Page 19 of The Vampire Curse

Chapter Seven

Alaric

“Are you all right, Clara?”

Clara’s flushed cheeks, the way she avoids meeting my gaze, and the demon shit eating grin on Lawrence's face sparks my suspicion.

“I was just leaving,” he says lazily. The scent of blood lingers on his breath, and I look again to Clara.

A low growl rumbles in my throat. Lawrence holds his hands up in surrender as he backs away.

I approach Clara cautiously. Everything about her posture says she is ready to bolt.

“I need to speak to you,” I say.

If Lawrence has so much as laid a finger on her, I will make him regret it.

I offer my hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Clara looks up at me then slips hers into mine. I lead her from the dining room and down the hall toward the music room.

She keeps her head straight forward, chewing on her bottom lip, a movement that draws my eye.

I take her wrist and stop her. She avoids looking at me.

“Did something happen?” I ask. “Did he touch or threaten you?”

She shakes her head, though the color staining her cheeks deepens.

“If that were true, then why won’t you look at me?”

Silence.

“Clara, tell me. What happened?”

She purses her lips and finally meets my gaze. Her cheeks redden further. Her gaze wavers until she looks away. “He implied that you bit me…elsewhere.”

That had not been the answer I’d expected. The tightness in my chest that had formed vanishes.

I want to pry more words from her lips, but she still seems uncomfortable. I let it go, content in knowing Lawrence hadn’t laid a fang on her or threatened her.

“Why didn’t you tell me how to act? What to do? How to talk to them—ifI should talk at all?” Clara asks a barrage of questions.

Holding back a laugh, I clasp her shoulders. “Because I wanted you to be yourself. You knew the important parts of what you must do. No one would believe I claimed some timid girl who fawns over any vampire that comes near. You are strong and fearless—and even a little bit reckless. There is a fire in you, and I wanted them to see that.”

Clara inhales sharply and holds her breath several heartbeats as she contemplates my words.

“Oh,” she breathes.

We resume walking, and I reach into my breast pocket and pull out the invitation then hand it to her. She takes it, hopelessly attempting to smooth out the wrinkled edges before reading it.

“We have been invited to the winter Solstice Masquerade at Nightwich in just under two months,” I say.

She remains silent and passes the invitation back when she's finished.

“Where are we going?” she asks when she raises her head to look around.

“To the music room, so I can teach you to dance.”

Clara scrunches her nose. “Teach me to dance? Why?”