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CHAPTER TEN

T avia had never sat this still since she was a youngling, and the silence was beginning to drive her impatience into reckless territory.

Lucius was not there when she awoke, and though she wanted to run out into the city, she didn’t want to get lost and then be unable to find her way back here. But she also couldn’t sit still.

So, she took another bath and wrapped herself back in Lucius’ comfy robe.

After rummaging through the food that Lucius had left, she walked into his bedroom, curious to see what she could find.

He had artwork on the walls—paintings of landscapes. His extravagant bed was covered in fluffy blankets and pillows. There was a sitting area and an oversized wardrobe, but no closet full of female clothes. Tavia wondered if this place was a secret he kept all to himself.

Waltzing around the room, she looked at the little knickknacks: tiny wooden sculptures and a large mirror. There was a bookcase, and she went over to see if there was something else to read. Her fingers glided over the spines of the old books and stopped on one that felt different.

It was hard, not made of cloth or leather, and when she went to pull it, there was a click. The bookcase swung forward, revealing a hidden room.

Inside was a desk with a lantern, some paper, ink, and a pen. But it was the stained-glass cabinet on the left side of the room that caught her attention.

She went over to open it and noticed a lock.

She tugged on the metal latch and went back to her stuff. Usually, she kept pins in her hair or in her leathers, but she had just bathed. She took out the little lockpicking key she used to open simple locks and brought it into the room.

She heard someone shouting and stopped.

She had no idea when Lucius would return and didn’t want to be caught snooping. She quickly shuffled over to the window and peeked outside. It was just two people arguing.

Once she was satisfied that Lucius was nowhere in sight, she returned to the secret room.

She knelt on the ground and grabbed the lock with her hand. A memory of her first time picking her parents’ trunk flickered in her thoughts.

She had been so proud when she broke the lock.

It was the only thing they had locked in their entire house. She had found nothing but a fancy gown and a very expensive-looking dagger. Her parents were furious with her snooping, but the exhilaration of breaking into something—and how easily she could do it—made her want to do it again.

Tavia took the lock pick and carefully twisted it into the lock.

The lock popped and fell into her hands. She placed it on the floor and stood up.

What could he possibly have in this room? And why was it locked?

She went to the desk and turned the lever, lighting the lamp, for a better view. The light highlighted the beautiful panes of glass.

The image was of a forest, almost like Lucius’s home.

She grabbed the handle and opened the case. Inside were crystal containers shaped like perfume bottles on shelves of various sizes—small and big. They were all red, and it wasn’t until she read the labels that she realized what she was looking at.

“Blonde, human, virgin.”

The next one: “Fae priestess, age 300.”

Her hand began shaking as she read each label. There were some exotic animals, creatures that were more magical than mundane, and one fire hawk.

It was blood.

Her hands trembled, and she stepped back just as the door to the apartment opened.

“I’ve brought you more chocolate,” Lucius called out.

Tavia was frozen, staring at the rows and rows of blood.

How did he get this? And why was he keeping it? She knew he was a vampyre and that they drank blood, but this . . . this was—

“Tavia. ”

He was in the bedroom now, and there was no escaping that she had found his dark secret.

He stepped closer, and she gripped the lock in her hand, ready to use it as a weapon.

She was a fool to partner with this monster.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, I’m not surprised that you found my stash.”

“What is this?” Tavia pointed to the cabinet, her hands shaking.

“Let me explain.”

Tavia shook her head and shoved past him, leaving the bedroom, and heading to the living room. She had to get dressed and get her things.

“This was a mistake.”

“Wait,” he called, running after her.

“There is no explanation for what I found!”

“There is! I told you I was a collector of art.”

“Yes,” Tavia yelled, “but this is not art!”

“Collecting is my passion, and, well, when I first turned, I became obsessed—”

Tavia shook her head, not wanting to hear any explanation. Some of those labels . . . they were ages. “Did you kill all those people?”

“Some of them, yes.”

She couldn’t make sense of the fae who had been so kind, attentive, and normal.

“I need to go,” she said, moving into the washroom, slamming the door, locking it, and throwing on her clothes.

Tavia pulled on her pants, then grabbed one of his shirt’s that was hanging and put it on.

Her boots were in the bedroom, and she would have to pass him.

She opened the washroom door and moved past him. She grabbed the boots, sat on the bed, and began lacing them.

“You can’t go,” he said.

“Am I a prisoner? I thought we were partners.”

“We are, and we still have a job to do.”

“You expect me to pretend to be married to you after what I found? You’re deranged.”

“No, I’m a vampyre,” he said, his voice rising. “I’m a fae that needs blood to survive. And yes, I have a collection, but that’s it.”

Once her second boot was laced, Tavia stood up and stepped right into him until their chests were almost bumping.

“And how long before those fangs find my neck? Why don’t we just get it over with now?” She moved the hair away from her neck and tilted it toward him.

