Page 39 of House of Pawns
Just six months ago, I was a poor girl in a tiny apartment with few friends and no family. I worked for very little money and I wondered how I was going to pay for a flat tire. I worried about the fact that I hadn’t been on a date in over a year. I worried about getting along with my coworkers.
It was all so simple and mundane.
But as I stand before my subjects, I feel as if this is exactly where I was supposed to be. I was born to do this.
This is my birthright.
“Thank you,” I state simply. “To say I appreciate you all being here is not enough, but it is a start. I promise to prove I am worthy ofearningyour loyalty. I hope you will one day be proud to be members of the House of Conrath.”
Chapter
Fourteen
IWALK DOWN THE NORTH wing hall, rattling off the names of the occupants in my head. Lillian. Across from her is Cameron. Samuel, then Nial. Rath. Anna resides upstairs, her bedroom across from Ian’s vacant one, and right next to mine. And here, at the very end of the hall, I reach Markov’s.
I go to knock on his door, but it opens before my knuckles can connect with the mahogany.
“Come in, Alivia,” he says in that dark, calm voice. A hint of that scary smile forms on his lips and age lines spread around his eyes.
“Thank you,” I say as I step inside.
Markov’s room is fitting of him. The walls are painted a deep red, his bedding black, and all the furniture matches. Hints of chrome splash throughout. It is the epitome of a vampire’s room, and no one else would be such a perfect resident.
“That was quite a display you put on a few hours ago,” hesays as he walks to the other side of his suite, hands in his pockets as usual. “Quite the thing you’ve accomplished, making conquest of nearly Jasmine’s entire House in just a few short weeks.”
I don’t have words for his compliment, so I move on instead. “I need you to know that I will never force anything upon you,” I say. “I will never tell you that you have to do something. But I need us to be on understanding and equal terms.”
Markov sinks into the black leather chair. He crosses his legs and folds his hands in his lap. Just as I am doing, I feel everything Markov does is with purpose. “I’m listening.”
“I do not know you well, Markov,” I state. I choose to stand, and I do that on purpose too. “But I do feel I have gotten a solid glimpse of your feeding habits.”
The smile on his face grows and a hint of red sparks in his eyes.
“I understand that your—our—kind has no choice but to feed,” I continue. “I would never deny you that. But I need you to understand how hard I have been working these past few weeks to gain the trust of the people of Silent Bend.”
Markov studies me for a moment. Not a long one. He is a smart man and he puts everything together in about three seconds. Probably faster. I wouldn’t doubt he used those extra two seconds to watch me sweat. But I don’t.
“It would not be conducive to trust building and fear elimination if members of your House fed off of the people of Silent Bend.”
And he states it there.
“No,” I say. I finally cross to the other chair and sitbeside him. I gave him the largest suite in this wing for a reason. “And I know surviving off of blood bags alone will not satisfy you.”
The upward pull of his lips confirms it.
“I can turn a blind eye,” I say. “I will not lie and tell you that I am okay with the harm of civilians and other human beings, with their deaths. But I do understand you. Do what you must.”
Markov leans forward, placing his forearms on his knees. His deep eyes study me heavily. They’re terrifying, but I also see what I need in them. “You have my word that I will not feed in your town, Alivia Ryan.”
I may be afraid of very little as of late, but apparently Markov is one person that can still place a little piece of ice in my heart, because as I reach forward, my hands very lightly tremble. But I force them steady as I take his hand.
Markov closes his eyes at the contact and raises my hand up to his nose. He takes a slow, long pull of my scent. That smile still clings to his lips and he tips his head to one side, his eyes still closed.
“Your scent is divinely decadent, my dear,” he says as he opens his eyes to stare at me. Red awakens in them, smoldering amongst the darkness. “It was delicious as a gift, contained in a little bag, but fresh…”
“You may have a taste, if you can control yourself,” I promise him, as I have the others. “But not until tomorrow. Dr. Jarvis regulates how much I can handle giving.”
“Oh my dear,” Markov says as he squeezes my hand. “If I were to sample just a taste, I would not be able to stop myself, and I do not think you want me to be the one who causes your resurrection.”
