Home > The Vampire Curse(7)

The Vampire Curse(7)
Author: Ali Winters

“Don’t be rude, Lawrence,” she admonishes.

She drapes herself on his arm. She could be his wife, but there is a coldness to her stare, and his posture has stiffened, so I don't think things are quite so simple between them.

“You are right, how intolerably rude of me,” he says without the slightest shred of sincerity. “Lady Valmont, this is Della Moore.”

The red jewels that adorn her glint like dark drops of fresh blood against her pale skin. Della extends her hand as if she expects me to kiss her knuckles? Yeah, that is not going to happen.

“It is good to meet you, Mrs. Moore,” I say, ignoring her hand.

Lawrence’s mouth ticks up at the corners. Della looks insulted. For a second, I think I’ve messed up and they all know the truth. But Alaric doesn't give any corrective hints. No looks, no words, no gestures, or warnings.

Before I can dwell on it, Lawrence leads her away. The short-haired vampire approaches. He still wears an expression that borders on contemplating taking my blood, even with Alaric at my side.

“Good evening, lady,” he says. “I am Victor Conners.”

We exchange greetings and speak about the view of the grounds. All the while, Victor watches me with his unwavering brown eyes.

A shiver works its way down my spine. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t blink often enough, or maybe it’s an emptiness in his eyes, or how he intentionally shows me his fangs each time he smiles or speaks.

I drink another glass of wine during the time we talk.

By the time he leaves, my shoulders and back ache from the tension that's been building since I walked into the room.

The woman with the tray walks by. Alaric goes to wave her off, but I take another glass before she moves out of reach.

There is only one vampire that has yet to approach. He talks to Lawrence and Della near the fire. He hasn’t looked in my direction since the moment I walked in.

Alaric and I sit on the settee behind us and he pulls me to his side. I try to relax as best as I can—which is nearly impossible with this cursed corset squeezing me. So, I focus on the glass in my hand. My cheeks are warm, and a buzz fills my head. Even my body tingles in a strange but not unpleasant way.

“Are you not hungry tonight, Alaric?” a voice like warm velvet croons from the side.

I freeze before looking up into the emerald eyes of the one vampire I have yet to meet.

“You have not had a single drop of blood tonight, and yet your pet is right here.” Unlike the others, he does not introduce himself, nor does he speak to me, though his gaze doesn't leave my face. “She looks about ready to fly away… like a little bird,” he muses quietly, more to himself.

I dislike the way he says little bird. His expression reminds me of a cat ready to pounce. His eyes linger on my neck as if he can see the vein, pulsing, under the necklace.

I can’t think straight. I don’t know what to say or do… I can barely remember how to breathe. He is trying to force Alaric to feed on me right here.

Against my will, my heart races. The vampire cants his head to the side, listening, a pleased smile forming.

I tip my head back and finish my third glass—or is it my fourth? Or…

Alaric’s hand glides down my waist to my hip, then he pulls me tighter into his side. He dips his head and nips gently at my jaw. His fangs brush my skin, eliciting a sigh.

“I have had my fill earlier today,” he says, not taking his eyes off me.

He doesn’t insist on the two of us introducing ourselves. Instead, he keeps his undivided attention on me until we are alone again.

Alaric’s hand comes up to cup my cheek and turns me to face him. And then he kisses me, and everything falls away, everything except the feel of his mouth on mine. He breaks away to nip at my ear.

Softly, he whispers, “I think the drink has gone to your head, perhaps it is time for you to retire.”

I nod, understanding his meaning. He helps me to stand. He remains in place as I walk out of the room, my legs surprisingly steady even though my head swims from all the wine.

That wasn’t so bad after all.

 

 

Chapter Five

 

 

Clara

 

 

The tree branches are nearly bare. In the dark of night, they look like demons rising to take shape, reaching up through the forests. Silver moonlight glints off the still lake, making it look like glass.

A dull ache throbs behind my eyes. I rub my head, not sure how long I have been standing here, looking out over the grounds.

I don’t know what I was doing before. The wine must have affected me more than I expected. I’ve never had so much before at one time.

The open window lets in a soft breeze that flutters the curtain and chills the floor beneath my bare feet.

The fire in the hearth is little more than small flames and embers. It must be sometime near dawn.

My thoughts are muddled, my limbs slow to respond, sluggish as if I am underwater.

I make my way toward the window, wondering what had possessed me to open it in the first place. Every muscle in my body is stiff, and it takes all the focus I can muster to make them obey.

A motion below stills my hands as I reach for the window. Instead of closing it, I pull it wide open. I blink to clear my vision, but there isn’t enough light. Whoever, or whatever, shifts in stilted and uneven movements, then appears several yards ahead of where it was.

I press my cold hand to my forehead in an attempt to stop my mind from spinning.

The figure, both human and shapeless in form, stops in its tracks. I’m not sure how I know—it’s far too dark to make out any details—but they are looking straight at me.

Two pinpoints of red appear where eyes should be. Neither of us moves for a long moment.

A shiver runs over every inch of my skin, and my breath forms soft, white puffs in the air before me.

There is a noise… like softly spoken words that sound jumbled to my ears. I lean forward until I'm half hanging out of the window, straining to make out what they are saying. My hands brace against the ledge, nails biting into the damp wood, made soft by the recent rains.

Get back inside. If my hand slips, I will topple forward and fall out. And it is a long way down.

Whoever… or whatever it is repeats the same string of words, over and over.

The features begin to take shape. The eyes flash bright, and a wicked smile forms across the mouth that wasn’t there a second ago.

Demon.

Run… run… My mind screams the command, but I remain rooted in place, a prisoner in my body. Run!

I suck in a lungful of icy night air. I’m released, stumbling backward several steps before managing to catch myself.

As I back away, black, smoky plumes rise to my window, blotting out the world on the other side. It hovers, growing impossibly thick.

Demons cannot enter homes unless invited.

Hoarfrost forms on the windowsill with a slow crackle, then spreads down the wall to the floorboards. The black mass outside continues to condense.

I take a step back and freeze. My heart nearly stops as the demon slides through the open window like a heavy fog.

It pours inside through the opening, frost preceding in its wake—flashes of light spark and snap, a lightning storm within.

The demon circles the floor, surrounding me, drawing nearer with each rotation.

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