Page 12
Story: This Violent Light
I SUGGEST YOU COOPERATE
SEBASTIAN
“ S orry, Master,” the servant says. He’s a human, and though he’s only been with me for five or so years, he’s one of my favorites. He’s desperate to be one of us, and maybe after the curse is broken, I’ll grant that wish.
For now, I need him exactly as harmless and submissive as he is.
“Still?” I ask. It’s more a growl than a word, and he slinks away from me, cowering against the wall.
I’m in the library, flipping through pages of a long-forgotten text. It’s one of many we’ve stolen from the witch covens over the centuries. I’ve been going through them ever since delivering Grace to Cora’s doorway, but I’ve yet to find anything more than passing mention of the Pruce bloodline.
I’m hoping there’s something, a hidden clue to unlock Grace’s potential and transform her into what I need: a witch who can actually access her magic. Without it, she’s useless.
She’s also useless if she’s dead .
“That’s, what, three days now?” I ask, as though I don’t already know. As if I haven’t been counting each of her rejected meals.
I haven’t mentioned it in the small amount of time I’ve spent with her. I only see her twice a day. Every morning, I walk her to Cora’s quarters. And every evening, I return her to her own. We don’t speak, and I don’t mention the fact she’s starving herself.
I assumed if I did, she’d dig her heels in harder.
“Yes, Master,” the servant says. “I can try?—”
“I’ll handle it,” I say. I shove to my feet, crossing the outdated library.
This room is one of the more neglected places in the manor.
A well-worn rug covers the hardwoods, and none of the bookshelves have been dusted in years.
Still, it’s a favorite of mine. The other vampires don’t visit, so it’s quiet.
Peaceful. Easy to hide within, getting lost in the smell of worn parchment and ancient texts.
“Sorry, Master,” the servant says again.
I don’t respond, brushing past him and taking off down the corridor. Grace spent the day with Cora, and according to our resident witch, today was as terrible as the others.
Every day Grace doesn’t access her magic is another day the witches might realize she exists. The last thing we need is a coven army showing up to slaughter my only chance.
As I walk through the manor, the sun falls outside. Just as it disappears beneath the horizon, countless bedroom doors open, vampires crowding the hallways. There are nearly five hundred here in residence, with thousands more spread throughout the Night Realm.
I ignore their exaggerated bows as I pass them, only stopping once I’ve reached Grace’s quarters. A lone vampire stands against the wall opposite her room. Beatrice lifts an eyebrow .
“Hello,” she says. She dips her head, eyes flitting back to Grace’s door. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
I don’t reply.
I unlatch Grace’s door, shoving it open to reveal her curled on the twin bed. Her room is disgustingly warm. Vampires don’t get cold, but witches do. They’re too much like humans. Cold and hungry and needy.
“Your room is warm,” I announce from the doorway.
The lump on Grace’s bed startles, and she springs upright. Wide blue eyes lock on mine, growing larger, then narrowing at my presence.
“There’s no way it’s morning,” she says. Her hair is a tangled mess around her face, and I’m realizing I haven’t allowed her to bathe since she arrived. She looks greasy, unkempt.
She smells fucking delicious though. This entire room radiates her mouthwatering scent, and I’m sure she doesn’t even realize it.
Does she know what a temptation she is? That I can’t have anyone but Oskar or Beatrice guard her room?
I’m not sure even some of my most practiced followers could resist her.
Sprawled out, sleepy, smelling of blood and lavender.
“Well?” she snaps. “Is it morning or not?”
My lip ticks into a smirk without permission. She grows less cautious, less terrified by the day, whether she realizes it or not.
“I warmed your room,” I say, rather than answering her.
She regards me for a long moment. Something in her face softens, and she brushes the hair from her eyes.
“Thank you,” she says finally. A faint blush colors her cheeks, and the smell of her blood punches my chest. She swallows, face tense as if she has to force herself to continue. “And for the blanket. It’s helped. ”
“Good,” I say. My voice feels hollow, tinged with bitterness. “Tell me why you’re repaying my kindness by starving yourself.”
The softness of her expression instantly hardens.
“Kindness?” she repeats with a scoff. She lets the blanket fall to her lap. I might be imagining it, but I swear she’s lost weight in a matter of three days. Her shoulders look bony beneath her T-shirt. My attention snags on her chest, where I can just make out her pebbled nipples.
Fuck me .
