Page 54 of The Vampire Curse
Clara shifts and hisses through her teeth, drawing my gaze back to her. She grips her leg. Her knuckles are white from the strain as her fingers bite into her flesh as if she can staunch the pain.
The demon that attacked Clara is too powerful to exist on its own. I have no doubt they belong to another vampire. Who would have the ability to wield a demon stronger than my own—who would dare bring them into my territory and give it free rein?
“Clara.” Her name leaves my lips before I can stop it.
Lawrence clears his throat, and in a whisper, too low for anyone but me to hear, he says, “You were surprised to see her. One might think you weren’t expecting her to return at all.”
My head snaps up and I rise slowly to face him. I could fend him off Clara if I had to, but if the others scent her blood, there is no way I could fight off the frenzy that would follow.
The expression he wears is something between awed and wonder. Over the past month, he had accused me of releasing her, of setting her free, but only now does he believe his own words. I don’t know what gave it away—a word or an expression…
It doesn’t matter.
Lawrence lifts a hand, halting the others who approach us.
“Go, now,” I say. “The four of you need to feed. I will join you later.”
He nods and speeds to where the others wait, then leads them into the manor. His jovial voice rings out across the yard as he claps both Cassius and Victor on the shoulder, turning them back inside.
I crouch and lift Clara from the ground. Her body shudders at being moved. She cries out, trying to squirm out of my arms.
“Be still.” I almost compel the command into her but stop just as my power reaches the tip of my tongue. She is in enough pain.
Clara’s eyes are still squeezed shut. Sweat glistens across her brow.
“Where are you hurt?” I tighten my arms around her. I know the answer, but I want her to focus—to stay aware.
She takes several long, deep breaths. Several minutes pass. I could swear she’s attempting to will away the pain.
It isn’t until we are halfway up the stairs to the third floor that she finally peels open one eye. The tension in her muscles begins to subside and she looks around.
“Everywhere,” she says hoarsely. “You can put me down now.” Clara presses a palm against my chest and pushes weakly. She would not succeed with perfect health and strength, let alone with this pathetic attempt.
I ignore the demand and stride into my personal chambers. The moment my feet come to a stop at the side of my bed, Clara stops struggling. Her slender fingers dig into my jacket. I set her down gently, and she reluctantly releases her grip.
There’s no gratitude in her eyes for saving her, but a cold fury. I stare at her, unable to look away.
She returned.
I don’t understand why or how she made it all the way here by herself on horseback. I never expected to lay eyes on her again. How in the Otherworld is she here?
I suppose my declaration to kill her with Lawrence was nothing more than a lie. A weak attempt at defying Rosalie and please Elizabeth. To look on Clara’s face now, I don’t think I’d have been able to follow through. I would have always found an excuse to put it off.
Clara ends our silent stand-off first, breaking eye contact. Her scowl turns into a bemused frown as she takes in the room—the mahogany walls, the thick, equally dark materials of the bed, and the burnished metal accents.
With her presence, I notice for the first time how dark everything is, right down to the nearly black, perpetually drawn drapes.
“This room is… depressing,” she says.
I snort. She isn’t wrong. It might as well be a cave for all the cheer it holds.
“Stay here and don’t move,” I say, finally breaking out of my trance.
At my order, her narrowed gaze snaps to me, jaw clenched. Clara plants her hands on the edge of the mattress and shifts, dragging her legs off and leaning over to prepare to stand.
Demons and saints, this woman would risk further injury just out of spite.
A loud hiss escapes her lips as she bites back a whimper of pain.