Swiftly after my third ‘no’, however, a hand came into contact with my wet cheek and I squeaked, shutting up, stunned into total silence. My eyes widened and Kaspar breathed heavily on my face, looking shocked that he had actually hit me. He slowly released me, backing off to the corner of the room. I reached up with one of my now free hands to touch my stinging cheek. It hurt. But it worked.
‘Fabian said vampires struggle to cry. I-is this the only time I can cry?’
‘No,’ Eaglen replied. ‘If you would let us explain, it may not be as bad as you first thought.’
Galen stepped forward again from where he had stoked the fire. ‘We had very little choice. The shock would have caused your major organs to cease functioning and your chance of survival without a transfusion was nil. None of the human blood supplies stored here are tested thoroughly enough for anything but consumption and, thus, vampire blood was our only option. And of course, vampiric blood has the added benefit of being able to heal wounds at an extraordinary rate. You are very fortunate that His Highness volunteered to donate some of his own blood to you.’
I looked at Kaspar, my eyes wide in surprise, but when I caught his eyes he turned away again, staring at something interesting on the window. I owe him my life – again.
‘So, if I’m a dhampir, why is my heart still beating?’
‘Because a dhampir is more human than vampire. You will function as before and you will not lust for blood in any way. Legally, you are still governed by humans and not the Kingdom. The only difference, as the Prince pointed out to you, is your slightly enhanced capabilities. Vision and stamina, for example. You will also live for longer than the average human.’
The King nodded. ‘Thank you, Galen. You may leave us.’
‘Should there be any problems, do not hesitate to send for me,’ Galen muttered, and now I understood why I could hear them when they were stood on the opposite side of the room. With that he bowed and left with Eaglen.
‘Fabian, Lyla, allow us a moment. Not you, Kaspar,’ the King said as his son went to follow the other two. When the door had shut behind them, he continued. ‘Miss Lee, you are under what we call the King and Crown’s Protection, meaning that harming you in any way is a crime punishable by death. Ilta Crimson has fled, but we will endeavour to find him. When we do, he will stand trial. It was Kaspar here who found you and he has therefore been called as a witness. You have no objection to this?’
‘No,’ I replied, feeling my lips quiver. Below the sheets, I pressed my fingernails into my palm, finding it stopped the tears from welling.
‘Then we will leave you. I suggest you rest. Someone will not be far at any time, if you are in need of anything.’ They began to leave, Kaspar lingering for a second. The room fell silent, and swiftly, something clutched at my throat. Fear. I stared straight ahead, eyes bulging. I could not be alone. He would return to finish what he started.
‘Kaspar,’ I whispered. He turned. ‘Please stay.’
‘What?’ he replied, going stiff.
‘Please stay. I-I don’t want to be alone.’ I closed my eyes.
There was a pause where nothing penetrated the silence. But then the door clicked closed and I was sure he’d gone. The fear rose again, gripping me. I couldn’t be alone. The floor creaked. My heart stopped. The sound of footsteps muffled by plush carpet, and then silence. Slowly, I cracked open an eye.
He stood there, leaned casually against the post of my bed. His dark, almost-black hair flopped lazily across his eyes – the sun-streaked tresses were fading now, as summer turned to autumn. The lack of light too had turned his skin more deathly, more haunting, although that may have been my eyes seeing more clearly.
‘You stayed.’ My eyes flitted up to his and he nodded slightly.
‘I’m not as heartless as you think.’
There was silence.
‘You saved my life.’ I frowned. ‘Twice.’ He looked at the carpet. I looked to the sheets.
‘Yes, I guess I did. But if you die … your father, so …’
I nodded hastily. Lips pursed shut, I averted my eyes out the window. I heard him shuffle slightly.
‘Thanks, though. If you hadn’t come, I don’t know what he would have done.’
He waved his hand in the air, silencing me. ‘You remember all of it?’ He looked horrified.
I nodded sombrely. ‘Everything, up until I passed out.’ My vision glazed over and a shudder of disgust passed through me as I remembered Ilta’s words to me.
