Black Blood

Chapter 31

'Sorry.' Despite the sweetly intended apology, I do not feel better. I feel dirty and uncomfortable, not understanding what drove me to this situation.

For the first time in months, maybe years, I did not find a touch unpleasant. It did not bring me fear, the urge to flee or the need to be away in my own thoughts. The very idea that I found it pleasurable in any way left me disgusted with myself, Christiaan's voice echoing in my head.

Sex and pleasure is for men, you are only here to give it.

He has repeated that so many times that it has become imprinted in my head and I have come to believe it.

'Maria.' I keep forgetting that I'm holding up a pseudonym and have to listen to it. I have the top of the dress clamped over my torso, my teeth together. I don't dare turn around. I am afraid that Novak wants something from me after all, perhaps in return for his help or the food. I don't know what to say, perhaps even less what to feel. Fear dominates every fibre of my being.

Novak's shoes slide past me on the floor, sending a shiver of fear down my spine. My eyes are fixed into the ground like pins, not intending to move away from it. If I had pushed the pain aside, bitten through the pain, I would not now be in the fear of new abuse. I feel weak, stupid and an idiot. Christiaan's words begin to reverberate through my head louder, to the point where it's like shouting.

'Maria, look at me.' Like a docile sheep in a flock, I look up at Novak. His blue eyes peg themselves into mine, giving a mixed signal.

'I shouldn't have touched you without permission, I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone, you look tired. If you need my help with anything I'll be in the room you just saw me in front of.' It's clearly not what I expected to hear, not by a long shot.

I doubt whether I should say anything to his apology, whether I should accept it at all. I decide to nod my head in approval. Novak smiles briefly, wishes me a good night's sleep and leaves the room.

I blow out my bated breath. I let the dress slide off my body, take off my bra and pull the nightgown over my head. The thing is cream-coloured and is very comfortable. I turn off the room's lamp before taking a seat in the bed. The fireplace is the only thing that lights and warms the room.

I can hardly realise what has happened this day. I woke up this morning in that cursed castle after a night I did not expect to survive. I watched my best friend die and was chased by the person I once thought I could trust. I passed out and ended up in a vampire clan. Smoked my first cigarette and was touched for the first time without it scaring me to death. You could call it an intense day, to say the least.

I have no idea what time it is, what day or date. I lost track of time months ago and don't think I will find it again any time soon. The concept of time is a perception for me anyway. I do not die of old age, only of murder. Night Riders only die when their magic runs out, it's time for a new influence or through murder. The first two items on the list sometimes take hundreds of years.

Before I realise it, my eyes slowly close in fatigue. I let the events of today race through my head and try to give them a place, knowing that this will never be completely successful. With that thought, I doze off into the black hole.

The dozens of eyes do not make me feel more comfortable, anything but. I hate this so-called tradition. Why does this have to be done in public? That is a rhetorical question because I know why this tradition is maintained.

The marriage has to be conducted completely under the eyes of the candidate, my father said. There were several reasons why I was looking forward to my wedding day, this is one of them.