Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

It didn't take too long for someone to find Junger's body. The news chalked it up to malfunctioning auto-blinds. He'd been working late. He probably didn't notice when the blinds never came down to block out the rising sun. A freak accident, Patrol called it.

It was pure coincidence that news about a busted blood bride ring in Mooresville broke the very same day. Whatever attention the story about a local synth manufacturer dying a freak death might have garnered went up in smoke.

Atticus didn't offer any details on what happened to Junger, but he did say his only regret was that he wouldn't be able to give a similar ending to the rest of the crypt's staff, but he reassured her with a reminder that life in a New Zone prison was in many ways a worse fate than death.

No one on Empire Estate seemed even a little bit worried that he'd be blamed for the murder, so Carmine did her best to put aside her worry over it. She didn't feel guilt for his death, though Grim probably wouldn't look approvingly on her for it, but the thought of Atticus suffering any consequences for seeking justice on her behalf made her stomach curdle.

As with all things, however, the sharpest edge of those worries dulled over time. She still thought of it from time to time, but other things took its place in the forefront of her mind.

For two weeks, she existed on a tightrope of anxiety as she navigated a new world. When she wasn't sweating at the idea of it all being a trap — or worse, a dream — she fumbled around trying to figure out how to interact with the people who called the estate home.

Carmine thought Atticus was incredibly chatty, but she soon learned that compared to nearly everyone else, he was actually reserved. Compared to Zia, Harlan's greenwitch anchor and mother to little Serafina, he was downright taciturn.

Harlan was similarly quiet, though he could be prompted to speak with only minimal prodding from his anchor. When he did, everyone stopped to listen. Carmine had initially found him stern and intimidating, a little like the High Priest of the crypt, but the more time she spent in the Bounds household, the more she came to appreciate his quiet presence, his thoughtfulness.

Adriana was somewhere between Atticus and Zia. She liked to chat, but she had no problem with long silences, nor with the moments when Carmine said the wrong thing — an all too common occurrence. While Zia's warmth was contagious, Carmine struggled to find her footing in conversation with her and generally preferred to sit back, letting the tide of her enthusiasm sweep her away into an ocean of comfort. Atticus's sister paused much more often, allowing Carmine to work up the nerve to say something.

She quickly came to admire both women — Zia for her overflowing kindness and generosity, and Adriana for her fearless gentleness. Carmine followed them, learned from them, and whispered prayers for the Merciful One to keep them safe, to keep them close. She'd never had friends before, not really, so she thanked the gods every dawn for every moment she stole with them.

And then there were the men. The very, very scary men.

She saw them most often in and around the guardhouse by the gate, but many of the men Harlan employed lived in stone cottages like the one she'd been given. They were mostly vampires — New Zone residents, she'd first gathered by their very particular way of speaking — but a few, like Michael the quiet, attentive demon, were other beings. A few sturdy-looking arrants. A lone gargoyle she only ever caught glimpses of. There was even a lynx shifter.

Atticus introduced her to them, explaining that they guarded the estate and would keep her safe, but something in his tone made it clear he'd be keeping a careful eye on them, which for some reason seemed to amuse the group more than anything. Only Michael remained grim-faced, his nod of acknowledgement solemn. Carmine had only been able to make the briefest eye contact before she turned toward Atticus and pressed her face into his shoulder, her face hot from all the attention. She'd abandoned her veil and still tended to forget that there was no curtain of hair at the ready, so she often turned to Atticus to hide away from the world.

In most ways, living on the estate was a dream, but that didn't mean there weren't struggles.

She felt too exposed all the time, too vulnerable. The learning curve for living outside the crypt was far steeper than anything she could have imagined. She often found herself frustrated at her own ignorance, at her awkwardness and fumbling with things that seemed to come so naturally to everyone else. Carmine privately grappled with the shocking amount of autonomy she had, too. Some days she loved her shorn hair, her new clothes, and other days she stared at them both like they belonged to someone else.

The freedom to do anything, to change any part of herself she wished, was by turns intoxicating and terrifying.

The only time she ever felt truly relaxed and comfortable in her own skin was when she was with Atticus. He never coddled her or became annoyed with her missteps. He simply gave her the tools to figure life out on her own, and when she needed help he was there, steady and calm, with a ready smile and a wink.

Among the myriad of everyday things he guided her through, Atticus taught her how to use her new cell phone, and he took her into town to register her new residence. That simple task she'd never even considered left her crying quietly all the way back to the estate.

It wasn't the little packet with information on how her EVP residence application process would work, nor the fact that Atticus had confidently written down her home address as that of the estate that made her so emotional. It was the fact that she was no longer a ghost.

She existed on paper. She was going to be a citizen of the Elvish Protectorate. If she went missing or needed help or wanted to get a driver's license, it would be noticed by someone. Because she'd be a person, not just an acolyte or a bride hidden away in the bowels of a crypt, with neither rights nor money nor even her own name.

She was finally real.

