Demons take me to the Otherworld now. His constant study grows to be too much, and I fear I may lose my mind before the end of this journey. It’s unbearable. His gaze is unflinching and nearly tangible, igniting something down in the depth of my soul.
I shift for perhaps the millionth time. For as luxurious as this carriage is, the cushioned seat still hurts after sitting on it all day long.
He hasn’t moved once, at least not in any obvious way. Doesn't he have feeling in his ass anymore, or have too many carriage rides over the years killed the nerves in that area?
If I had thought he might offer me a change of clothes or a blanket when we returned to the carriage, the time I’ve spent drenched in river water has cured me of that expectation.
I will be provided anything I might need he had told me—it is laughable.
The chill bites and has soaked me to the bone, and I can barely feel my own body, which is made worse by the fact that night has fallen. A dry blanket would be lovely right now. Were I alone, I could strip myself of these clothes as they dried.
Outside, night has fallen and the wind howls, carrying upon it the whispers of lesser demons through the trees bordering the town. A thick fog rolls in, covering the ground in a pale haze.
I turn away, closing the curtain to the window next to me, and look everywhere inside, except at the vampire studying me. My gaze floats around, not finding anything in the simple design to focus on. Everything is covered in black, save for the few gold flourishes, and in the dark, those don’t shine. Eventually, I settle on the folds of his jacket.
Being cold is bad enough, but having someone glare at me for hours on end is only adding to my sour mood—even if he has the face of an angel. For the last hour we have circled the town, driving up and down every street, at least once. I’m just about to open my mouth to deliver a derisive comment when the carriage jolts to a stop.
Mr. Devereaux swings the door open and steps out of the carriage, not bothering to look back. He stands there patiently, not moving or saying a word. I suppose it’s better than being ordered about like a dog.
After a moment, I step out, my muscles stiff and aching from the cold, and my lack of movement. When I look up, I see we’ve stopped at an inn, The Grand Manor—though there is little even I would consider grand about it. Two other carriages trot away, having dropped off their passengers moments before we arrived.
Following a step behind him, we enter the inn. The lighting is dim.
The interior is far more beautiful than anything I’ve seen in Littlemire—wallpapered walls, polished wood surfaces, gas lamps on the walls lighting the inside. Exquisite fabric and décor clutter the sitting room off to our right, and between that and the clerk’s desk is an elegantly designed staircase leading up. Then to the left is a set of closed doors. I wonder if it leads to the dining area.
“Keep your head down,” Mr. Devereaux says quietly to me.
Instinctively I obey, keeping my eyes locked on the dark, filthy floor as we walk forward to the clerk’s desk.
Water drips from my hair and clothes, creating a puddle at my feet. As much as I cannot stand him, I couldn’t bring myself to further ruin the luxurious fabric of the carriage by ringing out the water.
I keep my chin tucked to my chest but manage to catch glimpses of the others. The vampires stand in a neat line, each with a human by their side. There are seven claimed humans altogether, but only five vampires, including mine. The humans are all clean, and one woman, little more than a girl, with hair the color of gold dipped in strawberry syrup is even in a pristine white dress—the color of those who actually worship these monsters.
Unlike them, I’m covered in grime and soaked. But I don’t regret saving that little girl.
I clench my hands into fists. It’s humiliating to l look this disheveled and wretched. So I square my shoulders and lift my chin, looking straight ahead. Some of the other humans look terrified, two of them look… happy. My lip curls in disgust.
None of them share a look that comes close to the anger I feel.
The girl in the white dress turns to look at her new vampire master and beams up at him. I think I’m going to be sick. The look of pure adoration is nauseating.
I flick my eyes up at Mr. Devereaux, he’s looking straight ahead, a little too interested in the inn keeper’s ramblings as he hands out the keys. He’s doing everything he can to avoid meeting my gaze.
Standing here, it’s all I can do to keep my teeth from chattering. My entire body trembles. If I didn’t know better, I would think I was shaking in terror for the life that awaits me, and the painful death he has all but promised me.
Eventually, the vampire at my side is handed a single room key.
I barely hold in my protest. One key. One room. This day keeps getting worse. The only thing I can hope for is that all of us humans will be shoved into a small room while the vampires get their luxurious rooms to themselves. Though deep inside, I know that won’t be the case.
Mr. Devereaux turns from me without word or gesture and walks away. He doesn’t even look back to see if I follow. My eyes narrow at his back. I have half a mind to stand here until he’s upstairs and then just walk right out the front door.
My shoulders slump. Wishful thinking. If I tried to leave, he’d catch up to me before I made it halfway down the street—and that’s if the demons didn’t get me first—And no doubt I would be slain right then and there. But I’ve already pushed my luck for today.
Reluctantly, I follow him up the stairs and through the narrow hall.
A few guests peek out through small openings of their door. If he notices, he doesn’t show any sign, but I feel the heavyweight of their gazes. Hushed whispers follow us. I try my best to ignore them.
“Vampire whore” reaches my ears in a hiss more than once.
I want to correct them. I want to tell them the truth—that I hate him as much as they do—perhaps even more.
My face burns as I glare at his back. I know he hears the words as well as I, but he makes no move or effort to say anything to the contrary.
Mr. Devereaux stops at the last door in the hall and enters. I stop at the threshold. I can’t seem to make myself go further. The room is small and dark. And there is only one bed, and I don’t for a second believe I could claim it above him. This was a room made for a single occupant.
