Dinner With a Vampire (The Dark Heroine #1)(48)
Author: Abigail Gibbs

Even I could admire her strength. All through this she had kept it together; even after Ilta’s crime she still had a sharp tongue on her; could still face Fabian; and could still hold her own. But what I had just experienced unnerved me. It had been a glimpse of something more: something not so strong.

I thumped my palm against the stone, groaning as the light from the moon was shrouded by dark clouds. Rain began to fall, slowly at first, but persistent, becoming heavier.

I sighed and turned back inside, but not before glancing at Violet’s darkened windows. I knew Fabian was there.

Shutting the doors quietly behind me, I fastened the lock, and drew the curtains. Walking towards the bed I grabbed a slip of paper from the drawer in my bedside cabinet.

I didn’t hold much sentimental value for things, but the piece of heavy, tear-stained parchment in my hands meant more to me than immortality ever would, or even could.

I sat down on the bed and under the watchful gaze of my mother’s emerald eyes and my father’s steely grey ones, silently read the first line. Their portrait loomed above me, dominating the mantelpiece, a constant reminder of happier times.

‘My dear beloved son, Kaspar …’

I didn’t turn the page. I couldn’t turn the page.

THIRTY-TWO

Violet

Vampires are not gentle, loving creatures. It is not in their nature to change, or to adapt, to accept others. Their love is not what humans would call love, and lust consumes them on a level we will never understand. They do not grow old as we do, but age as stone does: they gradually weather, slowly perish, so slowly it is unnoticeable. But in the end, stone is a fixture forever, as are they.

I’d found that passage in a book in the library. It was a self-help guide for humans caught up in the vampire world – the existence of which had given me the first real reason to laugh since Ilta.

I couldn’t become like that. I was a dhampir, a shadow of what they were capable of, and that’s how I always hoped it to be.

What are you, a bloody poet today? my voice asked, filling my mind with a mocking snigger. I ignored it.

Fifty-four days, I had been at Varnley. Almost two months. I passed through the empty living room, heading for the kitchen. I shuddered, as the cold air rushed past. It’s getting wintry, I thought.

I paused, as I heard a distant whisper of movement.

‘You should really guard your mind better, Violet.’

It was soft and gentle, yet still menacing. Female?

I frantically looked around, searching for the source. I threw up huge barriers around my mind too, concentrating on the coldness of the passage and the coldness only.

‘Behind you, Violet.’

I whipped around. Nothing. ‘Who the f**k are you?’ I screeched, my breathing becoming erratic and raspy.

‘I know what happened with you and Fabian, you little human slut!’

My head was thrashed against the wall and I shrieked. My vision tunnelled, and I blinked, dazed. When my vision cleared, I managed to focus on the face in front of mine.

‘What the hell?’ I breathed. ‘Lyla?’

She pinned me to the wall, her eyes a blazing jaded green, mixed with the awful crimson, pupils contracting as her eyes constricted to black and back.

‘You kissed him, you f**king bitch! You know I like him and yet you still went ahead. What the f**k is wrong with you?’

I stood there dumbfounded for a moment, before anger rose. ‘I’m not a bitch! And as to what the f**k is wrong with me, what about what’s wrong with you?’

Her grip tightened around my arms, her nails digging in. ‘You don’t even deny it! Why the hell did you do it?’ She scowled, wrinkling her nose. ‘It’s bullshit that a human can just walk right in here, cry a bit and get what the hell she wants!’

‘That’s what you think, is it? Well, let me tell you something.’ I imitated her scowl. ‘I would never touch any of your kind. So maybe you should go and ask Fabian personally what happened, because I certainly didn’t start it!’ I shot her a smile, making to break away. It didn’t occur to me that Lyla might be truly angry and that that anger could drive her to bloodlust. I couldn’t ever believe that Lyla would hurt me.

‘Liar! Your memories say everything. You enjoyed it, didn’t you? Probably the best kiss you’ve ever had, but you’re not getting any more of it. Stay away from Fabian, or else …’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Or else what?’

She raised a finger to my cheek. Her deep purple nails were sharpened and tough, able to lacerate flesh. So when she slowly ran a single nail down my cheek, it gouged right in, leaving a bleeding scratch behind. She took the finger to her mouth, sucking on my blood.

‘Sweet. And I don’t know, maybe I will tell everyone that a certain brother of mine spent some quality time with you last night. I’m sure they would love to know that poor attacked Violet is all better now.’

My mouth fell open. ‘You wouldn’t!’

She shrugged. ‘I won’t if you stay away from Fabian. Have a nice day, Violet, you slut.’ She smiled sweetly, turned on her heel and disappeared, leaving me gobsmacked.

She’s blackmailing me!

I had seen what jealousy can do to people. But never did I imagine that Lyla was the type.

I don’t have a choice.

I wiped the blood from my cheek and took several deep breaths to calm myself. Composure was key. I slowly set off in the direction I had thought I had come, still taking deep breaths. I hoped and prayed that the scratch was not that obvious and self-consciously fluffed my hair around my face – nobody in the kitchen commented, but Kaspar’s eyes never left my cheek the entire time I ate.

‘Please play!’ Thyme begged, grabbing hold of my knees. I shook her off, staring at the door. ‘Violet,’ she continued to whine. ‘Pretty please play!’

‘Thyme,’ I replied, exasperated, and she tugged me by the hand as I sat on the bottom step of the staircase in the entrance hall, refusing to move. ‘I keep telling you, I don’t feel like it okay?’ I wrenched my hand from her surprisingly strong grip and her lips trembled. But somehow, I just couldn’t feel sorry for her as I usually did. Too much was running through my mind.

Thyme had recruited me to help her search for her absent nannies – neither of which we had found – and, resigned, I had agreed to look after her whilst the others attended a council meeting. The entrance hall was empty, devoid of the butler that usually guarded the doors. Most were attending the meeting. But that was the least of my worries.