Chapter 32
Elina
Iawake in my bed, in the Hotel Royal, on a steamy evening, a week after I was taken. My arm has a thick bandage from wrist to elbow and I am more exhausted than I have ever been. I roll over and find a glass of water and two pills neatly set out on my bedside table. Picking them up I smell them and immediately know one of them is iron and the other is most likely a multivitamin for the blood loss. My arm is significantly less sore than I would expect, considering my last memory is my life’s blood pouring out of me, and a punctured artery spurting blood across the concrete floor before it dribbled into the drain.
I begin unraveling the white gauze, layer by layer, and under what seems like a hundred wrappings, I find a slim puckered scar where a huge cut should be. The remnants of stitches on the padding are evidence that I was cared for, but they aren’t holding the wound together. It’s as though the wound is weeks, even months old, rather than just a day.
Is the transformation beginning? Bash and I never went into the details of how it happens, the settling in of vampirismfor bloodline vampires, only that it happens around this age. Marc mentioned increased healing as a possible indicator, so that may actually be true. It sends a thrill through me, knowing that while I may be human and relatively helpless in this place of the blood-drinkers, I am not without some supernatural assistance.
Feeling bolstered by some good news, I swallow down the pills, drink the entire glass of water, and step into the shower. Once I’m clean, I wander into the closet and find the leggings and t-shirt combo I am most fond of. I settle in to wait for whatever fresh hell Nicky has dreamed up for me tonight. If I thought my cortisol levels were spiking at the Velvet Tomb, it’s nothing compared to the nonstop adrenaline of being in this house.
Sitting at my little table, in the room that has become my only source of calm and safety, however false, I stare at the information laid out before me. I can’t help but wonder who doctored me. Was Nicolas as mad as Jon and Marc believed he would be? Who was the fourth man who never approached me or participated in the torture? What happens now? I don’t know exactly what Nicolas wants with me but I feel certain he does not want me to die. Or perhaps, he can’t kill me.
A quick rap on the door brings me out of my musings. I rise to approach the door as it swings open and reveals Genevieve on the other side, tonight very casual in a rose colored tank top, jeans, and nude stilettos. She smiles widely, like we are the best of friends, and loops her arm through mine.
“Sister! You look so well! I heard about the unfortunate accident you had yesterday—Anna has been sufficiently chastened, don’t you worry!” She tells me in a sing-song voice.
It is so contradictory to the events she is referring to, where I was tortured and drained. “Nic can’t wait for dinner tonight, and this time, he said I can join you. Won’t that be so wonderful?”I study her earnest face, trying to figure out her role, again. I know she is Nicolas’s sister but how does she fit into the story.
She begins hauling me toward the door, her heels tap tap tap down the hallway while I walk silently in my bare feet. Last night, I was chained to a dungeon wall being bled and fed on, and tonight I am arm-in-arm with my warden’s sister, off to, I am sure, an over the top dinner where I am the only one who eats.
I don’t know how the pieces fit together yet but I am starting to line them up. Nicolas is pathologic—he jumps from one extreme to the other, being charming and attempting to disarm me one minute, mocking me and throwing me to the wolves the next. Genevieve, I think, is here to befriend me, to earn some trust and make me feel like I have an ally. I will not be convinced to operate against my best interests in this place, and my best interest is getting the hell out of here as soon as possible.
I plead again.Bash, please find me. I send it like a prayer to whoever will listen.
Padding down the hallway, we pass door after door. My room is behind a door that is identical to a dozen others. Behind a door is the torture chamber I spent last evening in. I wonder briefly what is behind the others. Another identical door is cracked every so slightly, a sliver of light spilling into the windowless hallway, the raucous laughter tumbling through the crack feels out of place in this silent mansion. I try not to flinch at the sound.
Pausing in front of the last identical door in this wing, Genevieve grasps the large crystal knob and pushes the door open. She leads the way, and inside, I find a lounge of sorts. Old world charm, large comfy chairs, low lighting coming from chandeliers, the walls covered in tapestries of deep forestgreen and royal blue. It feels like a men’s reception room in an old country manor—warm, inviting, and undeniably masculine. It smells richly of bergamot and brandy, mixing with the crackling fire. The room is almost stiflingly hot considering, it's only September and probably 80 degrees outside, but the fire really helps highlight the ambience Nicolas seems to be chasing.
Nicolas, himself, sits in an oversized leather chair with his feet propped on an upholstered ottoman, a glass of dark liquor in his hand. A table in the center of the room is laden with finger-foods: meats and cheeses, petit fours, small quiches, and glossy fruits.
Nicolas smiles at me, his wide confident grin does not betray any malice, and motions to the food. “Help yourself.”
I’ve come to terms with this nightly feeding ritual and have resolved to eat whenever food is presented. I have taken to sleeping most of the day as I am expected to participate in vampire life in the evening. I am usually only offered food once a day, at moon-rise, so I eat when it is available. It’s another means of control from Nicolas, but it’s also necessary if I am going to help myself at all.
“I’m so pleased you ladies have joined me for dinner this evening. It is always lovely to have beauty at the dinner table.” He sends a wolfish grin my way. He gives me whiplash, toggling between absolutely pathological behavior and this kind, charming host who seems to genuinely want to impress me.
I sit on the sofa adjacent to him while Genevieve perches on the arm of his chair, wine glass in hand. Neither of them have blood, currently, and there are no fangs on display tonight.
“Good evening, Nicolas.” I incline my head in a mock bow, if only to push off the switch flipping that turns him feral. I’mnot ready for what comes after the genial attitude, and I would like to finish eating.
He focuses on me, narrowing his eyes, assessing me. His gaze falls to my arm which should be red and angry, stitched closed, and finds a scar. His mouth tips up infinitesimally, with a contemplative smile, before he nods his head slightly. “Elina, I see that you’re healing well from your ordeal yesterday. Anna went too far, I will apologize on her behalf, but she will also apologize.” He claps his hand and the door opens.
In comes Anna, her shoulders folded inward as if in shame. Approaching Nicolas, she kneels at his feet and lays her head on his knee, in return he strokes her hair away from her face. “Go ahead, Anna.”
She faces me, still on her knees. “Elina, I apologize for my rude and dangerous behavior yesterday.” She says this with a tremble of sincerity in her voice, before glancing up at Nicolas, who gives her an accepting nod.
“Show her.” She turns back to me at his command and gives me a teeth-baring grimace as I locate only one fang and a gaping hole where the other one is missing. I inhale a sharp breath and my eyes shoot to Nicolas’s. Satisfied with his display, he taps her shoulder and she retreats from the room. “Elina, you look surprised. Did you know that the ultimate punishment for one of us is a fang extraction? It’s incredibly painful and it will never grow back. It’s very shameful. I can’t believe anyone would expect anything less for the punishment of putting my betrothed in danger.”
My mouth opens in surprise at his words, both the explanation of punishment, and him framing it as an attempt at protecting me when he was the one who put me in danger.
“Are you expecting me to thank you?” I ask him sassily. He can’t possibly believe I would be grateful for this.
“Yes, Elina,” he answers dryly, “I do. You should be grateful.I will always protect you. You will come to know this. Your safety is of the utmost importance to me.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“Thanks, I guess.” It grates at me to even say this, but I know I need to preserve his goodwill a little longer. Long enough to get through this meeting and get back to the relative safety of my room.
“Good,” Nicolas purrs. "I knew you would appreciate what I am willing to do for you.” Genevieve nods her head enthusiastically at his words, the crystal of her wine glass catching the light at the movement.
