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“You make it seem that my visit here is something worthy of welcome.”
“Then we should toast.” Marius nails tapped on the glass he raised. “To my hundredth Claim.”
“You do not eat, but you drink?” I asked, studying the red wine that sloshed within his glass. He kept looking at me as he raised the rim to his lips and took a swig. The wine stained his already dark lips. The vision of him biting his own wrist flooded my memory.
“I drink because I am thirsty. Wine has been the only substance to curb the deeper appetite the curse bestowed on me.”
Intrigue spurred me to question further. “And what is it you crave?”
I knew. I did not need to ask, but I could see the glint in his dark gaze when the subject was brought up. The lust he had for it made his lips part and his tongue traced his lower lip.
“Blood.”
I lowered my glass back to the table, shrugging off his comment and digging back into my food even though my appetite had dissipated in that moment. I left the meat on the plate, opting for the boiled and seasoned potato.
“Where do you go during the days?” I asked, changing the subject to one that did not threaten the contents of my stomach to reappear.
“Why do you care to know?”
“You asked for conversation and I am giving it to you. Questions breed answers, is that not what you want?”
Marius released a bated breath. “Tell me about yourself instead, Jak. I find myself wanting to know more of your life before you were so unfortunate to be delivered to me.”
“Has Katharine not told you about me? I thought that was the point of her visits.”
“I do not care to know about my Claims. It is part of the mystery, waiting to learn of their stories myself.”
“Stories,” I huffed. “So you are a keen reader?”
“More of a writer. But enough about me. I asked about you, yet I am coming to understand you are skilled at diverting the topic from yourself. It is as if you have something to hide.”
As do you,I thought, forcing a smile.
Part of my training was for this moment exactly. Weaving a lie to tell him of myself. To paint a picture I want for Marius to see of me.
“Then ask away.” I waved a steady hand, whereas my leg beneath the table was bouncing uncontrollably.
“Tell me of your home.”
I focused on the food and let my false story loose.
“My father is a baker. My mother a seamstress. I spend my time flitting between both and helping. Our home is used as the bakery and Mother works from the back rooms.”
“You are good with your hands?”
I swallowed the lump of boiled potato. “Awful. Mother will do anything in her power to stop me from ruining her projects. And the most Father lets me do is split the flour, that is it.”
“Shame.” Marius shrugged. “And do you enjoy helping your parents?”
“I— no.”
“No? Then what is it you would have wanted to do in your life?”
I couldn’t answer aloud.To end you.
“It does not matter what I want now. Does it?”
He knew what I meant. For any other Claim, a visit to this place never resulted in a return home.
