Page 26 of The Vampire Debt

Mr. Devereaux sits at the head of the table, sipping on a glass of port as he reads a book. The place setting before him is empty.

I swallow down my nerves and enter the room. He glances up briefly before returning his attention to his book. I walk to the only other seat at the table that has been set and stand behind the chair. I might as well be nothing more than a mote of dust fluttering through a shaft of light for all he sees or cares that I’m here.

With a table as large as this, why I was seated directly to his right, I cannot say. I would have preferred several seats between us.

Eventually, he looks up again and motions to the chair. “Are you going to stand there all day, or would you care to sit and eat?”

That mocking tone of his gets under my skin. Everything I do or do not do is one more thing for him to criticize, something for him to laugh at, something for him to use against me in some way. He has a way of setting my temper ablaze with a few words. It makes me hate him all the more.

I think about refusing to join him out of spite, but eventually, hunger wins out. I sit folding my hands in my lap.

I’m not sure what to do in a situation like this. I’ve never been made to dine with a stranger, let alone a man I hate. He continues to ignore me for some time.

A woman who I assume to be the head housekeeper walks out from the kitchen. She is older, with her black and silver hair pinned up in a fashionable style. And though she has warm brown eyes, she looks at me with reserved judgment.

In each hand she carries a covered plate. She sets one in front of her master, and the other before me, removing the covers in turn.

“Thank you, Mrs. Westfield,” he says.

I eye him. I hadn’t realized vampires ate real food. She pours wine in my glass, and, in an attempt to help quell my nerves, I take a sip of my own drink.

He takes another drink, and it’s only now that I can tell that my wine is different from his.

Where mine runs back down the side of the crystal, his lingers. His is thicker, much thicker. Oh demons and saints, my mind swirls as I realize the truth.

It is not wine in his cup, but blood.Human blood.

I feel sick. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose before opening them again.

“Are you unwell, Miss?” Mrs. Westfield asks.

I blink at her and nod, attempting to quell her worry with a smile, though I’m sure she can tell it’s fake.

Mr. Devereaux finally closes his book and sets it down on the table to his left. “That will be all, Lydia.”

“Yes, Master.” She bows and leaves the two of us to dine alone.

The food looks and smells amazing, even despite my recent nausea over the blood. Roasted turkey, potatoes, sautéed vegetables, buttered rolls, and more. I pick up my fork and knife and manage to take a few bites.

“You are a terrible liar, you do realize that, don’t you?” he says when I’ve taken my first bite.

I say nothing in response.

He takes a sip of his drink—blood. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. What human had to die to provide that for him? Was it a man? Woman? Child? I shudder and find that I am no longer hungry.

My fingers tighten around my fork and knife as I stare at him. He lifts his own silverware and proceeds to eat the meal before him. Every few bites he takes another sip.

“It’s rude to stare,” he says without looking up.

I can’t take this anymore, dining with him and pretending that we are longtime friends, or something else far more intimate. He’s mocking me. Everything about him mocks me.

Kitty’s words come back to me again.“Kill him and return to me.”I had promised her, knowing it would likely mean my own end, but I have no intention of going back on that vow. I’ll die knowing the world is a little safer for her.

I stand, shoving my chair back; it scrapes loudly against the wood floor.

“You arevile,” I say through clenched teeth.

He sneers, he actuallysneersat me. His full lips draw my eye. Demons have sculpted this man into some ethereal being. How unfair it is that he’s not as hideous to look at to match his terrible nature.