Mark of Betrayal (Dark Secrets #3)(130)
Author: A.M. Hudson

I didn’t realise I was standing on my toes until I relaxed back and felt shorter again. “So, you think I shouldn’t meddle in this, because the lie works?”

“It’s not a lie, my lady. It’s a misconception—and that’s the truth. The problem with that is, no matter how many men read those scrolls, it is subject to the opinion of the interpreter.”

“So, do you even think there is a prophecy?”

He hesitated. “I hope so.”

Mike came out from the east wing staircase and started toward us. “Hey, Ara, what’s up?”

“Library,” Arthur said quietly, touching my shoulder. “Eight o’clock tonight.”

I nodded, and he disappeared. “Hey, Mike. What’re you doing?”

“Heading home for the night.”

“Home?”

“Yep.”

I noticed the duffle bag over his shoulder then. “Why?”

“Well, aside from the fact that I am clearly not needed here,” he said spitefully, but smiled at me after. “There’s a bit of a problem with Emily.”

“Is she okay?”

He shook his head. “She just screamed down the phone at me—told me to admit that I don’t love her.”

“Oh. Why?”

He shrugged. “Guess I’ve just been so busy I haven’t really had time to call her and tell her otherwise.”

“Mike,” I groaned. “You always do this.”

“Do what?” He followed me to the front door.

“You were great when you were with me, but before that, half those girls you dated ended up sobbing piles of neglected waste. You…I don’t know, it’s like you want them there when you need them, and that’s it.”

“It’s not like that with Em.” He sighed and opened the door. “Okay, in truth, it might’ve been like that with the others because I didn’t love them, but I do love Emily.”

I shrugged, staying inside as he stepped onto the front landing. “It’s not me you need to convince.”

He leaned in to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see ya tomorrow. Oh, before I go—” He pulled out his phone and stood beside me, holding it up. “I gotta snap a recent pic for your mum and dad. I’ll drop by and tell them all about my holiday to Paris.”

I smiled for the photo, stepping away from Mike after. “Tell Dad I said hi, and give Sam a slap for me.”

“Will do.”

“And…take your time, Mike. We’re okay here,” I said, leaning on the doorframe.

“No, I gotta be back tomorrow arvo for training.”

“Why? We can train without you.”

He grinned. “I know. But I’m sparring with your dead husband’s brother again.”

I shook my head, groaning, and slammed the door in his face. “Pig.” I couldn’t believe he’d rather get back here to kick Jason’s butt instead of staying and making sure his fiancé felt loved. That poor girl. A part of me started to wonder if maybe she deserved better than Mike.

“She does.” Jason popped up out of nowhere.

“God, don’t do that.” I touched a hand to my heart.

“Sorry.” He walked alongside me toward the stairs. “So, did you get Arthur on board?”

“Yup. Eight p.m.”

“Okay.” He bounced off. “See you then.”

“Bye.” I waved.

After pressing send on a dad-appeasing email, I sat back and looked out the giant window in the library. My House had kindly decked out a few desks with modern research tools, called computers, and were in the process of digitally cataloguing all the books. We’d even hired a librarian, who would arrive in about three days.

Beside me, a few neutrally-coloured hardbacks, covered in two inches of dust, gave off a stuffy, mouldy kind of smell. I slipped my fingers under the one on top and dragged it down in front of me, swiping some of the dust from the cover, then gently opened it; the pages were old and yellowing on the edges, kind of stuck together. It took a bit of extra care and effort to part some without tearing them.

I read over the titles and text of historical events, looking for something of interest, and each time I flipped a page, the scent of ancient paper became stronger, almost reminding me of the way libraries smelled when I was a kid, like it had changed somehow—faded as I grew older. Then again, maybe it hadn’t. Maybe I just didn’t notice it so much anymore.

Halfway through the book, an image stared back at me, one I knew well from my studies at school; Vlad the Impaler, enjoying lunch around a forest of staked bodies.

“This is one of my favourite books,” Jase said, pointing to the page. “All these stories are the human versions of historical events, and here—” He flipped one page over. “Are the original versions.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiled and sat down beside me.

“So, you guys started the Vlad legend?”

“Yup. Drake did, actually.”

“How?”

His eyes flicked over the page a few times, a small smile on his lips, then he looked up. “That’s right, now I remember. He was fond of impaling as punishment—used it for offences like infidelity or cruelty to one’s wives.”

“Really? Cruelty I can understand, but, infidelity?”

“Yeah, and this picture—” He flipped the page back over to ‘Picnic Impalement’. “This is a depiction that Drake himself described to the original artists, so it could be published in a local news rag, showing what would be done to any who continued to break those bonds.”

“Bonds?”

“Marriage bonds. The promise to love, honour, protect and obey.”

“He’s big on promises?”

“Vows, yes.”

“Wow.” I ran my fingers over the page, studying the face of Vlad. “This looks nothing like Drake.”

“I know.” Jason stood up and wandered across the room. “It wasn’t supposed to.”

“Oh.”

“Hi, Ara.”

I glanced over my shoulder and smiled at Nate as he walked into the library—that confident human bounce still a part of his step. “Hey, Nate. What’s up?”

“Nommuch.” He leaned on the table beside me, his hands under his hips. “Bored. What you doin’?”

“Just looking at this. You might be interested in this book, actually,” I said, turning it around for him to see. “It’s all about stories that were made up by vampires.”