bChapter /bb37 /b

b38/b%

He exhales, and from the way he does it, I suppose he agrees with his friend. I decide not to press my luck any further and slip away from the door. I retrace my steps and return to my chambers. rissa and Nalda are inside at the low table where they usually y cards. They smile until they see the state of my clothes and the bird’s nest that is my hair.

“What happened?”

“We were attacked on the way back to the castle.”

Both stand so quickly the cards scatter everywhere. rissa starts checking my body for injuries I might not have noticed.

“I’m fine, really.”

They don’t believe me and keep inspecting for a while. I let out a heavy sigh when they finally give me space to breathe.

“You must’ve been so scared…”

I nod.

“There’s hot water ready. Best we get that mess out of your hair,” says rissa, lifting one of the tangled

locks.

“Don’t worry, I’ll do it. You two can continue your card game. I’d like to bathe alone.”

They hesitate, but something in my smile must convince them it’s not a totally insane idea. I walk to the

bathroom, remove my shirt, and as I pull down my riding pants and underwear, I see blood. I immediately

look down at my legs–between my thighs is a reddish stain. Not a wound. My bleeding must have just

started. I step into the tub, submerging one foot, then the other, until the hot water covers me up to my

chest.

A moan of pure relief escapes me as the warmth begins to loosen the tension in my legs. The water quickly turns murky from the dirt stuck to my skin and hair. I sink into itpletely, massaging my scalp and opening my eyes underwater. For a moment, I feel the same as I did in theke the night I tried to end my life. I almost hear that voice again.

I break the water’s surface, gasping/like a fish, and instinctively nce around, as if I might see that woman again. I don’t. I lean back and begin rubbing oils into my skin as the maids usually do. I trace the cut on my palm with my fingers–not pain, just a soft tingle.

I growl softly, frustrated with myself for feeling that sensation, for not being able to stop thinking about that moment. It takes a while before I leave the bath, and the water is already growing cold. I wrap myself in a robe and head toward the wardrobe. I haven’t even opened a door when my maids are already on me.

“We have to get you ready. Cassian sent Drystan to tell us you’ll be apanying him again tonight.”

“He’s insane.” I frown. “We just got back, we were attacked, and he’s thinking about parties?”

“We don’t ask questions, we obey.” rissa taps my nose. “And so should you.”

One starts drying me while the other rummages through dresses.

“I think my bleeding has started.”

“Don’t worry.”

And I don’t. Bleeding is normal for women. I just hope it doesn’t make me a juicier snack. I wrinkle my nose at the thought.

I let them do as they please. Instead of the white dress from the other night, they choose a dark red velvet one, the color of blood. Much to my dismay, they insist on a corset with stiff bones that dig into me every time I breathe. They say it entuates my figure. And it does–my breasts are practically an invitation. I never thought that part of me was especially generous, but now I wish it were even less so.

They’re always attentive to the details, and before long, I’m on my way to the carriage where Cassian waits. The ride is silent. We don’t speak, we don’t argue–which I consider a small victory. Neither of us brings up what happened earlier. We stop at the same ce as before–I recognize the fa?ades and entrance doors. This must be their party pce.

Cassian walks ahead several paces, not bothering to wait for me. I watch him silently from a distance. His pants cling to his long, strong legs, and his chest is covered by a ck shirt with the top buttons undone. He doesn’t need a coat–few things in this world are colder than he is. Meanwhile, I’m burdened not only with a cumbersome dress but also a white cloak lined with wool.

I catch up just as he reaches the doors. He nces sideways at me.

“You know the rules. Do whatever you want, but your blood is mine.”

He disappears into the crowd, but his presence is unmistakable. I watch him longer than I should–and I wish I hadn’t looked away, because the rest of the attendees are not dressed like him. I see vampires sitting on small thrones with naked women squirming in theirps, blood dripping from their throats. The rest of the room is no less obscene–bodies tangled together on the marble floor, moving to various rhythms. I have to look away.

No matter how loud the music is, it can’t drown the sounds. The moans bounce off the marble, creating a cacophony that makes my skin crawl. My eyes desperately seek a familiar face, but Walter doesn’t seem to be here–or hasn’t arrived yet.