Atticus could barely get the words out of her, but he managed to piece it all together after he pulled over and held her by the side of the road for a while. He'd gone all mean and angry on her behalf again, but his hands were so gentle as they rubbed her back, touched the blunt ends of her hair, and wiped away her tears.

"I'd kill them all if I could," he told her, "but since that's not an option, I'm going to settle for making sure you get every damn good thing in life."

She was too terrified of jinxing it to say so, but Carmine thought that he'd already given her everything she could have dreamed of.

Well… mostly everything.

He hadn't claimed her.

It hadn't bothered her too much at first. Adjusting to life outside the crypt had been so overwhelming that every other need had been briefly muted. Every day she felt as though she was fighting to survive some hidden test. Spending time with Adriana and Zia helped, and so did knowing that Atticus's cottage was a very short walk through the woods from hers.

Carmine was never alone for those first few weeks, and having a fellow bride nearby helped her confidence flourish. The fact that Adriana was allowed to come and go freely — even live on her own in a city! — was mind-boggling. They'd often stayed up late into the morning discussing their lives, and Adriana had even gone so far as to invite her to live in the city with her.

At any other time, Carmine would have leapt at the chance. Living with a friend in a glamorous city like San Francisco was a scenario straight out of her wildest fantasies.

But Atticus wasn't in San Francisco, and when she imagined leaving him behind, that ugly, screaming feeling from her encounter with the Patrol captain returned with a vengeance. Not to mention the way she broke out into a cold sweat at the thought of trying to learn how to function in a place crammed cheek to jowl with people.

Saying no was automatic, instinctual. Adriana didn't look the least bit surprised, but she gently explained that the offer would always be open to her, no matter what happened.

When she left, Carmine was filled with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. She didn't like how empty the cottage felt, but something about being alone felt like an opportunity — a big, open space that was just waiting to be filled with him.

Atticus was almost always nearby, hovering at her elbow or driving her places like the registration office for her interview or the local funeral home to inquire about a job. He texted her at dusk and at dawn. He kept careful track of how much she drank, and urged her to spend time with Zia, Harlan, and little Serafina when he was busy.

He was always present, always careful and kind and steady in his growly way, but he wasn't hers. Not completely.

While Adriana stayed on the estate, Carmine's feedings were discreet. After she left, they became more frequent, often ending not only with an orgasm but with her spending the day in his bed or vice versa.

They didn't talk about how they'd long ago crossed the line. They didn't speak about the fact that he was her anchor, that her venom flowed through his veins. He never brought up how bad withdrawal would be, nor even mentioned the fact that he'd begun taking supplements that would allow her to feed from him without worrying about depleting his vital nutrients.

When they were alone together, Carmine was the happiest she'd ever been. She loved the taste of him, the sound of his laugh, and how he introduced her to sexual pleasure. He loved to put on a show for her, drop to his knees, and eat her out on his couch. Sometimes he'd crawl into her bed at dawn and demand she feed while he slid his hand between her thighs, sending her off to sleep with her fangs in his throat and an orgasm singing in her nerves.

He kissed her. He encouraged her to feed. He stood proudly when Zia commented on how healthy Carmine had begun to look, with her shiny hair, her fuller cheeks, and her eyes brighter than they ever had been.

At first, it was perfect. If he'd asked anything more from her during those first weeks, Carmine would have become even more overwhelmed and uncertain of her place. But as time went on, she started to wonder why he never took more, like she'd been told to expect.

When a vampire, a groom, claimed her, there would be no guessing, no hesitation. They took. They drank and they fucked and they bred.

But he didn't.

He never asked her to reciprocate sexual favors. He never even hinted about wanting a child. Most critically, Atticus never once tried to bite her.

Not when he had his head between her thighs, his fangs mere inches from lush veins. Not when she lay prone and sated from an orgasm beneath him. Not when she silently begged him to.

Her instincts didn't know what to make of it. On one hand, he was her anchor. Her venom coursed through his veins, making his blood even sweeter on her tongue. Her bites decorated his throat, his chest, even his arms. He'd begun to smell a bit like her, her claim permeating all the way through his pores.

On the other hand, she found herself disoriented by his lack of claim. She'd made her mark on him, but he hadn't done the same with her. Something that would have been a relief not too long ago now left her anxious and confused. In the RV he'd said he wanted to bite her, but his behavior since then implied the opposite.

What had at first unsettled and confused her had begun to fill her with cold dread — the very same kind she felt whenever she realized she'd made a critical social error or forgot to clean something in the morgue.

Confronting him about it wasn't an option when she feared it would push him away. Carmine knew she couldn't ask Zia, Adriana, or Harlan about the situation, so she'd turned to her old friend: covert research. The answers she'd turned up hadn't reassured her.

Her exact situation wasn't common, but the advice she'd found on mates reluctant to make a claim made her go from cold to downright frigid. As one helpful magazine article said, "The bottom line is, if he really wanted you, you wouldn't be reading this article. Sorry, babe."

All the signs pointed to him not wanting her the same way she grew to want him, but why then would he feed her? Touch her? The uncertainty was agony, but the suspicion she'd begun to nurse was worse.

He feels like he has to.

