Page 37 of Marrying Bluebeard

My throat is painfully dry.

Celeste sways toward me, and I try not to cringe as she lets the shawl drop to the floor before pressing herself against me. I avoid her gaze, desperate to stay free of her thrall as visions claw at my brain, dark memories I’ve spent years burying beneath a facade of indifference.

“Such great lengths my Bertrand has gone to make me happy,” Celeste murmurs.

“I would go to any length you asked. Just say the word.” Any length to obtain that wretched tonic, that rich blue nectar of life that runs through her veins. It’s so close, I can almost taste it.

“Such a sweet boy.” She runs a hand down my cheek before gripping the beard she insists I keep—her personal statement upon my person. What I wouldn’t give to shave the damn thing off once and for all. “He’ll have his taste.”

My teeth pierce my lower lip in their eagerness. “And my flask? You’ll refill it?”

She drifts away with a disapproving tut. “Greedy boy.” She glances pointedly at Miss Garnier. “You know you can’t have your cake until I’ve served the tea. It’s bad manners."

Which means I’ll have to come back tomorrow and hope for more. I grit my teeth as I force a grin. “You’re right, of course, darling,” I croon, stepping forward to take her hand. Salivating as I turn it over and eye the sapphire lines visible beneath the pale flesh of her wrist. “Just a taste then.”

She draws it away before my fangs can scratch the surface, her smirk irritatingly smug as she pushes me back and extends a pointed toe. “Naughty boys must beg for their scraps,” she purrs.

Anger and humiliation war inside my chest, but the thirst overtakes them both. I drop to the floor like the lowly dog that I am, and drink from my mistress’s feet.

24

BERTRAND

As much as I loathe the creature who holds the tattered shreds of my humanity in her hands, I can’t deny the way her blood invigorates me. As sunlight creeps into the room through a gap in the heavy, red drapes, I wake feeling more alive than I have in weeks. The stale swill I’ve been limping by on is nothing compared to the elixir pumping through my veins, so fresh from the source.

Speaking of which…

A rush of said elixir heads due south as I recall the way Adelaide pounced on me upon my return last night. Her passion rivaled mine, even with the lustful high that drinking Celeste’s blood always prompted. She was aggressive and forceful in ways I’d never seen from her.

It was glorious.

Grinning, I roll onto my side with the intention of waking my insatiable wife in her favorite way—one involving my tongue and the honey-sweet center between her legs—only to find her half of the bed empty.

She’s gone. She realized what you were and fled. She was taken to the tower. She⁠—

Panic swells, choking me with a multitude of scenarios, each one worse than the next, until rational thought forces its way through the clamor.

She probably just made an early start of it in the garden. The thought soothes the tension building in my chest, allowing me to breathe. Yes, that must be it. The garden.

Deep breath in, slowly out.

She’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is going to be perfectly fine. The plan is working.

Stretching out of bed, I make my way into the toilettes to freshen up. A glance in the mirror assures me Celeste’s blood is working its magic. Gone are the dark circles around my eyes and the pallid complexion, replaced with a healthy glow. My smile dips, however, as my gaze falls to my beard. If only I had the nerve to shave it off.

Or do I?

My heart thuds as I reach for the razor. You can do it. Shave the whole mess off. Leave the stigma of the blue beard behind and start fresh with Adelaide at your side. My fingers linger over the handle before picking up the trimming shears instead. A fanciful notion, one I could never follow through on. My life is tethered to Celeste’s existence. Without her blood, I’d be nothing more than a feral animal. Immortal, yes. But mindless. Driven by the relentless desire to feed. There’d be no Adelaide at my side in that life. If she stayed long enough, she’d only become fodder for the monster to feed upon.

I can’t shave it off, but a trim should be safe. I clip the hairs as short as I dare and inspect the results. It’ll have to do. Now, to find my bride.

My feet feel light as air as I jog down the stairway and out the front door, shouting a “good morning” to Edgar as I pass him skulking about the foyer. Waiting, always waiting. For what, I have yet to figure out. It’s not as though we ever have visitors. Or perhaps he’s waiting for the same thing Ricard and Louise and Griffon and Cook are all waiting for as they tie their days to this desolate place. Serving a mistress who hasn’t left her room in almost a century. They’re all waiting for the very thing I had thrust upon me, so many years ago. Waiting for a chance at eternity. I haven’t the heart to tell them they’re wasting their time. No. That’s a lie. Truth is, I simply don’t care what becomes of them. They’ve made their choice.

Adelaide, on the other hand…

I quicken my pace through the morning fog, pulse kicking up as I approach the garden. Anticipation pulls at my lips, curving them into a hungry smile as I prowl through the gateway. “Thought you could run off without a kiss goodbye did you, you naughty minx?”

My words fall on empty walls.