Page 58 of The Vampire Curse

Chapter Twenty-One

Clara

I inchthe door open and peek out at an empty room. I close the door again and look around. An article of clothing is draped over the sink. I pat myself dry, doing my best to avoid the most tender spots.

I slip the garment over my head. The material barely covers my butt. Taking a closer look, I realize—it’s one of his shirts. Not that he hasn’t seen me wearing one the night he claimed me. The last time I wore his clothes, he ended up burning it in the fire the next morning. I wonder if it’s an attempt to remind me of our tumultuous beginning to soften my anger with him.

I should care, but then the two of us have never followed what the world would deem acceptable. We’ve created our own rules.

Not five minutes ago, he held me, stark naked, in the tub for… demons only know how long, while I cried.

I may have let him comfort me, but my reason for returning is still the same.

Limping—with far less grace than I would like—I exit the bathing room intending to wait for Alaric to return, but he’s back, standing before the fire. He turns with a bundle of what appears to be clothes in his arms.

Perhaps he hadn’t meant for me to wear his shirt after all.

He takes me in slowly, his gaze is nearly tangible.

Alaric discards the bundle onto the bed and cuts the distance between us in half.

Silence sits heavy in the air. His eyes plead with me to talk to him. To open up and be vulnerable, but I’ve already been vulnerable once today. The longer he looks at me like that, the faster my courage and angry words flee.

My mouth goes dry and my throat thickens with more unsaid words than I’m ready to voice, even after two days of riding to get here. I suck in a breath and hold it, preparing to force the words out even if it kills me.

But when I open my mouth, what comes out is, “Good night.”

I hurry past him. Though, an old man with a crooked spine and an uneven gait could walk faster.

In a blink, Alaric stands before me, blocking my path.

“Clara,” he says hoarsely. “Please stay. You are injured. It would be safer for you to remain here, with me, at least for the night.”

I move past him and reach for the doorknob.

“You almost died tonight,” he adds quietly.

That stills me. My hand hovers over the door handle.

I was hurt—thrown from my horse, but I was lucky and nothing was broken. Give me a few days and I’ll be healed with nothing but a few new scars to show for it.

But almost died?It wasn't that bad.

“I don’t know if I can look at you right now,” I say.

Coward. I am a fucking coward.

He might have helped me bathe. He might have comforted me, he might have been the first person in my life to offer me kindness without asking for anything or expecting anything in return—but that doesn’t erase the deception and lies.

I had expected a protest from him, but he hasn’t said so much as a word.

After a few seconds, curiosity gets the better of me and I peek over my shoulder.

He isn’t mad, or annoyed, or even the slightest bit irritated by my stubbornness, as I would have expected. His eyes are wide and the corners of his lips tug downward. He stands perfectly, deathly, still.

“Why did you return, Clara?”

Why? Because I’m angry with him for lying… because I had nowhere else to go. Because even when I tried to kill him, he was never cruel or unkind.