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Haven’s expression stilled. “You tread a dangerous line.”
“That’s what vampyres do, isn’t it?” he growled. “Kill and kill and kill until there’s nothing left?”
Haven was out of the chair and lunging toward Cy faster than he could have anticipated. Long limbs hovered over him, knocking him back against the wall as fingers tipped with pointed nails held him in place. The vampyre’s eyes glowed a hungry, raging red as he glared down at Cy. “Watch yourself, human. You are not my friend. You mistake my leniency for kindness. I could kill you as soon as look at you, and in New Avalon, being a gift from Mirae Varney will not spare you that fate.”
With a violent thrust, Haven shoved Cy’s head back before releasing him entirely and pulling away. “Now be silent and be thankful. You’re making my head hurt.”
A few minutes later, Sirene entered with a bowl of broth and meat for Cy. As she laid it in front of him, Cy studied her face. She was older than Haven, or at least had been before she was turned. Her eyes, like Haven’s, like all vampyre’s, were a startling red, and her hair, which flowed down her back in thick black curls, reminded Cy of his mother’s. She noticed him looking and huffed in irritation.
“Thank you, Sirene. That will be all.”
She grunted at the dismissal and straightened to excuse herself.
Once she retreated behind the door, Cy glanced again at Haven. “Doesn’t say much, does she?”
Haven let out an irritated breath. “Does she need to?”
“Your personal servant?”
“The only one I trust.”
Those words were a dismissal, an end to the discussion. Cy looked down at the broth in front of him. It stank, a syrupy brown color. He poked at it reluctantly with his thumb, willing himself not to think too hard on it. He swallowed down his revulsion as his stomach growled once more. Bringing the bowl to his lips, he slurped up the liquid. It was salty but not entirely intolerable. He finished it as Haven sat in silence, ignoring him.
The next fourdays passed in relative quiet. Haven refused to make conversation with Cy, instead passing him over with grunts and irritated eye rolls. The only time Haven left their cabin was to sleep, which he did inside an inner pocket of the room, separated from Cy by a door he kept locked. Cy assumed there was a coffin inside. Which meant the bed, all four posters of it, was left for Cy to fall asleep within.
He had to admit, he’d never slept in a bed so luxurious or comfortable.
Still, sharing a room with a vampyre was unnerving.
The days passed, their travels wearing on Cy’s mind and his body. Without sunlight, even as marginal as it was, he felt like a bird in a cage.
He never saw Haven consume blood, nor anything else for that matter, for as long as they were on the train. He supposed the vampyre might have taken cattle into his private chambers after Cy fell asleep, but as the days dragged on, Haven’s skin began to appear almost ashen in color, the veins in his neck and forehead becoming more prominent. His pupils were dilated, becoming so large, they almost overran the red. And his face took on a hollow, gaunt appearance.
He was starving.
Cy knew he shouldn’t care. Let the vampyre starve himself. But Riley’s words grated at his mind.How long has it been... You know what can happen…
Several days into their journey, he heard whispered conversation just outside the cabin door. Haven’s voice in a heated argument with a woman, someone Cy could only assume was Sirene.
“...need to drink something, my Lord. You’re exhausted.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need your mothering.”
“I worry for you, my Lord. I don’t want to see you starve.”
“You sound like Thorne.”
A pause. Cy strained to hear.
“I’m sorry, my Lord. I only meant—”
“You forget your place. You are my servant; I am your master. I’ll hear no more of your complaints.”
The door swung open, and Cy was face to face with a haggard and angry Haven Bathory.
Haven’s back straightened and his eyes narrowed as he assessed Cy, likely attempting to gauge what Cy had heard.“What?” he snapped.
“Nothing.” Cy couldn’t help himself from looking at Haven, really looking at him. At the gaunt cheeks and hollow sockets under his eyes. “Are you...all right?”