I feel lost and disoriented. I try to escape, edging through the crowd until I press myself against one of the red tapestries that serve as curtains. Slowly, afraid to find someone already using the small space behind.

b15:03 /bbSun/bb, /bb3 /bbAug /b

me, I lift the tapestry. Inside is total darkness, but it seems empty, so I crawl in.

Once the tapestry fallspletely behind me, the darkness bes absolute, but eventually my eyes adjust. It’s a small cubicle with a chair. I copse onto it, ignoring the thoughts in my head about what inappropriate things may have happened here.

The moans drill into my ears.

b38% /b

29

I slouch into the armchair, feeling the corset boning digging into my skin. I think about trivial things until bI /bget lost in my own thoughts. I go over and over the most recent events, as if I weren’t capable of moving forward. At some point, someone stumbles in identally and immediately apologizes,ughing–no doubt under the effects of wine. Or perhaps blood has the same effect on them.

Nothing else happens, and I suppose that’s what leads me to fall asleep. When I realize what’s happened, I

sit up with a jolt, wondering how long I’ve been lying here asleep and whether anyone came in. My hands fly

to my neck by pure instinct, but it doesn’t seem to have been touched by anyone’s fangs, much less pierced.

When I step out, the light makes me squint and even brings tears to my eyes. I look around, visibly disoriented from the sleep. The hall doesn’t look any emptier than before–maybe even fuller–so the party

must be in full swing. I consider going back to the darkness of my refuge. I’m already turning when a voice

interrupts my escape.

“Hello, darling.”

The voice isn’t entirely unfamiliar, but it’s definitely not Cassian’s. I turn heavily.

It’s Ciro Amery, wearing a blood–red shirt, open, exposing the paleness of his chest that looks as if it were

carved from stone. My eyes travel down that path of skin, and a little voice in my head tells me it’s

inappropriate to look at a man like that, especially a vampire, so I lift my gaze again. His pink eyes look at me with amusement, and his chestnut hair is tousled, a few curls falling over his forehead.

“You look tired.”

I’mpletely speechless. I stare at his face like a fool, unable to stop. The amusement in his eyes grows.

“This is… this isn’t my idea of an i–ideal party.”

The wordse out with difficulty. What’s wrong with me? With Cassian, this doesn’t happen. With him, I

often be a sharp–tongued girl who doesn’t hesitate to blurt out whateveres to mind, even if it

might cost me my life. Ciro Amery wouldn’t hurt me, he can’t touch me… right?

“Yes, you’re right.” He dangles a ss from one hand. “The orgy was definitely too much.”

His words draw my eyes briefly to the center of the room, where something my eyes shouldn’t see is happening. Sweaty bodies, entangled, moaning. Immediately my cheeks burn.

“bIt’s /bobscene,” I dere.

“It’s natural,” he counters.

Something in my face must change because suddenly Ciro bursts intoughter. That makes me feel even more ufortable and annoyed. I’m more than ready to turn and walk as far away from him–and the rest -as possible. His fingers dig into my elbow before I have the chance to do just that.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “It’s just that I’m still surprised by how humans react to sex. You’ve regressed so much… You used to be far more liberal. I’m d to know there are still people who resist that ande to us to enjoy their sexuality.”

My gaze grows wary and venom pools on the tip of my tongue.

“I suppose it’s your fault that humans have regressed so much,” I spit.

“It’s the fault of the religion you insist on clinging to.” His index finger lifts my chin, searching for my eyes. “God doesn’t protect you–he imprisons you.”

“You eradicated everything to do with religion.”

“We can storm churches and defile them, destroy crucifixes, burn bibles, and break baptismal fonts, but in

many minds faith still persists. They keep reciting prayers at night, clinging to those invisible shackles.” He begins circling me, evaluating. “Why is it a sin to enjoy your body? Why is it a sin for a man to love another?

Doesn’t God say to love thy neighbor? What does it matter if I do it by shaking his hand, pping his back like good Christian men, or if I do it by kissing him until we both lose consciousness?”

Even if I try to argue or find a counterpoint, my mouth opens and closes without a single wording out. The longer I stand in front of him, the more foolish I feel. And, as if that weren’t enough, I have to suppress a

yawn.

“I want to believe it’s the party that bores you, not mypany.” He tilts his head, eyeing me with a yful smirk. “Still, I can’t let you feel bored.”