When you are alive to feel the shame, Violet Lee, feel yourself violated, it makes it far more fun, you see …
But Kaspar had saved me from that fate – by the narrowest of margins. Kaspar had warned me away from him in the first place.
I was stupid, so stupid for trusting Ilta; for letting him close to me. Kaspar had been right. I should have stayed away. But I let him dance with me. I left the ball alone. This is my fault.
I buried my face in my hands, ashamed to let Kaspar see me breaking down like this. I should be strong. I should just accept it.
‘Don’t cry,’ he said in a low voice. I looked up, surprised. His eyes were jet black and his fists were clenched. He had one arm wrapped around the post and was almost shaking. He might be staring at me, but he didn’t see me.
‘He will die for what he did to you. He’ll be ripped and torn and burnt until he is begging for mercy, which he won’t receive.’
‘Please, don’t say that,’ I breathed, as horrific images rolled through my mind. Bile rose in my throat and I gagged. His eyes snapped back to emerald.
‘Why? Don’t you want revenge?’
I shrugged, his words bringing on a fresh wave of tears. To try to stop myself from descending into sobs, I focused on my clenched palms and shuffled under the sheets, noticing how hot the room was and how a layer of sweat and oil coated my skin. The mud and blood might have gone, but I felt unclean and not in a way I felt I could wash off, but I wanted to try anyway.
‘Is there any chance I could have a shower?’
‘Yes, of course. You can have a bath, if you’d prefer.’ His eyes turned a faint pink colour. I nodded. ‘I’ll get one of the maids to run you one then.’
‘Don’t go!’ I insisted.
He smiled lopsidedly. ‘I won’t.’
Closing his eyes for a moment, I was forced to look at closed eyelids. His lopsided smile, something I had rarely seen, remained on his lips. It was partway between a smile and a smirk.
‘They’re running one now, in the bathroom opposite.’ He jerked his head towards the door.
‘Thanks.’ I twisted, throwing the sheets off and caught a glimpse of the clothes I was wearing: nothing but a long baggy T-shirt.
‘I’ll get you some clothes,’ he said, disappearing into the wardrobe, appearing again a moment later, handing me a pair of leggings, a long, light wool jumper and fresh underwear.
‘You need to keep warm,’ he explained, facing away from me, looking out the French doors. I took the clothes, tucked them under my arm and inched off the bed, gripping the post for support. Feeling like a child trying to take her first steps, I got to the bathroom, blushing wildly at Kaspar’s fussing.
‘Will you be okay on your own? I will be in my room, if, well …’
I nodded. Scented steam hit me as soon as I stepped in, wafts of lavender escaping into the corridor. The mirror was coated in condensation and all the fittings were dripping with water – so was my skin as I hung my fresh clothes over the rail furthest from the bath. Reaching to shut the door, I noticed that the key for the lock had been removed.
I grabbed a towel from the rail and stripped down as quickly as I could, wrapping the towel around myself. I did not dare look at my body. I fiddled with the support on my wrist, struggling with the Velcro, which might as well have been glued shut.
When I managed to free my wrist, I wiped a patch on the mirror, holding my breath. I did not want to do this. But I had to.
I let the towel drop and gasped. Most of the smaller scratches and cuts had healed; so had the larger wounds on my right side, but on the left, five strips of shiny, mottled skin ran across my br**sts and down my stomach. I touched the top of one of them, wincing as it stung, noticing that the scars on my neck that had been pinpricks were now each as big as my thumb. I sank onto the edge of the bath, covering myself back up again.
His face, his laugh, his slick, oily voice filled my head, and I could feel him touching me once more, hear his panting breaths, smell the reek of blood.
It is my duty to ensure you die before you ever fulfil your fate.
And he’ll come back to finish me off. I know it. How can I carry on, knowing that? As I thought that, my eyes fell on something glinting on the side of the bath. A razor.
Think about it, Violet. What do you have to go back to? What is there left for you?
