“You think your vampire mojo has somehow changed my...” It’s weird to think I have magic. I’m a girl who failed freshmen science.Twice. There have to be some standard requirements for using magic. They can’t just let anyone use it, right? I had to have a birth certificate, an ID, and a fancy special sticker just to get a damn license plate in the human world. Why would this place just allow someone like me to use magic that I clearly don’t know how to contain?
“Your magic is definitely engaging with ours. I don’t know why or how, but we shouldn’t tell anyone for now.” His dark eyes look to Rorrick and then to Seven. “My father likes to trade Promises because that magic strengthens others. Drinking your blood will give my father more power. And if you’re stronger than he thinks...”
Oh. Okay. If I want to live longer, I shouldn’t be using or talking about this mysterious magic that I don’t even know how to produce.
Got it. Noted. Underlined. Fuck.
“A seamstress will be in to see you within the next hour. She’ll be fitting you for a special gown tonight for the celebration.”
“Tonight? That’s too soon. I just got here.”
His cool palm slides down to the small of my back, and it’s strange how easily he comforts me. I’m naked in his lap, and still it feels innocent. Romantic. This man is a psychopathic vampire. Comfort is the very last thing I should feel around him.
“There’s a lot happening. I know. But let’s take this one thing at a time. My sister will also be in to join you. She—” He swallows like this is somehow hard for him too. “She also has to be fitted. Try not to,” his eyes narrow on me once more, “do anything strange to her.”
Rorrick hiccups suddenly, but it sounds more like a tired donkey than anything.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
“Can you be good for me?” He’s still holding me and touching me and making me feel far too acquainted with a man who kidnapped me, imprisoned me, and will soon enough feed me to his father.
“Yes,” I say with a small nod.
I hate him for making me like him.
And right now, I hate me too.
Chapter 14
Crymson
A soft knock is barely heard.
I pause my restless tapping of my nails along the desk in the corner of the room and eye the door suspiciously. It’s weird for someone to knock on a prisoner’s door, isn’t it?
“Uh—come in...” I say on the most uncertain voice of my entire life. I wipe my palms on my white button down but it doesn’t help.
The door pushes open soundlessly, and deep brown eyes shine with a soft smile when Seven spots me. A ring of red hazes the pretty amber that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. Two smaller people linger behind him, but all three of them usher in, and I find myself standing with anxious energy.
Is that magic?
No. That’s not what it felt like last time... I don’t think so, anyway.
Two beautiful women peek around the vampire and look me up and down curiously.
Another sloshing of energy fills my stomach.
Magic?
No.
“The seamstress is here to prepare you for the king,” Seven says on a grave tone.
Prepare me for the king. Oh, no.
And then I vomit all over the floor.
The splatter of it flicks across my calves, and I hold my stomach hard with the realization that the nervous energy I felt was most definitely not magic.