Page 8 of The Vampire Court

I feel the urge to lean back into him and have his arms wrap around me. I want the subtle scent of him to envelop me…

It’s only the mark,I tell myself.

“I would appreciate that,” I say. Stepping off to the side, I turn to look at him. “But the next time you want to do something for my benefit, talk to me first.”

He agrees and leads me out of the room and down the halls.

I notice my surroundings for the first time, having been too tired and hurt to care last night. The outside of the castle was polished and gleamed, but inside, the walls and floors are made of gray, unpolished stone.

The windows are spaced so far apart there is a need for torches and sconces even during the day. It is dreary inside, and it reminds me of an impending thunderstorm. Swaths of material draped along the walls, and framed art pieces of landscapes hang in places where one would expect to find a window. It’s as if whoever decorated this castle closed everyone inside off from the real world while attempting to create the illusion of wide, open spaces.

I follow Alaric down two flights of stairs then once more through the servants’ halls until we reach a hidden staircase that leads to the dark underground of the castle. He grabs a torch off the wall and heads lower into the shadowy abyss.

A shiver of unease crawls down my spine, but I shove it away and follow Alaric down the narrow stairs. Following him blindly, with my complete and utter trust, I don’t question him for a second. I doubt it will ever matter how often he urges me not to trust him. I do.

The air is sticky and damp and smells of soured wood. We walk through several more halls with twists and turns until I think I’d be lost in this labyrinth without his guidance.

“How do you know about this place?”

He stops walking but doesn’t turn around. The torch light flickers and dances on the walls, making his shadow waver, and the steady drip, drip, drip, of water in the distance echoes all around us. Gossamer silk webs cling to everything.

“I lived in this castle a long time ago for many years,” he says by way of explanation then continues walking.

I don’t press for more information. Being here again is bringing his past back up, forcing him to relive things he would rather not remember.

Finally, we stop before an old wooden door. He pushes it open, and a wave of thick, musty air washes over us.

“What is this place?” I ask.

“It’s the old training room and armory.”

We step inside, and he closes us in. Alaric sets the torch against the wall igniting another. Seconds later, another ignites then another and another until the entire room is lit. On the far side, long wood and metal poles are displayed in a stand.

Through an open passage is another room. I can only make out the glinting of metal. That must be the armory.

Finally, Alaric turns to me and says, “Attack me.”

I reach down to my boot and frown as I straighten back up. “I forgot the dagger.”

He stalks toward me closing the distance between us with lightning fast strides. Unable to help myself, I concede a step. He twitches his wrist and the dagger appears in his hand. With another flick, it flips through the air. He catches it by the blade then holds the hilt out to me. Not a single cut marks the skin of his palm or fingers.

“Nevergo anywhere without this on your person.”

I don’t break eye contact with him as I reach out for the hilt, but before I can take it, Alaric pulls back his hand and flings the dagger. It imbeds into the door with a thunk.

“You can get itafteryou learn how to defend yourself without it,” he says. The man I know has transformed into someone strict and ruthless.

I look from him to the dagger and back. “If I’m always going to have the dagger with me, then—”

“You can always be disarmed,” he says. Then he positions himself into a stance I’m unfamiliar with. “Now, defend yourself.”

I open my mouth to speak, but in the space of a breath, I’m on the ground with the wind knocked out of me as Alaric pins me down, snarling. His hand rests behind my head, keeping it from smacking against the stone floor. The caring gesture takes away from the effect he intends by baring his fangs.

“Ouch. That hurts, you ass. I wasn’t ready,” I grumble, reaching down to rub my sore posterior.

Alaric smirks. “You should always be ready.”

Pushing off, he leaps up and holds out a hand. I eye him warily before accepting his help.