Page 31 of The Vampire Castle in the Sky

11

Hector

Arrogance. Inexperience. Misjudgment. The list of reasons that had gotten me into this predicament went on and on, and it all came down to one thing: I was not ready for this. My whole life had been shadow and plot and unseen devices, but I’d never been a part of that darkness. I had only been a creature trapped within it.

Something beneath the stones of our civility was breaking—the Celestines not coming, the Valkhars arriving late, Camilla openly threatening me, and Espen twisting a year-old conversation into some kind of clandestine arrangement between us were all signs of a disturbance beyond my control. And the worst thing of all was that I had dragged Thea into it too.

What was I thinking letting her stay here? Had I honestly believed that this was going to be just another one of my mother’s tasteful soirees, as if her death hadn’t changed everything?

The heart in my chest pounded like a war drum, my fingers around Thea’s wrist tightening as I hauled her up the stairs. Even as I held her, I felt her slipping further and further away from me like a vessel on water.

“Hector,” she panted. “Where are we—”

Quickly, I shoved her inside my study, shutting the door behind us. “You need to leave.”

She whirled, catching my eyes with hers. I used to treasure these moments when I was young. The moments when the path of our gaze would connect and the world around me would explode into color. These were the only times I felt anything at all. Drop of my stomach. Stutter of my breath. Liquid heat coursing through my veins.

Now it tore at my very heart.

“If I leave,” she asked breathlessly, “what are you going to tell them?”

My thoughts raced, jumping from one possible scenario to another. “You were feeling sick, and you went to see a physician in Lumia,” I suggested.

Something shifted in her gaze, a furtive knowing that made me think that perhaps her panic and mine were not products of the same terror.

“What is it?” I pressed.

“I had a vision,” she revealed. “You and Kaladin were fighting about something. He looked…” Her expression grew haunted, remote, as if the vision was stealing over her eyesight anew. “He looked enraged with you. He looked like he wanted to kill you.”

This didn’t surprise me much. Kaladin was easy to offend, as most vampires of his age and status were, and a violent dispute with him could unravel over any number of insignificant reasons. Still, I could not risk Thea getting caught in the middle of it.

Not many things scared me in this life, but the mere thought of something happening to her paralyzed me. A terrible coldness dropped over me, pinpricks of ice stabbing up my spine. My voice came out shattered. “I’m so sorry, Thea.”

“Why areyousorry?”

“This is all my fault. I should have never let you stay.”

Part incredulity and part accusation braced the gently drawn lines of her face. That was Thea’s greatest strength. She looked as soft and delicate as a rosebud, but her mind was as sharp and resilient as the thorns beneath. Sometimes, looking at her was like confronting myself in the mirror. “Why did you then?” she asked with a flare of defiance. “Because of Dahlia?”

“I’m not using you to get out of an unwanted engagement if that’s what you’re implying. You asked to stay. You asked me not to turn you away,” I reminded her, steadier than I felt.

“You could have refused.”

How easy it was for her to look at me with those eyes and tell me I had a choice. I never had a choice, not with her. Every time she asked for something, I yielded. Every time she cried, I crumbled like a castle made of sand. “Tell me one thing I’ve refused you,” I demanded. “Tell me of one time I didn’t give you exactly what you wanted.”

She averted her gaze, her face heating. I could not understand why this embarrassed her so. But, perhaps, the words weren’t to blame. Perhaps it was the way I stood so close to her she had no choice but to lean against the wall. I tried taking a step back. I begged my body to do so. It did not want to listen.

“I was there, you know,” she murmured, after that heart-skipping pause. “In the vision. I was watching you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not going to leave.”

The word was physical. It left me with a forward surge: “No.”

Before I knew it, I was caging her in, bracing my hands on either side of her face. My thoughts scattered, my skin warmed. We were so close, all I could smell was the almond oil she used on her hair. The rose undertone of her perfume. The very scent of her skin, which was something like honey. Sweet, woody, intoxicating if you got greedy with it.

She lifted her chin, and the back of her head fell against the wall, next to my hand. A stray curl brushed over my index finger. Its satin softness sent a bolt of need through me. Only the gods knew how much I wanted to bury my hands in her hair.

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