Page 10

Nine

ALEC

That fucking witch. She isn’t that stupid?

I touch my lips, wiping away drops of her blood, seeing them stain the tips of my fingers.

She is. She fucking is.

I spit whatever blood I can out, praying my body ingested very little. But still, it doesn’t change the fact I’ve officially tasted the witch; the one whose blood smells like temptation brought to life.

She tastes fucking divine , like I first assumed. My hunger amps up, my vision turning red with bloodlust. I may have drank only hours before stalking her house, but Sinclair has me feeling like I haven’t eaten in a month. Like I’ve been starving myself and she’s the answer. The need to drink and to never stop.

Hunt.

Chase.

Feed.

Fuck.

It all switches on, which confirms one thing: her little plan failed. I’m not mortal. Since only my tongue got a small taste, I assume my system didn’t absorb enough to trigger the change. Even so, that minor lick was enough for my every sense to attune to her.

In the half a second of lucidity before I’m completely taken over, I think, admittingly with a bit of admiration, that she’s the only Sinclair to try to ever change me to get free. Her plan was clever, and disconcerting for me that I hadn’t suspected she’d do something like this.

Hunt.

Instantly, I’m at the top of the stairs, staring down the long, stone hallway lined with tapestries and stained-glass windows. She’s almost at the end, near the foyer, where her chance of escape is. Her breaths come out in rapid succession, her heartbeat so impossibly loud. She’s more scared now than when she was running through her neighbourhood, probably because she knows . She knows what she’s done, the monster she’s enticed.

Chase.

Without having been changed, I’ll beat her to the door.

But now, I’m fucking pissed. While I have no desire to alter my plans, the primal side of me is demanding to end it altogether—to end her life. She thought she could win, and I’ll prove to her every way she will not.

Hunt.

I take a regular step before pushing myself down the hall, my speed making me a blur until passing her and stopping at the front door, only feet from where she’s running to.

She gasps, nearly slamming into me, but I snap a grip around her neck and squeeze, spinning us both to shove her against the doors. Fear radiates from her, the scent almost as pleasing as that blood of hers. I could very well drown in both. She scratches at my hands while her legs kick; both motions are useless.

“Hellion, you’ve made a big fucking mistake.”

Snarling, I press close to her. She’s soft, softer than any woman I’ve been with since my human life. Vampire women are different…colder, vicious. Miss Sinclair is probably all hearts and flowers. Good and Light, masking the very grimness reflecting in her expression—the truth behind her.

“Wha…?” She trails off, scanning me, pausing on my fangs, erect in their rage and hunger. “It didn’t work,” she whispers, going limp with defeat. “It should have.”

I pinch on the spot that’ll cut off her airways, careful not to make it fatal. “Seems you’ve overestimated yourself.”

“Why didn’t it work?” She claws at my hands.

I don’t answer, my mind and body not exactly equipped to handle a conversation meant to depict the rationality of how the curse within her blood functions.

“Your life might be dependent on the fact it didn’t, so be thankful. Now, give me one reason I shouldn’t end your life like you tried with mine.”

I squeeze tighter, earning a gasp but no plea. Shame. I want to hear her beg for her life. Beg me for something only I can give her. Show me a bit more of that fighting spirit that drove her to this ridiculous plan.

Her ancestors all died too quickly. A few meager attempts with magick to beat me, but in the end, I still got them. This one is the only one putting up a halfway decent fight, and another side of me enjoys it. The primal side is demanding I let her go so she can continue fighting, making a game out of her freedom, all while I play with my prey.

Hunt.

Chase.

Feed.

Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Why strangle her to death when I can set her free on my land and hunt? Maybe I’ll take days to track her, purposely letting her live every second in terror that at any moment, any turn, any tree, I could be right there. The unknown will kill her well before I do.

The chase, the hunt…it’ll do.

She scratches at my hand, her nails doing nothing to my hardened skin. “You can’t kill me. You need me.”

“ Need?” I roll the word around in my mouth, its flavour sour and unwanted. “Believe me, I need nothing from the Sinclairs. You were a passing opportunity and nothing more. Don’t believe your life has more value to it.”

“Fine.” Her eyes flutter shut with her concession, and for that I nearly let her go. My grip loosens, confused she’s giving up. After all that, she’s decided not to fight?

The part of me that wants to dominate and prove she’s prey to my predator is upset. The game hasn’t gone on nearly long enough, leaving my cravings unsatisfied.

“Kill me then,” she continues, her voice both soft and hard at the same time. “Death will be better than this miserable existence.”

Hunt.

Chase.

Kill.

…Protect.

The red covering my eyes fades ever so slightly into a dark pink. A bit of lucidity returns, and my hand loosens more.

Protect.

Why is that singular feeling almost as strong as my need to kill her?

Through my confusion, I repeat her last words in my head. They weren’t a plea to be saved, but an agreement to die.

“Why would you want to die?” I prick the tip of my tongue against one of my fangs, using the sting to stop me from acting on one of the few feelings coursing through me. “You give up too easily.”

“Because life isn’t worth living anymore.”

I release her entirely, laughing as she falls to her feet, clutching her throat. “And that, Miss Sinclair, was your second mistake today. You want to die, so you’ve given me every reason to make your pain live on.”

