Page 7 of To Vanquish Darkness

Theo's body went rigid behind her, and the fog in her head lifted instantly. "You shouldn't have done that." His voice was rough, stretched tight like a bowstring.

"Done what?" Amalie coughed, fighting him just as she had the first time, her body no longer numbed by his glamour.Where was her uncle? Or Bethany?Surely someone had heard the scuffle of her feet against the floorboards.

"So stubborn." A low growl ripped from his throat as he shifted, forcing her shoulder blades flush against his chest and bending her head at an unnatural angle. Amalie gasped for breath. She begged for strength to stomp against the floor, to scream, but her muscles fell slack as Theo swept her curls from the tender skin of her neck.

Theo’s eyes drank in the shadows, glittering onyx in the candlelight. He was feral. He was thirst.

Vampire.

This was how death would come for her. Alone in her room. Her blood drained as she stared at the wooden ceiling beams. Nobody survived a vampire’s bite, not in the legends and not in reality. How many corpses had she seen? Lifeless eyes. Sallow, ashen skin.

She wondered if it would hurt. If she’d make a sound.

Amalie imagined her mother’s lifeless body draped across Theo’s outstretched arms in the woods. She thought of his lips coated crimson. His face twisted into something more animal than human.

This was how she would die then. At the hands of the same creature.

Exactly likeher.

“Maman,” she whimpered as if she still stood on the rocks of the river bed. Hate curled around her bones like smoke as Theo’s jaw grazed the shell of her ear. A shudder rolled through hisbody as he dropped his head and pierced her flesh with needle-sharp fangs.

5

1824 BLOIS, FRANCE

Rachel pressed herself against the garden wall, the stone still warm from the afternoon sun. A sliver of light glowed above the horizon, shimmering like a strand of gold through the gaps in the trees.

The light was not playing tricks on her.Not this time.She'd seen the figure of a man move in the shadows between her and the path back to the chateau. She glanced down at her hands clasping the basket of rhubarb stalks. The cut on her finger stung, and there were fresh droplets of blood forming now that she clenched. Why had she been so careless with the knife? Why hadn't she stayed inside the house and let the kitchen staff take care of it?

Because the greenery of the gardens had called to her after staring at stone walls all afternoon. Because this was the countryside. They were supposed to be safe here.

Rachel forced herself to breathe. The girls were inside. They were safe. Oren and Maurielle knew where she was, and if she didn't return soon, they'd come looking for her. Plus, she wasn't the only one in the gardens this time of night. There were men taking care of the animals—the shadow she'd seen had probably been one of the help.

Even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. There was something off about the way the man moved and the way her body had reacted to the brief flash of his fair skin.

She should run. Leave the basket and dart for the stables in the opposite direction of the house. Then she wouldn't have to walk back to the front door alone.

Rachel loosened her grip on the basket and was about to set it on the grass and bolt when the brush of boots on grass sounded next to her. She froze as blood rushed to her middle, making her woozy.

"Excuse me, I wondered if you could?—"

Rachel's body suddenly remembered how to move. She jumped back, her heart in her throat, brandishing the paring knife and basket of green leaves and raspberry-colored stalks like she knew how to use them. "Don't come any closer."

The man held up his hands and stepped back. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Whether you meant to or not, you shouldn't be here."

His mouth quirked. "You're so certain?"

Rachel took a good look at him then, searching for anything out of the ordinary. He was of average height. Strong build. Like he worked with his hands. He wore plain trousers and a linen tunic with sleeves rolled up his forearms. She might've believed he was one of the farm hands, but his skin was too fair. His fingernails too clean. Plus, he wore his chestnut hair loose and long over his shoulders. All the men here had theirs tied back during the workday.

It was different but not strange enough to attract notice. Laborers from different regions were flooding the town, and it was difficult to keep track of who belonged and who didn’t.

She didn’t feel anything . . . odd. No strange scents either. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction.

"I'm certain." Rachel set her jaw and only then realized she'd dropped her hands. She lifted the knife again, pointing it at his chest, but her heart was no longer in it. He could still be dangerous, but he wasn’t one ofthem.

The man took another step back, and that's when she noticed it. The blood on his shirt. “You’re hurt.”

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