Page 21

Nineteen

ALEC

She’s safe.

She’s not screaming anymore.

She moves a step in my direction, her hands positioned to protect herself should I attack. Charming, but unnecessary.

I glance at the scum who believed they could barge into my home, pushing aside the dismay they succeeded. It’s testament to how badly Sinclair needs her powers back, to get the cure effective once more before more try the same. At least she’d be able to fight.

But, for now, their bodies need to be removed from her vicinity. There’s a head across the room I need to retrieve, but doing so means going near her, and being near her means I won’t be able to stop myself from checking over her body.

“Th-thank you.”

She’s thanking me? Thankful I showed up at the precise time the asshole tried to sink his fangs into her neck—into skin that no one will be touching. She’s thanking me for nearly having her killed, all because I left her alone, assuming a few hours would be fine.

I underestimated my subjects.

“I mean, I know you did it because I’m some sort of commodity to you, but still…if you didn’t show up when you did?—”

“They’d still be dead,” I cut her off, rendering her misplaced compliments as meaningless. “They’d have mortality for a moment before reaching the same fate.”

“Still…”

Still, you’d have been bitten in that outcome.

“Thanks,” she finishes, her hands coming together.

I don’t know why it’s those words that do me in, but I’m across the room in an instant, looming over her as my red-coated vision studies her closer. I’ve already checked to ensure neither of them harmed her, because their deaths would have been a lot more drawn-out if so. Only when seeing her up close, when confirming she’s untouched, does the red fade to a pink, then to black again, and my normal vision returns. I force an unnecessary breath into my lungs, keeping out the scent of the corpses behind me while only accepting the sweet notes of her gratitude. My hands itch to touch her, to feel she’s alright, but they form fists instead.

“Don’t thank me. Ever.” It’ll never be in your best interest, Hellion.

I turn for the discarded head resting by the fireplace, hissing with the sudden movement. One of them managed to scratch me during his attack seconds before I ripped his head off. As much as I’d prefer not to do this in front of her, I need to see what I’m dealing with and lift my shirt to inspect the damage.

The score marks are deep. Injuries to vampires never last long, but ones delivered by a fellow immortal tend to leave lasting marks. It’ll take fresh blood to speed up my healing.

“You’re hurt,” she exclaims, her bare feet rushing over the carpet to my side. A natural warmth radiates from her, despite the chilling scene she endured. But worse is the faint trace of concern. Concern for me is the last thing Sinclair should ever feel.

Her hands reach for my side, that very warmth coming temptingly close, but I manage to keep my head on long enough to twist away, my snarl a warning to her and a reminder for myself. A reminder that tonight has changed nothing about my greater plans.

When her arms drop and a flash of hurt crosses her expression, I continue to ignore her and swipe the head from the floor. “I’ll heal. Don’t get your hopes up.” With the head in hand, I grasp his body and hoist it over my shoulder, kicking the heartless one as I pass. “Don’t touch him. Stay where you are.”

“Alec—”

“Stay.”

I run downstairs to drop the corpse by the door before rushing back before she’d have a chance to move. I grasp the second and ignore the sting radiating from my ribs with the extra weight. This time when I exit the room, I lock it, not trusting her to not take advantage of my injury and the recent situation.

I deal with both bodies, placing the four pieces in random places around my property as a deterrent. It takes minutes before I return to the castle and retrieve the items from the Sinclair household where I left them in the foyer when she screamed.

She fucking screamed.

She didn’t even scream when I kidnapped her.

She screamed , and something inside me wouldn’t be stopped until she no longer had anything to fear.

The noise, her fear, it rattled me more than it should have.

I hate it. Hate that it affected me at all. Hate that I had a million and one ideas on how to draw out their deaths but only one became possible: the quickest one. The one that’d protect her the best.

He almost bit her. He almost bit my Sinclair witch.

Taking the box, I run up to my bedroom to leave it before seeking the mini fridge of fresh blood bags, all stolen from hospitals. Not because I’m moralistic, but because hunting humans isn’t always possible and, given how irritating they are, I don’t keep live ones around.

Except her. But she’s not food.

I grab two. Downing the first one, my skin begins merging back together, the sting lessening into a mere irritation. With the second one, as well as the bag of her clothes, I return to her bedroom, unlocking it without a knock.

She’s settled into a chair but whips around at my entrance. Her heartbeat drives up like a hummingbird’s, though immediately slows when she sees it’s the familiar monster and not another stranger.

“You’re back.”

“Always astute in your observations.” I lower into the second chair, glancing towards the window, where her attention was before my arrival. She likely saw me run into the forest with the deceased vampires.

“You okay?”

“Unfortunately for you, yes. Blood will heal me quicker.” I lift the unopened bag to my mouth and stab a fang into it, sucking the liquid. The metallic taste is a fraction of the faint flavour she gave me the other night, and it’s with that annoying thought I glare.

She eyes the bag before facing the window. “Huh.”

“Huh what?”

“No human trailing behind you. Not what I expected.”

“They’re for breakfast. Blood bags for supper. Easier that way.”

Sinclair crosses one leg over the other until her body is slightly tilted away. Her spine is straight—too straight—and her breathing slows. I don’t know why, but before the lie sits too long and she truly believes my joke, I correct, “Kidding, Sinclair. You should learn to laugh more. It’d do you some good.”

