Dinner With a Vampire (The Dark Heroine #1)(23)
Author: Abigail Gibbs

‘I wish, Violet, that you could have seen us all before it happened. You would think of us differently then.’

I said nothing. I couldn’t agree. That hate of vampires was embedded deep within me, passed from generation to generation, all the way back to those first humans, who had first learned to fear these powerful creatures.

‘And with her died any hope of peace with the humans and the slayers. Now the war is just getting worse.’ He squeezed me, as though I wasn’t on the opposite side of this so-called conflict. ‘It will destroy us, unless you’re one of those who believes in the Prophecy.’

I prised myself away and lowered onto the arm of the chair. ‘Prophecy?’

‘The Prophecy of the Heroines. Some eighth-century crackpot predicted that if nine ‘chosen heroines’ find each other and learn to work together, they could create a lasting peace between us and humanity. But why leave something so important to fate? Everyone believed that the Queen could do it … but now we have to wait for the impossible,’ he finished in a bitter undertone.

‘But do you know what the worst thing is, Violet?’ he asked after a long pause, which included the flexing of his fists. ‘It was planned. We had an anonymous tip that someone within your government ordered her murder. We don’t know who. But I swear, if I ever find out, I will drain someone they love, so they know what it is like to lose someone. So they can feel that pain too.’ He finished, growling, lips rolled back. His eyes were blood red, but flashing to black and back.

I drew back, scared of this side of Fabian I knew of, but had never seen. He looked down at me, his blond hair falling over his livid eyes. Immediately, his expression softened, and his eyes returned to their airy blue.

‘I’m sorry, Violet. You don’t want to know this,’ he murmured softly. He pulled me back to him and I sank onto the arm of the chair, letting the onslaught of information sink in, fitting its way around what I already knew. It made so much sense.

‘You need to go to bed,’ Fabian’s musical voice chimed in my ear. I nodded, my eyes dropping.

I felt him begin to lift me and, in seconds, I was being lowered onto soft sheets. My eyes were just about open when I saw him sweep down. For a moment, panic swept through me, but it faded as his lips, as cold as they would be on a winter’s day, brushed my cheek.

‘Sweet dreams, Violet.’

I heard a click and the lamps went out. Lazy thoughts drifted in and out of my mind, forming the beginnings of dreams.

My father had entered government just three years ago. He didn’t like vampires. My eyes flew open, and I sat bolt upright in bed.

He couldn’t have, could he?

It’s a coincidence, I told myself firmly. A coincidence. Anyone could have ordered her death. Desperate, I placed all thought of it into a box in my mind, locked it and chucked away the key. I would not think of it again.

FOURTEEN

Violet

So much time passed here unnoticed, as if the sands of time seemed to take pleasure in dropping when my back was turned. Before I knew it, the sun had set over the Varns’estate, Varnley, and the moon would be rising, if it were not covered by menacing storm clouds that rolled in over the forest-covered hills. It had started raining earlier, just as it had on my first night here. I gave the weather merit – the rain persisted right through the afternoon and well into the evening and still fell as night drew in.

Just as I changed for bed, the first flashes of lightning illuminated my dark room. Great shadows were cast on the walls, and I watched, almost in awe, as forks were sent rocketing to the ground. Seconds later, great clasps of thunder echoed over the valley. The voiles covering the French doors swayed a little, as the fierce winds found there way through minute cracks in the frame. I slipped into bed, forcing the childhood fear of a storm aside and pulled the sheets tightly around myself, banishing the cold. I screwed my eyes shut and waited until I fell into an uneasy sleep.

A cloaked figure swept his way through the forest, deep into the parts where rogues ruled. Rogues like himself.

He didn’t make a sound as he walked, his movement fluid, graceful as a lark, but stealthy as an eagle and as fast as a falcon. He had been compared to them all and he enjoyed that.

The figure knew the path well, so he need not look down. Instead, he focused on the ever-nearing building: his destination. It was an ornate building, but quite insignificant considering what it concealed. It was not large and was built entirely of grey stone – granite, perhaps. The figure did not know, and he did not care.

A breeze blew through from the open door, and eager to be done with his business, the cloaked figure descended the steps inside, taking three at a time, impatient. When he reached the bottom, had he been human, he would have felt the considerable drop in temperature and the chill in the still air.

He bowed his head, not out of respect, but to prevent bumping his head on the low roof, and walked quickly down the long corridor, passing the resting place of charred corpses of long-dead vampires. His footsteps were the only sound in the darkness and even he admitted he had to strain to hear them. He smiled to himself. Not even the rats dared venture down here. His ego swelled, knowing only he had the courage to explore the dark depths of the catacombs.

He came to a room and allowed his eyes to sweep across it until they came to rest on a young girl, tied to the legs of the stone throne that guarded the tombs. Her head drooped and there was no colour in her cheeks. Huge gashes on her neck oozed blood and her clothes were ripped, leaving her almost naked – he could see that her young, once-smooth br**sts were covered in small scratches and her stomach looked red and swollen, like she had been punched several times. The frayed rope tied around her wrists had gauged out chunks of skin, and a bone penetrated the skin where her ankle should be.

He looked on, disgusted. The rogues could have at least brought him something a little more appetising. He would think her dead if he could not see the pitiful rising and falling of her chest.

He stepped forward. His footsteps echoed in the silence and, startled, the girl raised her head, her eyes searching the gloom and struggling to focus.

‘W-who are you?’ she croaked.

‘Who I am is of no concern to you, but what I am is,’ he taunted, parting his lips to reveal his two sharpened canines.

Her eyes widened in fear, and she attempted to scrabble back, but the ropes binding her prevented her from doing so. ‘Please—’

He cut her off. ‘What is your name?’

‘S-Sarah.’