27. Winnie

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

WINNIE

A laric stiffens.

I reach over and squeeze his hand. “It’s too late to worry about the mess now. The ballroom and office look lovely. And the drawing room is?—”

“It is not the rooms I’m concerned about.” Alaric’s features swim with pain. “She cannot see you here. She will smell you on me. She will know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You must leave immediately.” He shoves me towards Reginald. “Take Winifred to the village. The Nevermore Coven will look after her. You can ship her things later?—”

He’s scaring me. “No way.” I shake my head. I can still taste him on my lips and feel the oddly sharp point of his incisor against my tongue. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I understand the fear in his eyes. All those years living with my mother’s illness, I wished I didn’t have to do it all alone. We could never have anyone over to our house, because then they’d see how we lived. I had Claire, eventually, when I told her. But she was just as young and clueless as I was.

Judging by his level of agitation, Alaric’s dark secret involves his mother, and I won’t abandon him to her. I can’t go back to London and leave him alone, not when…

…not when he’s the reason for the butterflies inside me, or the warmth kindling at the edges of my heart.

“Her car is blocking the bridge, anyway,” Reginald says. “Perhaps we should?—”

“Alaric Valerian!” A sultry voice booms through the castle, as though carried on the breeze by the wings of a bat. “Is slinking in shadows how you greet your ravishing mother?”

Alaric’s face pinches. I grab his hand and drag him into the Stabby Chic room just as an imposing woman sweeps through the doors. Her dress looks like something straight off a Paris runway – a flimsy, off-the-shoulder silk thing with a full skirt, which seems a strange choice for swanning around a freezing medieval castle. But like him, Alaric’s mother doesn’t seem to feel the cold. Not a single goosepimple appears on her thin, perfectly toned arms. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a mess of dark ringlets, and her makeup is absolutely flawless.

She looks young enough to be his sister. Clearly, the Valerians have no use for Beth’s anti-aging elixirs.

Alaric makes a face that speaks of centuries of torment, and slinks over to her. She proffers her hand. He takes it in his, raises her delicate fingers to his lips, and kisses her knuckles.

“You smell wretched ,” she informs him. “What foul taboo have you been indulging in away from the eyes of the court?”

This woman cannot be his mother. It’s impossible. She’s barely older than I am.

And what does she mean by ‘court’?

I glance between Alaric and his mother, trying to figure out what in Dracula’s name is going on. Alaric’s last words about a dark secret blaze inside my skull.

His mother is really his sister? Is that the secret?

Gross, gross, gross.

That can’t be it, can it?

“Mother, you were not due to arrive for another six days,” Alaric scolds her lightly as he escorts her into the Stabby Chic hall. I trail behind them. “You have travelled during the daylight hours. We haven’t finished preparing your rooms.”

“You wouldn’t turn away your own blood, Alaric Valerian. I shall arrive when I choose. Tinted window technology has come a long way. Besides, I have something important to show you, and it simply couldn’t wait another day.” She claps her hands. So far she has not even acknowledged my presence. It’s as if she doesn’t even see me. “Perdita, come here.”

Another figure appears in the doorway. A woman steps into the flickering candlelight, and I stifle a gasp as I take her in. Hair like spun silk falls in sensuous curls around her heart-shaped face. A pair of wide, curious eyes in an arresting shade of baby blue fix on Alaric with cold precision, and the corner of her scarlet lips curls back into a smirk. Her crimson fishtail dress hugs her impossibly trim waist and voluptuous curves, and beneath the usually cruel light of the hall, her skin appears lustrous, speckled in silver.

She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

“Hello, Alaric,” the woman purrs.

A strangled noise rises from Alaric’s throat. “Mother, what…what is the meaning of this?”

“Oh Alaric, you do love to tease me so. You’ve must remember Perdita. I’m told the two of you were once close. You know why she’s here.” Alaric’s mother smiles without a trace of warmth. “Perdita is to be your wife.”