36. Alaric

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ALARIC

I rub my eyes, certain that I’m dreaming her voice. But vampires do not dream.

The blood has addled me. One of the bottles must have been corrupted, filled with hallucinogenic fungi.

It sounds so like her ? —

“Alaric, look at me.”

I’ve even managed to conjure her adorable exasperation. Why must I torture myself…

“Alaric, damnit, if you don’t turn around, I’m going to start throwing Isis’ anti-vampire charms at you.”

I drag my gaze to the door, and there she is. Not a hallucination, but Winnie Preston in the flesh, her arms folded across her chest and her weight on her back foot, as though preparing to run at the slightest provocation.

She’s afraid.

But she’s here .

She’s mine .

“Your friend is a lousy witch. Those charms do nothing except fill your pockets with weeds,” I murmur, rising from my chair.

“Some weeds are beautiful.”

“Others are deadly.”

“Deadly things can still be beautiful. I brought this back.” Winnie holds up the candelabra she had in her hands when she fled.

“Reginald will be pleased. Women in flowing gothic dresses are always fleeing dramatically from the castle holding them, and we’re running low.”

“Meerow!” Mirabelle gallops across the room and wraps herself around Winnie’s legs, purring with ecstasy. Winnie kneels down to scratch her ears, her wary eyes never leaving mine.

“Hello, kitty. Did you miss me? I wasn’t gone for very long.”

“You’re a miracle,” I murmur. “A figment of my blood-drunk mind.”

“I’m not a figment. I just got back from book club. Reginald is making me an iced chocolate, because it was hot outside this drafty castle, and I thought maybe we could talk.”

Winnie picks up Mirabelle and takes a small step towards me. She chews on her lower lip.

“Don’t come any closer,” I warn, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. I’m aware of how I must look to her – the pupils of my eyes blown out, the blush in my pale skin from feeding, empty bottles scattered about my feet and my sword blade wobbling from where I buried the tip into the wooden floor.

Winnie takes another step, gripping Mirabelle tight against her chest.

“Reginald explained to me what you are,” she says. “That you’ve been controlling your hunger around me all this time. And the book club ladies filled in some other details for me. I know you won’t hurt me.“

“I did hurt you.”

The words crack against my lips. Blood swirls in my stomach. No matter how much I’ve gorged myself, the scent of her as she steps gingerly towards me sends me into a frenzy.

“I was afraid because I didn’t understand,” she says. “But now I see that you’ve been protecting me all along. I trust you, Alaric. I’m staying at Black Crag.”

“You wish to stay?”

It’s too wonderful to comprehend. Winnie wants to stay with me . She wants to be mine.

“The ball is coming up, and we still haven’t finished the drawing rooms. You need them for…for feeding?” Her mouth twists. “Am I right?”

“Winnie, you can’t?—”

“I came here to do a job, and professional pride won’t allow me to leave until it’s done. We haven’t even got to the Neutralise and Sustain parts of the Winnie Wins System yet.” She raises her chin in defiance. “I dare you to find another professional organiser willing to take on this big a job at the last minute when their neck is literally on the line.”

This woman. This beautiful, strange, infuriating, impossible woman. “There are more dangers in this house than me. You’re not safe here?—”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I want you to stay. Forever.”

I cannot lie to her. My arms ache to hold her.

“So…” she shrugs. “Here we are.”

“Sit.” I kick bottles out of the way and gesture to the chair opposite mine, the chair I now can only think of as hers. “I will tell you everything I should have told you from the moment you walked into the pub and your scent drove me to madness. Only once my tale is complete can you decide if you still wish to be mine.”

“I’ve made up my mind,” Winnie says as she settles herself into the seat. Mirabelle leaps up and settles on her lap. “A professional organiser doesn’t desert a client. It’s part of our code of ethics, along with not stealing stuff and annoying said clients with our awesome cleaning playlists.”

I lower myself into the seat opposite her. My hands tremble. I reach for another bottle, but decide against it. I take a breath, steadying myself for the rush of memories that I’ve tried for so long to suppress, and, with Winnie’s soft mouth and piquant scent to steady me, I begin.

