Page 45 of The Vampire Castle in the Sky

“They’ll forgive you,” I reassured him, squeezing his arm. “We’re not characters in a play. We’re not perfect, and we don’t have to be. We’re people. We’re messy and flawed and egotistical at times. And I will probably never understand why some people’s destinies are so much harder and heavier than others’, but I do know that if someone can’t forgive your sadness, then they don’t deserve your happiness.”

Hector looked at me closely for several silent moments, his backlit face as unreadable as ever. Then he leaned down and flicked my nose, his lips curving into a small, wistful smile. “When did you become so wise, hmm?”

Wise.

Would a wise woman follow the will of others as I’d done? Would a wise woman have so much trouble connecting with the parts of herself that were supposed to define her the most? Would a wise woman have been so blind to the man who’d been standing right in front of her all along?

“I’m an idiot,” I sighed resignedly.

Hector’s eyes grew hard on me, but not hard like stone, hard like glass. A hardness that was easy to break. “You give so much of your kindness to others,” he said. “I wish you left some for yourself.”

I didn’t know why these words hurt me so much, but suddenly everything inside me twisted. I wanted to disappear, recoil from him, and fade into the dark walls of the Castle.

“I’m going to bed,” I said with a dramatic yawn. “Let’s talk in the morning, yes?”

I turned on my heel, the hem of my dress swishing furiously against the marble floor. I didn’t have to check over my shoulder to know that Hector watched me shrink into the darkness.

How many times, I wondered,have we watched each other go?

???

Burgundy draperies were drawn over every window, and with all the lamps and candles snuffed out for the day, the hallway was somber enough to kindle a spark of unease in my chest.

As the mass of gloom stretched out before me, I was overtaken with the same strange feeling that someone or somethingwas watching me.

I both dreaded and ached to check over my shoulder to confirm I hadn’t gone completely mad, but my dilemma ceased when I felt the chill of a phantom touch along my arm.

Death. This feels like death, I thought, and with a scream lodged in the back of my throat, I whirled at once.

The corridor seemed to spiral away into the darkness: endless, bleak, and bereft of life apart from the frightened beats of my heart and the shuddering of my body.

No death creature loomed behind me, no passing ghost, only the sweeping sequence of black and white squares and the dark expansive walls. Yet the temperature took an eerie plunge, the bouquets on the pedestals withering, as if the magic of the Castle was failing one petal at a time.

My breath turned to fine mist before my eyes. Slowly, with a shiver crawling up my spine, I veered again—and screamed at the pale, red-eyed face that floated right above me. My fist came up on sheer instinct and beat against a stone-hard surface, which turned my panicked shriek into a howl of pain.

“What in the damned sky is wrong with you?” growled a frightfully unfamiliarvoice.

I shook out my throbbing hand, blinking rapidly, only to realize that the floating, demon-eyed head before me belonged to Tieran, whose voice I’d never heard before.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasped, cupping my mouth in horror as I noticed the clean stream of blood trickling down his nose.

Tieran bared his fangs in a snarl, but his scarlet eyes were too flat, his marble face too passionless to convey real threat. Still, I felt myself recoil in suspicion, a sour taste of fear on my tongue. “Why—why are you following me?”

“I am trying to movepastyou. Our room is right next to yours,” he gritted out, pointing at the shiny black door behind me.

“Oh,” I mumbled, my alarm giving way to mortification.

Tieran wiped the blood that had settled over his upper lip with the back of his hand, the movement unsteady, almost spasmodic.

His skin, I realized, would have been rich and tan had he not looked so ill, and his almond-shaped eyes would have been warm and bright with intelligence had they been less listless.

How much had Camilla drunk from him? And why would Roan allow his husband to be treated like this?

Earlier in the study, I thought I saw love in Roan’s eyes and heard tenderness in his voice when he’d mentionedhis husband.Camilla had to have some kind of hold over them. Something that prevented Roan from intervening and allowed her to do whatever she pleased.

I knew it was not my place to say something about it; in fact, I was certain I didn’t want to get caught in anything that involved Camilla, but I couldn’t abandon Tieran in this condition and go about my evening with a clean conscience either.

“Tieran, are you feeling okay? Can I get you something? Perhaps a cup of blood?” I asked, reaching up to brace his shaking shoulders.

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