His eyes darkened, the color shifting from green to a muddy red.

“I’m not going to bite you,” he said. “I would have already. Do you know what type of willpower it took when you freed me? I hadn’t been fed in decades. That’s why I fed on a corpse—so I wouldn’t bite you.”

She looked up at him.

“Some of the names on there . . .”

“I know,” he said. “But you’ve given me a chance to start over, to be something better.”

He reached over and stroked her cheek, and she was surprised that she didn’t flinch away from him.

“The other night,” she said, “when you went to hunt—what did you hunt? Why wouldn’t you go to your collection? ”

His hand shifted from her cheek to her hair, where he played with the ends.

“I don’t feed on intelligent beings anymore. I try to feed on animals. The taste is gamey and not to my liking, but it staves the hunger.”

Tavia wanted to believe him, but how could she?

“I can’t be a part of this,” she said, shaking her head and stepping away from him. “I should never have agreed to this. I should go home.”

“I won’t force you into this,” Lucius said. “If you want to leave, go. But you only get the other coin purse if you stay.”

Tavia turned away from him, going toward the window, needing fresh air to clear her hazy thoughts.

What was she doing?

He pretended to be normal—cooking with her, eating with her, playing house. Was she that lonely that this is what she fell into?

She stared out the window, wondering what she should do. She could go home, at least with this coin, and she believed Lucius would stay true to his word.

But she was one coin purse away from changing her destiny .

She heard Lucius leave the bedroom, and then she heard running water.

She went into the washroom, and Lucius stood over the tub, an arm full of the crystal bottles, pouring them down the drain.

The blood pooled with the water, spiraling down.

“What are you doing?” Tavia asked.

Lucius’s eyes were bright red, and his strained expression revealed how difficult it was for him to be around so much blood.

“Proving to you that I’m not who you think I am,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Tavia walked over and plucked one of the bottles out. She dumped it out with him.

They spent the next hour draining every bottle until it became too much, and Lucius had to excuse himself.

Tavia washed her hands, took soap, and ensured no drop of blood was left in the tub. When the washroom was clean, she sprayed some of the perfume she found in the cabinet around, hoping to lessen the scent of blood in the air.

When she walked out, Lucius was sitting on the couch, hands digging into his knees, his body completely rigid.

She walked over to him.

“Hey,” she said. “Are you all right?”

She knelt on the fur rug right in front of him.

“Just need a moment,” he said.

She placed her hand on top of his, and he looked at her with a pained expression.

“It’s best if you keep your distance,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” she said confidently.

“No,” he replied. “I don’t want to hurt you at all. But I want to do something else.”

Her face warmed at his admission, and she took her hand away. Not knowing what to do, she stood and went to the kitchen.

“Do vampyres drink tea?” she asked.

Lucius kept gripping his knees.

“I’m sure it’s not at the top of their list, but yes, I would love some tea.”

“Great. ”

She took a match and lit the stove, remembering where Lucius had heated it the day before. She filled the kettle with water, placed it on the top, and found two mugs and a jar of tea.

It had the scent of cinnamon and orange peels. She placed a pinch of the tea in the little strainer holders and put one in each cup.

She rested against the cabinet, watching Lucius. His chest moved in and out as if he were struggling with an unseen battle.

Tavia hadn’t asked him to drain all that blood. In fact, she would have been fine if he had locked it up and given her the key so she could throw it away. But she sensed that Lucius loved theatrics—a bit of drama.

The kettle whistled, and she poured the hot liquid into the mugs.

“Do you think you can make it to the table?”

He nodded and stood, his shoulders squared, his back straight, moving with an effortless grace that Tavia had come to associate with him.

He walked over to the table and sat there.

The faint scrape of the chair against the wooden floor broke the quiet tension of the room.

She placed the tea before him, the delicate porcelain clinking softly against the table.

The warm aroma of cinnamon and orange wafted upward, mingling with the faint, earthy scent of the room.

She wondered if it would settle his nerves at all.

“Did you find anything useful today?” she asked, her voice breaking the lingering silence. “Any idea how we're going to find your lost artifact?”

She took the mug, the ceramic warmed against her fingers and she blew on the steaming liquid.

“I have an idea,” he said, taking the mug into his own hands, his long fingers curling around it. “But I’m not sure if you’re going to agree.”

“Me? Why? If we're robbing something, I believe that's my specialty.”

Lucius smiled, a faint flicker of amusement lighting his features. He sipped the tea, his lips briefly brushing the rim, then winced as the heat caught him off guard. He placed it back on the table with a quiet clink.

“Darling . . . how good are you at seduction?” he asked, his voice smooth but laced with a playful edge.

Tavia knew what the word meant, but why was he asking? She was a thief, not one of those pleasure women.

Oh no . . .

Her heart raced at the teasing way Lucius eyed her.

He couldn’t possibly be thinking of asking her to do that !

And what would she do if he was?