Vampyre | Book I of Bloodlines

TROUBLE MAGNET

All morning, I've been floating on air as if the world beneath me simply doesn't exist. The pleasant heaviness in my limbs is a sweet reminder of last night's events, which made it nearly impossible to get out of bed until little Elliott came searching for me.

I don't even remember coming to bed—I suspect Darius brought me up. The three of us are now sitting in my bed, having a little breakfast picnic. I wasn't sure if it was wise to introduce Darius to Elliott, but they're technically family, and since Elliott doesn't speak, he won't tell a soul about the strange man hiding out in my room. I watch as Darius butters some toast for Elliott, who quickly takes a liking to him.

"When you get older, I can show you how to use a proper blade, like a Geom or a Do. But first, we master the butter knife," Darius says, going on to explain the difference between the two types of swords to Elliott.

At this moment, I'm reminded just how old Darius really is. His eternally youthful appearance helps to camouflage what he is or what he was. Darius exudes a certain air of charisma, separate from his magical aura—the way he carries himself with a confident air of nonchalance makes him intoxicating to watch. His movements are deliberate, precise, efficient, and deadly. Even the simplest tasks, like buttering toast for a three-year-old, excite me when he does them.

It's especially nice to watch him be himself, free of those chains, and the more I watch him existing, the deeper I fall in love with him.

Soon, we'll be heading into town, with William in tow, to sign the paperwork Mr. Collins promised to have ready for us. Since I don't really need to be there this time, I want to surprise Darius with a new wardrobe that will fit him better.

I hop off the bed, take out a tape measure, a pen, and paper from the little sewing table, and creep up behind Darius as he fixes his collar in the mirror.

When I start to measure the width of his shoulders, Darius chuckles.

"Are you sizing me up for a coffin?" he teases.

"Not exactly," I reply, continuing my measuring.

Darius gently takes my hand and takes the pen from my fingers, writes all the required measurements for a suit on the slip of paper, and hands it to me with a devilish smirk on his lips.

"These measurements haven't changed in a very, very long time. I'm sure I will love whatever you choose for me," Darius reassures me with a tender kiss.

"Right," I say as I fold the paper and slip it into my skirt pocket.

"Something's bothering you," Darius observes, taking my hand and placing it on his heart—the feeling of it beating in his chest brings a smile to my face.

"Once all this paperwork is taken care of, we can leave?" I ask, needing reassurance.

Darius leans against the desk behind him. "I've already had William order a coach for us, all of us—you, me, Sophie, and Elliott. I much prefer to fly, but I don't imagine a French witch like Sophie travels light."

I know he's trying to make me feel better, but it's not working. Being here is unsettling, and until we physically leave this awful place, I can't let myself get complacent, I can't get comfortable. As much as I want to blind myself with dreams of us on the beach or the new visions of us under a canopy of pink flowers, I need to stay focused with my feet planted in reality.

Darius places his hands on my hips and pulls me to stand between his long, open legs. I gaze up into his eyes but make sure not to look too long—it's like staring at the sun—beautiful, but it'll make you blind.

"Darius, how are you thinking of dealing with William?" I ask quietly so Elliott won't hear.

"How would you like me to deal with William?"