Page 50 of Dark Flame

“I’m glad you’re okay, Alec.”

Twenty

HARLOW

“You sounded worried.”

Worried? No. Never. Not about him. Even if the marks on his side lookedreallybad. If I’m lucky, when he crawls into bed—bed, not coffin—the injuries won’t be healed, he’ll die from blood loss, and I’ll be able to escape.

A senseless fantasy, of course.

“No one knows I’m here, and I’d rather not starve to death. Speaking of, I’m hungry, if you’re feeling generous enough to feed me today.” I’d eaten the final granola bar hours ago, despite debating holding off until I had the guarantee of more food.

“Apparently I’m feeling quite generous today.” I assume he’s talking about the fact that he’s the reason I didn’t become a meal for Laz and Nikolas, but then a bag gets dropped by my feet. “Here. I’m tired of you smelling like the dungeon.”

It’s an insult and a compliment rolled into one, returning pre-attack Alec to me. There’s a comfort in the known, so I’m pleased about his standoffish personality. Curious, I flip open the bag, immediately recognizing it as one from my room. Inside, I find my clothing. Various tops, pants, and even more pyjamas. At first, a sense of gratitude consumes me, but it’s quickly replaced by alarm when realizing where he got these.

“You went to my house.”

Wordlessly, he reaches beside his chair and retrieves something else before handing it to me.

Gram’s grimoire. It was hidden in my closet, placed there after Mom’s and Dad’s deaths, when I had no more magick and couldn’t bear to look at it. It was a painful reminder of learning my powers the first time.

“For that,” he explains. “If you’re going to relearn your magick, then you need your spell book or whatever that is. Something witchy to connect you to your powers.”

His kindness makes sense. He went to my house for himself, not me. Still, glancing towards the bag of fresh clothing, it’ll make this hellish situation slightly better—for now, at least.

“The book won’t re-spark my magick. Witches are born with their powers and come into them with puberty. The grimoire simply helps with potions and spells. Like a recipe book.”

His expression pinches, and he waves his hand. “Then use the book to un-age yourself and redo puberty or something. Do whatever you must until you’re able to go bibbidi-bobbidi-boo and make the cure functional.”

Yet another no.

Right now, Alec wants my magick more than I do, which means he’s vulnerable to making deals.

One of my hands curls on my lap, slightly disbelieving what I’m about to do. The other pushes into the armrest. “Not until you give me something in return.”

“Your life isn’t good enough?” A brow arches, but he doesn’t look away from the window. “Besides, how I see it, I already saved you tonight. You owe me.”

Rage flashes down my spine, forcing it straight. “You saved me because you think of me as your property.”

“Youaremy property,” he snaps, his attention flicking away from the window.

“Fuck you. I want to knowexactlywhy I’m here. I want your history and how it links with my family.”

Something passes over his expression. His eyes narrow in the corners, his hands gripping the chair’s armrests. Then he sighs like I’ve asked him to slice off a fang.

“Fine,” he grunts. “You won’t like it, though.”

“Was I supposed to enjoy the kidnapping?” I ask sarcastically. “Maybe I’ll start accepting shit if I know the reason behind your actions.” I never will, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Whatever you say, hellion.”

He casts me a look full of doubt, but after a moment, sweeps me into a tale of another time, another world. A history I could never have dreamed up, and a nightmare I’d never want to.

“I lied when I said I was a king in my mortal life, and that I conquered this place. It was always mine to inherit because I was the prince, heir to the throne, son to the ruling monarch. Only, I took it from him much earlier than intended, so in a way, I did conquer it. My father wasn’t a good man, even by history’s standards—which, I should note, are much different than present. Parents followed different rules. Ethics and laws were crueller. And mine were the cruellest I knew, to both me and my sister, Cora.”

A sister? The asshole vampire is abrother? Somehow, I don’t get that from him. Siblings are supposed to love one another, have a good bond and all that—not that I have personal experience—and imagining Alec having loved anyone, even when love was a possible emotion for him, seems impossible.