Hupotasso (Vampire Bachelor Games #2)

31

31

I make my way down to the kitchens in search of ice cream or chocolate, or hopefully both.

If I was at home now, in the real world, I’d cook. Baking always makes me feel better. Or maybe I’d rearrange the furniture, that works too. But I’m not home. This will never be home.

Tears run unchecked down my cheeks, but I don’t care. Inside and outside I’m a wreck, and I no longer worry who sees me this way. It’s not as if it’s a secret anyway. All the staff know I’m just the angry, lonely creature that lives upstairs. They’d have to be blind not to notice how dismissive my husband is of me.

The man I thought I loved, the man I do love, despite everything he says and does, hates me.

And I feel lost.

Pushing my way through the huge kitchen doors I swallow my rage and despair momentarily. I’ve never been into the kitchens before; just had a brief glimpse through the doorway once, before being ushered away by staff, so I don’t know where the light switches might be, or the refrigerator. I hope to fuck I don’t come across a freezer full of human corpses or something vampiric that I haven’t even considered.

Steeling myself and assuming the vast space is empty at this time of night, and I’m free to explore, I continue sobbing loudly as I search the room by the light emanating from the vast fireplace at the centre of the room. It's not hard to find the appliances, but my inspection of the freezers comes up empty, as does the fridge.

‘Kind of relieved, not gonna lie.’

Continuing my search, the pantry turns up a tray of some kind of fruit slice which hasn’t yet been cut up into pieces. I assume the cooks set the tray aside to cool and decided to leave it overnight.

‘You’ll do.’

Picking up the tray I walk to the nearest bench and stare up at the rows of knives hanging against a huge magnetic board fixed to the wall alongside cleavers and other sharp food preparation implements.

Taking down a large knife I consider my reflection in the blade and begin to cry anew. I look like I’ve been thoroughly fucked — swollen lips, hair mussed. But the look is spoiled by swollen eyes, red cheeks and tear tracks.

‘But I’m still royally fucked, either way you look at it. He wants to marry someone else. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this. Sooner or later he’s going to knock me up, then it’s All Over Red Rover. How easy would it be though… it would be so easy. So easy to just cut my wrists now, get all this pain over and done with.’

Pressing the blade against my wrist I gasp as a red line appears almost instantly — the blade is so sharp it cut without me even trying.

“Ouch.”

Dropping the knife I bring my wrist to my mouth and lick the line of blood. The sting makes me acknowledge that I wouldn’t actually intentionally hurt myself — I’m too much of a coward.

“Planning on becoming a vampire?” A dry voice says from somewhere on the other side of the room.

Gasping, I look up as a woman saunters to where I stand. She looks vaguely familiar, but I know we’ve never met.

“Or were you planning on killing yourself? I’d go with the smaller pear knife if I were you. Super sharp and quick to draw up a wrist — less time to change your mind.”

I take my wrist from my mouth, wipe away the last few tears, and shake my head.

“Do I know you?”

“No.”

I turn my head to the side and take her in. She’s not dressed in the usual black and white uniform the rest of the staff wear. She’s wearing black leather pants and a tight, dark-green, long-sleeved shirt that clings to her perfect figure. She’s tall and dark-haired, and her blood-red lipstick gives her a Cruella de Ville kind of vibe. It’s pretty easy to see she’s something other, even though most people might not pick up on it at first.

I know why I recognise her.

“You’re one of Falcon’s sisters.”

She smiles a broad, malicious grin.

“And you’re not as stupid as you look — but don’t ever call me that again.”

“OK. And thanks,” I mutter, picking up the knife and pushing it into the slice. “I really need a bit more abuse tonight. Full marks for sensitivity.”

“This castle is no place for the sensitive.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

She laughs.

“So, what brings you down to my level?”

“Your level?” I can’t help but think there’s a double meaning to her words, but I let it slide.

“The kitchens. Where I work.”

“Ah. I was in desperate need of ice cream and chocolate, actually.”

“And I’m assuming this desperation for sweetness is a result of the tender ministrations of the lord of this castle?”

“Yes.” I flick her a quick look. “But it seems that much like a vampire’s heart, their kitchens are stark, cold and empty.”

She laughs again, but it’s a cold, humourless bark.

“Sometimes you just have to know where to look.”

She jerks her head, motioning to another set of cupboards along the far wall, cupboards I hadn’t seen when I’d first entered due to the dim light mitigated only by the vast fireplace. Inside is a veritable treasure trove of candy and sweets.

