His offer is tempting but pointless. I would have compelled her myself if the thought of doing that to anyone didn’t disgust me.
“That will not be necessary,” I say.
And now it truly won’t. Clara will not need my mark.
“I will not be able to keep this a secret from Elizabeth. You know that. She would have my head on a pike if I even tried.”
“I know.”
“Then, you’ll do it?”
“I will make sure that Clara is taken care of,” I say.
It is not a lie. I have every intention of making sure she is safe long before I must leave for Nightwich. It will be tricky, but it will work.
There is no other choice.
Chapter Eight
Clara
Kitty is engaged to a young man named Abraham Morgan. It’s a good, strong name, and he comes from a good family.
I’m stunned and so happy for her. I don’t know how she managed to secure the engagement. Perhaps they fell in love and his family overlooked the meager dowry I'd managed to save.
I clutch the letter to my chest and hurry down the hall. I want to write back and congratulate her.
I come up short as I go to round the corner that will lead to my rooms when I nearly run into Della, with Cassius and Victor a few paces behind her. While Victor shows no emotion, the smile on Cassius’s face borders on sensual in an unnerving way.
Della’s eyes narrow, glancing from my face to the letter I hold to my chest. I smile demurely and move to walk along the wall, almost expecting one of them to stop me, but they don’t.
Once I’m back in my room, I leap onto the bed and read the letter a dozen times over. Abraham, her fiancé from what I can tell, he is completely enamored with her. When she mentions him, her handwriting swoops more and has a hurried look to it. I can tell she is just as infatuated with him.
Soon, Kitty will have everything I’ve ever wanted for her.
And yet, under all my happiness, I can feel my heart trying not to break because I will not be there for the happiest day of her life.
A knock on the door startles me. Looking up for the first time since I sat down, I realize several hours have passed. The door opens before I can get up to answer it, and Alaric steps in, closing it quietly behind him.
“Are you all right, Clara?” he asks.
I nod and he is at my side in a second. I flinch. I don’t know if I will ever get used to his ability to move so fast.
“Kitty is to be married in one month,” I say.
“And that upsets you?”
I grab one of his hands. “No, I couldn’t be happier for her.”
He cups my cheek, a thumb brushing along my lower lashes. “Then, why are you crying?”
I pull back and wipe the backs of my hands over my eyes. “I’m just sad I won’t be there,” I say.
There is no chance for me to draw blood and win my freedom now. Doing so with the other vampires present here would be a death sentence. Our bargain is on hold until we return after the Solstice Masquerade.
I pull in a breath and hold it as I look into his night blue eyes. He quirks a brow as if he already knows what I wish to ask.
“Alaric, I know I have to stay here… but, if I could go home, just for the wedding and return, then…” I trail off entirely unsure of how to end my request. Then what? I would be a good human pet?
Those are things I cannot promise. I still want my freedom. I want to return to Xander, to be near my sister… to live the life I always strove for.
The two of us might have an agreement to appear as though we are bound together, to act as if I belong to him, but that doesn’t change the reality—I would never choose to be here, and Alaric wants me alive to pay for killing his sister.
Alaric’s expression darkens. He looks as though he is trying to find the words to let me down gently. The thought of him refusing already makes my heart ache. My emotions bubble over in the form of hot tears that prick my eyes.
“Clara…”
“Alaric, please.” I hadn’t intended on begging. Why would he grant this? He doesn’t owe me any favors. And there’s no reason for him to trust me, regardless of what was said yesterday.
“Of course, you can go, Clara.” He slides off the edge of the bed and stands. “I will send you first thing in the morning. You can expect to be there within a day and a half. Mrs. Westfield will make you some food for your journey.”
It takes a minute for his words to register, but when they do, I leap off the bed and throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist, and pressing my face into his chest. He stumbles back two steps before steadying himself.
“Thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me.”
At first, he doesn’t move, then slowly, he returns the hug. “I think I have some idea.”
My mind races with all the things Kitty and I will have to catch up on. I start to pull away, mentally listing everything I will need to pack, but the arm around my waist doesn’t budge.
He crushes me to his chest and dips his head, resting it in the crook of my neck.
I hold my breath, not sure what he is doing. His breath glides over my collarbone. There’s nothing possessive in him, and with each passing second, the feeling of melancholy wraps itself tighter around us. I can't put my finger on why his embrace gives me that impression—only that the longer he holds me, the more I feel as if I am losing him.
But he isn’t mine, and I am not his. You can’t lose what never belonged to you.
He is a vampire. More and more I have to remind myself of that fact, because he makes it too easy to forget.
I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head on his shoulder.
When was the last time we were truly enemies? Though if we aren’t, I’m not entirely sure what we have become.
He is kind and gentle. Vampire or not, he means something to me…
Upon meeting, I would have gladly killed him, and though he claimed the same, I don’t think he has it in him to hate—to feel anger and pain, yes—but not hate. He is a better person than I am.
Alaric moves his head slightly, his mouth brushing across my skin. Demons and saints… I could drown in him. But I can’t allow that to happen.
His mouth hasn’t moved from my neck, and I can’t tell what he's thinking. Does he plan to bite me, ensuring I have his mark before I leave so he can force me to return?
“You promised,” I whisper.
Alaric stills. I am afraid he might still mark me… but mostly, it scares me that I’m not repulsed by the idea.
He pulls away, his face an emotionless mask. His eyes darken with what looks like hurt.
“Alaric…” I say.
“Let me look at your arms,” he says, stopping me from saying whatever excuse I would offer.
If he wanted to mark me without my permission, he would have done so already. There was no reason to mistrust him… in truth, I think I did not trust myself.
Alaric takes one of my arms and pulls up my sleeve, then the other. The marks on my skin are still bright pink and tender. The skin puckers where it has knit together. They will scar. But I am alive, so I will take it.
“They are healing nicely, but you should keep them wrapped for the next week.”