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“You’re not like the others.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Draven, I am exactly like the others. Every single person who comes up this mountain wants something from you. I want history. That is the only difference.”
He reached for her hands again. This time, she allowed it. “If I could form another bond with anyone, it would be with you.”
“But it’s not me, is it?”
He wanted it to be. Desperately. More than anyone else.
His silence answered her question. Charlotte removed her hands from his and looked away, her eyes watering.
She was like the others, he understood then. She would leave, and he’d be alone.
He stepped back, running a hand down his front to smooth down the waistcoat. “You are excused from dining with me this evening, but I expect you to uphold your end of our bargain.”
“I’ll be there,” she said in a flat tone.
Chapter Nineteen
Charlotte
The Aerie
Charlotte’s Bedroom
“Are you certain?”
“I’m content to stay in and read. I have tea, and I found a fascinating account of Radcliffe’s trial. I require nothing else,” Charlotte said.
Draven looked agitated. Charlotte presumed it was due to the winter solstice and the increase in Nexus energy. Since their argument, his mood remained dark. Not that she felt obliged to provide levity. They dined in silence nightly. The agreement was to share a meal, not to share a conversation. It was petty of her, but she didn’t care.
Watching the way he adjusted his cravat like it was strangling him, she wished she had asked Solenne and Luis more questions about being an anchor. On an academic level, she knew that beasts and vampires were different. Young beasts had no control over their transformations and were prone to fits of rage. An anchor helped keep them grounded, tied to their humanity, and less prone to turn into a mindless monster.
Vampires? They transformed once. Did they suffer from rage? Hunger? Charlotte had no idea. Draven shared very few hard facts about his condition. She didn’t know how she could help anchor him if she didn’t understand his symptoms.
Foul mood had to be a symptom.
“Yes, I am certain. I arranged a dinner and dance for you. That was not a whim,” he answered. His tone was genial enough, but his movements were twitchy, as if he were in discomfort.
The luminous red eyes were telling as well.
Charlotte was hardly an expert, but she knew three people affected by the Nexus energy cycles. Draven had not been himself in the last few days.
“Are you well?” she asked. “You seem on edge, and it is the winter solstice—”
“I am well aware of the day,” he interrupted.
He took a moment to adjust his cravat, presumably to collect himself. “Pardon. I thank you for your concern, but I am well.”
“Your eyes are red.”
“And yours are brown.”
“As were yours when we first met.”
He leveled those red eyes on her, looking thoroughly unamused.
She placed a hand on his arm, the wool of his coat remarkably soft. “I am thankful for the holiday entertainment, but I would not see you suffer for my amusement if you are unwell or in pain.”
