The Craving

The door to the kitchen opened, and Damon stepped through. “Good morning, all,” he crowed, bright-eyed and chipper. He looked rested and sated as he gave Lydia a flirty bow and me a nasty wink.

My shoulders clenched. “What are you doing here, Damon?” I asked in as innocent a tone as I could muster.

“You didn’t hear?” He sat down at the table and unfolded his napkin with a flourish. “Winfield begged me to move in.”

“Oh.” I pushed my chair back from the table, plastering a wobbly smile on my face to mask my anger. “Er, Damon, would you mind joining me in the foyer for a moment?”

Damon grinned at me. “But I just sat down and I’m ever so hungry.”

“It will take but a minute,” I said through clenched teeth.

Lydia looked at me curiously, but after a beat, Damon scraped his chair back and followed me to the foyer. “Milady, I’ll return shortly.”

The second we were out of earshot, I turned to my brother. “You are unbelievable. You’re moving in now?”

“Why thank you,” Damon said with a facetious bow. “And yes. Were you not listening last night when I talked about all the amazing . . . amenities the Sutherland abode has to offer?”

The room began to spin around me as rage overtook me. My patience with Damon’s game was over.

“Why bother with all of . . . this?” I demanded. “These shenanigans? If you’re so powerful, why not just go into a bank and make them give you all of the gold in their vaults?”

“I suppose I could, but where’s the fun in that?”

“The fun?” I echoed in disbelief. “You’re doing this for fun?”

Damon’s eyes hardened. “Tracks, brother. You’re not thinking ahead.” He frowned and brushed some imaginary lint off my jacket. “Yes, I could just steal the money and leave town. But we’re going to be around forever. Or at least I am. And compulsion doesn’t always take. In case you didn’t notice, Margaret remains quite stubborn, and having her or Winfield, should he ever shake my Power, go around waving my picture and calling me a thief . . . well, I can’t have that. It’s much easier—and more fun—just to inherit it.”

I gazed at the door that separated us from the happily dining Sutherlands. “Inherit it? As in, upon death?”

“What? Why, brother, what exactly are you implying?” he asked, pretending to be hurt. “You keep your half of the bargain, and I don’t go on a killing spree. Remember? I gave you my word.”

“No, Damon,” I said. “You said if I didn’t marry Bridget you would start killing everyone in that room. You specifically did not say anything about what would happen after we were married.”

“Good point,” Damon said, nodding. “I’d like to kill a few people in their circle. Starting with that sycophant Bram. I think he has a thing for my Lydia, you know,” he added with mock anger.

“Damon,” I growled.

His eyes narrowed. “You take care of your wife. I’ll take care of mine.”

I looked at my brother sharply. “So then you do plan to kill Winfield after he signs over his fortune?”

“For that, you will just have to stick around and see.”

“I won’t let you hurt any of them,” I promised through a clenched jaw.

“You can’t stop me. Whatever I choose to do,” Damon hissed back.

We glared at each other. My hands curled into fists. He shifted his stance, ready for a fight.

At that moment Mrs. Sutherland poked her head into the foyer. “Boys? Everything okay out here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Damon answered graciously. “We were just acquainting ourselves.” He pointed the door to the kitchen and gave a slight bow. “After you, Stefan.”

Reluctantly, I passed back into the kitchen, Damon close on my heels.

“So tomorrow we pick out our suits,” Damon said. He was acting as though we were continuing a mundane discussion from the foyer, rather than just having ended an argument over the fates of everyone in the room. “Stefan, we should match! Why, Bridget, weren’t you just saying last night how someone, I forget who, matched her sister at another wedding? Silk or something?”

He knew. He was my brother and he knew precisely how to torment me. Eternally.

“Yes, of course, Damon,” Bridget said with a gratified smile, turning to me. “Stefan, you have to hear this. I thought about matching me and Lydia, but I’m not sure the effect would be as dramatic, what with Lydia’s figure . . .”

I slowly sank down at the table, drowning in her words—and the knowledge that Damon was right. I had never been able to stop my brother, especially not when it mattered most.

Chapter 12

The next few days drifted by, chock-full of wedding planning and menu sampling. At night, the Sutherlands settled into a steady routine. Mrs. Sutherland took to the sewing room, teaching Lydia to make quilts and bonnets. Bridget indulged in a late-night beauty regime that involved brushing her hair in one hundred strokes and lathering herself in cream that I could smell all the way from the parlor. Winfield always retired to his study with a tumbler of brandy, perusing the paper or going over his accounting books.

I’d taken to pacing the first floor, coming up with plans to ferry the Sutherlands to safety only to shoot down most of my ideas. I also now needed to plan my feedings. My steady diet of city animals was harder to keep up now that I was under the watchful eye of every Sutherland and servant. It was almost like they expected me to try and make a break for it, though it was impossible to know how much of that was genuine wariness versus Damon compelling them to follow me. Sometimes I managed to slip away, whether up to the roof or silently down to the backyard to try and find a rat or pigeon or even a mouse to satisfy my needs. Hazel, the house cat, was off limits of course, but fortunately her wild tomcat friends were not.