“Miss Valmont,” a distant voice calls to me.
My mind and body feel heavy. I try to stir but can’t summon the energy to move or respond.
“Clara? You need to wake up,” the voice calls again, this time closer.
I blink up at the pale face hovering above me. It’s dark. Is it already night?
The face frowns down at me though I can’t think of why. I can’t seem to focus on who… my eyes drift closed again.
I’m so tired.
My brain is sluggish, my thoughts muddled and scattered.
“I know,” the voice says sharply. It must belong to the face.
Is he talking to me? What were we talking about? Where…
Something cool caresses my face.
“Clara,” the voice says my name again.
This time when I open my eyes, I manage to keep them open. Slowly his features sharpen into a distinct, handsome face. Dark blue eyes, the color of the twilight sky, hold secrets I could never hope to learn, a sharp jaw, and lips that beg to be kissed.
His brows pinch together. He looks worried… I wonder why. I lift my hand and press my fingers against his forehead, trying to smooth them, but he catches my wrist.
There’s a noise I can’t quite make out. Reluctantly, almost as if it pains him, the man lifts his head. “I know. You don’t have to keep telling me.”
My head lists to the side, though from this angle, I still can’t see who he’s talking to outside.
When he returns his attention to me, I see a flicker of something. The thought hovers at the edge of my mind. There is a faint sense of familiarity about him.
“Clara, can you sit up?” he asks.
I think about it for a moment before nodding my head. If I actually can or not remains to be seen.
The longer I retain consciousness, the more strength returns to my muscles. I manage to get one arm under me, and he helps support me with my other.
As soon as I’m sitting, he moves across from me.
I take in my surroundings. We’re in a moving carriage, the inside is luxurious but simple. I look from the gold accents to his face several times as things slowly click into place.
Vampire. What in the Otherworld was I thinking? My eyes drift to his lips again before I can stop myself. I look away, focusing on his impeccable cravat. Is that the same one he was wearing a little while ago?
“What did you do to me?” I demand, my voice raw and dry. A pounding throbs at my temples from the effort.
“You’ve been asleep.”
Pain so sharp pain clenches at my middle that I almost bow over. I’m… famished. “For how long?”
Just as I think he won’t answer me, he says, “Two days.”
I look up at him. “Two…”
Now the slightest bit of fear moves in. With one word, he kept me unconscious for two days. He could have killed me… so why hadn’t he? And—the carriage is moving.
“When did we start moving again?” I must be more out of it than I thought. I press the heel of my palms into my eyes.
“We never stopped.”
I look at him. He is insane if he thinks I’m going to believe that lie. Even in my current state, I know he was talking to someone outside. But it’s not important. He can keep his secret. I’m about to say as much when my stomach growls embarrassingly loud.
“Are you hungry, Clara?” he asks, and if I’m not mistaken, he sounds almost repentant. As well he should for keeping me unconscious for so long. I also realize he called me Clara, not Miss Valmont.
I eye him suspiciously, not sure how to take his shift in attitude. “I haven’t eaten in over two days… so yes, Mr. Devereaux, I am.”
Ignoring my anger, he reaches for a small package at his side and hands it to me.
I take it and unwrap it. Inside is a chunk of bread, a few pieces of cheese, and some cured meat. The irony of this situation is not lost on me. He most likely thinks this is the worst meal he could offer up, but I don’t know the last time I had cheese or bread that wasn’t so stale it needed to be soaked in broth to be edible.
I’m not sure where this came from. Perhaps he stopped while I was unconscious. I take a bite of each and nearly groan. Of course, I’m so hungry that it could be worse and I would still eat it greedily.
When I finish, I am feeling far more myself again.
It’s dark. It must be the middle of the night by now. The mournful cry of demons is thick in the air, surrounding us from all sides. I wrap my arms around myself as if that could ward them off.
“They will not harm us,” he says, noticing my nerves.
“What about the driver?”
“He, too, will be fine.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. There are no lights anywhere outside. We must be miles from the nearest town. “Will we be stopping tonight?”
“No. We will be reaching the estate soon.”
The rest of our ride is passed in silence until the carriage pulls up a long, tree-lined drive. I will be glad to get out of this carriage. I feel as though I might lose my mind if I have to spend much more time sitting in this confined space.
The carriage jostles to a halt, then a few seconds tick by before the loud squeal of heavy iron gates sound as they swing open. A few more seconds lapse, then we lurch forward once more.
The trees give way to a large expanse of land with a lake to the south corner of the property. A palatial manor, grander than anything I’ve ever seen or could have imagined, rises up like a spiny beast against the night sky.
We follow the curve around the massive fountain to the front steps. The doors open, letting out a soft flood of light as three figures, one man and two women, come walking out and lining up the steps, waiting for their master.
The second we come to a stop, Mr. Devereaux opens the carriage door and steps out. He doesn’t offer me a hand, and I don’t expect one. Not even from someone who comports themselves in a typically gentlemanly manner.
My muscles are decidedly less sore this time. And at least I’m not soaked to the bone in cold river water.
The three figures that had come to greet us stand with perfect posture, eyes downcast, and hands clasped in front of them. He walks up the steps, knowing I’ll follow. As he passes each one, they greet him with a bow and a, “Welcome home, Master.”
Four servants total, counting the driver… I’ve never seen so many belonging to one household—one, possibly two, for the most elevated families back home.
