Page 83 of The Vampire Court
My night terrors with the demon Varin in the oubliette have increased, except they aren’t night terrors. They are real. As soon as my eyes close every night, Varin calls me down to their cell. When I open my eyes, I’m standing before them, my outstretched hand reaching for the night-forged silver band.
When I refuse, they ask for me to free them, but I will never do that. This world doesn’t need another greater demon haunting it.
The demon reaches out with their twisted, elongated fingers and brushes my cheek. Their power flows through me, silky and cool, as they attempt to possess me long enough to free them.
Cassius flicks my nose to bring my attention back to him. He shifts so that he hovers over my knees and pulls me up to sitting. Bothered by his continued closeness, I lean back on my hands. He watches me curiously. I squirm under his study, uncomfortable with how his gray eyes dance over my features as if he’s reading my thoughts.
“What’s on your mind, Clara?”
His concern irritates me. I grit my teeth. “Stop pretending to care. What makes you think I would ever open up to you? We’re not friends.”
“So you’ve said… You don’t have to be my friend, but you can’t stop me from being yours,” he says in all seriousness, not in the least bothered by my tone.
Friends with a vampire.I used to think that was impossible… until Alaric.
But being friends with their kind hasn’t turned out well at all. For immortal beings, they are more temporary than one would expect.
My mood sours further, but instead of stoking my anger, it’s doused like a bucket of ice-cold water over a candle, and all I can feel is the ache in my hollow chest.
“You’re getting steadily quicker. I didn’t expect you to improve so quickly,” Cassius says. Perhaps he recognizes that his friend tactic isn’t going to work. “Imagine what getting a decent night’s sleep will do to help you along.”
I snort.
He still crouches over me, keeping me from moving. Sitting here is only allowing me to dwell on Alaric and the questions that have no answers. Frustration builds. I need to let it out, or it will consume me.
I lift my hands and place them on Cassius’s shoulders, shoving as hard as I can. He topples back, and I pull my legs up. He hits the ground, and I scramble, grinning as I get to my feet at the same time he leaps to his.
He doesn’t waste a moment starting up the carefully choreographed sparring sequence we’ve developed. Seamlessly, we switch as I stop blocking and strike out with my own punches and kicks. He adapts without the slightest effort.
The moves feel awkward, but I’ve watched him enough to have a basic understanding of what to do. He leaves an opening to his face. I strike, and he blocks. Again and again, I don’t land a single hit. Sweat drips down the dip of my spine and the sides of my face. Loose wisps of hair stick to my skin.
I let out a growl of frustration and kick.
I miss. The lack of contact sends me off balance.
Cassius reaches out and grabs me by the waist, keeping me from falling. He holds me in mid-air, grinning. “You need to learn to fine tune your movements, but I’m pleasantly surprised by how much you’ve picked up. We can call it a day and work on your technique tomorrow.”
“No,” I snap, maneuvering out of his hold and straightening. I don’t need him to placate me.
I swing my fist, missing.
Every time I fail to land a hit, it fuels my determination to keep going, to put every ounce of frustration into each movement.
I tell myself that if I can land a hit, then Alaric will let me in on his plan. I know things don’t work like that, but if I can do the impossible, then—
Cassius steps inside my circle of space and aims a fist for my face. I tilt my head and strike. My fist connects with him just below the ribs. His eyes widen, and I drop, sweeping my leg and connecting with his. He falls hard.
I stand above him, panting, my fists balled at my sides, and I glare down at him, furious.
“You let me land those hits,” I accuse. Cassius remains on his back, returning my look with a neutral one. I crouch next to him and offer a hand. “I don’t need you to go easy to make me feel better.”
He sits up.
When he doesn’t take my hand, I start to rise, but he grabs hold of my arm in a lightning-quick move and pulls me back down to his level.
Cassius stares at me, lips parted. The way he’s looking at me makes me feel self-conscious.
“Get up, or let go,” I say.