“I was born in what was then known as Saxony, over five hundred years ago. I have stopped counting. My father was a blacksmith, my mother spun wool. I was the eldest of six children, and the only boy. I have been a monster so long now that I barely remember being a boy, but I remember being happy despite our poverty. My father taught me his trade, and my mother taught me to laugh. When I wasn’t in the forge, I spent my days running wild in the fields with my sisters, imagining the world beyond our village. My father was well known for his skill, and warriors came from all corners of the kingdom to have their swords made in his forge. I spent far too much time with those warriors, learning the art of the blade and the vocabulary of war.

“One day, soldiers came from a far-off land. They descended on our village like a heavenly host, although they brought only blood and desolation. They burned the fields where we children played. I hid in the forge while they smashed through our home. They impaled my father on his own sword, and what I saw them do to my mother and sisters, I…”

Winnie reaches out a hand to me, but I refuse it. For all the cruelties those soldiers inflicted upon my kin, I’ve done a thousandfold worse, and she must know it all if she is to truly know me.

I take another breath.

“When they passed on to the next village, all they left behind were piles of ash and bone. I found the bodies of my family, and gave them what burial rites I could. And then, I strapped two of my father’s finest swords to my back and set off with no purpose except revenge.”

“How old were you?” Winnie’s voice tremours.

“Fourteen summers,” I reply. It seems I remember some things clearly.

Reginald appears, setting down an iced chocolate next to Winnie. He gathers up the empty bottles littering our feet. “I shall see that your mother doesn’t disturb you,” he says as he backs out of the room.

“Thank you, Reginald. Please return to light the fire for Ms. Preston.”

“Yes, my lord.”

My Thrall closes the door lightly behind him. I force myself deeper into my memories, conjuring the acrid stench of burning bodies, the bitter taste of rage and desolation, the hollowness in my chest where my heart should reside.

“I was but one boy, and they were many, but I had the skills passed on from the finest warriors, untempered by age or drink or months on the march. And best – or perhaps worst – of all, I had a boy’s heart hardened by vengeance.

“I moved quickly over the familiar landscapes, skirting the edges of their path of destruction. I caught up with them three villages later. I waited until their battlelust was sated, their blades dulled with dried blood, until they had taken their fill from the terrified women of the village and collapsed in a drunken stupor beside their fires. Then I stole into their camp.

“I slaughtered them in their sleep, slicing their bellies open, hacking at their necks, stabbing through ribs and eye sockets. There was no music in my dance of death, no finesse, but it was the first time I had drawn a blade against flesh, and I was learning about the interplay of a sword against bone and muscle and sinew. Some woke as I skewered their mates, but I soon silenced them with my father’s blade.”

Winnie’s mouth twists. I could sanitise this story for her, but I need her to know everything . She’s the only person who has ever looked at me and not seen a monster, and I’m terrified that she’ll never see me the same again.

But I’m more terrified of her staying because she believes I’m something I’m not.

“I had nearly made my way through the camp when I was ambushed by one of the warriors. He had only pretended to sleep, waiting for me to get close enough to subdue. He didn’t kill me, as he should have. Instead, he dragged me before his king, made me kneel, and told a hushed court what I had done in my rage. The king gave me two options – die immediately, or join his army.

“And so, I sharpened my father’s swords and became a warrior. I marched across Europe, razing villages, taking castles, tasting dirt and blood and glory. And the warrior who saved me, Hrodebert, became my dearest friend. He said that when he’d hauled me from the corpses of his comrades, he’d seen the fire of God in my eyes, and he knew I was destined for the Lord’s bloody work. I never got to tell him that beneath cruel moonlight, God can look an awful lot like Hell.”

Reginald returns to the hall and fusses with the fire. Winnie sips her hot chocolate, her fingers stroking Mirabelle’s soft fur. I cannot tell what she’s thinking. For centuries now, everything in Black Crag is known to me, but she is unknowable.

I have a priest hole filled with discarded art that proves it.

Once the fire is blazing and Mirabelle has stretched out across the rug between us, Reginald retreats from the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click . His footsteps don’t move from the door, and I know he’s guarding the room, making sure my mother or Perdita or one of their Thralls don’t disturb us.

