Perhaps I’ve grown soft for the finality of a mortal life–knowing it’s what I’ve been chasing for so long. I always thought I’d do what needed to be done without a second thought, but that’s because I always assumed this curse breaker would be more like the wicked soul that has intertwined itself with hers.
I do not know Adelasia, nor do I wish to, but she is not Yekaterina, and someday soon I will have to face the reality that my freedom comes at the expense of an innocent.
As she stands here, trapped by my magic with a single drop of her sweet blood running down her neck, pooling at her collarbone, I feel guilty. When I see the slight blue tint of her milky skin, I feel worse.
She’s cold. Freezing, even. She keeps looking at the braziers lining the corridor as if she’s considering jumping into one for warmth.
This human girl may be a means to an end, but for the time being, she is my guest. I shall be a good host.
I free her from her magic bonds. Adelasia feels at her neck where her blood drips down from her wound. She grows a shade paler when she sees it smeared across her fingers. Her eyes flicker to me as if to examine my reaction, but my face is cold as stone.
I raise her chin with the knuckle on my forefinger. She cowers slightly but has the good sense to stay put. Running is futile in her situation. Even if she did manage to escape this palace, five miles of vampire territory lay between her and her little human world. She wouldn’t make it fivesteps, let alone miles.
“Come,” I command. She hesitantly follows as I lead her back to her room and into the adjacent bathing chamber. I mindlessly wave my fingers and the bath fills with hot, steaming water. I turn to her and gesture to it with an open hand.
“When you’re done, I will take you to the dining room for supper.”
“I…don’t have any clothes,” she whispers with a flush to her cheeks, her eyes flickering down to her torn, dirty costume and then back up to me.
I wave my fingers again and one of my dark gray tunics appears on the black marble countertop. “Tomorrow we’ll find something more suitable for you to wear.”
Adelasia blinks as if trying to pull herself out of a trance. “Tomorrow?”
“The day that follows this one.”
She makes a noise of frustration. “I know what tomorrow means.”
I understand. She didn’t expect it to make it past the night. The notion of ‘tomorrow’ seems foreign and impossible to her.
I take a step towards her and grip her shoulders before licking the lone drop of blood remaining on her collarbone. I take a deep breath of satisfaction and simply whisper, “Tomorrow,” into her ear before stepping out of the bathing chamber.
It takes her an irritatingly long time to clean herself. I can hear her rustling around the room, searching for a way out or a weapon. I applaud her determination, but I am not stupid. Anything she can think of, I have already considered.
I pace around the bedroom while I wait. My blood thrums with the exhilaration of knowing that my immortal prison will be a memory in just a few short weeks.
When Adelasia emerges from the bathing chamber, her raven-black hair is still dripping wet. The moisture soaks into the thin fabric of my tunic, long locks falling over her shoulders and breasts. Though I see nothing improper, she notices my stare and crosses her arms over her chest.
I place my hand on the small of her back and gently push her towards the door, guiding her through the halls until we reach the dining room. I feel the tension in her fading slightly when she sees an array of human food arranged on the table.
Cheeses and fruits, breads and heavily seasoned chicken. A pitcher of filtered water and a golden decanter of red wine. Roasted vegetables soaking in lemon butter. A small tray of shortbread cookies topped with raspberries.
“You’re surprised,” I say as she stares at the food. “You’re not the only human in this palace, Adelasia. We like to keep the mortals well-fed. Nothing tastes worse than malnourished blood.”
I look at her, and she seems sickened by that knowledge.
Good. Her clear disdain for my way of life will make ripping her apart so much more satisfying.
I suppose that guilt I was feeling washed away with her bath.
I take a seat at the head of the table where a single goblet rests for me. On my left sits a full place setting with a napkin and silver utensils for her.
I gesture to the chair and she tentatively sits. I pour myself a glass of wine from one decanter and offer to fill her own goblet from another. Her face twists with disgust. “Don’t be dramatic. It’swine.”
She sits quietly for a few minutes. I can hear her stomach gurgling and eventually, her hunger outweighs her hesitation. She fills her plate with a pitiful slice of chicken and a small scoop of roasted vegetables. She takes tiny sips of water in between equally tiny bites until her plate is empty.
I sip my own wine and watch inquisitively as she stares at the chicken resting on the serving dish. My eyes move to the meat and then back to her, where she seems to be fidgeting and more nervous than she was a moment before.
She blinks rapidly as if hiding tears, takes a deep breath, and sits stiffly back in her chair without meeting my eyes. I lean forward a bit, resting my forearms on the table and clasping my hands together in curiosity.
