23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Wilder

Iam capable of accepting the fact that I do not deserve happiness. I'm a bleeding coward. I never stand up for myself nor have I fought for anything that I have ever wanted. I allowed myself to be turned into a vampire because I never stood up to my father and put an end to his abuses before they left this irrevocable change on my person.

I didn't do anything about Morozov. I considered him an unwelcome pest more than anything, until he turned my friend into a monster.

And then there is the whole mess with Bronwyn. And now I'm unsure what I could possibly do to make it so that I no longer feel as if my insides are being ripped apart.

No, I do not deserve happiness; I've never in my life done what is right, either for myself or anyone else. I've only ever done what I was told.

But even if I don't deserve happiness, I still don't enjoy physical discomfort. And the fact that my boots are wet is really just an injury added to insult. My ankles feel as if they have been rubbed raw and every time I lift my boots, the water sucks at them as if I am fighting invisible hands grasping my foot.

"Jetting underwater stream," I mutter under my breath. Since we've reached the bottom of the stairs, it's as if we have entered a different world entirely. One where water is the ground on which we must walk.

I reach out a hand, steadying it on the curved wall. Waves reflect on the stones giving it the appearance of moving.

Bronwyn has since given up trying to keep her skirts dry and instead allows them to trail along behind her as she makes her way through the cavern ahead of me.

I try not to allow my eyes to linger on her for too long. It just reminds me of all that happiness I'm not permitted to have.

The coward's way, that's my path already well-worn and eked out with a lifetime of terrible choices.

A monster unfit for love. That's what I am, and the problem is I was that before I became a vampire. After all, if I was fit to be loved, would not my own father have seen that in me?

I clear my throat, desperate to revoke those thoughts. I don't enjoy dwelling on my father for too long. There is only so much I can handle of his harsh glares and stern reprimands, even from my memory. He tolerated me because he had to, I was his heir after all. But obviously he still saw me as expendable enough to force me to become a vampire and an unwitting pawn in the Academy of Magickers, while he remained a safe distance away with his humanity intact.

He had a way out if Morozov's plan failed, and I'm literally dooming myself to a life underground in a cavern just like this one, devoid of this woman who has enthralled me into her willing pawn.

I look up, taking in her cascading curls before I let out a drawn-out exhale. "I'm sorry, you know?"

Bronwyn whips her head around, arching her brow. "Is this where you reveal you have double crossed me?" Her tone is jocular, but I notice how she stiffens.

I trip slightly, sloshing through the water before I reach out to steady myself on the wall. "What? No. I simply meant for how I treated you last year."

The truth of the matter was I was a bit of a monster before I ever became a vampire. I think if I'm truly honest with myself I would admit that I have always felt this draw toward Bronwyn, only last year experiencing it made me angry.

I was furious that I would feel this way toward a mere merchant's daughter. I could never be with her; my father would not allow it. So, I took out the frustration I felt toward the inferiority of her birth and my own inability to stand up for what I wanted on her.

If I couldn't have her love then I would at least have her hate. But now that she does hate me it just leaves me feeling hollow.

"Oh," Bronwyn says, sounding taken aback. "I—well, I suppose you are forgiven."

Forgiven. She says it somewhat flippantly as if it is not my atonement.

I tilt my head as I step toward her, my hand trailing the damp stones for balance. "So, what does that make us? Are we friends then?"

"I guess, all things considering…" she trails off before giving a nod. "Yes, friends."

Her words are like a blow. I don't actually want to be her friend, but I suppose I'm still just the same man I was last year because I'm willing to settle for a little something over absolutely nothing.

"Never quite had a friend who made me feel the way you do," I muse out loud.

Bronwyn whirls, nearly losing her balance. Her lips part in a question I don't give her the chance to ask.

"So," I say quickly to change the subject and hide my crumbling heart. "After you have this spellbook what is next for Bronwyn the Eel?"

I know what my future looks like and it's depressingly bleak.

She studies me, the light bobbing next to her head throws her face in shadow.

"Obviously you aren't intending to become a magicker," I say wincing as my boot rubs up against another blasted sore spot on my foot. "So, if a life as a freelance magic wielder, selling your spells to the highest bidder isn't in your future… what is?"

Bronwyn turns back around and starts down the tunnel without a word. For a while I think she's just going to ignore my question, but at long last she finally just shrugs. "I guess I'll go into the family business."

"The merchant business?" I inquire. "Or are you alluding to your mother's inn?"

"Neither, let's just say… my family is a bit more than meets the eye and leave it at that."

Even though she is facing away from me, I can hear the smile on her lips as she speaks of her family. "Are you close to them?"

"Very much so," she replies without hesitation.

"That must be nice," I murmur. I kick at the water. "My father and I rarely see eye to eye. He's a harsh man that always expects perfection and compliance."

Bronwyn glances over at me again, her eyes sparking with sympathy. "And your mother?"

"I think she loved me. My father sent her away when I was quite young, he said I was adopting too much of her culture as a Higher Elf. She was just a servant so when he let her go, she was forced to seek employment elsewhere. I like to think that she writes to me sometimes and that he just confiscates the letters before they reach me."

Bronwyn has stopped moving, I draw to a halt just behind her. Without a word she reaches out and snags my hand. She gives it a squeeze as if she is trying to will her sympathy into me. If only she knew that I don't want her sympathy.

I'm not sure what I want from her, but sympathy certainly isn't it.

She starts forward again, and she doesn't drop my hand, so I'm forced to keep close behind her as we make our way down the tunnel.

"I love my family," she says in a heavy voice. "But sometimes I feel as if I am growing up in their shadows. As if they fill too much space and that there is no room or need for me."

"I can't imagine a world that has no need for you," I say, her words causing a jolt of surprise to run through me. How could she say that she loves her family when they make her feel inferior?

How could she even feel inferior? What sort of amazing talents must her family have to make someone as truly exceptional as Bronwyn the Eel feel inferior? She's the smartest person I know, sharper than a blade, and beautiful to boot.

She ducks her head, and I'm quite certain that I don't miss a slight rosy color tinging her ears before she raises her hand. "Look, the tunnel widens ahead."

Indeed, it does, I'm not sure why she felt the need to point it out.

After all, I have eyes to see.

I also have ears to hear, and I can make out the sound of rushing water just beyond.