I continue my story. “One campaign, we were to lay siege to a castle controlled by a rival king. Our intelligence led us to believe that only women and children and a small, inexperienced force held the fortress, and the bulk of the army had moved on to a more defensible position. But we were misled. Inside the castle was a force the likes of which we’d never encountered before. Vampire mercenaries, commanded by none other than Lady Callista Valerian.”

Winnie gasps.

“We assaulted the walls, expecting easy victory. But none of our arrows pierced their skin. Our swords glanced off their bodies. Whenever we cut them down, they rose again. They flowed over the walls of the fortress in insurmountable numbers. Beside me, Hrodebert prayed to his god for our triumph over these demons. But gods don’t listen. Callista’s army surrounded us, cutting us down without mercy, and worse.

“The horrors I saw that day are forever burned behind my eyelids – my comrades screaming and begging for death as fangs sank into their necks. Their bodies going limp and their screams turning to moans as the ecstasy of the bite stole their minds. I did not know what kind of hell we had entered, but I fought with everything I had within me to drive those monsters back into the darkness. I severed the head of one as he sank his teeth into Hrodebert’s neck, and that monster didn’t rise again.”

“I thought vampires were immortal,” Winnie says.

“We do not age. We are difficult to kill. But all things, even aberrations, die in the end. There are only two ways I know to kill a vampire – driving a wooden or silver weapon through their heart or cutting off their head. The staking I did not learn until much later. That day, I strode through the battlefield, getting up close to evil incarnate so I could separate heads from bodies, with Hrodebert at my side.

“And then she came for me.”

“ Callista? ” Winnie leans forward in her seat.

She tempts me with her proximity. I long to pull her into my lap, to wrap her golden hair in my fist and expose her pretty neck. I am blood-drunk and she is everything I’ve ever desired. The promise of her prickles in my fangs. I force the hunger down.

“Do not let her beauty fool you, Winnie. She is known among our kind as the Lady of Agony. She was not happy that we had killed some of her best warriors, so she strode onto the battlefield to deal with me in person. And I was young and foolish. I underestimated her as a woman alone, wearing nothing but a white shift splattered with dirt and blood. I drew my sword, soaked in the immortal blood of her warriors. She drew a small, jewelled dagger, a pretty trinket she still carries with her now. With that little knife she glanced aside my killing blow without breaking a sweat. She pulled me against her breast, so that my long blade was useless, and when she smiled down at me, I knew that all of Hrodebert’s demons and monsters were real.”

I rip open my shirt, running my fingers over the raised scar beneath my armpit. “She worked her knife through the seams in my armour, driving it home. It is the only wound my immortal body cannot heal.”

“She killed you,” Winnie whispers, her fingers reaching out towards the wound, towards me . I long for the warmth of her, but instead of sweeping her into my arms and kissing away the single tear that rolls down her cheek, I tiptoe across the knife edge of my control and close my shirt.

She will learn soon enough that I don’t deserve that tear.

“I knew as soon as the blade bit my flesh that I was dying. She lay me on her lap, cradling my head with her cool fingers, and she offered me a deal. She would save my wretched life, she would gift me immortality, and make me the greatest warrior of our age. But in return, I would swear an blood oath of fealty to her. I would disown all bonds of family and loyalty, and become hers.

“I had no family left, save Hrodebert, and when the life is fleeing your body, the choice seems no choice at all. And so, she gifted me the Kiss, mingling her blood with me, giving me the power and lineage of the Blood Valerian.”

“Oh, Alaric,” Winnie breathes.

“When it was done, she brought me to the Nightshade Court. The vampire population in Europe is divided amongst courtly alliances. Vampires are born beneath the banner of a particular court, or they can swear their loyalty in a blood oath to their court of choice. The number and nature of the courts has changed over the years, but you need know only of the three that still exist today – the Nightshade Court, to which I was born, which is a court of warriors and bloodshed. The Midnight Court, Perdita’s court, which is the court of pleasures and art, and the Dusk Court, the court of magic and illusion.”

“I’m skipping right past this ‘magic and illusion bit,’ because I think I’ve had enough surprises for one lifetime,” Winnie says. “So the courts are a form of government?”

