“I won’t,” I whisper, turning my attention back to her. As starving as I am, as close as the sun is, I’m desperate for shelter. I can fight the monster that demands to be fed for a little while longer.
Without another word, Ada walks out of the room. She pauses to bend over and pet a calico cat, murmuring a greeting to it. The cat complains as she moves away, and when I attempt to inch closer to pet it, too, the creature recoils and lets out a spittle-filled hiss. I drop my hand immediately. Some things you just can’t force—especially when there’s a cat involved.
I edge past and, not sure what else to do, trail after Ada. We go across the hall and into a kitchen. My footsteps are heavy on the old linoleum floor. “Who brought you here, girl?” Ada asks as she walks to the stove and sets a kettle on the burner, igniting the flame underneath. Every movement is deft and graceful.
I stand a few yards away, uncertain of what to do with my own hands. Eventually I clasp them in front of me. “Humans who work for my family. I mean, where I came from.”
She stops to meet my gaze. “I hope you realize those humans risked their lives for you,” she says.
A chill races down my spine. I’d been in shock last night, partially numb to everything that was happening, so it hadn’t really sunk in then. How badly things could’ve gone wrong for the four humans that helped me.
I thought they’d been treating me coldly. Looking back, I realize that it was fear. Silent, tense fear for their loved ones and their own lives.
The Vampire King finds success—or what he considers such—in ruling with fear. As a result, Alexander Travesty is also known for his violent punishments. Events like floggings in Midtown or, when bored, releasing a prisoner in Calyape Park with a twisted ultimatum. If you can survive long enough to touch the wall, your crimes will be forgiven, I once heard him purr to a slave condemned for striking a vampire in the face.
The vampire didn’t even bruise, but to King Alexander, it was the principle of the thing.
I push away thoughts of royal punishments and force myself to focus on what lies ahead. I need to be worthy of the chance the humans took on me… but I’ve never been this far from home. Whenever I did venture into the city, Alexei took me everywhere. I’ve never been on my own. How am I supposed to find the sewer sector? How am I supposed to fight off a weeper? I’ve only ever seen them on recordings.
Panic sets in. My head spins, and I grab the edge of the counter in front of me to steady myself.
“Christ, you look like you’re about to faint. Sit down.” Ada nods to the stool at the counter beside me.
I slide onto it with a heavy exhale, willing the dizziness to recede. After a few moments, my vision rights itself and I can focus again. But I still need to feed. That nagging hunger, the burning in the back of my throat—they’re both growing stronger. Violent impulses tug at me like quiet, dark little demons.
The whistle of the kettle snaps me out of my haze, and I watch Ada pour the boiling water into what looks like a handmade ceramic mug. “Tea?” she offers, surprising me.
“I need blood.” I’m thinking out loud, hardly aware of my own voice venturing into the stillness. When I do realize what I’ve said, my head snaps up, my eyes round with horror.
Only thunder replies to my thoughtless words, a low growl that makes the floor tremble.
Still wearing a remote expression, Ada dumps several spoonfuls of sugar into her mug, stirring it with a little metal spoon. “I have tea,” she says flatly without glancing up.
“No, thank you.” It takes conscious effort to shove down the thoughts of feeding on whatever human I can get my hands on first. Maybe that girl playing chess… she looks like an unpleasant person anyway…
Just then, new voices echo down the hall, and my head snaps up yet again. More humans. My pulse quickens, and I cringe when my mouth waters. My cheeks burn as the voices grow louder, closer, but there’s no time to flee before the voices cut off. Several humans appear in the doorway and halt when they notice me. Ada makes a sharp gesture in my peripheral vision, and they quickly backtrack out of sight.
“No fucking way,” a soft female voice says a moment later. “Is that the Quiet One?”
My brows knit together and I glance at Ada questioningly, but she doesn’t turn from the stove. “Keep walking,” she calls, and the voices retreat once more, allowing my pulse to return to a normal pace.
I shift on the stool, and my eyes wander around the kitchen, appreciating the exposed wooden beams in the ceiling, the crown moulding framing the walls, and what I can only imagine is the original flooring installed when the house was built. The cupboards are wooden as well, with a soft mint green paint that’s chipping off in some places and glass windowed doors. I almost smile at the tackiness of the giant crystal knobs—the old-fashioned and quirky decor is oddly comforting.
Ada taps her long, thin fingers against her mug, catching my attention. “You can stay two nights. By Saturday morning, I want you gone. My boarders have been through enough and they don’t need the trouble of a Lavender living under this roof.”
Relief floods through me. I press my lips together. “Thank you so much. Really, you have no idea how much I appreciate this. And I won’t even be around very much, since I have to… since I have to report to the sewer sector for work.”
She lifts an eyebrow, and for a moment, all I can do is stare—there’s something strikingly familiar about the gesture. “I’ll take payment upfront,” she says after a notable pause. “Prorated total would be sixty.”
“Of course,” I blurt, digging into my pocket to pull out the coins. Without much thought, I count out the amount and drop it on the counter in front of her.
“You’ve had all that money on you? In Oldbel?” she asks, her voice sharp. I don’t know what else to say, so I just nod. Ada starts putting the coins into a plastic sandwich bag, shaking her head as she does so. “You’re lucky you weren’t robbed in the street.”
“It’s been a strange night,” is all I say to this. I’m trying to be diplomatic, but it’s not like I had much choice—I didn’t exactly leave the mansion on good terms. Silence falls between us and quickly becomes thick with tension. I clear my throat and incline my head toward the doorway. “May I ask why that girl called me ‘the quiet one’?”
Ada turns away, saying over her shoulder, “They have nicknames for some of the royal family—to keep you all straight.”
“And I got quiet?” A faint, slightly hysterical laugh bursts from me. “I guess I should be grateful.”
“My sister wanted to name you the Mousy One,” says a male voice. I jump at the voice, whipping around to find a tall, lanky guy with sand-colored curls and a lopsided grin standing in the doorway. He continues, “But I told her that wouldn’t be accurate. Being a little quieter than everyone else doesn’t mean you’re mousy. Besides, you’re way too pretty.”
The compliment doesn’t affect me half as much as his appearance. He’s got one jean-clad leg crossed over the other and his arms folded casually over his chest. The plaid, button-up shirt he’s wearing brings out his lavender eyes. Even at a glance, I can see the ridges of muscles beneath it. His blood smells healthy and rich.