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Draven’s Library
Charlotte held the notebook to her like a shield, never mind that it was more than a century old and irreplaceable.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on Draven, but the sight of his new bride lifted his fatigue. How remarkably pleasant to find her in his quarters. Firelight flickered and danced across her face, warming her skin and giving the scene a comfortable domestic quality. He could almost believe she had been waiting for his arrival and not that he caught her snooping.
“You have a terrible habit of being where you oughtn’t,” he said, tossing his coat and gloves onto a sloppy pile on a nearby chair.
Melting snow would stain the upholstery, but he could not care at the moment. He was tired, hungry, and unkempt. The wind had stolen his hat, leaving his hair to fly wildly about, despite using a tie to bind it back. At the end of his impromptu journey, he found his sanctum breached by the very person he took the impromptu journey for. How aggravating.
“My husband gave me leave to wander as I see fit.”
Oh, the pointed tone of an impending argument. Good. Now Charlotte got to share his foul mood. What a treat for everyone involved.
“I never would have thought you indulged in temper tantrums. Very well,” he said with a dramatic sigh, like it pained him to indulge her, and collapsed into a chair nearest the fire. He waved a hand at her. “That does not belong to you.”
Something like anger sparked in her eyes, but that could have been the firelight. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths. Rather than the accusations he expected, she spoke in a calm voice. “It’s amazing. The observations recorded here can completely change the way we understand the early days of the colony and the mutation.”
“It changes nothing,” he snapped, irritation not far below his calm exterior. For years he took measurements and recorded observations and nothing came of his work. Only bitter disappointment. It was certainly nothing for Charlotte to gush excitedly over.
She flinched at his harsh tone. For a moment, only a moment, Draven regretted his words.
He brushed back a stray lock of hair, utterly unmoved by her response because he was a two-hundred-year-old vampire, and he was above petty human emotions like guilt. Nonetheless, he did have manners. He could be a polite monster when it suited him. “Forgive me. That was rude. I am tired from my journey and require a meal.”
At that, her eyes went wide as if alarmed. She made panicky little squeaks. A better response, but still not what he craved.
“Not you,” Draven said, “though you are a sweet morsel, I’m sure. My nutritional needs are mostly conventional, with the occasional…exception.”
At that, her cheeks darkened. Embarrassment was not what he hungered for. He couldn’t quite express what he did crave. A hot meal. Certainly. A long soak in a hot bath to drive the cold from his bones? Yes again. Charlotte on her knees, lips around his cock? Without a doubt. He doubted he’d be able to satisfy all three desires that evening. How frustrating.
“Ah, yes,” she said, her voice softening. “I’m afraid my behavior is also rude. I beg your forgiveness. At the risk of repeating myself, you did say I had free run of the Aerie.”
“A pretty little non-apology.” His voice remained cool even as he made a tutting noise. Was he being needlessly cruel? Certainly, but if he was to be unsatisfied that evening, he saw no reason to be nice about it. “I said you were not to go into the restricted areas. That was not an invitation to my personal space.”
For a moment, she wavered, as if she might fold and close herself off, like a wilting flower.
He had gone too far. Disappointment mingled with exhaustion and frustration. What he felt was not guilt. The emotions stirring within him were a complex bouquet, and he should thank Charlotte for inspiring such a human reaction. Would he? Absolutely not.
Still, a wilting flower. What happened to the bold woman who exchanged vows with him? He could tolerate such a bland creature if he must. Wilting flowers rarely wander into places they shouldn’t. Shame and a dose of fear would keep Charlotte safely in her place. A tedious place, certainly, but safe.
This bride might last long enough for an attachment to form.
Still, he longed for the bold woman to return.
Then the improbable happened. Charlotte stamped a foot and lifted her chin in defiance.
Finally.
“And how am I to know that? From all the useful signs and handy labels? Perhaps the map you provided?” she asked.
For all the rebellion in her words, she still clutched the notebook, he noted.
Ah. The monster’s widow found her resolve. The monster inside Draven practically vibrated with anticipation. This is the response he craved. She would be interesting. Fun. He could sink his teeth into her.
The bit of him that clung to his humanity warned him that he should be cautious. He ignored that voice. It was frightfully easy. The instinct that demanded he pull her close, taste her, devour her was so much louder than the one quietly whispering that he needed to keep her at arm’s length for her safety.
“Lemoine gave you a tour. I cannot imagine what more you required,” he said.
“Madame Lemoine,” she said, her tone soured, “said she was far too busy and gave a very abbreviated tour.”