“Yes. They do not cover specific geographic regions, although many vampires prefer to live in the vicinity of their chosen court. Each court administrates a number of services for their people, including feeding clubs, affiliated businesses, events, matching vampires with Thralls…Three representatives from each court form a governing council, the Conclave, who make laws that cover the courtly vampires. We also have a legal system, known as the Mora, which you must hope never to encounter. My mother administers the Mora, and she delights in it.”

“Noted.”

“Callista was true to her promise. She schooled me in combat, gave me the finest armour and weapons, made me the greatest of all her warriors. She taught me the laws and traditions of the Upyr , what we are called in the old tongue. She presented me with lavish gifts, like a gold inlaid coffin. She allowed me to continue my father’s trade, and I found pleasure in crafting weapons that I carried proudly into battle beneath the flag of the Lady of Agony.”

“The swords piled in the ballroom?” Winnie raises an eyebrow.

I nod, slowly.

“I had everything, but I was miserable. All I saw of the world was pain and death and suffering. I realised that the gift she’d given me was really a curse, and I grew to hate the tasks she set me – the human armies she had me slaughter to a man, the prayers to silent gods to save them, the promising fighters she made me bring her so she could curse them, too. I envied the Midnight Court vampires who visited her, with their bright, easy smiles and their passion for beauty and colour and dance.

“One day, we were camping en route to join another lord’s Nightshade regiment. We were at rest in our coffins, guarded by our Thralls, when our camp was attacked. A small band of brave human men, their bodies covered in sacred Christian symbols, swords inlaid with silver, and wooden stakes strapped to their horses, descended upon us during our sleep. They had been following us, studying us, searching out our weaknesses. That is how they knew to attack during the brightest hour of the day.

“I rose from my coffin to the sounds of my kin dying. That evil fire disc bore down on me with such violence that I could barely lift the lid of my coffin. My burning eyes were greeted with massacre . I dragged up my sword and stumbled into the fray, swinging at the nearest attacker, only to be met by the clash of steel and my friend’s familiar blue eyes.”

“Hrodebert?” Winnie’s eyes widen. She hugs Mirabelle so tightly that the cat gets annoyed and jumps down.

“He was older, his beard peppered with grey, but the same devout, beautiful man I’d called my friend. I was ecstatic. I had assumed he died during the siege, slain by Callista’s undead army. But here he was, full of fire, his body dripping with blood. I reached out for him. ‘My brother, I can’t believe it’s you—’ and he slashed a long cut down my arm. The cut stung, but what stung worse was the hatred in his eyes.

“‘You are no brother of mine!’ He swung at me again, going for my neck. Our swords sparked as they clashed. ‘You stole my brother! He should have died as a warrior and been raised to Heaven, but instead you took his body to use him for evil. I swore an oath to God the day I lost him that I would wipe every last one of your kind from this earth, and I’m here to see it done.’

“I tried to explain that I was still me, still the same Alaric he’d fought beside all those years. But he looked right through me. He saw only the evil he wished to see. He threw all his weight behind his next blow, aiming to take my head. But even with the sun beating on my back, I was stronger. I stepped around him and my battlelust fell over my eyes. It was him or me, so I drove my blade into his side. He collapsed into my arms, still fighting me with his fists even as the life drained from his eyes.

“‘Unhand me, demon,’ he growled with his dying breath, and he grew still, and the sun bore down her cruelty and the tang of spilt blood drove me to ruin. I missed him so much, and I was so lost and lonely and filled with guilt, so I bent to his neck and drank, pushing my wound to his mouth to pour my blood down his throat.

“I pulled him into my coffin, hiding us both from the sun while the Kiss took effect. I thought I could convince him that we weren’t evil. I thought that if I had him by my side, he might bring meaning to my wretched existence. But when he woke from the Kiss, he cursed me, told me that I had made him a monster. He wept for his lost soul. The moment my back was turned, he thrust his own silver-inlaid sword through his chest rather than stay with me.”

I nod to the sword sticking from the floor. Winnie’s eyes widen.

