Page 11 of Death Comes for Her
“Not quite sure. I was nineteen when I was turned.” She tapped a finger on her chin in speculation. “I think I’m almost fifty now.”
I made a choking sound.
She giggled.
Gods, it was odd. I knew she was a vampire—my enemy. But the shock of hearing someone laugh—fuckinggiggle—for the first time in a decade startled me more than anything. The absurdity of it brought a relenting smile to my weary lips.
Had I heard anyone laugh since the war started—or since the vampires had won?
The vampire looked over her shoulder and back at the door before facing me again. She leaned in, whispering almost conspiratorially. “How old are you?”
“Erm, about twenty-eight, I believe.” Keeping track of time on the farm hadn’t been my top priority.
“Oh!” Imani clasped her hands together. “So, you recently stopped physically aging?”
“I believe so, yes.”
Why was I engaging in friendly conversation with a fangless vampire? Did I have a brain injury still healing?
“How long have I been asleep—or here?” Shaking my head, I diverted us toward a more pressing topic.
“Oh! I’m sorry. It’s just I’ve never met a fairy before, and there aren’t many vampires here who are very nice. I’ve had no one else to talk to while tending to you.” She tapped her chin. “That being said, you were brought in five days ago. You’ve been drifting in and out.”
I took in the talkative, over friendly vampire. Seemingly innocent, pretty and trapped as she was when turned undead as a young woman. She seemed like she needed someone to interact with. A potential ally?
No. I shut that idea down as soon as it reared up.
Imani might have had her fangs removed and cared for me the past week, but she was still a vampire. Tending to me had undoubtedly been an order from her masters. If she still had her fangs, she would have bitten me or killed me already.
Best she could do now would be to gnaw at me a bit.
“Five days,” I exhaled, deflating.
“Yes. My masters will be glad of your recovery.”
I shot up onto my knees, fisting the blanket in my sweaty palms. Through gritted teeth, I snapped, “So they can fucking eat me? Why take care of me just to smile, knowing they’re going to kill me?”
Imani’s brilliant eyes widened. Her expression took on a dreamy quality, and her voice almost breathless. “Kill you? No. They’ve decided to keep you for an extended period.” She clapped her hands excitedly. “You’re going to be the first fairy guest at Ambrose Manor!”
Keep you. Extended period. Guest.
“They’re going to use me as a fucking pet they can feast on.” Everything within me wilted. Any trace of hope or will to fight dried up and crumpled into ash.
I should have jumped when I had the chance.
∞∞∞
An unfortunate truth of my situation: the Ambrose Manor was luxurious—at least what I’d seen of it.
I maintained vigilance as Imani encouraged me to wash and dress for the day. All the while, the comforts and elegance of what I could only call a suite stunned me. From the warmth of the fire in the hearth, the soft, plush fabrics of the bed andcouches, to the private attached bath, I was rather regretfully… impressed.
Getting swept up in lavish amenities felt somewhat vain, but after years of living on a squalid farm with Benjen and Griselda, I indulged in the splendor. However selfish it seemed, I needed to steal a moment of magnificence for myself before the reality of what came next crashed onto my shoulders again.
A long silenced, haughty voice in the back of my mind resurfaced, whispering that I deserved nothing less than opulence after all.
During a long, lush bath in a copper tub large enough for two, I assessed my circumstances. My aches and pains, along with the bite marks, had healed. The memory of their assaulting bites would remain as stains, joining the rotation of my nightmares. One more unfortunate notch in the belt of my trauma.
But I was healed, at least physically. And I wasn’t wallowing in a grimy dungeon. Which objectively felt odd considering the nature of myhosts. The vampire soldiers had treated me like a portable meal, yet the lords of the manor had me in my own room—a fine one at that.
