Page 3 of Dark Flame
One
ALEC
Present
From the roofacross the street from her house, I observe her.
The witch belonging to one of the world’s strongest covens. The witch belonging to a family that’s been taunting vampires forever.
Yetthisis what’s left of the great Sinclair bloodline?
While it abhors me to admit this about an enemy of my kind, the Sinclairs have always been renowned throughout the magickal community, and both desired and feared by vampires. Her family is the very source behind so much of my own pain.
Harlow Sinclair doesn’t deserve such a recognition.
For three nights, I’ve watched her avoid the windows unless she’s triple-checking they’re latched before heading to bed. She doesn’t leave the barrier surrounding her property. She paces her house, chewing on fingernails I doubt have anything left to them, giving me long-awaited glimpses through the cracks in the window coverings.
I’m not the only vampire who’s been hanging around, waiting for her to leave the safety of her magickal bubble. Luckily for her, I’ve discarded the others who dare believe they have the rights tomyprey. Unfortunately for her, though, I’m an immortal with all the time in the world. At some point, she’ll need to leave, and I’ll be here when she does. Unless it’s when the sun is up.
The interest I hold in her isn’t the same as all the other vampires who have come around. No, my needs go much deeper. After so many centuries of getting revenge upon the family who once stole mine from me, killing them has become too easy, simplistic, and, if I must admit it to myself, boring.
There’s a better path forward, and while one might refer to it as fate, I believe that concept to be stupid and something only witches are entertained by. The history behind my fight with the Sinclairs is the very reason behind my newest plan.
When I killed Elizabeth Sinclair centuries ago, their coven leader cursed the Sinclair bloodline to get rid of my kind. Instead of the plan succeeding how the witch hoped it would, she created endless targets for any vampire who craves humanity—there’s quite a few. Immortality can grow tiresome for those who haven’t received the forever they imagined. Since Elizabeth’s death, I’ve been wiping out every Sinclair witch and warlock born, cure or otherwise. I only spare one from each generation so they can continue the bloodline and keep my revenge alive…because I can. Because when you live forever, one must find their own form of entertainment.
While it’s been a thrill, it’s grown tiresome. It’s too simple and doesn’t bring long-lasting satisfaction to the grief festering inside me. So now, the only remaining Sinclair will pay for her ancestors’ actions through other means. One that’ll profit off the very attribute me murdering Elizabeth created.
A way that extends her pain until she’s nothing but a corpse.
I won’t only kill her; I’ll use her until she’s begging for death.
Sinclair moves into view again, climbing into her bed in nothing but an oversized shirt, giving me a brief view of bare legs. It’s amazing how little modesty humans have compared to centuries ago. If only this girl knew about the vampires outside her window, she’d cover up a bit more.
Especially that pretty little neck of hers.
When the witch falls forwards and plants her face into her pillows, the sound of sobs comes from within the brick house and barrier. She’s crying again, for fuck’s sake. I release a long, pained groan, disbelieving I’m about to subject myself tothis. To her. Her whining is too much. She may be a witch, but she’s as emotional as a human. Can’t handle the death of her parents for shit.
As tragic as that was. Her mother, Emily Sinclair, was the only witch from her generation, having no siblings; therefore, I had no choice but to keep her alive. Dying in a fire is such a wasteful death. When hearing the news, I felt something for the little Sinclair woman. Something the mortal side once would have understood, but the creature I’ve been for a long time hasn’t felt: sympathy. Perhaps because it’s the one Sinclair death I didn’t have a hand in, a true accident leaving her alone in the deadly and dangerous world filled with predators lurking in the shadows.
A predator like me.
The witch burrows into her bed and pulls the covers over her head. The night vision accompanying my vampirism cuts right through the darkness, allowing me to catch her subtle shifts in bed while her cries are loud enough to alert any being in the area.
Another night of not leaving her house. I sigh, the long-winded noise disrupted by the shuffling within the shadows beside the building. Curious, I pace to the edge of the roof, spotting the other vampire getting as close to her as the barrier allows him to. Trying to get nearmyprey.
My hiss is low, a warning that causes his eyes to dart up. He doesn’t take my warning as it’s meant and returns to inching his way around the building, searching for an in to the impenetrable barrier built by magick. I’ve long tried what he’s about to attempt, and it’s useless.
With another sigh, this one of annoyance, I step off from the roof, the ground rushing quickly towards me. My shoes make a nearly silentthudwith my landing, and I cross the street towards the Sinclair house.
“Did you not understand my warning, or do you not know better? Go the fuck away.”
The vampire turns, pupils red around the edges with his increasing thirst. “We can all have a sip. Do you not smell her? I can all but taste the humanity coursing through her veins.”
Of course, I fucking smell her.Her blood is a fine perfume, like the sweetest wine after a lifetime of sobriety, like meat to a starving carnivore, like everything right and wrong in the world. Most humans’ blood carries similar notes of iron and whatever they’ve consumed that day. No one, not even previous generations of Sinclairs, have ever smelled as pleasant as this one. The High Priestess who created the cure made their blood appeal to every vampire to draw them to their deaths, but I’ve been around many Sinclairs and it’s never been like this. Not so…appealing. She smells like my own personal meal, all for me and me alone, which is an alarming thought.
“She’s not yours,” I state firmly.
The vampire scoffs, turning to face me. “And who the fuck are—oh.”
