12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Bronwyn

Wilder is scared. I can read it in the stiffness of his shoulders, the hesitancy in his voice, the way that his fingers tighten just a bit around mine. The Wilder I knew last year was cruel, devastatingly handsome, and suave. Never scared. What does someone like him have to be afraid of?

I look up, allowing myself to stare for the first time into his face. In the dark his eyes just look black, disguising the deep red, but his skin is so pale it practically glows white, like the freshly fallen snow.

I reach up, slowly hesitantly. I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing until I'm resting the palm of my hand against his cheek. "What did they do to you?" I whisper. His skin is cold under my touch, as I'm actually touching the snow.

"They made me a monster," he whispers, his tone breaking a bit on the last word.

"Do you mean to tell me that this was not what you wanted?"

He snorts, breaking the spell between us, pulling back. I release my breath, dropping my hand and also moving away only just now realizing how close I had been standing to him. I'd been practically standing atop his shoes.

Wilder releases an exhale that the cold makes visible in the air between us, reaching up to run his hand through his silvery hair. "Why would you think I'd choose to be a vampire? To be among the cursed race? To be an outcast?"

I feel my eyebrow rise slowly. I suppose that I can now guess which of the varied origin stories for vampirism that Wilder believes.

Some say that vampires were created by Neltruna, the goddess of monsters. The first vampires were followers of her daughter the demigod Lady Night, that much most people can agree on. But how they became vampires is wildly disputed. Some, like Wilder here, believe that Neltruna in a fit of jealous rage cursed her daughter's followers to become monsters since they worshiped Night instead of the goddess of darkness herself. Others believe that Lady Night gifted her followers with this form of immortality, her own way of trying to usurp her mother and create monsters of her own.

That's the belief my father always held.

And then there are those that would consider vampirism a disease, given that it can be spread from person to person, but I put no stock in those theories.

How could a disease cause eternal life?

No, it is either a blessing or a curse, and perhaps I am too optimistic, but I like to think of it as a blessing. It helps to make the thought of my future of an eternity as a vampire easier to live with. But as I look upon Wilder, I see all my fears and reservations staring back at me.

Father has always said that someday we will all become vampires, he cannot, nor will he, live in a world without us so we must become as immortal as he is. But he left the timing of it up to us. Corallin was already a vampire when she was adopted, but Natasya and I have been waiting.

Waiting for what, I'm not entirely sure. Until we're older? Until we feel a little more ready?

I am not eager for this fate, but I'd hate how I'd feel if I was left with no choice at all.

"Who made you a vampire?" I ask at last.

"I don't think that it is your turn to ask a question," he replies, morphing before my eyes back into the arrogant boy I always knew him to be.

I roll my eyes. I'm not entirely sure if that is the case, but I lost track, and it is getting too late to argue. "Fine then. Ask your question and then answer mine."

"Why are you not afraid of me?" he demands. "Most people would turn against me if they knew what I was but you…"

I shrug slightly. "I'm not afraid to become a vampire, I don't think you'd attack me, and even if you did, you couldn't kill me even if you tried for a thousand years."

He guffaws and I roll my eyes. "Now are you going to answer my question?"

All humor dies off Wilder's face. "This was… my father's doing. He has plans." I open my mouth to ask, but he cuts me off by holding his hand up "I will not delve into that. You are in enough trouble with what you know and now Morozov thinks that we are a couple."

"And whose doing was that exactly?" I ask, planting my hands on my hips.

Wilder groans as he paces away, walking to the edge of the balcony and leaning out over it. "Morozov is a dangerous man, Eel, you should not be taking this matter so lightly. If he finds out that we lied…"

"So, we make certain that he doesn't find out."

He turns toward me, his sneer evident in the moonlight. "We despise each other, it isn't exactly as if we will pass for lovers."

I find myself nodding. "You're right—"

"Oh, gods help us, that's exactly what we need to do," Wilder says with a groan throwing back his head. "We have to be in love."

"What?"

"He will kill you if we don't at least look the part, and there's no knowing what he will do to me if he finds out I lied to him." He shakes his head, holding his hand up. "That's it, we need to pretend to be engaged."

"For how long?" I choke out. How long exactly does he think that we can keep this up, because this conversation is perhaps the most civil we have ever been to each other and even this is a strain on civility.

"As long as it takes for me to figure out what to do," he says, jabbing a finger in my face. "And I'll hear no arguments from you. After all, I'm the one attempting to save your life."

I jut my chin out. I hope he isn't expecting me to declare my undying gratitude over it. "You just won't say from what. Only that Morozov is dangerous."

"He is not the sort of man you double cross, I can tell you that much. He isn't the type of man you want to cross paths with at all."

I exhale a breath moving back a few steps as I lean on the wall. "And how exactly do you expect to convince anyone that we're engaged, let alone keep the ruse up?"

Wilder reaches up, rubbing at the back of his neck as he looks at me. "Oh, I will do my part to sell the lie, never you worry. The question is, Eel, how good are you at pretending?"