes trailing over my side profile. Then he smirked and faced the lawn with me again. “No, I didn’t think you were.”
My throat bobbed, and I licked my lips.
“Are you going to punish me again?”
Dante chortled. “Would you like me to?”
Golden heat flushed my cheeks. I scoffed.
“I expected worse after what I’d done.”
“Yes, you did set my entire office on fire.” His tone lowered. “Over a hundred years of records lost—” he snapped his fingers “—just like that.”
Serves you right, I thought.
“Our solicitor had copies of most of the important documents. So, no significant loss there that we can’t recover from.” His fingers curled into a fist, resting on his thigh. “What is a loss—”
“I know.”
“—the wings were beautiful. And I understand enough of fairy culture to understand what might have led you to your actions. Burning them is important as a last rite, and any good subject would seek revenge for such a venerated leader.”
I bit down a scoff.
“But you also took the dagger.” His clenched fist traveled behind my back where he skirted careful fingers over hidden scars. “Why would a lost little fairy girl with severed wings found on a farm take the family heirloom of the Lorevain Monarchs?”
The dread I expected to feel left me bereft of emotion all together. I found the numbness settling over my nerves as a great comfort and took strength in the absence of agony.
“It’s not hard to figure out.” It was the closest thing to an admission I’d offer.
His hand dropped from my back, leisurely returning to his lap. “Is that what I’m to do with you? Treat you as some puzzle to solve?”
“You are my self-proclaimed master now. It’s up to you what you’re to do with me.”
“Hm, and if you had a say in it?”
A wicked grin lifted my lips. “Stab you again before you figure anything out.” I faced him then, steeling myself as I fell into the depths of his richly forested hazel eyes. “Though I think you’d enjoy that.”
His chuckle vented from his lips as if it surprised him to laugh.
“I think you’re right, pet.” He drew his bottom lip between his teeth as his darkened gaze dragged over me. “If I wasn’t burdened by the insurmountable weight of my task, I might linger here with you and revisit my hunger.”
“Your task?” I sounded far too breathless, my voice almost nonexistent in the wind. A hint of fear cracked through the unfeeling shield barricading my heart.
“Another werewolf insurgence. This time to the west. I’ve been commanded to leave immediately.”
Disappointment flushed through me. A hidden voice in the back of my mind had hoped for more of that wildness Dante radiated. I felt the lack of it before it had even begun.
“Ah, yes. Called away by beasts once again.” I gestured aimlessly at the estate grounds, where unseen wolves stalked shadows. “What will your pets here do in your absence?”
Dante sighed, then raised his hand. My breath hitched when he caught my chin, gingerly lifting my face.
“What will you do, pet?” His thumb stroked over my bottom lip, and the air lodged in my throat. “Find another way to torment me while I’m away?”
I turned my face away, sucking in a gasp. “Your brother—”
“What about him?” The words were a low snarl. He drew his hand away, curling his fist near my head, hesitating as if he might reach out to run his fingers through my hair.
“I’ll have him to torment in your absence, won’t I?”
He released an unwilling chuckle. “I suppose you will. Gods know you’ve tortured me enough, burning my office and stealing from me. It would do him some good.”
“I haven’t stolen anything—” I cut myself off before incriminating myself further.
Dante placed his hand, not quite placating, on my thigh in a gesture close to soothing, before briefly nodding his head. “Keep it for now. The stars tell me to leave it in your fine hands for the time being.”
I arched a brow at him. “The stars?”
“I’m very old, pet.” His head dropped back, staring far away as if he could see the stars through the dark clouds sweeping over the sky. “I came from a village that worshiped the stars as gods. Sometimes I still speak to them, and sometimes they answer.”
“The stars are suns so far away that we cannot reach them,” I reiterated a lesson taught to me ages ago. “Does that mean our sun was a god before your Grandmaker consumed it?”
“Perhaps,” he shrugged out. “All mortals are driven to the point of devouring their gods, though, aren’t they?”
“Maybe so. Cannibalism is the ultimate form of worship. Isn’t that what the vampire elders say?”
“That must be why they wanted to consume the sun,” he said. Then he faced me once more before standing to his feet. “And it must be why I’m drawn to you.”
