Page 72 of The Vampire Curse

“Thank you,” I call out, though she doesn’t bother acknowledging me.

I adjust my position, crossing my legs, setting the book in my lap as I nibble on the food—my mouth waters at the first bite.Demons and Saints, I am starving!

I rip off a small chunk of bread and offer it to Cherno.

“I don’t eat human food,” they say.

I pop the piece in my mouth. And as I chew, I wonder if I dare ask,whata demon does eat… or if I already know the answer.

Instead, I resume eating, not looking up from my book until I reach for another bite and find nothing.

Eventually, the sky lightens, and I finally close the book. I’m still hurt by Alaric’s dismissal, but at least my desire to find him and wrap myself around him, has lessened.

My mind is clear again, and I can think past the unsettling emotions. I didn’t ask Alaric to mark me because of any intimate reason. It wasn’t out of jealousy, or lust, oraffection. It was purely pragmatic. If I plan to stay here and go to Nightwich, then I'll need his mark to be safe.

My fingers trail over the spot where he bit me. Two small scars remain. I am one step closer to being safe… and tying myself to Alaric for life. He and Cassius have both made sure I know another vampire could mark me, overriding Alaric’s claim, until I have that final mark.

I’m still not sure I want to be marked—well, I’m not sure about the final mark, anyway. The second… the second will keep me safe.

Not that my wants matter. Vampires rule the world, and try as I might to fight them, I will end up complying.

I don’t trust Lawrence. He looks at me with suspicious eyes and like my presence is an affront to him. Cassius and Victor seem decent enough, if not a little strange, but I wouldn’t want to be tied to either of them.

If I am to be claimed and marked, then I want it to be Alaric’s. At least with him, I will have some semblance of autonomy. He may have pissed me off by being cold, but I still trust him.

I jump when Cherno’s head pops up. They launch off my shoulder and out of the library. It seems I no longer need to be watched.

Standing, I stretch my arms and legs, working out the stiffness in my muscles from sitting and reading the night away. I head to the kitchen, hoping to find a hot cup of tea. The manor is silent as I make my way to the first floor, and even though the sun is not yet up, there are no signs of vampires.

I only make it as far as the dining room doorway. Mrs. Westfield sets a plate of food before Alaric. And while she looks up to give me a tight smile, he doesn’t so much as lift his eyes. I can’t tell if he is too consumed by the letter he’s reading or if he is intentionally avoiding me.

“Have a seat, dear,” Mrs. Westfield says, pulling out a chair across from her master.

It isn’t until I have a plate in front of me and Mrs. Westfield has left the room, that Alaric finally looks up. He says nothing. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but I wish he would say something. The space between us feels strained and uncomfortable. Even when we were always at odds with each other, it was never like this.

When he doesn’t speak, I busy my hands with a piece of toast, spreading butter and jam over it. I break our eye contact first, keeping my head down.

Parchment crinkles and I look up. Deep midnight eyes are locked on me. The letter he was reading is folded neatly next to his empty plate.

The tension is nearly tangible. By some miracle, I manage to avoid squirming in my seat.

I want to know what he’s thinking. I want to understand why being in the same space as him now is so strained. I don’t know what to say or do. I’ve never felt so unsure about another person before. Does he regret marking me?

“Pardon me, Master, but you have visitors,” Mr. Steward announces from the doorway.

Alaric pushes back in his chair and stands. He gives me another look I cannot read, then follows the butler out of the room, leaving me alone. I eye the discarded letter, wondering if it has anything to do with his mood.

In the end, I choose to leave it. If he’s going to mark me, then now isn’t the time to break his trust by invading his privacy. Dropping my unfinished toast onto my plate, I push back my chair and follow.

Alaric stands in the open doorway. His fingers twitch as if he’s fighting off the urge to do something rash—he does nothing to hide the scowl on his face.

“What are you doing here, Wolverik?” he snarls at the man in front of him.

My jaw slackens in surprise to see the man who gave me directions through the forest when I had tried to run away standing at the door. I’m confused as to why he would be here… and Alaric knows him.

Oliver’s expression and body language are much the same. A man and a woman flank him, though they stand back, giving the two men room. The woman and man are dressed similarly. They are both dressed in umber breeches, forest green jackets with buttons done up at the waist, and white shirts underneath. Dark leather boots that go to the knee complete their uniform.

“We have come to discuss the demon problem,” Oliver says pointedly.