A dull ache tugs on my back. I shift. The skin there is tight as it continues to heal, though the worst has passed.
I blink my eyes open. My head rests on something soft—a leg. My gaze travels along the leg, and up the feminine torso, to Clara’s face. One hand is tangled in my hair, bringing vague memories of her running her fingers through it. Her other hand rests on my chest, clutching Rosalie’s stolen dagger.
I am a little shocked to discover it’s not pointed at me, but rather toward the door.
She had run to get away, but when she had the chance to draw blood and earn her freedom—she didn’t take it.
She was protecting me. There was nothing in this house that could have harmed me, and I would have healed on my own, a fact she must have been aware of, yet still, she tended to me and stayed by my side.
She is fast asleep. I lift a hand and cup her face. The high demon of the Otherworld must have sent this woman to torture and confound me. As hard as I fight it, there is something about her that softens my heart.
Cherno’s had pops up under my arm. “I thought you would never heal.”
“Thank you, my friend, you have helped a great deal by lending me your power.”
“What happened?” Cherno crawls up onto Clara’s lap as I sit up. My powers will need several more hours to heal properly, and I will need blood.
“We shall speak of this shortly,” I say quietly. “Wait for me in the study.”
Cherno flits off without another word. I must have been in poor condition for them to obey without discord.
Clara’s breath comes in soft sighs, though her expression is tight with worry.
I kneel and scoop her up into my arms, then pick up the dagger. She shifts and buries her face in my chest, one hand clinging to the front of my ruined shirt.
Otherworld take me. I should leave her on the floor, but I don’t. I can’t after she stayed with me.
I carry her to her room as she holds tight to me.
Setting the dagger on the night table, I lay her down on the bed. As I withdraw, she makes a pitiful whimpering sound and murmurs something that sounds like, “Don’t go.”
Leave, I tell myself. Leave now. But her frown deepens as she reaches out. I run a hand down my face, unable to believe I am about to do this.
I sit on the edge of the bed and stretch out against her back. The moment I am settled, she shifts to face me. I will give her this, only for a while. I lay my arm across her while attempting to keep some distance between us, but—demons and saints—the woman curls into me.
Yes, she was definitely sent from the Otherworld to torture me.
Time passes slowly, and I am acutely aware of every inch of her pressed against me.
What in the Otherworld am I doing holding this woman? I should want to kill her, not touch her.
Too long have I lived striving to hold on to my humanity, to be the person Rosalie believed I was.
Now hate is too foreign an emotion to hold on to. Boredom, disdain, neutrality—yes, but Clara has made it impossible to feel such paltry emotions toward her.
I understand now why she killed the first vampire she came across. It is the same reason I lived by Rosalie’s rules.
“You are not at all what I thought you were, my dear Clara,” I whisper.
Eventually, dawn breaks, lighting the room with a soft glow. I inch away as gently as I can and place a blanket over her.
In the study, I find Cherno hanging before the fireplace. Their large shadow is thrown across the room.
I pour a glass of blood from the carafe set out on the desk as I sit. Cherno drops, swooping up just before hitting the floor and lands on the desk before me.
“I believe I have found the cause of the increase in lesser demon activity,” I say. “There was a higher demon in the forest—”
“That is impossible,” they say.
“I was able to fight it off and get Clara and myself away before it did much damage.”
Cherno flaps their wings, sending papers everywhere. I make an attempt to catch a few but give up quickly. “You would have died without my help, you fool.”
I glare at the insult, but instead of responding, I take a sip of my drink.
“Who was it?” they demand.
I set my glass down and run a finger along the rim. “I don’t know. They shifted constantly, refusing to take their true shape.” Standing, I pick up the scattered papers Cherno had made a mess of and pause when I get to Elizabeth’s letter. “You don’t think the Queen Bitch sent it, do you?”
Cherno hisses. A strange sound coming from something that looks like a bat. “No, but she will want to see the first human you have decided to claim. Though if you leave the girl as she is, Elizabeth will kill her.”
My hand tightens around the letter, crumpling it. “I will not force that on Clara. She will make the choice herself.”
If it were anyone else, Elizabeth wouldn’t give two shits about the human claimed. But since the day I was turned, she has attempted to dig her claws into me, and now Clara will pay with her life because I had thought I wanted revenge.
“They still don’t know about Rosalie… no one does,” I admit after a long silence.
“Then it is even more imperative that you mark Clara. Unless you wish to see her dead.”
I pace the room. After several strides, my muscles feel weak, threatening to give out on me. I almost say I wouldn’t mind seeing her dead—but that is no longer true.
Stumbling, I manage to catch myself against the wall. My breathing grows ragged and labored.
Even with Cherno’s added power, healing has drained me to levels I have never felt before.
Cherno flies over and lands on my shoulder. “I am sorry, Master. I gave you what I could, now you must feed and rest.”
I nod. “Find one for tonight, bring her to the atrium, and make sure she is willing. And,” I add as an afterthought. “Clara’s ankle is twisted—if you could take care of that. It shouldn’t require much power.”
With that, I straighten and head out of the office to my room down the hall.
The matter of Clara has grown complicated. I feel as though I am losing my mind when I am near her. Even after knowing what she did, I still can’t seem to keep my distance. Touching her is like a drug. Though my heart and body are at war.
When I first traced Rosalie’s blood to her, I thought she was nothing more than another cold-blooded killer, trying to justify her crimes so she could feel vindicated. But then she had saved that human girl, a child she didn’t even know… and last night.
There were a thousand chances for her to cut me with that dagger, win her freedom, or outright kill me as she claimed she wanted to do so many times. And yet she had my unconscious form and used that very blade to protect me.
Clara must be marked… I’ve thought to let her draw blood so she can leave or just breaking our bargain and sending her away, but even the thought of doing so is impossible. I am too selfish, too weak.
I don’t want to let her go.
Despite the roaring fire along the far wall of my room, making shadows dance as it warms the air, it feels cold and empty.