Page 84 of The Vampire Curse

“No, thank you,” I snap, yanking my arm free. “I don’t feel like playing.”

I turn to leave. He wouldn’t dare cross the line. He would threaten and try to scare me, but he wouldn’t dare—Victor cuts me off as I round the piano, effectively blocking my path.

“Stop,” he says. Power vibrates in that single word.

My feet are stuck in place and I can’t move. I can feel the compulsion in his voice, though his eyes don’t glow with it. Instead, the black thickens, swallowing up the brown and spreading like spilled ink over the whites. My head throbs. I press my hands to my temples, trying to lessen the pain.

Victor lets out a delighted sound, something between a purr and a growl. He steps even closer.

“How delightful… you are not marked.” He licks his lips, his eyes dart to the tiny scars on my neck. “At least, not fully… you could yet belong to me.”

The possessiveness in his voice promises things I can’t imagine. I can’t stop the shudder that races along my spine.

Victor gathers me in his arms, holding me too tight.

“Let me go,” I say.

My attempts at escaping his grasp are weak. He doesn’t even seem to notice as he fists a hand in my hair and jerks my head to the side, exposing my neck.

“Don’t,” I warn.

Somewhere in the room, there's a single chirp and the flap of wings in the air. And then it's gone.

Cherno…

Victor brings his face close, inhaling long and deep. His tongue darts across my collarbone, to my neck and jaw, and up the side of my face.

Disgusting.

“Let me go, demon fucker.”

He brings his mouth to my ear. I cringe, expecting to feel his fangs sink into my neck just below my jaw. Hot breath, foul and reeking of rot and blood, brushes over my skin.

“Fear me,” he commands. The two words are nothing more than a whisper, but the same pounding that always follows compulsion thrums through my head.

His power forces its way into me, wrapping around every muscle. It’s cold and slimy. I barely understand the words, but I know them as soon as my body obeys.

My legs tremble, terror works its icy fingers through my veins.

“It always tastes better when they are afraid,” he says. “It’s too bad you will never understand the sweet, tang of fear in mortal blood.”

I open my mouth to tell him that I am not afraid, but I never get the chance.

His fangs tear into my skin. Fiery pain envelops my neck and shoulder, white-hot, burning, burning,burning. I hear a scream, hoarse and cracked, and it takes me a moment to realize it belongs to me.

Then he releases me, taking a step back. He runs his tongue over his red stained teeth, then licks his lips. He uses a thumb to wipe away an invisible drop from the corner of his mouth. His eyes trail up from where he fed to meet my gaze. The black has swallowed up his irises. The inky veins spiderweb out of the corners of his eyes, fanning out across his cheeks. It looks like poison.

“Fall to your knees, human,” Victor orders. He laughs, it’s deep and throaty, and filled with my blood.

My knees hit the wood floor with a hard thud. My body continues to shake—partially from the fear he compelled upon me, and now because real fear is seeping in. I struggle to think as the power of compulsion fogs my mind. I don’t know what to expect from him next.

Nothing about this is natural. His eyes should be red, not black.

Something is very, very wrong.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Clara