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“I thought witches were good,” I tell him quietly, a sour taste in my mouth.
Absolon bursts out laughing, a strong, almost musical laugh that makes the blood in me rush to the surface. “Witches? Good? Lenore, haven’t the fairy tales taught you anything?”
“But…modern witches. The ones on, like, Instagram, they’re all about healing and light and crystals and happiness…” I want to add that my parents are witches and my parents are good people, but I’m not sure that’s the truth anymore.
“A phase,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “That’s all. A new age. It’s trendy.”
“So, if witches are bad…”
“They aren’t all bad,” he says. “They’re morally gray. And, you know, vampires are too.”
“Vampires kill people.”
“We have to in order to survive,” he corrects me haughtily. “And we don’t make a habit of it. Witches kill vampires, and sometimes they kill people too. Oh, and humans? Let me tell you about fucking human beings. They throw each other under the bus every single day, then have the nerve to say we’re the soulless ones.”
He’s getting a little worked up, his eyes turning dark, shadowed by those arched brows, his jaw tense. This is the first time I’ve seen him less than icy cool. Obviously humans are a sore spot for him.
My god. What if he had kidnapped me and I wasn’t a vampire or a witch?
“I would have killed you,” he says, his voice going deeper, darker. All the hair on my body stands on end, my fight or flight instincts firing up. “There was a moment when I saw you in the car, before I realized I couldn’t compel you, where I thought perhaps I had made a mistake. I would have killed you. Would have bitten you, sucked you dry, and left you in the woods for someone else to find.”
Jesus. A ball of fear unfurls in my stomach, my hand instinctively pressing over it. I immediately look away, hating that he just caught me off-guard. All of this conversation, he had tricked me into thinking he was…well, not a friend, but an acquaintance. Something like that. Making me forget that he’s a full-fledged vampire, and, more than that, a remorseless killer, every single part of him forged to be as cunning and lethal as possible.
“You think less of me now,” he says quietly. “You’re right to.”
I press my lips together for a moment, then say, “I can’t do this. I can’t be…like you.”
“No one said you have to be like me,” he says. “Most vampires aren’t like me. They fear me. I’m the one who turns them over to people like Atlas and your parents to be executed. I’m the mercenary here, flitting between both worlds. Occasionally I’ll capture a witch and deliver them to the vampires, because there’s nothing quite like witch’s blood. I am loyal to no person, no group, except the one here in my house.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ve had my blood,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. He holds out his hand to me. “And that’s why I know your potential. Why you’re worth so damn much. Give me your hand.”
I stare at it, the smooth lines of his palm, his luminous white skin. “You would have killed me without any remorse.”
“Listen, moonshine. You don’t get to live as long as I have if you carry any remorse with you. You learn to let that go.”
“But the remorse keeps you human.”
He gives me a stiff smile, showing his fangs. “Who says that’s something to aspire to?”
And that’s when I realize that I’m not safe. I never was, I know that much. This man, no, vampire, will sell me to the highest bidder, someone who will kill me. He’s pretending to help me through this process, The Becoming, but he’s a killer without remorse. Proud of it, even.
“Give me your hand,” he says again, and as he stares at me, I can feel myself falling deeper into his eyes, hypnotized. I put my hand in his and he pulls me to my feet.
He’s trying to compel me.
His eyes narrow.
And before I know what’s happening, I’m running over to the curtain, tugging down on it hard until it rolls up, and I drop to my knees and out of the way as the direct sunlight hits him dead on.
My own eyes pinch closed, the light hurting them, giving me a headache, and I stare up at Absolon, expecting him to start dissolving in a cloud of dust, or at least running away screaming.
But he’s still standing in the sunlight, though he’s wincing. He glances down at me, shaking his head.
“Was that your sad attempt at killing me?” he asks, scoffing. Suddenly he’s crouched down at my level, holding out three fingers. “Three ways to kill a vampire, Lenore. With a blade of the mordernes. With fire. Or with decapitation. Sunlight does nothing to us, except bother our very sensitive eyes. I suggest making friends with sunglasses.”
Then, quick as a lightning strike, he reaches out and grabs me by the throat, pulling me up as he gets to his feet, and tossing me on the bed. I nearly bounce off, my instincts to fight back at an all-time high. I quickly eye the antique lamp, but before I can make a move for it, he’s already in front of it. I didn’t even see him move.