She turns her head, hair brushing over her shoulder. It draws my attention to her neck again, to where she was nearly bitten. “So there are no humans chained up somewhere?”

“You’re the only living being,” I admit. “Humans are too pesky to have around long-term. I don’t oppose feeding from them, but only if I seek them out.”

Her cheeks lose a bit of that blood as they whiten. “Right. What about the one at your party?”

“Hired service. One willing to be discreet enough.” I eye her neck again, wanting to shift her attention to something that isn’t my personal life. “Are you okay?”

Some of the colour returns to her cheeks. “Wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. When the door opened, I assumed it was you. Given who you are, I didn’t expect vampires to find me here.”

“It shouldn’t have happened,” I confess, my own apology hovering on the edge of my tongue. Except it’s not needed, therefore not happening. If Sinclair didn’t lose her magick, the cure would function as normal, and we’d have a lineup of customers paying for sips of her blood.

What happened clearly didn’t spark enough to reignite her powers. Which is unfortunate, because it would have been one benefit.

“Their names were Laz and Nikolas, if that helps.”

Neither I recognize, but perhaps Cedric can dig something up. He has a better connection with more of our brethren, considering he’s so often on the move.

“Should I ask why you know their names?”

“They talked a lot before you showed up.”

If they skipped taunting her, I wouldn’t have made it back in time. I swallow my dismay around the blood bag, draining it before discarding it on the floor.

“That’s it then? You’re all healed?”

“Heal ing . Give me an hour. Without the blood, it may have taken until tomorrow. If they weren’t vampires, it would have been almost instant.”

“Oh. You’re quite open about your kind.”

“Not like you can use the information to your benefit.” My amusement fades at the sight of her scrunched brows. With a sigh, I concede, “Ask what you want to. It’s all but written on your face.”

“Do you sleep in a coffin?”

The random question throws me enough, I laugh. Of course, this witch would ask that of all things. Harlow Sinclair is as interesting as they come.

“No. I enjoy my bed too much.”

“So you do sleep?”

“Occasionally. Our sleep needs are much different than a mortal’s, or even yours.”

“Huh. And here I pictured you getting into a skinny box and folding your hands over your chest.”

“If you’re referring to that ridiculous movie based on that equally ridiculous book, Dracula , you’re wrong. Although, the fact you’re picturing me sleeping at all might be something we need to chat about, Hellion.”

She doesn’t take the bait, instead leaning on the armrest, her eyes open in childlike wonder. “So Dracula is just a story and nothing more?”

“Oh, he’s real,” I confess, thinking of the millennia-old vampire. “But Bram Stoker didn’t record his story correctly. Also, no one’s seen him in a few centuries.”

“Have you met him?”

“Very few alive have.”

“That didn’t answer the question.”

Another sigh. “I have not.”

“So Mina’s real too?”

“Who’s Mina?”

She snorts and leans back. “Guess that answers that. You called the book and movie ridiculous; you’d know who Mina was if you read or watched them.”

“One doesn’t have to consume something to know it’s incorrect.”

“Wow.” She shakes her head, the hint of a smirk reassuring me tonight’s danger has fazed me more than her. “You can’t make claims about something you don’t know. In the book, Mina was a woman Dracula was compelled by, enough to try to curse her into becoming one of his brides. In the movie, she was a reincarnation of the wife he had during his mortal life, and that’s why he was interested in her.”

Based on that summary, perhaps Bram Stoker didn’t have it entirely wrong.

“Hm.”

“ Hm. That’s all you have to say?” Her voice climbs.

“I was thinking. If Mina actually existed for the real Dracula, the book version would be the most plausible. He was drawn to her, obsessed over her until he got what he wanted. It’s very…my kind.” I shift, uncomfortable suddenly with where the conversation is dipping to.

Leave it to Sinclair to probe further. “What do you mean?”

“It means vampires can’t love. Most of the mortal emotions stop existing after we’re reborn as an immortal. Love isn’t possible, but we obsess— strongly , fiercely, almost violently. From the outside, it might look like love, but never mistake it as such. Our obsessions run deep, and we’ll do everything and anything to sate it. There will be nothing in death or life that’ll keep us from the source of our obsession. That’s the closest thing we have to love.”

“Oh.” She’s silent for a while, only the rhythmic thrumming of her heart suggesting she isn’t finished with this topic. She’s analyzing my words, considering what more to say, so it’s not a complete surprise when she asks, “Have you ever had someone to obsess over?”

My reply is an unbothered fact. “No.”

She finally drops the subject, and we sit in a silence that’s unnerving because it’s nothing like I’ve experienced with her. She’s staring out the window while I observe her, gawking much too long at the notes of orange mingling with red. The small brown freckles that decorate her cheeks and wrap towards her forehead, a speckling of stars that make Sinclair glow brighter, enthrall me.

A peace radiates from her despite what happened tonight, almost like she has no idea how close to a different outcome it could have been. The blood staining the carpet behind us is a mere prequel to the pain I could have caused and the horrors she could have witnessed instead. I was gentle— too gentle—with their deaths. It happened too quickly to sate my need . The very need that has my hands clenching around the armrests before I act and do something so utterly stupid, there would be no turning back.

Then she speaks, no louder than a whisper, and it’s a set of words that throws my axis off-kilter.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Alec.”