Page 68 of The Vampire Curse

“You couldn’t have known,” he says, at once understanding what I want to say. After a moment, he continues, “There are many kinds of strength, including the ability to stay kind and gentle in a world that would see such things destroyed.”

He’s right. It would be impossible for anyone weak to have this great of an impact on someone. She might not have been physically strong or had a commanding presence, but she had a strength that I will never know.

“I think Rosalie would have liked your spirit,” Alaric says.

My face warms at that. I reach over and squeeze his hand, not having the words to respond. There’s no way to know if she would have liked me, but he seems to think so, and that is enough.

“She loved humans,” he says. His eyes are once again unfocused, a sorrow filled smile sits on his lips. “Rosalie was the first vampire to refuse to feed on humans. I tried to live as she wanted and give up mortal blood, but I lacked the willpower. It was my fault she was turned—I owed it to her to try. She never blamed me for being unable to live off animals.”

“I’m sorry.” I swallow a lump of emotions, barely able to speak. “I know it’s useless, and it won’t bring her back… but I am sorry all the same.”

Alaric looks down at me, tucked into his side, and wrapped in nothing more than a blanket. His eyes shine from the pain I caused. He opens his mouth, then closes it and gives me a single nod before pulling me closer. I shift and have to readjust myself.

Sliding my arm around his waist, I rest my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. I try to comfort him even though I am the cause of his hurt. I can’t tell if he accepts it or merely tolerates it because he is trying to keep me warm.

Regret changes nothing, and so I try not to. But there is a seed tucked into the soil of my soul that has been planted, and I fear it will bloom and grow, until the day it consumes me.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Alaric

In the late afternoon,I wake to Clara clinging to me, our limbs tangled. While we slept, she’d somehow managed to cover us both. Her long, brown hair fans out behind her, leaving her neck and shoulder bared. Her heart beats in a slow, steady rhythm. My fangs ache to pierce her skin.

Instead of giving in, I slip away, readjusting her blanket to keep her warm. I don’t know how much longer I can keep putting myself in these positions with her. Clara has made it more than clear that she will never want my mark.

Most days I can pretend Rosalie didn’t die at her hands. Even in all her attempts to draw a drop of blood… or flat out kill me, she never seemed capable of it. But our conversation has ripped open the wounds and made them raw all over again.

My heart is torn between feeling as though I owe it to Rosalie to damn Clara for her crime… and forgiving her because that’s what Rosalie would really have wanted.

I walk down the silent halls to the office. I need space to clear my head before I do something I will regret.

There’s something unnatural about her night terrors, and I wonder if they are more than they seem… then again, I have never heard of a human attached by a greater demon and living. Most likely, it’s the stress of being under the same roof as so many vampires… but if that's the case, then she will not last a single night within the walls of Nightwich.

The quiet beat of Cherno’s wings follows me down the halls. I sense the others in the deep stages of rest down in the lower layers of the manor.

Since their arrival, Cherno has been doing their best to keep watch over their demons, but that task is taking its toll. I can feel the drain on our powers. Bloodlust gnaws at my gut. I must feed, far sooner than I would like.

I stop outside the office and they land on my shoulder.

“Blood,” I say.

Feeling the need as strongly as I, Cherno launches into the air and is off to gather sustenance.

It takes twice the usual amount of blood before my hunger is abated. Still, I find it impossible to focus on my work. I set my quill down and turn to gaze out the window. Bright reds and golds are smeared across the sky.

A knock from the doorway has me straightening my spine. Without waiting for an answer, Clara enters, peeking her head in first, then her body, before closing the door. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are locked on the floor.

“Clara?” I ask, rising from my chair. Her face reddens. “What’s wrong?”

Her chest rises and falls with several deep breaths. She stops halfway into the room, placing a chair in front of her. She lifts her chin, though she still can’t meet my gaze.

“I want the mark.”

I am rendered speechless. Much like her willing return, I would never have expected this request. When I don’t speak, she drags her eyes up to my face.

“Alaric?”

“Are you sure?” I ask.