I had done it once. But I remembered the blood and how much there was of it; blood seemed too precious to go to waste now. Neither did I want to be sucked dry.
All of a sudden, the door burst open and Kaspar flitted in. He brushed past me and I sprang up as fast as the pain in my stomach and my stiff legs would allow, tightening the towel.
‘Don’t.’ He snatched up the razor. ‘Ever.’ He turned and took another razor off a nearby shelf. ‘Think.’ He opened the bathroom cabinet and pulled out several sharp objects. ‘About that.’ He shut the cabinet. ‘Again.’ He wheeled around to face me, eyes ablaze with a thousand different emotions. We glared at each other.
‘I wasn’t actually going to,’ I countered. I lowered myself back onto the edge of the bath, defensive and rechecking the mental barriers around my mind.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Just hurry up and get washed. I’m not taking my eyes off you any more.’ He left, slamming the door.
‘Fine!’ I shouted after him. I dropped my towel with a humph and slipped into the water. It sent tingles dancing along my spine, and I involuntarily closed my eyes.
If he thought I was going to allow that stupid monster called Ilta Crimson get to me, then he better think again. At least, that’s what I’m going to kid myself into thinking.
I flipped my wet hair back, having washed it twice and scrubbed my skin three times. My feet squeaked as I crossed the bathroom floor, but I didn’t feel clean.
I opened the door to my room, to the sound of a tinkering guitar. He stopped as I walked in, his eyes following me as he sat on the edge of my bed. I walked towards the wardrobe, intending to find some warm socks.
‘I meant what I said about not taking my eyes off you,’ he called after me.
I flopped down on the bed, unravelling the socks as I did. ‘You can sit down,’ I answered, as he jumped up, backing away a little. ‘I don’t bite,’ I continued. He chuckled and sat back down on the other side of the bed.
‘No, but I do. Nice socks, by the way,’ he said, raising an eyebrow at my fluffy bright yellow socks and continuing to mindlessly twiddle with the strings on his guitar. ‘You seem perkier than earlier. Most people would have broken down if they were in your situation.’
‘I’m not most people. Why should I let it bother me? It happened and there’s nothing I can do about it …’ I trailed off, wondering why I was even telling him this.
He continued to pluck the strings. ‘Hiding it isn’t always the best option.’
‘I’m not hiding anything.’ He just looked at me. ‘What is there to hide? I should have listened to you and realized he was bad news, but I didn’t. It’s my fault.’
He set his guitar aside, meeting my eyes – it was a difficult gaze to break away from.
‘Don’t say that. It’s not true and you know it.’
‘It is. Anyway, why should you care?’
‘So you don’t want me to care? Well, in that case, I’ll just go.’ He slid off the bed and made for the door.
‘That isn’t what I meant. Please, don’t go!’
He stopped, whirling back around. ‘I won’t go if you tell me why you’re so afraid of being alone.’
I sighed, fiddling with the loose bits of fluff on my socks, wishing he would douse the fire because I was starting to sweat again.
‘Well?’
‘Because he’s coming back,’ I muttered, feeling my cheeks become warm and not because of the fire.
‘He would be an idiot to do that.’ He laughed. ‘You don’t need to worry about that. He would never get across the border. Honestly,’ he added, seeing my face, which I knew was disbelieving. You didn’t hear what he said, I thought. You don’t know how he said it. He meant it. He wants me dead.
‘Stop laughing.’ I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at him. He, of course, caught it, and threw it back. It hit me square in the chest and I winced as it rubbed against the healing wounds. My eyes examined them, and so did Kaspar’s.
‘They’ll heal.’
‘I wish they would just go.’
He frowned, picking his guitar back up. ‘They don’t look that bad, you know.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘They do.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Do!’
‘Don’t!’
‘Get your shoes off my bed!’
And so it continued for hours, until the sun began to set. Relentless, pointless, witty banter exchanged back and forth until both of us had used up just about every comeback in the dictionary of sarcasm. It masked what was brewing beneath.
It was not until Kaspar reached across and switched my bedside lamp on that I realized how late it was.