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“Of course not,” she says, then continues, this time without the hard edge in her tone, “It was the way you were looking at her that had me curious.”
“Mr. Wellington seems rather fond of her.” The observation has an unintended bitter thread along the edges.
Elizabeth purses her lips. “Any vampire that would give that weak mortal a second glance would be better off cursed,” she says coolly, her voice piercing like a cutting winter wind.
It’s unlike her to be so affected by the presence of a lowly mortal. Humans are below her notice. Their usefulness ends with menial labor and food.
“Such a disgrace to see him continue to allow that slayer to freely roam my halls,” she mutters under her breath, so quietly that I’m unsure if she intended for me to hear or if she’s even aware that she spoke aloud.
Kharis swoops through the air, circling us, and lands on her shoulder. The raven’s eyes flash red.
By the moment you think of her again, she will have perished from old age. She is unworthy of even a second of your time. Do not let trifling matters ruin your mood,” I soothe.
Elizabeth’s nostrils flare with two calming breaths. When she releases her grip on the balustrade and takes a step back, a divot remains where each finger had pressed.
She turns her face toward me. The red ring around her iris sets off the violet shade of her eyes. “Yes, you are right.”
I step into the center of the corridor and hold out my arm. “Shall we enjoy the evening while it lasts?”
The implied meaning within my question pleases her, and I am rewarded with a smile. I vow to put the human from my mind.
Our queen is all that matters. We must please her.
Pleasing my queen is all that matters.
The low, droning buzz gradually returns with every step that takes us further away. It is so subtle that by the time I notice, my awareness of it is already slipping away, and the mortal woman is easy to forget.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CLARA
Defeat settlesheavy over my shoulders, feeling a little too much like despair. I trudge all the way back to Cassius’s quarters, willing my heart to remain whole.
Seeing Alaric’s face and the way he looked at me as if I were a stranger— as if he hated me—hurts far worse than I could have imagined. It is a physical pain no armor can guard against.
The rage sizzling through my veins, whispers in my ear that only revenge will quench its flames. It is the only thing keeping me going.
When Cherno told me he was cursed, I knew it was true because I had felt the change in our bond, but I know too little about it to use it to my advantage.
There’s little solace in knowing that I can still sense him when he is close. And Elizabeth will do everything in her power to keep me as far away from him as possible.
If I cannot break the curse, it will kill him. The oath bond grants me a lifespan to equal his, so what does that mean for me? Will I die alongside him, or will my mortality resume with his death? I suppose it hardly matters because I will most likely die trying to do the impossible before the curse takes his life, anyway.
Cassius is nowhere to be found when I return to his chambers. Though I am glad to have time to process the emotions bombarding me, a small voice at the back of my mind worries that he is avoiding me.
A fire crackles in the hearth, sending embers up with each snap of the wood as the flames devour it. The doors to the bedroom are open wide. And the watery light of dawn seeps through the windows.
I’m not sure when Cassius managed to bring my belongings from my old room, but I’m thankful for his foresight. Quickly stripping out of my training clothes, I change into Alaric’s shirt that I’ve claimed as my own.
For a moment, I stand at the foot of Cassius’s bed and debate taking the top blanket and sleeping on the couch in the parlor. I don’t want to take his bed—it feels brazen, considering… everything.
But the heavy blankets and thick mattress beckon irresistibly. In no time, I’m burrowed under layers of luxurious covers. When Cassius returns, I will gladly move. We need to talk anyway, so we might as well figure out more appropriate sleeping arrangements at the same time.
My eyelids have just closed when the flap of leathery wings pulls my attention to the bat soaring through the wall. Spotting me, Cherno comes to land on my chest. We are connected through Alaric, and I imagine that their bond is as affected in a similar way as mine is.
“Clara…” they say, shifting uncertainly.
Their already large eyes widen, and I can’t help but immediately be suspicious. Yet I’m not immune to it. I reach up and pet their soft head. I never thought I’d find such a creature so irresistibly cute. Especially not a demon.
