Hupotasso (Vampire Bachelor Games #2)

48

48

I watch her hesitate to enter the room like she’s entering the lair of a monster. And why wouldn’t she think that?That’s exactly what I’ve been to her all these months.

Nothing more than a monster.

My chest feels tight as our eyes meet, and I swallow hard. I’d put off having this conversation for weeks, ostensibly while I’d secured Mother’s safety and destroyed every vestige of the families that Spider had lined up for my trial in The Games.

As I suspected, he’d bitten children decades ago from the best and brightest families in every country. He would have rivalled even the best selectors in his choices. He'd been thorough.

But then, so had I.

I’d sent each girl to their ever-lasting rest, along with the rest of their families, innocent or otherwise. I couldn’t take any more chances that he had other minions out there, other sleeper cells just waiting to be called on to attack my house.

Still, I recognised the entire time, all those weeks that I was hunting and killing, that I was just putting off the inevitable with Angie, through cowardice and confusion. It had taken me this long to order my thoughts. And maybe I’d needed a little push. She’s flying to the US hospital to see Mother tonight, an expected royal engagement that’s being eagerly awaited by the human press following the announcement of Mother’s ‘heart attack.’

I know the first thing Mother will ask her is if we’re reconciled.

I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want Angie to be able to say, ‘yes.’

‘But is there any way she could ever forgive me for what I’ve said and what I’ve done to her? I doubt it. I’ll spend a lifetime trying, many lifetimes, if she’ll just give me another chance.’

“You asked to see me?” She mutters from the doorway where she stands stiffly, the door still open as though she’s prepared to flee at the drop of a hat.

“Yes,” I reply quietly, sitting down to try and make her feel less threatened. “Please, come and sit. Close the door. I need to talk to you, Angie.”

She raises an eyebrow at my use of her name and walks carefully into the room, lowering herself gingerly to the deep, velvet chair opposite me, but sitting on the edge as though still ready to bolt if necessary.

“I’m not going to touch you,” I murmur. “I just want to talk.”

“Then talk,” she snaps.

I raise an eyebrow at her response, but I know I shouldn’t be surprised. I’d hate me too if I were her. Hell, I hate myself for how I’ve acted over the past months.

Ever since Mother’s revelation I’d raged and second-guessed everything. There were still many unanswered questions. Why did her blood taste so forbidden? Why did Spider kiss her wrist? Which royal agreed to Attracta’s entreaty and facilitated Mother’s plan, and why?

So many questions.

Yet aside from those, I’d had to acknowledge and replay over and over in my mind the number of times I’d abused my wife. And all the while she could have stopped the torture at any time by revealing my mother’s secret.

‘Why hadn’t she?’

“Angie, Mother told me something after she was stabbed.”

“How is she?”

“You’ll see for yourself tomorrow. She’s not out of the woods yet, but it’s looking encouraging. If she can get through this her heart specialist says she’ll make a full recovery. She must stay very calm, no shocks. He says barring more incidents she should live to a ripe age. She’ll travel to Switzerland once she’s discharged in a few weeks and relax in a spa to round off her recovery.”

She nods, her face relaxing slightly at the news.

“I didn’t know she had heart issues,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

“I gather you visited her rooms often. She was fond of your visits,” I clear my throat, wondering how to broach the subject I need to discuss and going instead in another direction.

“I’m happy you’ll see her tomorrow. Even though protocol dictates you do so.”

She snorts.

“You mean you’ll relax my house arrest for a brief visit to a hospital because The Families and the media expect it. How big of you!”

“Angie, please, I didn’t ask you here to fight. I wanted to let you know that Mother told me she bribed the selectors and placed you in The Games.”

She leans back in her chair.

“When she thought she was going to die she confessed what she’d done.”

She sits as still as a stone, her eyes not leaving mine, not acknowledging in any way the information I’ve shared.

‘She’s still protecting Mother. She thinks this is a trick. My beautiful wife, so full of integrity and honour. How could I ever have doubted that? Doubted Her?’

“Angie, I know now that Spider didn’t put you in The Games. That you were telling the truth the whole time.”

I lean forward to clasp her hands, but she pulls them away sharply and pushes further back into her chair. Sighing, I lean back too, noting she relaxes infinitesimally.

Once, she couldn’t get close enough to me. Once, holding her hand was as natural as breathing.

Now, she shrinks from me.

I shake my head and go on.

“If it’s any consolation, you always had a champion in Jag. As it turns out I owe him an apology too. He was right all along in defending you and your innocence. And he was right about Tom’s declaration. Tom had been trying to tell me you were not part of The Free Men, or a spy — he was trying to tell me you’d been put in The Games for a different reason. I was just so blinded by rage that I didn’t let him finish.”