Handing me a cinnamon doughnut powdered with sugar and filled with raspberry jam, she takes one herself and inserts her finger into the hole, scooping out the red stickiness and sucking it off her finger as she watches me.

“There’s always a soft centre, even in the hardest of places. You just have to find it and stab it,” she mutters, poking her finger back into the hole and retrieving more gooey jam.

I shake my head as I bite into my doughnut.

“I think I am the soft centre,” I mutter with a full mouth, moaning in delight at the delicious, fresh strawberry jam, “and I’m pretty sure I’m going to be stabbed by my husband the moment I bring forth an heir.”

Looking up at me sharply, she pauses eating.

“Is that what he’s told you.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not misunderstanding, as humans often do?”

“He flat out said it on the wedding night, and pretty much every night since.”

“Why?”

“He hates me and wants to marry someone else.”

She nods.

Part of me wants her to say, ‘no, he doesn’t’ — but I guess she knows him as well as I do.

“And?” She prompts after a moment of silence.

“And what?”

“And what is the cause of this hatred? I watched the show, it appeared he favoured you above all others. I saw no evidence of an undercurrent of malice.”

I shake my head.

“That’s just it, and I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that. I thought I’d been completely duped. But if you, his sister…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“OK, but,” I clear my throat. “If you, someone who knows him well, thinks he had feelings for me…”

“I never said that.”

I breathe out deeply and stare at her.

“I said I saw no sign of malice. If that’s changed, you must have done something.”

I shake my head.

Normally, I wouldn’t bother going into the whole drama. I certainly hadn’t done so with Falcon’s mother, or anyone else for that matter. I presumed Caroline had known the full story, but she was dead, and the dead spill no secrets. But since Falcon had just told me, still warm from my arms, that he loathes me, and Isabel’s promise to rescue me was empty, what do I have to lose?

“Falcon thinks I’m a spy.”

She cocks her head to the side, her eyes suddenly alight.

“For whom?”

“Count Spider Dartlore.”

“And are you?”

“God no. I never met the creep until the final ceremony when he kissed my wrist.”

“He kissed you? What else?”

I get the feeling she’s more interested than she lets on, but I have nothing to hide and I’m starved for conversation and company. So I tell her everything, from the moment Spider looked at Giselle’s body, right up to the wedding and what my husband said to me at the altar.

She’s impassive and doesn’t interrupt my telling, and it all spills out in a torrent.

“So,” I go on. “I guess I have a matter of months until I get pregnant, at least at this rate, and then nine months from there until I’m in the grave — unless I can escape or, long shot, get him to see the truth and fall in love with me.”

“Or you produce a girl.”

“What difference will that make?”

“First-born secondary royals are used as templates.”

“Templates?”

I reach past the doughnuts and claim a large slice of chocolate cake.

“Never mind. And there is no escape, so don’t bother trying.”

I ignore her assertion for the moment, still fixated on her previous comment.

“Hang on. What? You can’t just leave me hanging. What’s a template?”

“It’s not for me to say. All you need to know is that your first-born daughter will be taken from you the day she turns three. You’ll never see her again.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Apparently that’s something you and your husband agree on,” she sniggers.

“Yes,” I moan, dropping my head into my hands, the cake forgotten. “I expect regardless of giving him a girl or a boy, I’ll be murdered as soon as I’ve ‘done my duty.’

“No,” she snorts. “You can’t get out of it that easily. This is the Dragonspur family.”

“What do you mean?” I look at her from between my fingers.

“He needs an heir. A male heir. You’ll be used as a baby factory until that happens.”

“No!” I gasp. “He told me, he emphatically told me that I just need to produce a child, and then he’ll do away with me.”

“Don’t be naive. The Families wouldn’t be appeased if he dispensed with you after just one baby if it was nothing more than a girl. You have to produce a boy.”

“Oh, Christ. So, you’re telling me this hell might go on for years?”

“It could do. Or he could remarry and have a son with someone else. That might appease The Families.”

‘Oh God, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.’

“Until then,” I whisper, “I guess we’re going to need a bigger cupboard,” I motion to the candy stash, “or…might you help me escape?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “And stay away from the candy. You’re not welcome down here.”

I jump a little at her words, another unexpected little hurt.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t need to know you.”

“Well, if that’s the case, you’d better tell me what a template is, or you’re going to get mighty used to me invading your space.”

She narrows her eyes at me.

“Orrrr, I could just come back every night until we eventually become besties.”

I flinch as she throws her doughnut to the floor at my feet and stalks towards the door.

When she reaches it, she turns back and glares at me.

“We will never be friends. Don’t come back.”