“Winston,” the man says. “And I thank you for your patronage, Professor. I do hope to see you again soon.” He smiles, his fangs showing just beneath his upper lip. “Tell Arella I say hello.”
I exit the Brass Mirror and step out into the crisp evening air. The sun has fully set now, and Wysteria is bathed in golden light from the flickering lanterns and lampposts lining the cobblestone sidewalks and shop fronts.
Before I can stop myself, I start down the walkway toward the Crimson Cask. I’ve not had to refill my blood supply recently, and even now, as I approach the blood bank and step inside, I don’t feel the familiar incessant thirst clawing at my throat. Instead, I feel content. And content is something I haven’t been in a very long time.
The door closes behind me, and my eyes adjust quickly to the dim interior light. One candle flickers in a holder on the front desk, but vampire eyes have keen night vision, and I’m able to see clearly as the door to the back opens and Arella steps through, wearing a smile.
Until she sees me.
The smile falters, then vanishes altogether as the door swishes closed behind her.
“Mr. D’Arques,” she says, no warmth in her tone. “What can I do for you?”
I don’t bother with dancing around it. “I owe you an apology.”
The guarded look in her crimson eyes softens, just a fraction. She moves toward the front desk, then places her hands flat on the wood, leveling a look at me. “What for?”
Sighing, I step forward. “For leaving you mid-conversation on Samhain. That was discourteous of me.” I hold her gaze. “I apologize.”
Arella stares at me for a long moment, standing so still that even without the crimson sheen to her eyes, it would be obvious that she’s not human.
“Who is she?” she asks. “The woman you left with.”
At my sides, I curl my fingers into fists.
That thread is still present in my chest, less noticeable now, but very much connected.
How do I explain who she is? She’s my student, yes. But she’s so much more than that. She’s the one I think of when I’m falling asleep and my first thought upon waking. She’s the only face I look for when I move through Coven Crest’s halls. She’s...
I find myself at a loss for words.
Arella huffs out a quiet laugh, then sighs. “Well, you look well fed. Is that why you haven’t been around?”
I flex my jaw and nod once.
“I’m surprised.” She crosses her arms. “You’re not one to feed loosely.” Her crimson gaze is sharp and assessing. “I take it that witch means more to you than you’re letting on.” She lifts her nose and takes a breath. “Is that her I smell on you?”
Her question makes tension coil in my shoulders.
Maeve’s scent shouldn’t linger on me; I made sure to scrub every inch of my skin when I returned from our night at theinn together. But perhaps it’s Maeve’s blood she smells, for I know it’s still inside me, feeding me, sustaining me.
Placating the predator inside me.
“Yes.”
Arella makes a thoughtful sound. “It must’ve been a feast. You feel calmer. Not so... sharp.”
I squeeze my fists at my sides. Hearing Arella speak of Maeve makes heat build inside me. But then there’s that tug in my chest, like a whisper against the edges of my awareness, and it softens the irritation, smoothing out my reaction.
Not so sharp. Perhaps she’s right.
Arella’s gaze narrows. “There’s something else too.” She comes out from behind the desk and approaches me where I stand. Her red eyes catch the candlelight as she leans in close, rising onto the tips of her toes to bring her nose close to my neck.
My skin prickles at her proximity, but not in the way it may have in the past. Now, it feels wrong, like only one woman should be this close to me.
After drawing a breath, Arella pulls back to look at me. “You smell like a storm.”
A tingle runs the length of my spine.
