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I was not scared of death. The years of prolonging my own demise caused the thought of dying to mutate. It became as familiar as a friend. I had chased the dead to keep my own death at bay, devouring the blood of vampires without much thought. And before me stood the very embodiment of what I had fled.Faenir.I had seen what his touch had done to Tom and his parents… and still I reached for him.
“Do not do this…” He exhaled as the tips of my cold, shaking fingers brushed against his sharp cheekbone.
“Why not?” I carried on, ignoring his desperate plea. My fingers melted onto his warm skin until my palm caressed the side of his face. “Is this not the reason why you took me? Because you desired to feel something you have been deprived of for your entire pathetic existence?”
Faenir’s eyes flickered closed, too lost in the feel of my hand to recognise my insult. The lines across his brow softened and the frown that seemed permanently etched into his face thawed away before my very eyes.
I studied him, feeling the heavy beating of his pulse beneath my palm.Or was it my own?
“Arlo…” he groaned my name, reaching up to place a hand upon mine to stop it from ever moving.
I took that as my moment.Jolting out with my spare hand, I reached up and wrapped my fingers around his exposed throat. Faenir’s golden eyes flew open as I tightened my hold.
“I do not pity you,” I sneered. Faenir did not squirm beneath my grip, or wince as my nails dug into his soft skin. “If you think I care for what you have been through, then you could not be further from the truth. I will spend the time you have trapped me here making you wish you never set eyes on me. And if I ever find out that my sister is harmed by your actions then I swear to make you feel pain that you never believed possible.”
I was breathless, my knuckles white as I gripped tighter. All the while Faenir just stared at me with a doe-eyed expression that I could not place between fear, surprise or judging.
When Faenir finally broke his silence, all manner of his serenity had vanished. “Have you quite finished?”
I made sure to squeeze into his throat before releasing him, not that it mattered for clearly it did not affect him as I had hoped. I pulled back from him and caught the crescent moon marks my nails had left upon his neck. I grinned, knowing my warning had at least left a mark.
“For now,” I replied, turning my back on him and facing the open balcony. I did so, not because I couldn’t care to look upon his face another moment, but because my body began to tremble as the adrenaline slowed. I would not let him see the weakness in me. “I think it is best you leave.”
“As do I, but first I must know something.”
I gritted my teeth. “There is nothing else for me to say.”
“I am required to provide confirmation of our acceptance or refusal to my grandmother’s pending ball. From your actions this evening I trust you would rather forgo the event than spend it with me.”
“No,” I spun around, unable to stop the sudden desperation from poisoning my voice, “Wait. I wish to go.”
Faenir nodded, his face showing no sign as to him knowing why I wished to visit. “Then I will send word to Myrinn of our decision. Since her departure from Haxton she has been persistent with sending messages. I fear if I ignore her anymore then she will return.”
There was nothing for me to say, no words to provide him that would deter my mind from the promise of the ball. I had convinced myself that it had already passed during Faenir’s absence. The rush of relief to know I was wrong made my knees tremble.
“Goodnight, Arlo.”
“When is it?” I said, failing myself as I tried not to display any more of my desperate nature to him. “The ball… when is it?”
Faenir paused as he reached the door. “Tomorrow evening.”
I swallowed my next words. My silence confirmed to Faenir that it was his time to take leave. I could not pretend to care for the ball and what the event entailed; all I could think of was finding out if Myrinn had had word from my sister.
Regardless of the answer, this was my chance to get away from Haxton Manor, from Faenir, and to carve my own way back home.
12
Faenir stood and watched me with such interest I almost believed I was on fire. Why else would he keep his stare trapped upon me? Golden eyes trailed me up and down, so slowly, like a dragon guarding treasure, just as the old stories told. I wished to demand that he averted his attention. Instead, I swallowed that urge as I paraded down the steps beyond Haxton Manor to where he waited for me.
It could not have been what I wore that interested him, that was for certain. Before I had left my room, I had surveyed how unimpressive I looked, dwarfed by the oversized, moss-toned tunic and boring trousers that were sizes too large. If it were not for my belt, it would have looked as though I was a child playing dress up in my father’s spare clothes.
That, of course, was impossible on two accounts. One: my father was dead, and two: the tunic belonged to Faenir.
The black laces that should have tied up at my collar were left loose, exposing the skin of my chest. The trousers I wore were crafted from a brown, sun-stained leather that the long boots mostly hid up until below my knees.
I had never been to a ball, for such luxuries did not exist in my world, but I had heard enough tales as a child to know I should have been dressed in finery, like Faenir was now.
It was dark beyond the manor. Night had claimed the skies and brushed its jewelled tones of dark navy so that it appeared black. However, it seemed the moon, proud and glowing white, idolised Faenir for it bathed him in its glow and outlined every possible inch of him.
