bChapter /b7

I ce my foot on the carriage step and, bowing my head, enter. bIt’s /bdark, but when I lift The air leaves my lungs bas /bif I’d been kicked in the chest. I sit with my back very straight!

bgaze/b, I make out arge shadow, shaped like a man. shoulders stiff. I try not to look directly at the shadow.

“Let’s go,” he says, knocking on the roof with a calm but strong voice. bIt’s /bmasculine and hypnotic. i“/iiI /i

His wish is mymand.

to get home bas /bsoon bas /bpossible.”

The horses neigh as the whip bcracks/b, breaking the night’s calm. We speed off, apanied by the thunder of hooves against the cobbled road. I look out the windowb, /bavoiding what truly awakens my interest and my fear.

About an hour passes during which my brear /bsuffers with every bump in the road. The silence bis /bsuffocating, but I suppose bI /bbelse/b. It’s not like this predator–and–prey rtionship is going to be friendly and cordial. I shift in

my seat

find a bbetter /bposition.”

expect anything

bFive /bminutester, I shift again.

“Stop moving,” he says sharply. “Your scent ising to me.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Now it’s he who movesb, /bstepping out from the shadows when the moonlight illuminates his face. It makes him look even paler. bIt’s /bhim. The man from earlier. And once again those blueb, /bcold eyes make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. There’s no life in them, they’re empty, dead. He has thick hps pressed into a firm line, high and sharp cheekbones, and a neatly trimmed beard of ba /bfew days. My eyes can’t stop looking at him,pletely stunned by his beauty. These monsters truly are beautiful. Beautiful to lure, to hunt, to kill.

I realize during my scrutiny that his beyes /bbare /balso looking at me and I blush instantly. bI /blook away toward the window. Even his gaze on me. I y with my fingers, count the bumps that shake the carriage, anything to distract myself from him. Hig

weighs in the air.

He slides his long, graceful fingers to the carriage window and I see him open it a few centimeters. The rush of cold tighter to my cloak and wrap myself in it. His rigid posture rxes slightly as his chest detes with a deep exhale.

—

I bfeel /bthe weight of

bpresence /bis SO tangible itī

iair /i

that enters makes me cling

Maybe another hour bpasses /bbefore the carriage stops and the coachman’s voice reaches my ears. Curiosity pulls bat /bme and I discreetly try to see out of the corner of my eye what lies outside. I can’t make out much, only the thick trunks of trees and wild vegetation. A few minutester we’re on the move again, and we pass through gates covered in vines. The carriage tilts slightly, indicating the path is bsteep/b. Mypanion remains impassive, not moving an inch.

As if fate hadn’t punished me enough tonight, a series bof /bmisfortunes follow: the bsteep /bpath, a bump, and my clumsiness. The bcarriage /bjolts body shoots forward, crashing into something extremely hard.

and

my bgaze/b, afraid.

The fingers, more like bws/b, with how deeply they dig into my shoulders, push me away quickly. My head bis /bfar below his, and I lift His beyes /bstab into me like bdaggers/b. My bheart /bskips a bbeat /bwhen I bsee /bhis hardened bexpression/bb, /bred nostrilsb, /bbtense /bjaw, and lips curled in displeasure.

“Wasted rubiesb.” /b

He pushes me away from him as if my closeness bwere /ba physical ailment. My bback /bhits the wooden seat and little bck /bspots dance in my vision.

“No one asked you to pay so much for me,” I mutter angrily.

“What did you bsay/bb?/bb” /b

Keeping silent would be the most sensible option and the one that would guarantee I stay alive tomorrow, but if you think about it, I already tried to end my life once. The suicidal impulse seems to be wide awake within me.

“What bI /bsaid is that no one forced you to bpay /bbsuch /ban amount of rubies for me.”

He bnarrows /bhis eyes and tilts his head slightly with a certain amused air.

“The gazelle speaking informally to the lion,” he says bwith /ba mocking tone. “Perhaps you’ll serve me better as a bjester /bthan as food.”

A flush, having nothing to do with shameb, /bunts my cheeks. I bite my tongue not to speak further, so hard I might beven /bdraw blood. My fingers fumble bat /bthe seat behind me, looking for bsupport /bto get up.

“Your heart is beating so fast it’s almost like you’re begging me to let you taste my fangs…” He leans in his bseat/b, looking down at me from his dominant position while I’m still sprawled on the floor of the bcarriage/b. I see his tongue caress one of his sharp fangs. “…on your neck…” His beyes /bdarken buntil /bthat cerulean liue almost vanishes, or maybe on other, more tender parts.”

We stop again. This time it seems to be the final stopb, /bas the coachman opens the door and bmakes /bba /bdeep bow, waiting for his master. He bgives /bme something resembling a mocking smile and steps out of the carriage. I breathe again when his presence recedes and bI /bexit as well, where the group

of bwomen /bfrom before awaits me.

12:18 bPM /b

0

I ce a hand on my heart for a moment, trying to regain myposure.

bSo /bthat man is Cassian Draven, my jailer and the one in charge of sinking his fangs deep into your neck.

I bshake /bmy head at that thought–where did ite from?

The vampires give ba /bsmall curtsy bas /bbCassian /bbpasses /bwithout even ncing bat /bthem. him up… and up…

+15

bsee /bhim

climb the small bstaircase /bquickly and my gaze follows

When I realize what’s before my beyes/b, bI /bcan’t help but open them so wide they nearly pop out. This bisn’t /ba house or a regr mansion–it’s a damn castle. The walls are gray stone, imprable–looking, the steps to the main entrance worn with

the garden. I spin around, the gardens stretch beyond what bI /bbcan /bsee. I hear the sound of water,,me, and stone statues are scattered throughout

breeze.

bcaw /b

of a crow, and the rustle of leaves in the

I focus again on the imposing building before me. There arerge arched windows, the cornices are decorated with open jaws, and in the center of the fa?ade is a stained bss /brose window. Robust statues are scattered here and bthere/b, presiding over the rooftops, and two bare /bstationed on either side of the stairs, as if they were guardians of the main staircase.

“We don’t have all day,” bsays /bthe red–haired vampire. “You’ll have time to admire the beauty of this

ce.

“Or not.” Says anotherb, /bcovering her mouth to hide a giggle.

My

My fingers tingle with the urge to p that perfect faceb. /bI’m sure I’d leave visible marks. The idea tempts me

fart

too

bI /btry not to show that her words affect me, much less that they awaken my most violent side. I ce my bfirst /bfoot on the bstairs /b

“and begin to climb, slowly at first and then faster. I’m not surprised that, upon entering the castle, the atmosphere is as cold or even colder than outside.

“bLeave /busb,/b” the redhead ordersb. /bb“/bI’ll take her to her chambersb./bb” /b

I look around, not to admire the luxury and beauty of the ce, but searching for blue eyes. He’s nowhere to be

seenb, /bbI /bsuppose bI /bwon’t see him

much.

Only when he wants a quick sip.

Those stupid thoughts again.

I snort, which earns me a reproachful look from the redhead. Once we’re alone, she starts walking and I follow her.