The thought of being in such a small space with a vampire who commands attention, who seems to swallow up the entire room even when he’s trying to blend in with a wall… it will be suffocating just as it was in the carriage.
I think of Xander… he would be furious to see me forced into such a situation.
“Come in and close the door,” the vampire orders.
His tone is gentle and soft, almost sad, it throws me off guard. It takes a few seconds for me to remember who I am, remember what he is. I steel my spine and command my heart to harden to stone. Whatever the cause of this sullen state he’s sunk into, I will feel no pity for him.
I step through and close the door behind me. It locks with a soft click, but the sound resonates with finality.
A fire crackles in the fireplace on the far wall with a worn lounge chair. To the left is the bed. On the far right wall is an old dusty window with thick drapes pulled to the side to let the moonlight in, and between it and where I stand is a table with a single chair.
This room was definitely made for one person. I expect I will be sleeping on the floor tonight.
The warmth from the fire makes the cold water soaking my skin chill me even more. I stand on just this side of the door and study the vampire's profile as he looks out the window into the night. Shivers rack my body and, try as I might, I can’t control them.
He drags his gaze to me and takes me in. Though his expression is blank, I feel small beneath his gaze.
“Strip,” he says.
My blood runs cold.
Demons take me… this is going to be worse than I ever imagined. Worse than him drinking my blood until oblivion swallows me.
“I will not,” I snap. I will fight him until I breathe my last breath. If he wishes to kill me, then so be it, but I will not allow him free range of my body.
He sighs and rolls his eyes—the bastard has the gall to roll his eyes at me—then crosses the room in three long strides and grabs my wrist. “You will unless you wish to die from the cold.”
With his iron grip, he drags me by the arm to the fire, only letting go once I stand before it. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself. The heat does feel good, but if he thinks I’ll strip in front of him, then he is as delusional as he is evil.
A knock startles me. I stay put as he goes to answer it. I peek over my shoulder to see a thin man drag a trunk inside. He has a trunk of clothes but couldn’t be bothered to let me grab anything.
The two men speak softly, then the door closes. He drags it to the foot of the bed and rummages around for a moment before pulling out a white garment.
He hands it to me and says, “Change into this.”
It’s not a question or a request but a demand.
I will not spend the few remaining moments of my life bowing to his every whim. I open my mouth to protest but he shoves it into my hand, then spins on his heel and leaves the room.
I wait several seconds, expecting him to return. Then it dawns on me that he left to give me privacy. I lift the garment out at arm's length, and I can feel the blood draining from my face.
It’s one of his shirts.
The thought of wearing this feels far too intimate.
Another shiver racks my body, and I decide not to be too picky about it. I quickly remove my wet clothing that clings to my skin and slip the shirt on over my head. It’s long for a shirt, coming down just below my butt.
I’m still cold, but the dry cloth feels wonderful on my skin. It doesn’t cover as much of my legs as I would prefer. The collar gapes open and shows a good deal of cleavage.
I step toward the trunk, determined to look for another item or two when the door opens. Mr. Devereaux strides in, stopping when he sees me. I flush, knowing I was about to rifle through his personal belongings.
His eyes darken, but he says nothing.
We stand there as he takes me in, and I feel more exposed. I quickly grasp the collar closed with one hand, my other arm coming up to cover my breasts.
I have never been so bare in front of anyone before. Not even Xander. Our hurried meetings were always under the cover of night and never fully undressed.
I move toward the window, as far from the bed as I can get. I sure as hell don’t intend on sharing it with him—especially when the look in his eye makes my stomach clench.
He walks past me as I brace myself for a verbal sparring match. He removes his jacket, tossing it carelessly over the chair, and loosens his cravat. I turn my back to him and try to pretend I’m not entirely terrified.
“Are you going to stand there all night, shivering?” he asks from right behind me. “It is like you have no sense of self-preservation.” Then under his breath, he adds, “Though I suppose you wouldn’t… not to do what you did.”
What in the Otherworld is going on… why is he suddenly worried if I’m cold?
He waits a few seconds more, his eyes slightly narrowed. Then he reaches around me and pulls the blankets back. “Get in.”
I don’t move, and his eyes slit farther.
“What about you?”
“Would you rather sleep on the floor?”
I shake my head and crawl in, covering myself with the threadbare blanket. The mattress is lumpy and uneven, but I don’t complain. I turn my back to him. A move I hate because I don’t trust him. But I force myself to anyway because I refuse to show him fear.
I hear him on the other side of the room, and I peek over my shoulder. He’s laying out my clothes by the fire so they will dry. I quickly turn away, not wanting to watch any longer. The fact that he’s doing that confuses me.
I squeeze my eyes tight and snuggle deeper under the blanket. I can’t seem to get warm.
Despite what I want him to think, I am still terrified he will drain every last drop of blood from my body at any moment.
Silence fills the room, and once more, I glance over my shoulder. He’s standing at the window, staring into the pitch black of the night lit only by the pale crescent moon. He practically oozes melancholy with that sorrowful expression on his face.
I will not feel sorry for this monster. I refuse to be his prisoner—despite his claims that I am not, and as soon as I’m able, I will break free of him, even if I have to kill him.
I try to stay awake, not wanting to sleep, but eventually, my body stops shaking, and the heavy weight of sleep pulls me into its warm, inviting grasp.