Page 4 of The Vampire Curse

“They are vampires, aren’t they?” I ask.

Cherno lets out a soft squeak as if confirming. I start at the seemingly intelligent reply.

“Is that why Alaric sent you to my rooms?”

Another squeak.

I smile and shake my head. I’ve been awake less than ten minutes and I’m already having an imaginary conversation with a vampire’s pet bat.

It will be several hours before the sun will be at its peak. I look around the room, not sure how to spend my time.

Outside the window, the sky is a dreary gray. Thick clouds, heavy with rain, swallow up every inch of blue in the early morning haze.

I untie the string holding my clothes together. Embarrassment washes over me after examining the newly redone pockets. They are more hidden and reinforced. The seams are straight and sturdy, and it’s only by looking at these that I realize how terrible my sewing skills truly are.

There is no point in dwelling on it, so I reach back to untie my nightshift and stop, aware of a set of eyes watching my every move.

“Turn around,” I say to the bat, moving my finger in a circle. My jaw drops when Cherno does as instructed.

I snap my mouth shut—just a coincidence. Or maybe Alaric took the time to train the creature with basic gestures and commands?

That must be it.

I dress quickly. This has been a strange morning so far, and I’m not sure what to make of it.

I take my book from my night table and sit in the chair near the fire and try to read. It’s only after a dozen pages that I realize I haven’t paid attention to a single word. I sigh, giving up, and close the book.

Tapping a finger on my chin, I mull over what Mr. Steward said.

Three more guests, plus Mr. Harkstead, and Alaric, makes five vampires under one roof. Alaric is one thing. I have spent enough time with him to know he won’t come for me in the middle of the night to end my life. I know what to expect from him.

A chill skitters down my spine. Mr. Harkstead terrifies me. He is a predator in a way Alaric never was, even when I thought he might kill me.

How different could they be to visit Alaric? Then again, he did warn me—he even offered me an easy way out. I am a fool for not taking the opening Alaric had given me last night. But I stand by my choice—I don’t want the mark. I will win my freedom and go home to Kitty.

I set the book down and pace. It is not late in the afternoon yet, but it is close, and I am crawling out of my skin with nothing but my thoughts.

The sun is peeking through the clouds, burning away the morning gloom. I wonder why it was so important to wait until midday. Are vampires unable to stand the bright light?

Either way, it’s close enough to noon.

I grab the dagger from under my pillow. Cherno’s head pops up as I hide it in my pocket. I ignore the creature and stride out of the room. The sound of flapping leather wings follows me down the hall.

Once I am outside, Cherno disappears. The day is chilly but bright. The sky is a clear, bright blue that stretches on endlessly.

I’ve never been to the stables during my time here, but I find my way to them effortlessly. Behind the barn is a large fenced in field where two large, black horses graze. One has white covering the bottom portion of its two hind legs. The other has a spot of white between its eyes. While they are roughly the same size as other horses I have seen, they are sturdier. They look as if they were built to be powerful rather than fast.

A twig snaps underfoot. The horses lift their massive heads, nostrils flaring. I am glad there is a fence between us. I’m not sure they aren’t demon born.

They must decide I pose no threat because they eventually ignore me and resume grazing. I cautiously approach the fence. The closest one watches me warily.

Their thick manes nearly brush the ground every time they reach for another bite.

I fold my arms on the top rung of the fence and rest my chin, content to watch them. I’ve only seen horses tethered to wagons laden with straps and equipment, or the occasional carriage. In both cases, their coats were patchy and legs coated in mud. These two don’t have a speck of dirt on them. It’s clear they are well cared for.

The horse with the mark on its forehead meanders near me, its velvety coat gleams in the sunlight.

I reach out to pet the animal when a rich, deep voice asks, “Do you ride?”