Every time I think I’ve managed my expectations, he does something to pull the rug out from beneath my feet. I don’t understand what’s going on, and I don’t feel like things are going to change any time soon.
It takes three minutes to acknowledge the relaxation of my bath is ruined. I wash quickly and get out. After some consideration, I pull on a pair of yoga pants and a baggy shirt before I leave the room. I need food.
And maybe part of me wants to provoke another encounter with Malachi. He’s so unexpected, I never quite know what he’ll do. Attack. Seduce. Apologize. He’s brought my most unforgivable trait to the fore.
He’s made me curious.
I make my way back to the kitchen and stop short in the doorway. It almost looks like a different room from the one I visited earlier. Every surface gleams and it smells faintly of lemon. The only thing that remains from yesterday is the faded paint of the walls. I walk to the fridge and pull it open, my jaw dropping at the sight of it filled to capacity with a wide variety of food and drink. “What the hell?”
I slept through the majority of the day, and I expected Malachi did the same. Sunlight is barely an inconvenience for vampires, no matter what the human legends say, but most of them prefer to keep nocturnal schedules to avoid the irritating brightness. Either there’s someone else in the house with us… Or he cleaned the kitchen and stocked the fridge for me.
How the hell did he stock the fridge if he’s trapped here?
“Tricky vampire,” I murmur. I shove down the weird warmth in my chest. Of course he’s ensuring I can feed myself. I’m no use to him if I starve to death, and no matter how much power his blood carries, I still need actual food to survive. The blood bank dries up if I die. Surely that’s why he did this. Believing anything else is a fool’s thought.
Refusing to eat out of spite is silly, so I grab the makings for a light breakfast that’s heavy in protein. It feels strange to sit at the kitchen table and eat slowly, rather than shove food in my mouth before someone decides to deprive me. My father always allowed me meals in a begrudging manner, as if my very need to eat inconvenienced him. It didn’t seem to matter there were other humans in the colony who had the same biological requirements I do. Every reminder of my human side irritated him.
At least until he found a use for me.
I blink down at my empty plate. I’m not sure how long I’ve been staring at it. I give myself a shake and clean up my dishes and put everything away. I look around the kitchen again and frown. What am I supposed todofor all the hours in between Malachi biting me? In the colony, after breakfast, I’d immediately be put to work at whatever menial task I was assigned that day. Before my knee injury, I’d sneak in a workout at some point, too. The younger turned vampires loved to spar with me because it gave them an excuse to beat the shit out of me. They’ll always be faster, but I picked up plenty of skills in the process.
With nothing else to do, I go exploring. The house is more or less what I expect. Room after room on the verge of decay, all with peeling wallpaper or fading paint. Dust covering everything. The whole house needs an update in the worst way.
I stop at the back door and stare out over the fields behind the house. A ring of trees mask the fence I know circles the entire property, a tall imposing iron monstrosity designed to deter even the most curious explorer. I’m reasonably sure I can wander anywhere within that fence without worrying about running into the guards, but I’m not willing to test it out. Not yet.
Instead, I turn around and head upstairs. More rooms, most of them bedrooms, but I hit the jackpot in the back corner of the house. I walk through the door and have the strangest feeling I’ve walked into a different building entirely. It’s been converted to a passably modern gym. The walls are painted a new-ish white and the dusty carpet has been torn up and replaced with wood floors which are only moderately beat up. A free-weight set looms in the back corner, stacks upon stacks of weights on the bar. A fancy treadmill is pushed against the other wall, angled to look out the window. In the center is a mat similar to what we had in the colony for sparring.
Huh.
I poke at the treadmill, a bittersweet feeling rising in my chest. There was a time when I would have given my left arm to have access to equipment like this. A chance to properlytrain. My knee might feel okay right now, but I suspect it’s a false feeling created a side effect from taking Malachi’s blood. No matter what he seems to think, even vampire blood can’t fix something already healed. He’d have to rebreak my knee, and even then I doubt there’s enough structure left to ensure it’d heal properly the second time. No, he’s simply acting the way all vampires do naturally—with casual cruelty.
My neck prickles and I speak without turning around. “I thought you weren’t going to sneak up on me anymore.”
“It’s not my fault your dhampir senses aren’t acute enough to hear me coming, even when I’m not trying to mask my steps.”
I turn to find Malachi’s changed again. He’s wearing a pair of loose pants, and he’s foregone a shirt again. He’s even tied back his long hair. Obviously, he’s here to work out. I clear my throat. “Don’t let me interrupt you. I was just checking out the house.” I hesitate. “Um, thank you for the food. And for cleaning the kitchen so I can actually make it without worrying about giving myself some kind of lead poisoning or some shit from whatever old paint is on the walls.”
He moves a few steps into the room. “Would you like to spar, little dhampir?”
5
Iblink. He wants tospar?“What?”
“It would be useful to see your skill level.”
His words are logical, but that doesn’t mean they make sense. “Why do you care what myskill levelis? I’m only here for two reasons.” Maybe that’s what his offer is about. A reminder of my place here. I’m not foolish enough to nourish the false hope he’s different from every single vampire I’ve ever known. The odds of that are astronomically not in my favor.
“Indulge me.” The steel in his tone informs me this is less a suggestion than a command.
I could try to push back, but it’d just end in us sparring while I attempt to escape the room. The thought of him getting his hands on me again has my traitorous heartbeat kicking up a notch. “You just want to bite me again.”
“If I want to bite you, I’ll bite you.” He moves closer, backing me onto the mat. “Surely your father didn’t leave you completely defenseless. Show me what you can do.”
I snort. “You have a heightened opinion of my father he doesn’t deserve.”
He clenches his jaw. “Trust me; he deserves everything I think of him.”
Not sure what I’m supposed to say tothat, but it doesn’t matter because he strikes. He slows himself down enough I can see him coming—but only barely. I jerk back, and I can actually feel the air displacement against my cheek where his fist moves. “What the hell?”