“When I found him, my shame was an ocean rolling over me. I raged across the landscape, and I recall not what crimes I committed in my grief, but they were many, and heinous. But all fires burn themselves out. I returned to his body, thinking of nothing more than joining him. He was right about one thing – he would be exalted in Heaven by his God, but I was destined for some far darker place.

“And so, I did what all soldiers do for their fallen friends. I bathed his body in the Rhine and wrapped him in my cloak, and sang to him the songs my mother sang. I snuck into a churchyard in the dead of night and buried him on the fringe, where he might rest eternally in the shadow of his God. It was the least I owed him. I laid his sword in his hands, kissed his cold lips, and swore that I would be a better monster than I was a man.

“That same night, I fled Callista’s court.

“To this day, I cannot say exactly what drove me away. I had lived too long in an undying body, and I wanted more than the bloodshed she offered me. I wanted to prove to Hrodebert that our kind could do more than destroy. I thought the only time in my life when I was truly happy was making swords with my father in his forge. I wanted to create . And so, I made my way to the seat of the Midnight Court in Vienna and threw myself at the mercy of their queen.

“The Midnight Queen saw an advantage in sheltering Callista’s favourite son, and so she granted my asylum. I passed many years there, learning to paint and sculpt and sing. I met Perdita, and we would often paint or play music together. Even then, the queen wanted us to wed, but I was already growing to hate court life. The Midnight Queen’s court teamed with talented Thralls who spent their days creating art to please her, and their nights pleasuring her. Humans and vampires were yet more beautiful objects she wished to keep in her collection – trinkets for her to enjoy and discard when they became broken. So I ran from there, too.

“This time, I found myself in England, the rumoured seat of the Dusk Court, although none outside their allegiance have ever set foot in their palace, nor can even find it on a map. But I had no intention of aligning myself with vampires who wield their kind of magic. I wanted only to be left alone. I wanted to lock myself away and cause no more harm. So I disguised myself as a mercenary and found myself in the employ of an outlaw baron. I helped him to unseat a cruel lord and take that lord’s castle, and then I slit the baron’s throat and kept Black Crag for myself.”

“And you’ve been here by yourself ever since?” Winnie asks in a small voice. “Apart from Reginald?”

“I found Reginald half a century ago after it became increasingly clear that I couldn’t survive in the modern age without help. Before him, I have had only myself and my artistic pursuits for company. I have tried to remain locked away up here, out of the way of the world, but there have been times when my hand was forced. Occasionally, armies tried to take my castle. That I could not abide. And, of course, the hunger has drawn me outside Black Crag’s protective walls, although I have never made another vampire, and I never will.”

“Did you…” Winnie struggles with the words. “I know that vampires used to kill…”

“I never killed my sources, Winnie. But I did not have the options of synthesized blood, feeding clubs, or aging and storing the blood of deceased humans. I could not always offer the courtesy of asking for consent. I could survive for many months on the blood of the deer and wild dogs that lived in the woods, but I am a predator. When the hunger grew too great, I would drag highwaymen off the roads, leap into the carriages of those who dared travel at night, and sometimes steal into homes in the village while all were in slumber. I took only what I needed to sate my thirst, storing a little for the coming months, and tried to leave my victim safe and comfortable, with a little coin for their trouble and no trace of my feeding. Sometimes I would be seen, sometimes the villagers would find the fang marks and grow suspicious of the lord who never left his castle during the day and didn’t age, and they would come for me.”

“The paintings,” Winnie whispers. “I saw them in the dining hall.”

“Yes. Those that are not by my hand are documentations of my trials and executions. I have had many over the centuries. I have been burned alive, staked, buried in six feet of dirt, bled out, and several other tortures too imaginative and horrific to recount, but each time, I have remained. But you might see how you are the first…” My throat closes over. “The first human I have ever trusted.”

“Oh, Alaric.” The softness in Winnie’s voice…I wish I deserved that softness. “Thank you for telling me about your life. I know what Claire and Patrick did isn’t nearly the same as the horrors you’ve lived through, but I do know a little bit about wanting to close yourself off from the world so you don’t get hurt again.”

“You have not understood. I’m no longer a man, but a monster. I have no heart, only hunger. I’m not in danger from the world. The world is in danger from me, ” I growl.