With my next deep breath, my fangs retract into my gums and my eyes return to their normal black, vision in full colour once more.

She glares at me, watching my transformation. “Why don’t you ever call me by my first name?”

“Given names are a sign of respect, and Sinclairs have never deserved mine.” I spin on my heel and snap my fingers. “Now, follow. We must get you ready.”

Her steps don’t trail behind me right away, not that I expect them to. She won’t attempt escaping again, even as she’s right in front of the main doors. Her plan failed, and I anticipate her conceding for good, given the limited outcomes of any attempt she has in her.

“Then what should I call you? What’s your last name?”

So she learns. Once on the bottom step, I peek over my shoulder, studying her standing there clutching her oversized shirt, her ridiculous pyjama pants dirty from her time in the dungeon. Are those pineapples all over the pink pants? I’ve never seen a witch seem so…human. It’s unnerving.

“Earn it, and maybe I’ll tell you.” I take another step, and this time, so does she.

“How?”

“First, by following. Second, by obeying every command I give you tonight.”

“What’s happening tonight?”

“You’ll see.” I end the conversation by walking up the stairs. She’ll follow, or she’ll continue making unwise decisions.

After a moment, her quiet paces trail behind me, those damn flat shoes making annoying slapping noises against the stone. They’re almost eye roll-worthy and soon will be gone. Burned so I don’t have to be subjected to them anymore.

I lead her all the way to the guest wing, every paced human step I’m forced to take exasperating. It’s unnatural to move so slowly, but finally we make it to the spare room I had prepared for her to use.

I push open the door to the bedroom and cross to the ensuite bathroom, hovering until Sinclair appears in the doorway. Lips part as she takes in the room that’s much cozier than the cell. For one, it has a bed.

“What are?—”

I snap my fingers, ending the stupid questions. The whys and whats are unimportant. Her little stunt downstairs has already put us behind. Within the hour, hundreds of vampires will descend to get a look at what I’m selling, and she should be shackled in place and ready before then.

“Into the bathroom. Shower. There’s soap for you to use. Don’t wash your hair because we don’t have time for you to dry it, and looking like a drowned animal won’t do. There’s a brush in there, and a dress. Once you’re ready, meet me out here. You have fifteen minutes beginning now. Do not make me come looking for you.”

Her brows lift as she slowly treads into the bedroom, staring at the large bed with longing. “You’re letting me shower?”

“Yes. You stink like a cell. You forget, vampires have heightened senses and no guest of mine deserves to be subjected to you. Get clean.”

Her eyes narrow into little violet flames that match the vibrancy of her hair so perfectly. “Gee, sorry, if I knew kidnapping was on the calendar, I would have showered and primped for you.”

“Yes, well, next time be smart and think ahead,” I reply, playing into her sarcasm. She forgets, I’ve had centuries at perfecting an attitude, and once lived with a woman who was much more irksome than her. “You’re down to fourteen minutes.”

I drop into one of the two armchairs positioned beside the unlit fireplace. In recent years, after a lot of convincing, I had a modern heating system installed in the castle, rendering the ancient fireplaces useless. The temperature makes no difference, hot or cold, but I was reminded that if I wish to keep this Sinclair alive, the place needs to have some human, livable conditions.

Propping my chin on a hand, I regard her from across the room. She hides her anxiety and hatred well as she stares back unblinkingly at me.

“Give me one good reason why I should listen.”

“You want my last name, don’t you?”

“Not that bad.”

“Your life.”

“Again, I gave you permission to end that downstairs.”

Yes, and that permission made me uncomfortable. “You’re getting clean one way or the other. How you get into the shower is dependent on you in the next thirty seconds. Either you march your ass into the bathroom or I wash you.”

Sinclair scurries across the room like a little mouse and, with a final glare, enters the bathroom and slams the door shut.

“If you drown yourself, I’ll change you into a vampire myself as punishment,” I call out just loud enough she’ll be able to hear me between the thin wood.

Now there’s an idea, especially if she keeps pissing me off. End the Sinclair line by turning her into one of us. Her ancestor will roll over in her grave—or wherever her coven placed her body. The cure would be no more, but the Sinclair bloodline will live on forever, suspended in time.

Maybe in the future when she’s outlived her worth.

Shutting my eyes, I focus on the sounds coming from behind the door. The shower switching on, her steps moving through the room, clothes hitting the tiled floor. The water loses its sharp pelts to softer ones as she steps beneath the spray, and her sigh is loud enough, it’s like she’s standing right beside me.

I watch the time tick away on my cell and after about seven minutes, the shower turns off. Another one, and her towel drops to the floor. My staff were instructed to hang the dress on the back of the door, so if I can guess, she’s retrieving it now.

Exactly at the fifteen-minute mark, the door opens again and the little Sinclair emerges, dressed in the gown I chose before retrieving her from the dungeon.

She looks up, that vibrant red hair dry as I’ve instructed, falling in a wavy curtain around her face. Her gaze no longer holds hatred, but curiosity.

What’s even more curious is the thought passing through my head. The one I’ll never dare admit, even to myself.

Exquisite.