“You are not kind, Sebastian,” she says. If she notices my leering, she doesn’t comment. She only leans toward me, jabbing an accusatory finger my way. “You are a selfish monster. You’ve warmed my room to keep me from dying. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
She’s dramatic. Her room might have been cold for her taste, but she certainly wasn’t going to die. Cora went nearly a year before telling me she needed extra heat in her quarters.
“Careful,” I warn her. My voice is low, menacing, and for a brief moment, Grace looks as scared as she should. She shrinks against the wall, eyes flickering over me, waiting for my attack, I assume.
When it doesn’t come, she narrows her eyes, leaning forward again.
“You’re not going to kill me,” she says. “You need me, remember?”
“I do,” I agree. I’m speaking through my teeth, letting the frustration and irritation boil too close to the surface.
“But that doesn’t mean you’re untouchable, little witch.
So unless you want me to go back to your little apartment and leave your friend in a hundred pieces, I suggest you cooperate. ”
“For all I know, she’s already dead,” Grace says. In a sharp motion, she tucks back beneath the covers and rolls onto her side. “Do what you will, Sebastian. I’m going to sleep.”
“When I send breakfast in the morning, you will eat,” I tell her. “Understand?”
Her only response is to pull the blanket tighter around herself. I mutter a curse and start to close the door, only to pause when she snaps back upright. She lifts her chin, glaring at me as she speaks.
“I don’t like eggs,” she says. “And I don’t like meat.”
“What?” I ask. My voice dips dangerously low, but Grace only glares harder.
“I don’t like eggs,” she repeats through her teeth. “And I don’t like meat. If you want me to eat, send something edible. Like a salad. Or soup with grilled cheese.”
“Do you think this is some sort of restaurant?” I growl. “You think I’m here to cater to your every whim?”
“Yes, clearly that’s what I think,” she deadpans. “Am I not at a five-star hotel with a Michelin chef?”
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I snap. Another burst of heat flares through my chest, not from the witches’ magic, but from Grace’s irritating scowl. She’s talking gibberish and she knows it.
“Bring me tomato soup and grilled cheese,” she says.
“Treat me halfway decent, and I’ll do whatever you want.
Give me some entertainment, like a TV or some movies.
I like rom-coms and psychological thrillers, but only if it’s a crime of passion.
Oh, and Legally Blonde . Also, I’m starting to stink.
I need a shower. And new clothes. And shoes would be?—”
“You are a needy little thing,” I bite out. “You will eat whatever the fuck I send you.”
Before she can reply, I storm out of her room, slamming the door behind me. Beatrice grins at me, and I can guess all the taunts she’s not saying.
“Save it,” I tell her.
“Yes, Master.” The amusement is barely concealed in her voice.
I stride down the hall, ready to ignore every one of Grace’s ridiculous demands.
“Sorry, Master,” the servant says. He stands at the library’s entrance, holding a plate of six eggs and four strips of bacon. All untouched.
A deep growl radiates from my chest. Fucking needy little bitch. Demanding things to make a point. Screwing with my head as some sort of payback.
“Tell Oskar to accompany Grace to Cora’s,” I tell him. I turn back to the book opened before me. “I am in no mood to deal with her today.”
“Yes, Master,” he says.
Only once he’s left the room do I allow myself to react. I throw the adjacent chair against the bookshelves, feeling a flicker of satisfaction when it explodes against the wall.
The relief is fleeting.
I slump back at the table and do my best to ignore thoughts of Grace.
I’ve been working on this season’s budget.
For the manor, for the vampires. Oskar will have to meet with the werewolves soon to discuss numbers, and my ego already hurts thinking about it.
The Night Realm was once wealthy, second below only the Day Realm.
Now, we’re in fucking poverty. We’re surviving on dwindling levies and our few exports: stone, salt, minerals.
It’s barely enough to afford us bloodletters, and now, Grace is wasting food for her own entertainment.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I’m not going to get anything done until I take care of this.
I shove away from the table and head for Beatrice’s room. She answers on the second knock, eyes sultry as she looks over me.
“Need to fuck out some of that frustration?” she asks coyly. She presses her palm to my chest, long fingernails digging through my shirt.
I hadn’t come here for that, but now…I let my attention roam over her body.
She’s wearing a short, tight dress that shows off her tits and her spectacular legs.
Her hair is wild and tangled, begging for my fist. If nothing else, I could have her on her knees before me, blowing me until I forget the worst of my problems.
Needy little fucking witch.
“Probably,” I admit. “But first, I need to go to the human realm. Care to join?”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12 (Reading here)
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46