The smell of something absolutely divine reaches my nose, and I close my eyes, inhaling slowly, deeply, relishing every second of this moment. Because soon it will be gone. With my senses dulled since I was cursed, I am rarely offered moments of indulgence. I lick my lips, my mouth salivating as if I have not eaten in days.
“Come on now,” Holland says. “Up we go.”
I open my eyes. He is standing over me, his arm outstretched as he offers me his hand. Begrudgingly, I accept his offer, and he pulls me to my feet. I stumble, grabbing on to him to steady myself as blood rushes to my brain.
I blink several times, clearing my vision. Almost as soon as my dizzy spell hits, it dissipates, leaving me with nothing but a concerned-looking witch staring down at me. I find myself wondering what happened to Holland’s mask.
His forehead is creased, his eyes narrowed as he squints while he looks at me. Except, he isn’t looking in my eyes. Mentally, I try to follow his gaze, to see what has captured his attention so acutely. He stands stiff, his muscles frozen in time as he assesses me.
Suddenly I know what he sees, and I suck in a sharp breath at the realization. Holland’s gaze flashes to mine, and a moment of recognition crosses between us. I swallow the knot that forms in my throat and yank myself free of his embrace.
I stumble backward, desperate to put as much space between the two of us as I possibly can. I am willing to put the entire forest between us if that is what I have to do to keep him silent. I do not want to listen to his questions or hear his accusations. I just want silence, even for only a moment longer.
I see it in his eyes. The endless questions that play through his mind, the hurt on his face for realizing my secret, the fear that inevitably consumes him as he recognizes that I have far less time than he originally thought.
“Ava…” Holland whispers.
He does not hide his pain. It coats his words, wrapping around me until it chokes the life from me. Holland’s agony over my fate suffocates me, and I realize this is why I keep my secrets. Yes, I am scared to admit my fate, but more importantly, I do not want to witness these moments. I do not want to see it flash before Jasik’s eyes as he understands he must bury the first vampire he sired.
I am going to die—it is just a matter of time.
Holland takes a step forward, but I hold out my arms, stopping him in his tracks. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I cannot let them fall. If I weep now, every vampire in this manor will rush to my side. And I cannot stare down an entire nest while still maintaining my secrecy. I will break. They will force the truth from my numb tongue, and I am not ready for that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Please don’t,” I say, begging for silence but receiving none.
“How long?” Holland asks. He is not specific. I suppose he does not need to be. We both know I understand his question.
I do not respond, but not because I do not want to. My mouth has run dry, my tongue painful to move. Suddenly scorching, my skin is moist, and I dab at my forehead with my sweater. My breathing becomes loud and erratic, my heart pounding in my chest. I feel light-headed as my vision blurs, and I worry I might actually pass out.
Holland wants me to admit my lies, to come to terms with my secrecy once and for all, but the thought of doing so nauseates me. I feel weaker than I have ever felt in my entire life, and I once took a dagger to the back courtesy of my own grandmother. But this is far worse.
“Soup’s on!” Jasik shouts as he enters the parlor.
His mouth is upturned in a beautiful smile that is wide and white. His fangs hang down low, betraying his identity as an immortal creature of the night. I notice them every time he looks at me, because mine are no longer there. There was once a time when I hated what I had become, and now, I would give anything to look at myself in the mirror and not hate what I see.
Jasik’s dark-brown hair is shiny and silky, his skin pale, his eyes piercing crimson red. His body is toned and tall—much taller than me—yet as he makes his way into the parlor, dressed in his typical hunting gear for tonight’s patrol, I go weak in the knees. This dark, dangerous predator walks confidently toward me, carrying a pot of sloshing liquid.
Strapped to his torso is a bright pink apron that says Kiss the Chef in bold, black letters that sparkle. Hikari brought it home one day as a surprise for me. She included some cookbooks and said she stocked the kitchen with basics.
“You got this for me?” I had asked her in disbelief when she gave it to me. I had only asked her for makeup and clothes.
She snorted. “Do not act so surprised. You are basically confined to the manor. I thought you might like new ways to spend your time. I mean, what else are you going to do around here? A person could go crazy being locked in!”
She was right. I was losing my mind—though for other reasons—but I did need to find new hobbies, and cooking was a great place to start. Unfortunately, everyone else claimed the space, and I never made it into those cookbooks.
The moment Jasik realizes something is wrong, he halts. The pot of soup slips from his hand. Chunks of meat, potatoes, and vegetables scatter across the floor, the liquid dousing a pile of nearby books. They were probably priceless, but he does not care. He pays no attention to them, focusing solely on me.
Jasik shuffles his way through the room, crushing chunks of food and kicking the useless bound paper to the side as he makes his way to me.
“What is it? What happened?” His eyes are dark, and the concern within them makes my heart sink.
Holland says something, but I do not hear him. My attention is solely on my sire. He reaches my side in seconds, and he wraps his long fingers around my thinning arms. He holds me like this, not too close and not too far, assessing every inch of me. His gaze never lands on my neck, where my mark and horrific makeup job betrayed my secrets only moments ago.
I shake my head, losing my grip over one of the many tears threatening to spill, and it drips down to my chin. I fall against him. He wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly, and I feel like nothing can penetrate his arms of steel. Jasik is strong enough to keep me safe from any physical danger, but when I look up at him, our lips nearly grazing as he looks down at me, I see it.
In his eyes, there is defeat, because he knows he can protect me from any threat that comes knocking at our door, but he cannot save me from the greatest danger of all: the evil residing within my mortal coil. Every day, he watches as I become weaker, thinner, smaller. Every day, I die a little bit, and he sits beside me, holding my hand as I take my final breaths. I know he will always be there, watching, waiting, unable to stop what fate has already set in motion.
Life should not be this cruel.
Gaining better control over my emotions, I sniffle and push away from Jasik. There is nothing I would like more than to fall into his arms and let the time pass in his safe embrace, but I know I can’t do that. I need to remain strong—if only for my own sake—because the truth is soon to be revealed.
“What happened?” Jasik asks as I wipe my eyes and adjust my sweater. I fight the urge to leave it lopsided, where I know it will cover the blotches of mismatched concealer, but I know that will only cause more attention.
I shake my head, ignoring Jasik’s question, and I dare a peek at Holland, who stands several feet away, arms crossed, brow furrowed. He is not angry with me, but he is insistent in his desires. He wants me to come clean, to admit the severity of my situation, but I can’t. Admitting the truth makes it real, and I am not ready for that yet. I do not think the hunters are either.