“That’s not what I see,” she says with that sad smile of hers. “I see a man with a heart so bruised that he feels too much . If someone cuts your body, you heal. But if they injure your heart, it’s like that scar from your mother’s knife – you carry the wound with you always.”

I find myself quite unable to speak.

“We both need to learn how to lay siege to the walls around our hearts,” Winnie says. “And I think you’ve taken the first step in telling me your story. There’s one thing I don’t understand – why is your mother here now and why is she insisting you marry Perdita? Why does she hate the idea of our engagement so much?”

Our engagement.

It takes me several shuddering breaths before I can speak again. “There is unrest within the courts. The world has changed so fast in the last century, and our society has not kept up. Now there are two rival factions within the Midnight Court – those who believe the court should become more progressive, and more invested in issues like climate change that impact vampires even more than humans. The opposing faction believe that the court has become too involved in human affairs, too influenced by human art and culture at the expense of our own. This faction is being stoked by forces from within the Dusk Court who seek to sow discontent for their own reasons. The Midnight Queen seeks to marry her daughter to someone in the more traditional Nightshade Court in an attempt to mollify her enemies. This will show that she respects Upyr culture. Callista’s other sons have all been married off, and the eligible lords from the other ancient bloodlines are too busy sowing discord in European politics to care what happens to the Midnight Court. So I’m the only option.”

“What does Callista gain from this marriage?”

“Like all the noble families of the Nightshade Court, Callista keeps a standing army of Upyr soldiers. The clans love to involve themselves in human skirmishes, settling centuries-old scores on the edges of human conflict. But modern warfare has increasingly become distasteful to our kind. We are bred for war, but in the blink of an eye wars have gone from being fought with steel and valour to drones and bombs. Not even the most powerful vampires can survive having their head blown off. It rather takes the fun out of war. And if you’re a warrior who has known only bloodshed for centuries, you start glancing around, looking for something better to fight. And you start looking at the person who made you into a war machine in the first place.”

“You’re talking about revolt?”

“It’s possible. The Nightshade armies are growing restless. Some have already rebelled against their lords and taken their lands and castles for themselves, wiping out ancient bloodlines for the sake of boredom. Callista wishes to stop this happening to Clan Valerian. She needs to give her army a cause they can fight in our old ways. If I’m wed to Perdita and our courts are joined in alliance, their cause will be putting down the simmering rebellion against the Midnight Queen.”

Winnie rubs her eyes. She’s sleepy. This is a lot for her to learn tonight. “Okay, fine. But what does she hope to achieve with this ball?”

“My friend Gideon is building a vast property development on the edge of Argleton?—”

“The Sanctus Estate. I heard about it. The Nevermore Murder Club thinks that a woman who lives there might be responsible for Danny’s murder.”

“That is certainly likely. The estate is for vampires. The houses are specially designed to suit our needs with UV-blocking windows, blood delivery services, and secret rooms for our family heirlooms. Many high up on the Midnight Court have bought houses there – many noble clans, famous artists, and even a couple of rockstars. By hosting the ball here, she establishes herself as a friend of the court – provided she can prove that the Lady of Agony can throw a ball that will wow them. Midnight Court members try to outdo each other with their lavish parties, and if my mother wants to compete, she must have a spectacle. That is why she wants to surprise them with my wedding to Perdita.”

“But you refused to go along with this?” Winnie asks.

I say nothing. I will not lie to her.

“Alaric, tell me.” Winnie’s golden eyes flicker with concern. “She’s threatened you.”

“If I don’t go through with the wedding, then her spectacle will be my execution.”

“She can’t do that.” Winnie’s chin wobbles. Another tear slips down her cheek. “You’re her son.”

“I have lived for more than my allocated time on this earth, have known my pain, and more pleasure—” my eyes burn into hers “—then has been my due. I’m not afraid of what she will do to me. But she knows that you know what I am, but you are not in Thrall to my blood. And that you were in my bed.”

“You were in my bed,” she corrects with a tiny smile that makes my shaft tighten.

“ My bed. And what we did is forbidden because of the risk of Dhampir.”

“What’s a Dhampir?”

