Page 8 of Blood Vows
“What are you doing?” he bit out.
I froze, my hand hovering over the door handle.
“I was just seeing if you had any water,” I said, trying to sound casual, though my voice trembled slightly.
“Is the water from the tap not good enough for you, your majesty?” he bit out, the sarcasm dripping from every word. My mouth fell open. Like literally dropped. The sheer audacity of it had me blinking at him before something reckless in me snapped.
“I’ve been to exactly two places in my life,” I shot back.
“New York, and the miserable house where I was born to the crappy people who unfortunately brought me into the world. I don’t own a passport, and I’ve never even seen a plane in real life, let alone been on one. Yet even I know there are placeswhere drinking water doesn’t come from a tap, it comes from a bottle. So, excuse me for not wanting to take the chance. It’s not like you left me with a bell or a way to contact you to ask.”
He jerked slightly, as if surprised I’d dared to speak to him that way. For a moment, he just stared, his eyes narrowing faintly. I quickly got the distinct impression he wasn’t used to people talking back. Maybe no one ever had. The look on his face was almost comical, caught somewhere between disbelief and irritation, like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or to kill me.
His hand twitched at his side, and I noticed the faint clench of his fist, the movement tight and deliberate, as if he was restraining himself. Whatever instinct burned behind that dark gaze of his, he didn’t act on it. I found myself quietly grateful for that much restraint, as my face had already endured enough damage for one night.
“The water is fine to drink,” he said finally, his voice sharp but weary, as though every word cost him patience.
“But since you’re already here, there are bottles in the fridge. Take what you want.”
It was the kind of response I might have imagined him saying in some period drama. Forced polite words said through gritted teeth. I half expected him to add the word vexing or alas just to complete the picture.
“Thanks,” I muttered, tugging the fridge open. The light spilled out in a sudden glow, momentarily blinding me, and not just because of the brightness. The shelves were filled, stocked with food that looked far too fresh for a place this old.
“There’s enough food in here to feed an army,” I said, glancing back at him.
“Or were you planning a welcome banquet for me?” I teased, forgetting for a minute who I was talking to. That earned another of his low, rumbling sounds, part annoyance, part amusement.
“I heard mortals enjoy food. Some even say it’s a necessity. I call it a weakness,” he said.
“But I intend to keep you alive long enough for my purpose, so I went to the liberty of obtaining that food.” I turned, raising my eyebrow.
“You don’t eat?”
He smiled at me then, a slow, dangerous thing that tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t warm or kind. It was the sort of smile that promised enough potential danger to make my stomach twist.
“I eat,” he said softly, his voice a dark purr.
“Just sometimes not the same things you do.” I swallowed hard, my heart hammering faster than I wanted to admit.
“Let me guess,” I said, before I could stop myself,
“Unruly little mortal prisoners you like to call dinner?” He tilted his head, that faint grin widening.
“Actually, no…scrap that. Let me guess again…rabbit?” I corrected myself nervously.
This time, his grin changed. It wasn’t cruel or mocking. It was real. It transformed him entirely, making him look human for the briefest of moments. Like the ghost of the man he might have been before the darkness. And God help me, that was far more terrifying than his fangs ever could be. To call him handsome would have been an insult, as there needed to be a stronger word for it.
“Aren’t you going to take some, after all, that was your purpose for not heeding my words,” he said, nodding to the pill bottle I still had hold of. One I turned over in my hand, frowning at the unfamiliar name.
“Well, at least I know you’re not trying to poison me, though if you keep finding me snooping around your house, I imagine you’ll be tempted,” I muttered, trying to gauge his true feelingson this and whether or not he actually expected me to stay in that room for the remainder of my imprisonment.
“I may be,” he replied coolly.
“Although I’d hardly call it snooping,” I said, defensive now as I backtracked on my own wording.
“I came down to the exact place you brought me into. You didn’t find me digging through your family jewels or looking for a knife…although, honestly, that might’ve been the smart thing to do.”
He scoffed, the sound was low and rough.
