Page 48 of The Vampire Curse
This woman knows who I am. She doesn’t care that I saved her child, only that she saw me with a vampire. And because I am claimed, she has twisted the facts.
Even though she had thanked me at the time, I never expected it—I never wanted it. But I don’t deserve her cruelty.
There is no reasoning with someone like this. I turn from her and walk several blocks closer to the inn. The further I get from the furious woman, the more my shoulders hunch. Even keeping my head down, I can feel the gaze of the townsfolk on me as I pass.
Whore…she had spat the word at me—as if she knew anything about the situation. She said it with such derision, such disrespect.
It wasn’t the words “demon’s whore” that hurt, but the venomous tone, the hate… the unfettered cruelty in her voice.
What a horrible person. I can only hope her wretchedness has no more reason to come out and infect that sweet girl of hers.
The mist that has hung on the air for the entirety of the morning finally becomes a soft drizzle. It’s the perfect end to a demon shit day.
At long last, I reach the inn. The damp seeps into my clothes, but I’m not soaked to the bone… not like the last time I was here.
The stone facade and crest are unchanged. A rueful smile ticks up one corner of my mouth. This might be the first thing I’ve come across since my return that hasn’t changed.
The sign still reads The Grand Manor. Even the worn paint remains chipped in the same places.
I push open the door and blink to adjust to the dim lighting. The wallpaper and polished counter are all the same. Though now, a thin layer of dust coats the dark wood. It appears they only keep up with that sort of detailed work during the claiming.
The innkeeper spots me at once and raises a thick, white brow in question. I am the only one in the lobby. An older gentleman reclines in the sitting room on the right, reading a paper.
I lift my chin and walk up to the counter with all the confidence I can muster. Without breaking eye contact, I dip my hand into my satchel, pulling out one of the jewelry pieces, and plunk it down on the counter.
“I need a room and a hot meal.”
The burly man leans forward, resting one arm on the counter. He takes his time sizing me up.
“I remember you,” he says slowly, in a low voice.
I say nothing. I won’t deny who I am, but I’m not stupid enough to announce it either.
Reluctantly, he drags his gaze away from me and looks down at my payment. He plucks it off the counter with two meaty fingers and brings it close to his eye to examine it.
“Did you steal this?” he barks the accusation. “You were a scrappy little thing the last time you were in here.”
“Of course not.” I narrow my eyes and infuse as much steel into my words as I can, and unflinchingly meet his gaze.
He says nothing for a long time, then grunts. “You know there’s a punishment for those who run from their masters. I hear it’s almost as bad as that of a slayer.”
Swallowing delicately, I lift my chin a fraction higher and say, “I didn’t run away.”
At least, not this time.
Grumbling under his breath, the innkeeper pockets the necklace and turns around to survey the wall of keys before snatching one, and smacking it down on the counter.
“Wait here,” he says. He moves from behind his counter and walks into the dining room, letting the doors swing closed behind him.
I take the key, gripping it in my hand. The warmth from my body seeps into the metal as I wait.
In a moment, the innkeeper returns with a covered tray. Passing me, he jerks his head and orders me to follow.
This time we don’t go to the top floor but stop on the second, halfway down the hall. He opens the door, motioning with a jerk of his head for me to step inside.
“Your meal,” he says, shoving the tray into my hands.
It nearly tips over as I take it. There's not much, some soup, not even warm enough to give off a curl of steam, a small chunk of cheese on the plate has a small patch of white mold covering half of it. I frown at the stale hunk of bread that looks like he ripped it off a loaf with his bare hands.