Page 36 of Sophie's Ruin
Isabelle’s eyes were bright as she walked past me into the foyer.
I stepped out of the study next, halting right on the other side of the door. She was here. Her light floral scent hit me first, nearly knocking me off my feet. I’d recognize it anywhere. It had stayed with me after the Selection last year. My mind even played tricks on me sometimes, making me think I picked up on it when I was at the border where she couldn’t possibly be. I didn’t know why her scent had stayed with me. Perhaps because she smelled like a meadow on a bright sunny day, only more subtle, more delicate. At least, I thought she did. I wasn’t sure I still remembered what a meadow would smell like during daylight, after all that time living in the shadows. I muststill remember, though, because a picture of one appeared in my mind just now when her scent hit my nostrils.
Sophie Devereaux. I had been drawn to her last time, every instinct in me screaming to choose her as my vassal. I had resisted because I knew Vincent wouldn’t have approved of me choosing Eloise’s daughter. I had resisted then, and now she was back to taunt me again. Why had she returned? She had been terrified last year; I had smelled her fear, so what had driven her to volunteer to participate in the Selection again? I was about to find out. My legs moved as if of their own accord as I began gliding down the first row of the Candidates, each step bringing me closer to her.
“Sophie?” I asked, stopping before her.
Her floral scent enveloped me, and I was instantly in a meadow, basking in the warm sun.
“My Lord.” She gave a small, innocent smile, gazing up at me from beneath her lashes.
Her eyes were a stunning hazel color with a warm green hue like her mother’s. She also had the same shade of hair—a glossy golden brown—and the same smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. I had always thought Eloise was beautiful, but I had never been drawn to her like I was to the woman before me. My throat dried as we stared at each other. The difference between the Selection last year and this time was astounding. Then, she had been a frightened little bird. Now, she stood with confidence, her delicate features set with resolve. Her eyes were almost feverish, and that made me wary. No human in their right mind would return for the Selection a second year in a row. Something was off about Sophie, but I didn’t know what it was.
Not a mystery for you to solve,I told myself, dragging my gaze away from her to focus on the young woman to her left. When I did, Sophie grabbed my hand, her warm touch sendinga charge through me at the contact. My gaze darted back to her, and she dropped my hand as if startled by the coolness of my skin. Her eyes wide and her lips parted, she looked like she wasn’t sure what she was doing. Then she bit down on her lower lip, drawing my attention to her mouth.
I knew I should look away, but I couldn’t stop my gaze from gliding down the column of her neck. Her hair was pulled up, giving me an unobscured view of where her pulse thrummed under her smooth, supple skin. My mouth watered as the hum of the blood flowing through her veins filled my ears. Her floral scent surrounded me, and for a second, I was gone again, no longer in the foyer of the mansion. I was in a meadow drenched in sunlight with Sophie in my arms. I held her as I was drinking from her neck… I knew my eyes were nearly black when I blinked a few times to bring myself back to the present. If the hunger in them terrified Sophie like it had last year, she didn’t show it. Her quickening pulse betrayed her emotions, but it was unease, not pure terror, that I smelled on her this time.Interesting.
“I choose you as my vassal.” The words left me, rough and thick.
I told myself I was choosing her because she might shed some light on Vincent’s disappearance, but I knew deep down that wasn’t the only reason. I craved her, and instead of fighting the urge like I should, I was giving into it. It seemed from the very beginning, when it came to Sophie, my will was not entirely my own, and I was completely and utterly at her mercy.
19
SOPHIE
Iwas dreaming about Henry again. Only this time, it didn’t feel like a dream, but rather a vision, as if I’d projected myself to the place where he was, floating like an apparition above his crumpled form on the floor. He was tucked against a rough rock wall, lying unmoving and still. Too still, I feared, my heart thumping heavily in my chest. Refusing to give in to panic, I held my breath and listened. Potent relief washed over me when I heard his labored breathing and the strained beating of his heart. He was alive.
Barely, I realized, quickly assessing his condition. Deep gashes ran down his broad back, and smaller cuts and lacerations covered the rest of his body. I’d seen his abused state when I’d watched from afar at the border, but up close, it was a truly gory sight. It filled me with so much rage that my entire body shook. Then I noticed the chains. Thick, metal ones, binding him to the wall, and the collar…the collar was still there, around his fucking neck.
Red-hot fury surged, begging to be released and unleashed on all those who’d hurt him, were still hurting him, judging by the array of torture instruments on the nearby table. Serrated blades designed to tear through skin and muscle lay covered in blood, both fresh and dried. His blood, I knew, my nostrils flaring. This place reeked of it. It also reeked of misery and anguish. I swore I could hear Henry’s cries of agony echoing off the cavernous walls as if the sound had forever seeped into the rough surface.
Cavernous walls…I know this place, I thought, looking around.
Stern’s lair. They’d brought him here of all places?! Another wave of wild, violent rage rolled through me, curling my hands into fists. Breathing through the volatile emotion, I focused on Henry’s form underneath.
“Henry?” I said, my phantom voice ringing out in the candlelit cave. I didn’t expect an answer, but he flinched at my words—a small, barely-there motion. “Can you hear me?” I rasped past the lump in my throat. My chest was so tight I couldn’t take a full breath in.
Blood seeped out of the gashes on Henry’s back as he pushed himself up off the floor, groaning in pain. He slumped against the wall, and his head fell back as he stared up at the ceiling. His deep-blue eyes fastened on me, and my heart skipped a beat as I stared down at him, wondering if he could see me.
“You know what they say,” he ground out, and I held my breath, hoping he was talking to me. “Like father like son.” He coughed, and some blood bubbled up, spilling out of his mouth. “Was that how you felt before you died? You were so close to ushering in a new world, but then you went to the Dark Witches, thinking they had Eloise, and they killed you,” Henry paused and swallowed. He was talking to Vincent, not me. My heart sank with disappointment. “I was close, too,” hecontinued, looking right through me. “Sometimes I think this is the end I deserve. For everything I have done. I never deserved her. I only thought I did. I hoped…” he trailed off as a single tear rolled down his cheek, mixing with the blood covering his face.
I began crying, too, my tears evaporating in this strange state I was in before they could land on Henry sitting beneath me. He looked so very human in this weakened state—more man than vampire—and a ragged sob escaped me because I wanted to reach for him, to cradle him in my arms and take him as far away from this place as I could.
“To whom are you speaking?” came Camilla’s husky voice, as she stepped inside the cave.
I instinctively bared my fangs in a hiss, forgetting that I wasn’t truly here. I was just a phantom, an observer unable to do anything about what was unfolding before me. Camilla strolled to where Henry sat by the wall, the ivory silk of her gown clinging to her legs like liquid. She stopped before him, waiting for him to acknowledge her. When he didn’t, she kicked him in the stomach, and he grunted in pain.
“I asked a question,” she snarled, grabbing the chain attached to the collar around Henry’s neck. She yanked on it sharply, snapping his head to the side.
A growl escaped me—I will shove that collar down Camilla’s fucking throat. I will make her choke on it.
“Vincent,” Henry said, in between the wet, wheezing sounds coming from his bruised chest.
“Ah, yes. My dear old friend,” Camilla crooned as she let go of the chain and inspected her pointed nails.
“So, all those years of friendship. Just a lie?” Henry asked, each word a struggle.
Camilla smirked as she looked back at him. “Vincent was the oldest and the strongest of us. Friendship with him gave me an advantage. I always like to be on the winning side.”
