The Craving

“Don’t trust him,” I finally admitted, hoping I wasn’t putting her at greater risk. “I don’t.”

“Hm.” She looked over at Damon, who was talking animatedly with Bram and Winfield. “Neither do I.”

Bridget had chosen the next few venues to visit as far away as it was possible to get from where we were. The mansion of the Richards was near Fort Tryon on the northern tip of Manhattan, while the Fulton Ferry dock was at the southeastern end.

The slow ride in our carriages from downtown gave me an almost panopticon’s view of city life. Slowly going up Fifth Avenue, I was amazed by the sheer difference in fortune of the people who made their home in New York—from the often shoeless newsboys and schmatta, or rag-sellers, to people like Winfield, who sat in his gilded private carriage, puffing on a cigar.

We stopped for lunch about halfway there at the Mount Vernon Hotel on Sixty-first Street, where Bridget continued to discuss her outfit for the wedding.

“. . . and Darla had her dress in muslin, out of respect for the war, but it’s almost over, and I think I should have a new pair of earrings, don’t you, Papa? Stefan, darling, there is the most fantastic pair of pearl earrings . . .”

Damon cleared his throat. “Bridget, you should absolutely have new earrings. And your outfit sounds good enough to eat, don’t you agree, Stefan?”

I stood up from the table, unable to enjoy the nice repast of cold chicken, fresh bread, fish, and tea that had been set before us, and unable to listen to another word of my fiancée’s mindless prattling or my brother’s endless teasing.

“I must go take some air,” I excused myself, and would have stumbled over the bench on my speedy way out if I didn’t have the grace of a vampire. I should not have been exhausted; I’d endured far worse. Living hungry in the middle of Central Park and hunting small prey was far more physically demanding than sitting in a carriage, looking at houses, and listening to the youngest member of the Sutherland family babble on about meaningless things. But as I had not fed since the squirrel the day before, I was famished and weak, as if I was enduring a transatlantic journey.

A quick, silent trip to the kitchens revealed exactly what I had hoped—rats, of course. Not too many, and mostly in the breezeway between the cold house and the pantry. With a flash of my hand I grabbed one and broke its neck, sucking the poor thing dry, all without losing control. It was easy, with such disgusting fare.

A low noise, a muffled sigh, made me turn and look up guiltily, rat blood leaking down my lips.

Damon stood there holding a waitress around her throat, fangs out and ready to feast. She had the dumb, slightly breathless look of someone who was under a spell.

“I see we both slipped out for the same thing,” Damon said, pleased. He raised a lip in disgust at the rat in my hand. “Although, really, you can do better.”

He lifted his head back, ready to tear—

“Please—don’t . . .” I put up my hand helplessly. “Please don’t kill her,” I begged.

Damon paused. “All right,” he said gamely. “I won’t kill her. As an early wedding present! Just for you.”

I closed my eyes, seeing the horror of the future before me. By implying he wasn’t going to kill this girl, as a present, there was the assumption that there would of course be other murders, later on.

Chapter 11

The following morning, I clutched the soft linen sheets up to my neck, as I had when I was a child. With my eyes squeezed shut, I could almost pretend I was home again. That Damon and I were still human and having our usual brotherly quarrels. That our father was somewhere on the plantation, working. That Katherine was alive.

No—wait. That we had never met Katherine.

Or . . . maybe I was in bed at Lexi’s house, unsure about my new life, but accepted in this new home of fellow vampires.

I slowly came fully awake, and my fantasies crumbled against reality. I was in the Sutherlands’ house, still a captive of their generosity and my brother’s threats, an uneager groom being run quickly into an unwanted wedding.

The Sutherlands weren’t terribly formal but nevertheless expected everyone to show up at breakfast. My dressing went perhaps slower than it might have normally, as I adjusted my sock garters until they were perfect, fiddled with my cuffs, and ran my hands through my hair. I didn’t much like looking in mirrors in those days. I hated who I saw there.

By the time I finally made it downstairs to breakfast, the entire family was well into their meal. Mrs. Sutherland greeted me with a warm maternal smile that tore at my insides. Though I felt genuinely fond toward her, she was compelled to accept me.

“Good morning,” I mumbled, slinking into my place. “Is there any coffee?”

“You seem a bit down today, m’boy,” Winfield said, tucking his watch into his breast pocket. “And a bit thin, may I add. You definitely need fattening up before the wedding—I think I’ll take you to the club today. They do a wonderful lamb and pudding.”

Lydia gave me an apologetic smile. With a shock I realized that a pretty rose-pink scarf encircled her neck, neatly covering the usual spot for a vampire bite.

Damon had fed on her.

I turned my head from the coffee that had been placed before me, my stomach churning. Unconsciously, I touched my neck where Katherine used to bite me, remembering the pain and pleasure all wound up together so sickly. Was it a message to me? To remind me of what would happen if I failed to marry Bridget?

“Stefan! Don’t go to the club until later! We have a full day today,” Bridget warned. “We absolutely must, must, must go visit Bram’s family. They just love Damon—Brammy’s been taking him to all of the latest places, like that bar that serves real English-style Pimm’s Cups! I’ll have to wear my new blue muslin. To their house, not to the bar, naturally. It isn’t a suitable place for ladies. Fanny wanted blue muslin for her trousseau, but her engagement didn’t work out, poor thing. . . .”