She stares impassively at me and I rise and stand before the fire with my back to her, unable to meet her reproachful eyes.

“I know you have every right to despise me. I’ve acted abominably towards you since that night. But Angie,” I turn back to her, “why didn’t you tell me? All this time, why didn’t you say something?”

Her voice is a monotone as she answers, but her eyes are shining with tears.

“I told you I wasn’t a Spider spy right from the start. You didn’t believe me. As for your mother, she begged me not to. I knew she was the only human woman you trusted. I couldn’t shatter that trust.”

I frown.

“She’s a grown woman who acted on impulse, foolish impulse. But you, you almost sacrificed yourself and our future child for her folly.”

Her eyes flash, and I realise mentioning the fact that I’d held her as a prisoner under a death sentence for months was not helping matters.

“Angie…”

“Enough!”

Rising, she stares at me, her eyes hard.

“If you’ve had your say I’d like to go now.”

“Had my say?” I shake my head. “Angie, I’ve only just begun, if you’ll just…”

“I hate you, Falcon,” she sneers. “I hate your castle, I hate your staff, I hate your mistresses, I hate your traditions. I hate everything about you and your life, and I want no further part in it. I don’t give a fuck what you have to say now or in the future. You’re a cruel, manipulative, blood-sucking monster, and I wish to god I’d never met you or your fucking mother.”

I’m shocked and angered at her vehemence, but I know that underneath she must still feel something for me or she never would have kept my mother’s secret. She did it to protect me. And if the closest thing to love is hate then her anger must also indicate she still cares, deep down. How far deep, though, would take some digging.

“Angie…”

“Don’t call me that. Only my close friends call me that, and you are anything but a friend to me, Lord Falcon Dragonspur.”

I nod and sit down heavily.

“What will it take to help you forgive me?” I sigh. “Tell me, I’ll do anything.”

“I want a divorce.”

I grit my teeth at her sharp reply.

“There is no divorce for royals. You know that. And even if I could give you one, I wouldn’t.”

“Then I want to go away. Far, far away, and never see you again.”

“Angelina, you try my patience,” I mutter. “You know I need to stay married and have an heir to meet my obligations to The Families. I’m trying to mend the fences here, to tell you how sorry I am for all I’ve done and seek your forgiveness…”

“I will never forgive you and never forget,” she hisses. “I hope The Families take your title, draw and quarter you or whatever the fuck is done to kill, really kill, a vampire. That’s how much I HATE YOU!”

Her vehemence snaps the tight reins I’ve held on my temper since the attack on Mother, and I rise to my feet to face her. But before I can grip her forearms and shake some sense into her she slaps me hard across the face and spins to run.

And I lose control.

“If you won’t willingly be reasonable, I’ll make you reasonable,” I snarl, springing upon her and bringing her wrist to my mouth, my teeth bared.

Screaming and struggling, she thrashes like a mad thing as I push her to the floor and, pinning her with my weight, bite her arm before tearing at my own flesh and pushing my blood into the wound. Hupotasso is something I’d promised myself I would never do to her — that I’d never fully become my father. But if controlling her until she understands the depth of my feelings is what I need to do, then so be it.

She sobs and writhes beneath me as I finish the bite and rise to my feet. Cursing and running my hands through my hair in agitation, I acknowledge almost instantly that I’d done the wrong thing again.

“Fuck, Angie, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. You just pushed me too far. I…”

How can I tell her that she drives me crazy, that I’ve missed her these months like a drowning man misses land? How the brief glimpse of happiness and warmth we’d shared in The Games had eaten at my heart like a canker since the final ceremony. How I’ve swung back and forth between wanting to hold her close and push her away. How our conjugal visits were more satisfying to me, more meaningful, than all the sex from all the mistresses in the world. How the only person I’d wanted beside me when my mother was struck down, was her. And that her words tonight had pierced my heart like a dagger, causing me to, once again, desire that she share that pain. How I’ll do anything, be anything for her, but that I just don’t know how to navigate this chasm that I’ve caused between us.

‘How can I convey any of this?’

I lean down and offer her a hand to rise, but she curls into a tight ball and ignores my gesture.

Her words come out between sobs, and I cringe at her vehemence.

“I. HATE. YOU.”

Shaking my head at my stupidity I move to pour myself a drink, then a second and a third, each one burning a hot path down my throat and helping galvanise me before I turn to face her again.

“Get up off the floor,” I order brusquely.

She stares at me, her eyes full of the hatred she so vehemently professed.

“No.”