“A Dhampir is a different type of vampire – they aren’t made from the Kiss like Upyr, but born of a human woman from the seed of a male Upyr. Dhampir aren’t like me or Gideon or any other vampire you may encounter. They are demons with iron teeth, the strength of ten vampires, and insatiable hunger for blood and death. They will eat their way out of their mother’s womb.”

“Delightful.” Winnie makes a face.

“Indeed. That is why our laws forbid any relations that might lead to the creation of a Dhampir. It’s such an ingrained part of our world that very few have concerned themselves with human advancements like contraception, because the very idea of doing that with a human is repulsive.” My fangs scrape against my lip. “Not to me. I would very much enjoy a repeat of our unlawful coupling.”

Winnie grips the chair arms, and the tiniest, barely audible rush of air escapes her lips. But I have the hearing of a predator, and her arousal scents the air with ripe strawberries. I growl low in my throat as I struggle to hold myself down.

She dips her head, fighting her own battle with her desires. “This is why your mother hates me.”

“You are dangerous, forbidden. I’m the only one who can protect you from her, but I can’t do that if I’m skewered through like one of Reginald’s kebabs.”

“You’re saying that your mother will kill me.”

“She will not,” I growl. “I will not allow it.”

“But for us both to stay alive, you have to marry Perdita.” Winnie rests her head in her hands. “You’ve got us into a real pickle with this fake-fiancée thing.”

“I was foolish. I didn’t understand the reason behind her visit and…”

…and I wanted you to belong to me.

“Of course, we will cease that charade immediately,” I say.

Her smile is a sin that will lead godly men to Hell. “We don’t have to.”

The heart I thought long dead stutters against my chest.

“I want to be clear. I’m not ready for…for what happened the other night.” Winnie swallows. “After Patrick and Claire, my heart is fragile, easily broken, like yours. I’m not ready to give it to another person yet, and definitely not to a vampire. But I think I have an idea to get us all out of this homicidal mother fiasco, and it’s going to rely on us keeping up this fake relationship we’ve established.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Winnie. I’m sorry for what I told my mother. She surprised me with Perdita. I thought this whole visit was in aid of this silly ball until she told me the truth of her position. I know that you are afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Alaric,” she says firmly. I could almost believe her, if she weren’t also saying that we can’t go back to what we had before she knew my secret. “I’ve lived with you for nearly three weeks and you’ve been nothing but a gentleman. A grumpy, slightly odd gentleman, but a gentleman nonetheless. I’m afraid of myself and what I might do around you.”

She’s lying to herself. Why else would she want me in her bed as a man, but not as a vampire?

“But…” she continues. “I signed on to whip this castle into shape, and professional pride means I can’t leave until it’s spotless for your guests. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this ball a success, although I warn you – my fake fiancée rate is much higher than my professional organiser rate.”

“I shall pay whatever you ask.”

“I was kidding. ” Winnie rolls her eyes.

“Perhaps you would accept payment in pleasure? I could kneel between those pretty thighs and show you what it truly means to be worshipped by an immortal.”

Winnie presses her lips together, as though forcing one of her little moans to stay inside her. It escapes anyway, tightening the noose she has wrapped around my heart. I claw at the leather, holding myself back by the barest of threads. I taste strawberries on my undead tongue.

“That’s not what we’re doing,” Winnie says firmly. “You keep your wicked tongue to yourself, vampire, unless it’s required. We need to establish some rules. I’ve read a lot of fake dating romance books. They all begin with a list of rules.”

I enjoy her like this, all strict and businesslike, even as her arousal hangs thick in the air between us. “What are our rules?”

“I’ll stay in the castle and pretend to be madly in love with you until either your mother and/or Perdita leave in disgust, or we put my plan into action and sort this whole thing out that way, as long as you keep up the charade that we’re together if we bump into Patrick and Claire again,” she says. “In fact, it’s probably best if we pretend to be together any time we’re outside the castle, as well. If this village is as teaming with vamps as you claim, we don’t want word to get back to your mother that we’re faking.”

“That is fine,” I say. “I don’t intend to leave the castle.”

“It’s nice that you think that, husband .” Now she sounds downright evil . “If we’re going to be a fake couple, then this goes both ways. I’ll fake-date you, but you have to fake-date me. I like being wined and dined. I like being out in the world. I want to see you have fun outside the walls of Black Crag.”

