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“She is not Kalina,” Joséphine says at last. The compassion in her voice has me squeezing my eyes shut. “And you are not the same man you were then.”
I let out a rough, humorless laugh. “No, I’m so much worse.”
“In some ways,” she concedes, never having been sheltered from my actions. “But in the ways you fear? No, you are not that man, not that vampire. You know what it is like when a man becomes a vampire, how hard one can struggle for control for years.”
I jerk my head, refuting her words. “I should have been better. I could have been.”
That’s my dark shame. That I had mastered my new abilities and strengths so quickly but let myself lose that control so easily.
Joséphine doesn’t say anything. She lets go of me and pats me affectionately on the back before going to the tray we’d all ignored. I watch as she pours me a cup of tea and sets it in my usual spot. She picks up the tray and heads to the open door before pausing to look back at me.
“Talk to her, at least,” she requests, brooking no argument. “Be brave, sire. And if it bothers you so much that Ms. Morse hasn’t chosen to stay at her side, you know what you can do to fix that. If you have the courage.”
She leaves without another word and I stare through the empty doorway at the blank wall across the hall. Of course I know what I can do. I could release Eloise from our bargain. Joséphine doesn’t know everything about that black day, though. No one does, not even Kasar and he was the one to find me and pull me back from the edge.
I want to hate Eloise for making me feel this fear again. For turning me into a coward. I won’t let her out of our bargain. I’m too fucking selfish. Because this way, at least, she has to be with me. If I let her go, she might run. And then I’ll burn the entire city down until I catch her.
Chapter Fourteen
Eloise
Igot the message real fast. Ambrose didn’t want to see me. For the first couple of days, I asked Joséphine about him but stopped when I couldn’t stand the look of sympathy in her eyes. Apparently I’m too much for the vampire. It seems I have my answer. A man that’s over a thousand years old is still as immature as a teenager.
I hate, hate how I feel guilty for trying to show him gratitude. For thinking maybe I could act on the feelings he stirs inside me. I was so stupid. I should have known the moment he put me in the car all by myself that I’d stepped over a line. Maybe if I’d given in, let him take what he wanted in that restaurant, he wouldn’t be avoiding me. But fuck that and fuck him if that’s what it is. No, don’t fuck him is more appropriate.
Two weeks, I’ve been drifting through the house, about to go insane. At least Joséphine spends time with me, and the other vampires won’t leave the room anymore when I walk in. I’ve learned their names, other than Ashe, of course. The dark-haired, olive-skinned Italian one is Malachi. He doesn’t talk much but when he does, he’s got a wicked dry sense of humor that took a bit to catch on. There’s Lan too, who was the one that touched my arm and creeped me out when I was at Noir. He’s Joséphine’s son, both by blood and vampire standards apparently.
I have no idea how such a sweet woman could have such an off-putting son. Every time I see him, it’s like he’s a chained, drowsy velociraptor just waiting to wake up and rip everything to shreds. Only when he’s with Joséphine does that anger seem to settle. Otherwise, every time his eyes are on me, I wonder if he’s deciding whether or not he’s hungry enough to strike.
Ambrose told me if anyone else touches me, he’d kill them—but is that true if he’s avoiding me?
Every desire to submit to Ambrose has relented. Now I crave to push him, to piss him off and make him react. I don’t have a death wish, because while he’s been avoiding me, I’ve caught glimpses of him as he comes and goes. Sometimes he’s as clean and sharp as any Topsider CEO. Other times, he’s bloodied though a sick sense tells me none of it is his own.
I hate it when I catch a glimpse of him walking through the first floor or up the stairs and he has blood streaking across his mouth. Goddamn envy and anger simmers hotter each time I see it. I agreed to give myself to him for three months, to let him feed on me whenever he wishes, and now this fucking vampire isn’t even letting me fulfill my end of the bargain? He’s feeding from other people, maybe even other women.
It’s chilling and unfounded how I hate the women I picture. How these beautiful, perfect women slide their hands over his shoulders and bare their necks to him. Does he fuck them too? It’s a good thing he hasn’t made me go anywhere with him, because I’d turn into a jealous hellcat if one of them approaches him. I might only be a human, but high school as a foster kid is a trial of hell and violence. I know how to be a scrappy bitch when I need to.
I’ve claimed the room with all the plants as a type of workspace for me, since I wouldn’t want to offend his majesty with my presence. I don’t even eat in the dining room anymore, and not just because Joséphine still confiscates my laptop—resorting to taking it with her into the kitchen. At least there, I can just eat toast and drink my tea while scrolling through my empty email inbox.
I don’t have any projects and no potential clients have reached out. It’s not unusual, and the last project I wrapped up the day of the dinner had a large enough payment to last me a couple months. Which means I’m bored out of my mind.
And there’s nothing to do except think about Ambrose and Deidre. She’s answering my texts, from a new number, but not often. She doesn’t tell me anything and it’s scary because she stonewalls when something is wrong. She keeps putting off another phone call too. I don’t like it.
I haven’t felt this rudderless in my own life since my dad died. I won’t let myself go back to that. Never again.
I close my laptop, irritated but not enough to risk breaking my main source of income, and head towards the stairs. It’s past dinnertime but I’m not hungry. Not hard when you’re forced into doing jack-all. When I turn the corner into the room full of bookshelves and the stairs, I halt in place as Ambrose and Malachi are coming down.
Ambrose doesn’t stop as my irritation at him snaps at his indifferent look.
I bend at the waist, sweeping my free arm out dramatically. “Oh, excuse me, your majesty,” I ooze out, not bothering to hide my disdain. I step out of the way, ensuring I’m far away from the landing. “Please forgive this lowly human for intruding on your divine presence.”
Straightening, I meet Ambrose’s glare with one of my own. A small part of me recognizes the slight lift of Malachi’s lips, his amusement plain to see. Ambrose blinks and my world narrows to him as I see the thick red rings in his eyes. He’s hungry. Really hungry. My stomach twists and I slide my foot forward before forcing myself to hold back. He’s the one that’s been avoiding me. If he wants to feed from me, he’s going to have to ask. I won’t offer myself; I never will, bargain or not.
Besides, no doubt he’s heading out to find someone else to slake his needs.
“Eloise,” Ambrose rumbles and his voice vibrates through me. My sex clenches at the tone, even though it’s detached and chilly. It doesn’t help that my anger doesn’t help me ignore how sexy the vampire king is. Black tailored suit, pristine white button-down, two undone buttons in place of a tie. He looks damn good, the expensive clothing working overtime to show off his broad shoulders and solid strength.
“Oh!” I gasp theatrically, and press my hand flat to my chest. “You do remember who I am.”
