Page 21 of When Bones Whisper
She glanced over her shoulder, seeing nothing in the room. Whatever was haunting her had gone, but she couldn’t escape the uneasiness in her stomach. There was no way she wanted to remain alone in the room.
A loud gurgle broke the brief silence, and Alexander’s eyes dropped to her stomach. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really. My appetite disappeared when yourfriendsank his fangs into my neck earlier.”
He tilted his head. “Your body does not lie, my dear. I will send for some food from the kitchen.”
“I assumed you would only have blood stored there.”
Yet again, he did not react to her comment and some of the tension in her jaw dissolved. “No. I prefer to drink from the source.”
She tried not to make another face. Unsuccessfully.
“We have human staff here,” he said when she didn’t respond. “They require feeding. Let us find one of them so you do not pass away from starvation.”
She followed Alexander out of her bedroom, hurrying her pace to catch up with him and the light he carried. They didn’t talk on the way down the halls, but she used that time to observe him, from his elegant, arrogant stride to his manicured nails and silky blond hair that grazed his shoulders. He took pride in his appearance. That much was obvious from the tailored, embroidered knee-length frock coat complete with red and gold stripes, and gold silk bow tie.
With Nathaniel, she’d been certain the attraction and magnetic pull was all part of some vampire charm to lure her in. Yet, with Alexander, she didn’t feel any of that. While he was conventionally good-looking and had a certain panache about him, his presence didn’t make her skin tingle like Nathaniel’s did.
Shaking her head to scatter those unwanted, dangerous thoughts, she focused ahead, the sharp pain searing through herlegs making her wince. Alexander had obviously slowed his pace for her but was still too fast. Her body still hadn’t recovered from yesterday. Every muscle in her calves were tight, and her knees felt as if they might buckle at any moment.
He veered into a narrowing, dimly lit corridor finished with baroque black wallpaper and large oil paintings, and she stopped, unable to keep up the pretense of being fine.
“Please. I need a moment,” she said breathlessly when it became too much. Leaning against the black chair rail, she let out a long exhale.
“Mortals.” He said the word like it was a bad thing and stopped in front of her, his lips curling inward. “Do you need me to carry you the rest of the way?”
She grimaced at the thought of being so close to one of them again. “No. Thank you. I just need a minute or two. There are alotof corridors.”
She sank to the floor, her back sliding down the bumps of the rectangular paneling.
“Let me help you, my dear,” Alexander said in a tone and crouched to her level, placing the lamp next to them on the carpet. Lines creased around his eyes, and for a moment he looked kind, boyish even. “We can stop here. Can you make it to that door?” he asked, pointing a few steps away.
She nodded, taking his arm.
“Let me show you the library. There is an armchair and a fire.”
“Why are you being nice to me?” she asked, grunting when she took a step.
“I am notnice,” he said swiftly, lifting her. “The library is simply my favorite place, and you make an acceptable companion.”
She wrapped her fingers around his forearm, eyeing him carefully, aware that behind his smile was a pair of fangs.
As he walked her into the library, he said, “I will ring the bell for the servants to bring you a light breakfast.”
“Thank you,” she relented, the pit in her torso hollowing with each passing minute.
The small doorway was deceiving of the labyrinth of black shelves and high, ribbed ceilings beyond it. Leather tomes filled each shelf, and sliding ladders beckoned Charlotte as she stared wide-eyed around the room. She breathed in the scent of wood smoke and parchment with a faint smell of roses. It smelled like home, from before the tragedy.
Slowly, she sat on the dark green, suede armchair. The crackling and hissing of the fire calmed her as flames consumed the logs and embers burned to ashes. She noticed the book Alexander was holding, his fingers stroking the worn spine.
“That’s a heavy read,” she mumbled.
He lifted the spine to his lips, eyes closing with a crease. “Indeed. I am often drawn to books that break me.”
“Why?” she asked.
“So I may feel how it is to bleed.”