Logically, she understood that Atticus was a good man with a good heart who'd seen a woman in need of help. He'd rescued her and, when she couldn't feed herself properly, he'd offered himself. The arousal he'd clearly experienced was simple biology, which she understood better than most. He'd made no promises, nor declared any feelings for her.

Which was good, because she'd never wanted to be a vampire's bride in the first place. Knowing that Atticus didn't want her shouldn't have slowly strangled the life out of her.

But it did.

"Are you nervous?"

"Yes," she answered, smoothing her sweaty palm over her short hair again. Carmine wanted to say more, but she knew it was best to stick to monosyllables when they were in the car. She had to be very careful how much of his scent she breathed in, and that made conversation difficult.

In an effort to gently wean them off each other, Carmine had begun stretching out the time between her feedings. She tried to stay busy, to time things so they conflicted with his schedule, and forcing herself to take sips of synth on nights when they didn't see each other. This was the longest she'd gone since that first bite, and the craving was brutal.

He had to notice that she wasn't feeding as often, but Atticus hadn't said anything. He watched her closely, though, with a furrowed brow and lips pressed thin. Truthfully, she wanted him to ask, to notice. The fact that he said nothing only reinforced the fact that things weren't as they should be.

He cut her a glance as he expertly navigated his sleek car around a bend in the mountain road. He looked painfully serious when he reminded her, "If anything happens that you don't like, you call me. I'll come get you."

And fix the issue, she silently finished. The weight of guilt pressed in on her lungs. Just like you fix everything.

"Doll."

She unglued her tongue from the aching roof of her mouth. Putting pressure on her venom gland helped with the discomfort a little, but she knew he expected an answer. "I'll call if I have any problems."

"Good. I'm sure it'll go great, though. I'm picking you up at three, and then I'm taking you out to celebrate."

Carmine dared to glance at him. A painful jolt rattled her chest whenever she looked at him for too long, but she just couldn't help herself. "Where?"

He shot her a wolfish smile. "It's a surprise, doll."

She had to look away from his smile. The sight of his fangs, the way his eyes crinkled, the pure joy he radiated… Adriana had off-handedly complained about how stoic her brother was, but Carmine didn't see it. Sure, he often wore a still, borderline surly expression, but to her, he was always so alive.

Tucking her hands under her thighs so she didn't reach for him, she nodded. "Okay."

"You're not gonna try and guess?"

"No."

"Why? That's half the fun."

She had to suck in a breath. It burned all the way down her throat, so rich and delicious that it was a shock to her system. Her stomach, full of sour synth she forced herself to drink, cramped painfully. "You won't tell me."

"Well, no, but you could still try."

"I don't know any places to even guess," she reminded him. Seeing the way he winced made her tack on, "Um, a movie? Zia mentioned that you can see them in town, not just in a house."

His wince faded and was replaced by sharp interest. "Do you want to see a movie? There are a couple of old-fashioned theatres in Sacramento I can take you to. Not tonight, because there won't be enough time before sunrise, but soon, if you want."

She had only vague ideas about what going to a theatre entailed, but he seemed so keen on the idea that she didn't dare simply shrug. "That sounds fun."

He nodded. "Good. Yes. We'll go, then."

Silence blanketed them. It wasn't as comfortable as it used to be. She hated that.

Atticus cleared his throat. "Is everything okay? You seem…"

She forced a smile. "I'm okay. Just tired."

"You didn't sleep well?" His shoulders tensed. "Is it because you were alone? I'm sorry I didn't join you yesterday. We're overhauling some of the security systems and I ended up working late. The sun was up by the time I finished, so I slept in the guard house."

"It's fine," she stressed, hoping he could see she was sincere. "Really, Atticus. It's not your fault. You have more important things to do."

"No, I don't. It's my job to take care of you," he argued. "You always sleep well when I'm there, so I've gotta be there."

It's my job to take care of you.

That frigid feeling settled into her bones. It was cold outside, the world dusted in a thin layer of snow, but in her heart there was nothing but brittle ice.

It was a relief when he dropped her off at the funeral home for her first night of work as an assistant mortician. Part of her was always desperate for an escape from the visceral craving she felt when they were together, but the bigger, louder part of her screamed in mourning when he skimmed his knuckles over her cheek and wished her luck.

Not for the first time, she wondered, How long can I do this?

She didn't want to leave the estate, but if the craving never went away, she feared Atticus would continue this farce indefinitely. Or worse. Maybe someday soon he'd gently, carefully break the news to her that their relationship had to end. He wouldn't force her to leave, but the humiliation of wanting another vampire — bad enough on its own — only to have him indulge her out of misplaced obligation, would destroy the precious new world she'd become so attached to.

That world wasn't just him, but she couldn't pretend that he wasn't at the heart of it.

Tucking her lower lip between her teeth, she hiked her bag higher on her shoulder and forced herself to climb the steps into Pineridge's only funeral home. This is what I love to do, she reminded herself as she gripped the shiny brass door knob, and this is the way I can build my own life, with or without Atticus.

Even if she really, really didn't want to.