At least they die gently, willingly; not in agony.
But this… with her…
I have enough self-discipline to overcome this, surely.
I don’t completely understand what I am, but I know what I’m capable of.
What makes me so certain I won’t do it to her?
No. I won’t.
Not her.
I shoot down the hallways, reaching the entrance to Vinciel’s tower in the span of several heartbeats, and her heartbeat is loud in my ears; slow and steady in spite of her condition.
It reassures me.
In the time it takes to blink, I’ve climbed the stairs.
There are many days that I despise the curse for what it has turned me into, but one thing I never lament is my newfound speed.
And I find myself using it more and more, and sometimes I don’t realize I’m doing it until I catch the startled reactions of people around me.
It just starts to become more and more natural, to the point where it’s like breathing.
“Ciel,” I bellow, having learned from past mistakes. The medic doesn’t like surprises like me.
I hear a commotion; hasty movements, the rustle of cloth, bare feet on the floor. They’re coming not from the main room, but from Ciel’s quarters off to the side.
I enter the large chamber, where Ciel does most of his work when he isn’t out in the field or in the castle clinic. The stone floors and the steel operating table are spotless; there isn’t a single trace of the lad’s blood from the day before.
The entire place has been scrubbed clean and doused with an astringent herbal concoction that strips my sensitive nose from the inside out, dulling even her overpowering scent.
Ciel emerges from his quarters, hastily pulling his quilted velvet robes around him. The deep emerald color is luxurious, but the fabric is worn and almost threadbare in places. Like me, Ciel has a habit of using things over and over until they’re no longer fit for purpose.
Military habit, I suppose.
His long blonde hair is damp and unbound. He hastily retrieves his glasses from his breast-pocket and puts them on.
Blue eyes narrow as he takes us in. “You’re in the shit now, Corvan.”
I detect a hint of amusement in his voice.
I cross the room and gently deposit Finley into a big mustard-gold velvet armchair. “Shut up and take a look at her, Ciel. I’m very low on patience right now, so don’t test it.”
“Always at your service, Your Highness.” Ciel offers me a sardonic bow. He crosses the room and presses his slender fingers against Finley’s neck, feeling her pulse. “Even if I was in the midst of enjoying the rare luxury of a warm bath with a glass of wine and a copy of Belladonna’s latest novel. You could have gone to the clinic, you know. Kagan’s just as experienced as I am when it comes to the common presentations, if not more so.”
“You can go back to your bath and your erotic fiction in your spare time, Vinciel.” My left eyebrow twitches in irritation. The curse didn’t fix that habit, it seems. “As good as Kagan is, he isn’t going to appreciate the nuance here. You, on the other hand, have been obsessively researching my condition.”
“So you know of Belladonna’s books, hmm?” Ciel retrieves a stethoscope from a nearby table. He eyes Finley’s bulky woolen tunic, which is far too big for her.
It’s military-issue. Gerent must’ve gotten it from the surplus room.
As soon as she is recovered, I will make sure she is dressed by the finest tailors and seamstresses in Sanzar.
No expense will be spared.
“I’ve often seen a dog-eared copy of her latest publication or other lying around the palace, but I don’t partake,” I say dryly.
“That’s what they all say,” Ciel mutters as he lifts the edge of Finley’s tunic.
I’m beside him in a flash, my fingers clamping around his wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Ciel hisses in pain. “Corvan, calm the fuck down. Before you crush my bones, because if you do that, these hands will never fix another body again. I’m just trying to listen to her heart. You know, the thing that’s under all this bloody wool. Hecoa’s curses, has the taste of her made you this irrational already? Because I’d hate to see what you’d be like if you ever chose to—”
“I will lift her garment,” I growl. “You just listen. Don’t touch her.”
So what if I’m feeling irrationally possessive right now?
I reach out and lift up her tunic. Underneath is a white shirt made of the finest silk.
It looks like one of mine.
Bloody Gerent. My majordomo earns points for creativity, at least. While waiting for the tailors in Sanzar to make her clothes, he’s gone and pilfered one of my fine shirts for her to wear.
It’s far too big for her, of course, the silk creased in places, draping across her slender body but stretched taut over the swell of her breasts.
Her chest rises and falls.
I can see the faint outline of her nipples through the thin cloth.
My cock stirs.
Through the haze of possessiveness, amusement tugs at the corner of my mouth. At least that part of me isn’t dead.
“You don’t have to lift her shirt,” I say quietly, watching Ciel like a hawk. “The material’s thin enough. Listen through it.”
Ciel is a consummate professional, but the presence of another male in such close proximity is making me irrational.
My medic places his stethoscope on her chest. His movements are quick and precise. He listens to her heart, then her lungs, both in front, and at her sides. The dark part of me wants to rip his slender fingers away from her body, but it’s just a fleeting thought.
Would any other woman cause me to react like this, or is there something about her that puts her above all others?
The honorable thing to do would be to send her away right now; to marry her on paper as my father demands and install her in a comfortable estate in the bucolic countryside, far away from me and my insatiable hunger.
But I’m not going to do that.
Who ever said I was so honorable?
“She’s certainly anaemic, but it isn’t dire,” Ciel declares, promptly pocketing his stethoscope and stepping away from her. “I suspect she’s simply fainted from the mild blood loss and shock of having the likes of you gnawing on her neck. Be a good sport and carry her over to the divan, won’t you? We’ll elevate her legs and give her something to drink when she comes to.”
I take a deep breath, inhaling herbal antiseptic in an effort to clear my head. Then I take her into my arms and gently lay her on Ciel’s brocade-upholstered divan. Right away, he’s there with a plump cushion, placing it under legs, grabbing her ankles to lift her legs one by one.
How dare he touch her?
With great effort, I remind myself that he’s only doing his job.
If this is how I feel right now, then she’s going to be trouble.
Father, what have you done? You conniving old bastard.
Surely, my reaction to her is no coincidence. What does the old wolf know that I don’t?
“Will you give her treatment? Iron supplements or medicine? Pig’s liver?”
Ciel looks at me as if I’m daft. “Supplements are an option. So is liver. But Van, it’ll take several weeks for any of that to work. Unless…” He gives me an appraising look.