I stand abruptly. “I’m fine. Do you need anything else?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t say a word as I walk past him. And it makes me wonder what he saw.
And why it’s making him give me the cold shoulder.
Chapter 14
Darius
Thebooksaren’tenoughto hold my attention. All I can think about is Amber with her eyes closed, her soft lips parted, her cheeks rosy from sleeping peacefully. What I witnessed in her mind’s eye provided relief.
She never felt attracted to Jasper.
Their relationship was as standard as any bloodbag servicing a fang. She reported to him four times a day, occasionally spent the night, and was granted time to work on sewing projects. He occasionally provided fabric and other craft items, but largely left her to fend for herself.
He sort of took care of her. And sort of didn’t.
Whenever he fed upon her, she disappeared into a tower. It was similar to the sensation I had experienced the other day yet less dire. She wasn’t in a panic. She was simply sitting by herself and sewing. It seemed to be a meditative distraction from the act of feeding.
Strangely enough, Amber never truly desired to feed her vampire. She did so out of duty. While the general feelings of euphoria were present as they often are with the vampiric bite, she displayed no true longing to offer her neck to her fang.
But that was far from the most interesting discovery.
Aerial stumbled upon an ancestral memory embedded in her blood. When Amber was delivered to her sisters to return to reality at the end of her meditation, the image had distorted and revealed a group of four women—presumably, Alard women—huddled around a vampire on an old battlefield. It appeared to be an ancient war that happened somewhere near Rome.
The women were chanting and placing their hands upon the vampire. He spat blood. The rest of the vision faded, but the intent was clear.
They were killing the vampire.
It suddenly makes sense why Tessa was chosen specifically to kill Quinn. Even if that vampire wasn’t a Rodin, vampire hunters never cease to infect their young with the desire to destroy. It persists for ages, passing along until it reaches someone strong enough to manifest that longing in the proper form.
One like Tessa. Or Seline.
Or Amber.
King Marr took advantage of that desire. He used it to benefit his kingdom.
While my work should have been my main focus, I couldn’t shake the image. Aerial couldn’t explain it. Amber seemed to be confused by it. Whatever resided in her enchanted blood had been meant to destroy something supernatural.
Yet it protected me instead. Why?
My hand cramped up as I took furious notes. I carefully avoided sexual behavior while citing the arousal as Drake had recommended. Acting on such lust could be recorded in my private journals. I could compare them to Barty’s ramblings. At least the ones he had before he went stark raving mad.
It’s unfair to have all these variables. But then again, that’s what sets me apart from anyone else who would dare submit an early-season application to the Historical Society. I’m trying to show them that I can handle anything—even the most baffling and disturbing discoveries.
Maybe Ishouldadd the sexual conduct to the list for that very reason. It would be scandalous, of course, but my honesty would be seen as a mark of honor. A reputation like mine has been established on such lines. Why not continue that?
I can’t hurt her, I thought.Physically, mentally, spiritually—I just can’t do it.
Citing her behavior would likely throw her under the bus. It would tarnish Tessa’s image as well. And, by extension, it would do much the same to the king.
To my brother.
Should the Council decide we’re not acting appropriately, they’ll wake up our father.
We don’t want to do that before his time has come.
Not to mention the embarrassment of Quinn’s bloodlust curse causing a landslide slip.