I sweep my arms, gesturing to the tapestries hanging from every wall and the small pyramid of teddy bears under the window. “I know how to have fun.”

“ My kind of fun,” Winnie shoots back.

“Why don’t you come and sit in my lap, wife, and I’ll show you?—”

Her cheeks colour crimson. “You’re accompanying me to the Midsummer Festival this weekend. Those are my terms, vampire. Take them or leave them.”

I sigh. “Very well. Are there any other rules I should know about?”

“Yes.” Her cheeks deepen, the flush waltzing with the final shreds of my will. “We have to set some boundaries about…um…illegal vampire activities. I think that we need to continue to be affectionate with each other in front of your mother. She doesn’t seem convinced that a vampire could be attracted to a human. We have to show her otherwise. And that means…” Winnie swallows. “You have to hold my hand, be affectionate with me, kiss me.”

“I have no problems kissing you, Winnie.” I long to kiss her now, to taste that forbidden sunshine once more. “But will you be able to hold in your disgust, knowing what I am?”

“I’ll manage.” Winnie stares at her feet. I lick strawberries from my lips. “So kissing is allowed, but nothing more than that. We don’t want to confuse ourselves about what this is. Now, what about…”

“About what?”

“Um…feeding?” Winnie touches her neck. “It looks as though you drank your way through your stash. Do you need to…?”

I swallow, finding myself quite without words. The day Reginald installed the refrigeration system and started procuring vintage blood, I renounced drinking from humans. It’s never felt right to me, even with consent.

But I’ve never been so tempted as when Winnie strokes her fingers over the vein above her collarbone, the same spot my teeth grazed her in the pub.

I tear strips of leather from the chair.

“The act of drinking from another human is one of utmost trust. I will never ask you to do this.” I swallow again. “However, if you should decide to?—”

“I plan on biting you first, vampire. To establish dominance.”

I dare a grin, showing her my fangs.

“I’d like that.”

“Gross.” Winnie rises from her chair, her golden eyes sparkling with delight. She has that same look of excitement that crosses her face whenever we begin organising another corner.

I stand and take a deep bow. “I am forever in your debt, Winifred the Magnificent, my faux future wife. Now, will you seal our oaths to each other with a kiss?”

I’m testing her. Her rules state that kissing is only for the benefit of my mother, and yet my mother is nowhere in sight. Winnie bites her lip.

“Fine,” she grits her teeth. “But no funny business, vampire. I’ve got a pocket full of anti-you charms and I’m not afraid to use them?—”

I cannot hold myself back a moment longer. I cross the divide between us in a single beat of her delicate human heart, pushing her back until she sinks into the chair, and I bend over her, all pretence of humanity washed away.

I smile down at her, fangs bared.

I let her see me, truly see me, for the first time.

And although Winnie’s lip quivers at the sight of me, the hunger in her eyes matches mine.

I crush my mouth to hers.

The kiss hurts. It hurts because all wonderful, perfect things in this world are born from suffering. It hurts because I feel as though I have woken from the Kiss again, born anew with all my dead, necrotic tissue cut away. It hurts because this kiss is an oath binding me to her rules – rules that I very much do not wish to follow.

I kiss her as though she is my wife for real.

I drag her against me, my tongue diving deep as I drink in her strawberries and sunlight. She moans into my mouth and I listen to the universe shatter in that tiny, perfect sound. My shaft swells with wanting and my heart swells with hope, and I make a silent vow to myself. I will do anything, anything, to make Winnie mine for real.

Our bodies fit together as though the centuries that separate us don’t matter, as though we’re made for each other. I draw her closer, my hands roaming over her, tugging down the collar of her shirt and sniffing, scraping, licking over her skin, shuddering as I feel her blood pulse in her veins, just beneath the surface?—

Even as another moan escapes her lips, her hand flies to her throat, covering her skin.

I draw away, mortified by my lack of control. But if Winnie is disgusted in me, she doesn’t show it.

“You’ve had your kiss,” she pants. “Now, claim your chair back from Mirabelle and sit down. You need to hear this plan of mine.”