Before I could gasp at his bold statement, a hefty cloth bag dropped into my lap. I caught it, stunned. Holding my breath, I deftly untied the string. Dante’s steps receded until they vanished entirely, leaving me to gape at the glittering substance in the bag.
Golden ash.
I whipped to my feet, spinning toward the attic door. Dante was already gone.
A sob leapt from the depths of my throat. I hunched over, clutching the bag to my chest and wailing. Hot tears sliced down my cheeks as I hugged the ashes to my heart.
“Mother,” I whispered into the roaring winds.
I didn’t stand on the cliffs near a golden palace, and there was no gilded sea surging below me. But right there, at the edge of the roof atop a vampire’s manor, I spread my mother’s ashes in the wind. Glittering flecks drifted and swirled, succumbing to the gust and incoming tempest. My tears slowed and my sobs subsided as I watched my mother take flight one last time, and I had a vampire to thank for the significant moment.
Chapter 13
A hearty breakfast filled my stomach, and a warm cup of tea settled my tumultuous thoughts early in the morning. Aside from my usual nightmares, I’d woken up more invigorated than I had in weeks. Sobbing to the point of exhaustion had a cathartic quality that often went overlooked.
Spreading Mother’s ashes had delivered the final purge of some of the guilt in my heart. Not all of it would be so readily exorcized from the chasm in my chest, but I breathed easier after the cleansing ritual of releasing her to the wind. It meant more than anything in the world that fate provided me the chance to enact last rites for her.
And it meant something that Dante gave her ashes to me. Regardless of what he knew or thought he knew; he’d figured out a few of the pieces. He realized enough to share in that moment with me, to impress something upon me. To my detriment, he roused something akin to feelings that hovered long dormant within me.
The Ambrose Lords were enigmas to me. Both men were a paradox to what a vampire should be, and what the rest of them were. Riddles I wasn’t likely to solve anytime soon.
I soaked in the bath for hours, lost in the sea of my internal conflict until midday. Imani braided my hair after I’d picked at a lunch of steak, spinach, and roasted potatoes. She dressed me in a long-sleeved scoop neck dress of deep sapphire blue material; exposed back as most of my dresses were, likely to show off the scars of what I lost. Proof of my lineage.
“I think I’ll return to the library today,” I told her. “I read through everything I’d saved.”
She clapped her hands. “Rainy days are perfect for reading!”
We simultaneously glanced at the heavy rain pattering against my bedroom window. The storm hadn’t let up since midnight, and I refused to stew with my pent-up energy a moment longer. A walk through the manor and hours pilfering through books would stimulate facets of my brain I’d rather focus on.
I drifted through the gloomy halls, noting the fresh shine on every surface. The staff had taken cleaning to a new level, and I willfully ignored what that meant. Denial twisted through me, pulling blinders over my eyes. And I continued walking past the drawn curtains, listening to the soothing sounds of the storm.
Gentle rustling of paper and the soft thud of a book dropped on a desk greeted me alongside dim electrical lighting. A violent flash of lightning assaulted the windows, chased by a frightening clap of thunder. A startled noise escaped me, and a swish of flipped pages at the back of the library distracted me from the silly reaction.
I dropped off my stack of books, keen to follow the trail of who else loitered in the library. Drifting silently through tall shelves stuffed full of ancient books, my fingers traced absently over their spines and my bare feet padded over plush rugs.
Dante left the night before on werewolf business, and servants only visited the library to clean and organize, leaving my best guess…
A shock of white hair came into view as I rounded the last stack of shelves to the desk sequestered in the back. Parchments, scrolls, and gilded tomes littered the vast length of the mahogany desk. Red tinted light bled through the storm clouds, casting the vampire in a bloody haze.
The sound of rain pelting towering paned glass windows and the soft crackle of a low fire in the fireplace broke up the extending silence. I took a few seconds to observe him.
Simon’s white-blond locks fell elegantly disheveled, as if he’d been running his hands through it for hours. His pressed black jacket hung haphazardly over the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showing off the veins in his toned, alabaster forearms. My gaze snapped to his throat when he swallowed, watching the apple bob before darting up to eyes as blue as the sky on long-lost winter mornings.
As cold as the mornings I’d learned to take my first flights on; a color of sky I’d never see again. A color I wanted to throw myself into and get lost in.
