Page 32

I can only smile. This must be a dream. A man has come to save me.

“You’re drunk,” the voice says. “Come on.”

The tapping gets hard.

I feel a twinge of pain from a slap, but it’s not enough to…

Ow!

Something pierces the skin on my neck.

My eyes fly open, and all I see is long, thick black hair as Priest buries his fangs into me. I attempt to scream, but instead, it’s that horrible feeling of having the scream die inside you. Nothing comes out but raw, ragged gasps.

Priest lifts his head and looks at me through his dark lashes, amusement dancing in his eyes, a trail of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

What a beautiful, evil creature he is.

“I’m just getting you back for spilling my blood,” he says in a low voice. “Or should I say, your blood.” He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair off my face. I can’t help but flinch at the gesture. “Plus, I can see that you got into the wine. I brought you some food to help with that.”

I blink as he grabs my shoulders and pulls me up until I’m sitting with my legs tucked to the side. It’s only then that I notice he’s holding a wooden plate with a few slices of bread on it smeared with something shiny and yellow. He puts it down and starts to untie my hands.

“Promise you’ll behave, and you can have something to eat.”

I nod eagerly as he undoes the rope. My wrists ache from having been restrained for so long.

“Here,” he says, handing the plate to me. “It will make you feel better. You shouldn’t drink wine on an empty stomach.”

“My stomach isn’t empty,” I manage to say as I take the plate from him, my hands shaking, the muscles weak. “The last thing I ate was your hand.”

A ghost of a smile comes across his lips. It’s rare to see him smile—then again, there’s never been much to smile about—but when he does, even if it’s just a hint of it, it lights up his whole face, as if, in that moment, he’s no longer a man of shadows.

You shouldn’t want him to smile at you, I tell myself and bring my gaze down to the bread. It just means he wants to eat you.

“Have you had human food before?” he asks, and to my surprise, he sits down across from me on the floor. “Have you had bread?”

I nod. “Jorge would sometimes bring me scraps from his dinner, though I often shared it with his dog.”

“So, tell me: who was this Jorge?” he asks. He’s trying to sound casual, but there’s a strain in his voice.

Is it possible he’s jealous? Should I lie?

Maybe a little.

“Jorge was someone I befriended,” I say cautiously. “A human. He worked for his father’s shipyard in a place called Acapulco. He said it belonged to New Spain. Does this place belong to New Spain too?” I gesture to the room with the plate.

Priest nods. “We are in Chile, but it is part of the same empire. It’s funny; you’ve never once asked where you are.”

“Maybe it’s never been important until now.”

Maybe I never had hope of escaping until now.

“So, this Jorge, he taught you how to speak?”

I nod. “He did. We met every evening after his dinner. He and his family lived on one of the large ships. We would meet at the end of one of the docks, out of sight, stayed up most of the night together for a year, at the very least. He taught me everything he could about humanity and human nature.”

He clenches his jaw slightly. Ah, he does seem jealous.

“Did this Jorge end up being your first…”