“I’ve had plenty of sex.” And the minute I said it, I cursed myself for it—why in the gods names did I just say that?
Vale now looked very, very amused, and I absolutely despised it.
“Have you, now? Did some gawky farm boy from next door take you for a ride?”
My lips thinned.
Eron had been gawky, and he was a farm boy, and that summer when I had been sixteen and curious, we had indeed explored each other in the deserted moments behind the barn, when no one else was around. I didn’t want to die a virgin. I was certain, then, that I wouldn’t live to see the winter, so I saw all of Eron instead.
But fifteen years later, I was still here, and six months ago, I swept Eron off the church floor after his funeral, when his mother was too hysterical to do it.
“You know, I did wonder at first,” I said, “why you didn’t kill me when I came into your house. Now I understand it’s because you’re a bored, lonely man, desperate for any kind of company.”
I didn’t look away from the vial, his blood dripping and rolling against the glass. But I felt his stare, and in the moment of silence, I wondered if I’d hit my mark.
“As you just witnessed,” he said, coolly, “I can get all the company I want.”
“Company that got what she wanted from you and then left without saying goodbye.”
“We got what we wanted from each other. It wasn’t conversation that I was looking for.”
And yet… he was sitting here talking to me.
“What do you need this for?” he asked. “The blood?”
“As I told you—”
“My blood isn’t a cure for anything, I promise you that.”
“It appears, L—” I caught myself. “Vale, to be a cure for death.”
He scoffed. “No human encounter with vampire blood has ended particularly well.”
That tone piqued my curiosity almost enough to make me forget my irritation at his insults. I peered up at him. He was looking out the window now, the cold moonlight tracing the outline of his jawbone, especially strong from this angle.
“Were you Born or Turned?” I asked.
There were two ways to make a vampire. Some were birthed, just like the rest of us. But more interesting was Turning—the process of drinking a human’s blood, and offering theirs, to create a new vampire.
I’d thought a lot about it these last few weeks. What that must be like. What other animal could do that? It was a transformation as impressive as a caterpillar becoming a butterfly.
His gaze shot to me, insulted. “Born. Obviously.”
“Why is that obvious?”
“Being Turned is… undesirable.”
I knew only a little about vampire anatomy. It was difficult to study them when they were so reclusive. And when so many of the humans who went to Obitraes never returned.
“Turning is dangerous, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes. The majority die during the process.”
“But if someone survives it and becomes a vampire, they’re considered… undesirable?”
“Part human. Part vampire. Their blood will always hold the taint of humanity.” His nose wrinkled. “Less pure.”
“But if they survived such a dangerous thing, doesn’t that make them the strongest among you?”
Vale opened his mouth as if to argue with this, then shut it. He looked conflicted, like he’d never thought of it that way.
“It’s just not how it is,” he said, at last.
The first vial was full. I switched to the next.
“Why did you leave Obitraes?” I asked.
“And I thought you were nosy last time.”
“Most humans never get to speak to a vampire. I should take advantage of it, shouldn’t I?”
“Aren’t you so very lucky.”
A few seconds passed. I thought he didn’t want to answer, but then he said, “I wanted a change.”
“Why?”
“Why not? Have you always lived in that little town?”
“I studied in Baszia.”
He scoffed. “A whole ten miles away from home. How exotic.”
I did despise that he was so judgmental, and I despised even more that his sneers prodded at a selfish little wound I tried to ignore. I would never get to see the world—but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to.
“Not all of us have the resources to travel,” I said.
“Humans and your money.”
“I didn’t say money. I said resources.”
He glanced at me in confusion. I gave him a grim smile.
“Time, Vale,” I said. “Time is the most valuable resource of all, and some of us are perpetually short.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Vale led me back downstairs when I finished collecting the blood. As I did every time, I found myself slowing down every hall, unable to look away from each antique and piece of art. I couldn’t stop myself from craning my neck as we passed the wings again, my steps slowing without my permission.
“You like them?”
Vale sounded amused.
“They’re… remarkable.”
“More remarkable on my wall than they were on the man who bore them.”
It was a horrible thing to say. A reminder of vampire brutality. And yet… I was intrigued more than appalled.
“And who was that, exactly?”
“A Hiaj general who was said to be very talented.”
The words very talented dripped with sarcasm.
“Hiaj,” I repeated. “That’s one of the two clans of the House of Night?”
My gaze traveled to the painting beside the wings—depicting a man with feathered white wings driving a spear through the chest of another with slate-grey bat wings.
“You… know more of Obitraes than I’d expect of a human.”
“I like knowing things.”
“I can see that. Yes. Hiaj.” He tapped his finger to the bat-winged man. “And Rishan.” He tapped the feather-winged man.
Rishan. I formed the word silently, rolling my tongue over it.
“You must be Rishan, I assume. Going by your taste in decor.”
“You assume right.”
“So you have wings.”
I said it before I could stop myself. Feathered wings. What would they look like? Would they be dark, like his hair?
“You’re an especially nosy mouse today.”
I blinked to see Vale staring at me, amused.
“I’m always nosy,” I said. “You don’t know me very well yet.”
Yet. As if we would form some kind of friendship through this little bargain of mine. A ridiculous thought. Still… when he laughed a little and grinned—reluctantly, like he didn’t mean to—I could imagine it could happen.
“Maybe you’ll get to see them one day,” he said, “if you’re very fortunate.”
And I could imagine, too, that I would indeed be very fortunate if I got to see Vale’s wings.
“Who is in power now?” I said. “Back home?”
“Home?”
He said the word slowly, like it was foreign.
It didn’t occur to me that Vale might not think of the House of Night as his home. But then again, would one consider a place their home when they hadn’t been there for hundreds of years?