“Do you need something?” he drawled. He deftly flipped shut the book he was previously pouring over. As I neared the corner of the desk, he brushed his hand over a stack of parchments to blanket the cover of whatever had held his interest.
My brow twitched. I remembered my promise to torment the vampire in his brother’s absence. And he was fun to tease.
“Oh, nothing really.” I flipped my braid over my shoulder, where it tickled the length of my spine. My hips swayed alluringly as I rounded the desk. A victorious smile tilted my lips at his eyes, rounding when I lowered myself into his lap.
His throat bobbed again, swallowing hard, eyes dripping down my body, nestled firmly in his lap. He flicked his tongue over his bottom lip before shaking his head. “P… Perhaps a spot of poetry?”
“Is that what you’re doing here? Holed away from the storm and reading long dead men wax on about the beauty of nature and the demise of love?” I pretended to ignore him, feigning interest in the books front and center. Until I read the gold calligraphy scrawled across the cover of each tome.
“Fairy literature?” I glanced at Simon over my shoulder, noting the pale pink flush on his cheeks.
He made an unconvincing noncommittal grunt in the back of his throat. His ice-blue eyes cut to the ceiling as if the intricate arches were the most interesting thing in the world.
I shifted on his lap, twisting to face the desk and give my full attention to the arranged books. His thighs tensed beneath my bottom, and I wiggled my hips for good measure, as if simply getting comfortable.
“Vulgar thing,” he hissed under his breath. If I didn’t know his game, I’d think him hypocritical.
I bit my bottom lip, purposefully leaning forward, bluffing at being engrossed in the poetry of fair folk. My pointer finger skimmed over lines I read a hundred times in a different life. “Ah, yes, the workings of fairy philosophy. Bit boring in the beginning, but it’s quite exciting by the end.”
“It’s not the most—” he groaned as I wiggled higher “—stimulating piece I’ve read today.” He placed his hands on my hips, holding me in place.
“Oh, what is?” I peered over my shoulder, pointedly fluttering my lashes. I caught his eyes zeroed in on my exposed back before they snapped up.
“Iron and Velvet by—”
“—Alfia Morte!” I gasped. He grunted when I practically bounced on his upper thighs. His grip tightened. “Simon, how scandalous! Alfia Morte was known for her erotic prose.”
“How do you know of Alfia Morte?”
I rolled my eyes, angling back to the books. “I was of that age by the end of the war, where illicit things excited me. Any and every scandalous book I could get my hands on, I spent my spare time devouring.”
“A war that, by all accounts, you shouldn’t have survived,” he sighed to himself.
“One of too many victims.”
“You are no victim, sweet pet. The victims of war lie in unmarked graves.” His voice rumbled low in his chest. “You are a survivor.” When my breath caught and I didn’t respond, he continued. “But how would you have had access to books of that caliber?”
“You and your brother are both quite nosey, did you know?”
“Don’t call that bastard my brother,” he sneered, fingers digging near painfully into my hips.
I shifted on his lap to dissuade the hard grip. He eased his fingers, but his reaction inadvertently pulled me closer to his groin.
“You share a Maker. You are brothers in the vampiric sense.” I leaned back, keeping my back inches from his chest. “But no relation in your human life?”
“Gods, no,” Simon scoffed. His arms drifted down to sit on the armrests, and he glared out the window. “Dante is much older than me. I only turned about seventy-five years ago.”
I flipped a page of the book under the pretense of reading. My false disinterest might lure a story from the usually cold and detached vampire.
“He was turned for his prowess as a warrior. Why did Craven choose you, then?” My voice was whisper soft.
Simon’s icy finger tapped at the apex of my neck and spine. A shiver curled down my back, and his feather-light touch trailed the length, stopping to trace the shape of my scars.
“Magic,” he hummed, finger paused purposefully on a scar from a severed wing joint. “I came from a family of distinguished nobles that dabbled in magic.”
“Those bloody swords you manifested,” I mused aloud. Humans with access to magic were rare.
“Hm, yes,” he drawled. That long, artful digit drew over the edges of my pale golden scars, provoking a wanton warmth in my belly. His delicate, meaningful touch made desire pool between my thighs.