I, of course, might as well be a specter, unseen by the living. He doesn’t introduce me, and why should he? I am nothing more than a food source for him for whenever he feels like it.
I will count myself lucky if I don’t end up in some deep underground layer of the manor, forgotten and left to starve to death.
Inside, most of the candles are not lit except for two candelabras and a handful of single candlesticks… all lit with sweet-smelling wax candles. Not the acrid scent of tallow candles the rich use back home, and not the inadequate rushlights we use.
The floors and wainscoting are all dark mahogany wood, polished to look as if there’s a thin layer of glass over it. Area rugs and runners are strewn in just the right spots with intentional perfection. Heavy drapes are pulled to the side along all the windows, letting in the moon's pale light.
It takes me a moment to notice the wallpaper in the foyer, it’s a simple cream color with a subtle damask pattern made in glittering threads woven into it that shimmer in the candlelight. The effect is so muted I almost miss it.
I can’t tell if he chose something like this because he doesn’t care or because he dislikes the bold contrasting colors and stark lines and floral patterns that are so popular.
In the drawing room, a large fire roars, casting warmth and a bit of light into the hall.
He lifts a candelabra and hands me a single candlestick from it. Soft murmurs float toward me as the servants disappear. Except one. I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She hovers a few feet away, barely noticeable, she can’t be much older than me.
Mr. Devereaux seems to notice and makes a point to dismiss her as well.
“Follow me,” he says, pulling my attention back to him. And there’s nothing for me to do other than to oblige him.
We walk through the halls of the manor that is nearly a castle in its own right. For the most part, he is silent, only bothering to point out how to get to the kitchen and a few other rooms. We skip the entirety of the southern wing of the manor.
To my relief, he leads me upstairs to the second floor and not down into some horrid underground place. He passes a staircase and says nothing.
It’s pitch black up there, and the light from my measly candle doesn’t even come close to piercing it.
“What’s up there?” I ask.
He stops in his tracks but doesn’t retrace his steps. “That is not for you,” he says in clipped tones. “Stick to the places I have shown you. No others, especially up there.”
When he resumes walking, I notice two large double doors, unlike any others we have passed.
“What about that room?”
He stops again with an exasperated sigh and looks at the doors as though he had somehow missed them. “That is the library. You may go there…” He looks me up and down. “…if you don’t prove to be distracting.”
A library. Since I was old enough to read, I’ve only had the one book, but behind those intricately carved doors lies an endless selection for me to choose from—
I stumble back as something flies past my face and lands on Mr. Devereaux’s shoulder.
“What disgusting demon sent creature is that?” I ask, pointing at it.
He frowns at me as he reaches up to stroke its head as it clings to him. It’s a bat. It’s a fucking bat—small and black with leathery wings and large red eyes—and he’s petting it. It chirps and squeaks in my direction.
“Do not be rude, Clara,” he admonishes, and I almost feel bad, except it’s a bat—inside—his house. “This is Cherno.”
The creature looks… hurt. But that is insane. It’s just an animal—and a disgusting one at that.
He resumes the tour, walking a little faster this time, and with the little creature still clinging to his shoulder. He stops once we reach the end of a hall, and without ceremony, he swings the door open and gestures for me to go in.
“This is your room.” I look past him into the room. A lazy fire burns in the hearth.
I walk in, and my pulse picks up when he follows. He walks over to the desk up against the wall and sets the candelabra down.
“You will find everything you need in here. Be aware that the servants will not be around after dark.” He pauses then crosses the room in a few strides. “Should you require anything else, you will have to wait until morning.”
“Why?” I ask breathlessly.
“There are far worse things than I that lurk in the night.”
His warning feels like a threat and sends a tremor down my spine. “There’s nothing scary about the dark.”
He hovers over me, and I think he’s trying to intimidate or scare me, but I won’t cower.
“The demons that haunt this part of the world are not the weak, lesser demons you know but are the higher demons that will rip you apart.”
“Those demons are nothing more than old wives’ tales—a way to scare children into behaving. Nothing more than superstitious nonsense.”
He circles me, stopping at my back to whisper the words in my ear. “Oh, they are real, more so than your stories make them out to be.”
“But with you, I am safe from them?” I ask, remembering how none even came near the carriage on our journey here.
Standing so close behind me, I can feel the warmth of his body. He reaches up and lifts a lock of my hair off my shoulder and lets it cascade through his fingers. “You are not safe with me, my dear Clara. Until you are marked, you will never be safe.” He lets his hand fall back to his side, then adds, “and I have no plans to ever mark you.”
Don’t react, don’t react.
Whatever sliver of kindness he had felt earlier is now gone. I spin to glare at him. I know he wants my fear. I agreed to pay Father’s debt to save Kitty from ending up in this monster’s clutches, I know it means I will most likely die at his hands, but he will not have my fear. I will not let him turn me into some frightened babe.
His words only serve to remind me that I must not forget what I need to do. I must end him.
I cannot forget that he and his kind are the worst evil in this world.
Beautiful but deadly.
And the death of each vampire means more freedom for this world.
Whatever he’s looking for in my expression, he doesn’t find it. I can see that much in the way his face falls into an emotionless mask.
Apparently, he has nothing more to say tonight, no further threats, because he leaves me standing in this strange room—my room—and closes the door behind him with a soft click.
Outside the window, purple bruises smear across the sky as dawn slowly rises on the horizon.
I let out a breath, feeling my shoulders slump as the tension leaves my muscles.