Satiated. Not completely… but enough. I recline in my chair at my desk and gaze into the fire across from me. I have nearly forgotten how completely satisfying it is to give in to what I am. Though I frown. Were it not for Cherno, when I drank that willing girl’s blood after dinner, I would have been far too close to losing control.
I was careless, and the girl could have died. I had overestimated my willpower, and the moment my fangs had pierced her skin, she was nearly lost. Rosalie would have had my head for my carelessness of a donor.
“You almost waited too long,” Cherno says from their perch on my shoulder.
“I know.”
“You put that girl and Clara’s life at risk.” There’s more than a touch of admonishment in their voice.
“No, I wouldn’t—”
Cherno flaps their wings, smacking me on the side of my head. “You would. You can only control your bloodlust for so long until it takes over on its own. Do not be a fool, Alaric.”
I clench my jaw and reach up, scooping them off my shoulder and looking into those big red eyes. “Stop that, you little demon.” I drop my head. “I don’t know… I haven’t wanted to,” I admit. “I can’t even take a sip at dinner without Clara glaring at me.”
“Then bite her and take her blood.”
I shake my head.
They hop down from my hand and crawl over the desk. “What do you hope to gain from this bargain?”
Again, I shake my head. “I should hate her… I do hate her for what she did to Rosalie… but every time she is near—”
I want her.
It is a damning truth. A curse to want the very creature who took away the one soul I had left in this world.
“Leave me. I have other business more important than some damned bargain with a mortal,” I say, resting my face in my hands.
Cherno says nothing more. There is only the flapping of their small leather wings, and then I am alone with the crackling fire.
I look at the opened letter on my desk. I had assumed Elizabeth was once again requesting my presence, but the news was far worse. It had, in part, been one of the reasons I'd made the deal with Clara… that coupled with my own selfish reasons. There was little more I could have done, except demand she allow me to mark her, to bind her to me—but she would have refused outright. I would have wanted her to refuse.
After a long moment, I stand. Enough moping. Enough dwelling. There is nothing I can do to stop the future from happening. Snatching the crystal decanter from the shelf, I pour some of the amber liquid into one of the glasses. I throw my head back and relish in the burn of it. Then I pour another, sipping this one slowly, enjoying the taste.
I freeze as I turn. Clara stands in the doorway, ready for a fight. But my mind is too weary for such a thing tonight.
“Good evening,” I say. “Are you here to draw blood?”
She marches up to me, a storm in her deep brown eyes, the color nearly drowned out by her pupils.
“I… I would rather die than kiss you,” Clara hisses.
I nod and turn away, taking another draw from my glass. It has been less than an hour since I have consumed the blood of a mortal woman, and still the urge to pull Clara to me is strong.
I rest an arm on the fireplace mantle and get lost in my thoughts, hoping she will leave if I ignore her.
Seconds later, I realize that small hope is in vain when she moves to stand before me, hands on her hips. I take another sip, her eyes following the movement, and I see the moment she realizes it isn’t blood.
“What is that?” she asks.
“Brandy,” I say. Then after a short pause, I add, “Would you like some?”
She eyes the liquid suspiciously. Her gaze roams to the decanter behind me on the shelf, then slowly, she nods. Good. The last thing I want to do with her right now is fight.
I pour her a decent amount, and she is achingly careful to take it by the bottom of the glass to avoid touching me. A move I find both amusing and disappointing.
Clara sits on the floor with her back up against the desk, foregoing the chair before the fireplace, or the one behind the desk. She is an odd human. I have seen more than my fair share of ladies, and Clara is nothing like them. Were her qualities to be written down and applied to anyone else, they would seem undesirable, but she has a way of being comfortable in her own skin in such a way that those same qualities fit her like a glove.
I grab the decanter and sit on the floor next to her. I watch every movement as she brings the glass to her lips and takes a sip. She sighs and leans back, so her spine is relaxed rather than ramrod straight for once.
“This is good… thank you.”
Clara holds the glass in her lap. The fire and storm in her when she first entered the room has fizzled out.
The hour ticks by in silence, then two, and then three. As we each empty our glasses, I refill them until every last drop from the decanter is gone. It is strange to sit next to someone I should have killed the moment I discovered her crime, knowing she wishes for my death as well—and have a moment of quiet and… I wouldn’t call it understanding, but something akin to it.
The small clock on the mantle chimes three in the morning.
She turns to me, setting her empty glass on top of the desk. “I should go.”
I want to protest. I want to ask her to stay until the sun rises. Instead, I nod and rise with her.
Her hand goes to her side, pressing against her skirt. I know instantly from her tell that she has the dagger stashed away there. Then she drops her chin and says, “Thank you.” The tone is demure and overly sweet and false.
Clara pulls back her arm and thrusts it forward. I catch her wrist easily enough. She's too slow, even if she hadn’t had alcohol dimming her senses. I keep my hand where it is, even when the strength goes out of her arm, and the dagger clatters to the floor.
“That didn’t take long for you to change your mind.”
Her eyes are locked on my hand, encircling her small wrist. My grip is light, and she could pull away if she tried. But she doesn’t move.
“Now, it’s time to pay for your failure.”
Now, she drags her gaze to my face. I watch her throat bob as she swallows nervously. Pink stains her cheeks, but there’s heat in her eyes—fury. “I want to renegotiate the deal.”
“A deal is a deal,” I say, setting my glass next to hers. I lean forward and turn my face slightly, pointing to my cheek.
Clara lets out a slow breath then leans forward, her eyes close as her mouth nears my jaw. I turn and her lips are on mine. I pull her close with one arm and tangle the fingers of my other hand into her hair.
Her lips are softer than I imagined, and for a brief second, her mouth is hard and unyielding, but then she becomes pliant against me, responding to every movement and demand I make. The brandy is sweeter on her lips.
I could get lost in her.
Clara’s teeth graze the bottom of my lip, then clamp down.
She lets out a soft gasp of surprise as I pull away. The slightest taste of copper is on the tip of my tongue. She bit me and broke the skin. It is a curious thing for a human to bite a vampire. Heat builds in my core, along with amusement.
I throw my head back and laugh. I think I will enjoy this one.
Clara presses her palms to my chest and pushes herself from my arms.
“You cheated,” she accuses.
I shake my head, not regretting anything. “No, my dear Clara, you were the one who tried to cheat your way out of our bargain. I told you that when you try to cut me, I want you to mean it. If you didn’t want the kiss, then you shouldn’t have made such a poor attempt.”
Anger colors her face now as she glares. Her fists clench at her sides.
“The attempt was sloppy. You rushed it,” I say.
I wonder if she will insist that the no touching rule will remain in effect when she isn’t trying to stab me. But she doesn’t, and that pleases me more than it should.
She sputters but, in the end, says nothing.
“If you want to have any chance at drawing blood from a vampire, you need to work on your tells,” I say, bending down to pick up the fallen dagger. I hand it to her by taking her hand and pressing the hilt into her palm, emphasizing the point that she initiated the touching. “Not to mention, your timing and speed could not be worse. You will need to do far more than expertly hide this on your person—which I will assume is always on you.”
Clara is shaking with indignation, she huffs and spins on her heel, storming out of the room.
I can practically taste her anger in the air.
She can detest me all she likes, but she will thank me someday.