Page 12 of Death Comes for Her
A guest.
I scoffed to myself, sinking lower into the bubble laden tub.
It was discombobulating when your entire world turned upside down overnight. Not the first time in my life I’d face that conundrum. World shattering, potentially life ending changes. However, unlike last time, I had the maturity of experience to compartmentalize my feelings on the matter.
The war began when I was eight years old, still living in the lap of luxury—albeit strained—and lasted for ten years until the vampires ultimately won. Throughout another decade, I'd debased myself as a wet hole for a human farmer just to ensure I had food and a place to sleep.
Vincere aut mori.
Well, the vampires had conquered, and most of the fairies had died. Without the reprieve of the sun bringing protective daylight hours, the undead had run amuck, sucking and fucking until the world fell to ash and gold blood ran in molten rivers through ruined city streets.
And they took wings as trophies.
Hugging myself, I reached over my shoulder, finger tentatively tracing the top of a shimmering scar. I sneered in the mirror at the emerald green silken dress Imani delivered. The thread-thin straps around my neck and the corset bodice dipping low in the back showed off the scars. I didn’t doubt that was intentional. After years of hiding them in frumpy hand-me-down dresses stained with mud, I found myself sorely missing the coverage.
“It’s called electricity,” Imani continued, explaining the strange lights to me. Some odd human invention that ‘the greatest vampire minds’ as she called them had improved upon. I rolled my eyes several times through her explanation, and she didn’t seem to notice. Or she was unbothered by it. “And they converted the dungeon into a basement to house a boiler. Monstrous thing, that. It heats the water in the pipes. I like that more than the electricity.”
I missed magic. Gods, I truly fucking missed magic.
Hours had passed since I’d woken, washed, eaten, and dressed. With each passing minute, I wondered when my world would tip again. Anxiety crested and sank within me any time a noise outside the door or outside the manor startled me. I gnawed at my nails, staring outside the window at the darkening red sky indicating the encroaching night.
Several times I almost asked Imani about the lords of the manor. When would they come for me? What are the chances they just kill me?
What if they wanted to fuck me?
An odd twinge flared behind my navel at that thought.
It had to have been a lingering effect from the soldiers’ venom in my system—that repulsive, wanton heat that made me ache for more. A sickening dread curdled the stew in my belly. Vampire venom had addictive qualities, and I wasn’t keen on experiencing those side-effects again.
If the lords of Ambrose Manor fed from me, they would become aroused and frenzied by my blood. And their bites would poison me with desire in return. A fucking symbiotic relationship.
A darker thought curled to life, rising over the horizon in my mind like the reaching shadows outside on the lawn. They crept higher and higher, sweeping my thoughts with wicked darkness.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
I’d traded my body to Benjen for years to ensure my survival. He bent me over and groped at me, and in return he made sure his wife didn’t report me or starve me.
For so long, I believed that my life was enough. At least I was alive with a place to sleep, I’d reminded myself. Even days ago, I’d thanked fate that Benjen and Griselda weren’t vampires.
So far, the vampires I’d only briefly met existed outside of my expectations for the undead. It wasn’t in their nature to have a fairy tossed in their lap and not devour it on the spot. The two lords I recalled in those last moments of consciousness before vomiting had refused to consume me until I’d recovered.
Very curious.
And the manor was far nicer than the struggling farm. As much as I hated to admit it, it wasn’t the worst trade of my life—so far. The vampire lords hadn’t come to assault me yet. That might be the tipping point I was gnawing my nails to the quick over. The speculative dread of what they might do while feeding on me strained every nerve ending in my body.
Things born to fly endeavored to avoid cages, yet there I was, pacing over a rich carpet in a deceptively cozy, luxurious suite. I’d traded one cage for another, and while my new one appeared gilded and warm on the outside… it was still a fucking cage.
A confident knock on the door served as my only warning. Alarm flared through me as the handle twisted and the hinges swung open. With my eyes glued to the paned glass of the window, I felt more than saw the rippling power of the two vampires entering the room.
In the charged seconds before they crossed the threshold, my gaze cut to the stone landing far below the window. I imagined—with nothing short of morbid longing—myself, twisted and broken at the bottom.
Chapter 4
Fairies didn’t dream of falling—crashing—it went against our nature. Our imperative in life was to feed, to fuck, and to fly. Every instinct ingrained in the visceral depths of my being screamed at me to leap out the window and soar away from the impending danger.
But clipped wings couldn’t flutter.
“My lords!” Behind me, Imani dipped into a bow.
