Page 11 of The Vampire Trap
I was prepared for the vampire lord’s bloodlust to be barely under control. For him to use compulsion on as many people as needed to hide his monstrous nature.
I was even prepared for him to be attractive enough.
One thing I hadn’t walked into his home expecting was for him to flirt with me. Would I have realized what he was doing if I wasn’t worried that he would kill me? And for that matter, would I have found him charming… and flirted back?
A niggling worry prods at the back of my mind. The uncertainty that he might have compelled me at some point. While I don’t think so, I can’t be sure. I’m confident I would have known and remembered if it had happened. There are several accounts in Sangate alone from humans who have reported being compelled against their will. I’ve always assumed it was because they can’t control memory. Now, I wonder if it’s because the vampires in those just didn’t care enough to bother.
I save those thoughts to research on another day. For now, I concentrate on keeping a smile on my face.
As he escorts me from the room, I spot a thick book carelessly tossed on a chair. The gilt title is bright against the black leather binding. And it gives me an idea of how exactly I will find my way into this murderer’s good graces.
CHAPTER FIVE
ZADIE
“Tell me everything that happened,” Benjamin demands. He grips my shoulders and guides me back into the foyer, letting himself in to my home. “He didn’t try to hurt you, did he?”
When he doesn’t let go, I maneuver my way out of his hold. “Good afternoon to you too, Benjamin.” I can’t keep the irritation from my voice.
The ball didn’t end until two in the morning, and after how long it took for every guest to step into their carriage and depart, it was another hour before Sabrina and I made it home. And nearly two more hours to undress and wash for bed… Only to be woken at seven.
Father only shrugged at our complaints, telling us that such events were optional, and we shouldn’t allow them to interfere with our studies.
After a cup of strong coffee in lieu of morning tea, Sabrina was once again her usual self. I had one as well, though a constant throbbing headache remained throughout my lessons, slowing me down.
I don’t think I’ll go to another one any time soon.
“We were about to have some lunch, if you care to join us,” I say as I turn and trudge down the hall to the dining room.
Ben tugs on my arm, stopping me. Worry etched across his face.
I sigh, then answer, “No. He didn’t do anything to me—” I go quiet as a maid goes from one room to the next. “We will talk more after I’ve eaten. I’m starving and we didn’t get home until some demon cursed late—or early—hour.”
“You shouldn’t have gone,” he says. As if that could change things.
I try to come up with a retort, but my thoughts remain sluggish. All I can manage is dropping my head back and groaning obnoxiously. Then I spin on my heel and march to take care of my irritability.
Growing up, whenever Sabrina or I cried over something small, she would sit while stroking our hair as we used her lap for a pillow and read our favorite stories to us until we fell asleep. And when we were irritable, Mother would take us to the kitchen and give us some tea with a few cookies, a slice of cake—or if the chef hadn’t made any—she’d prepare sandwiches, sliced into bite sized pieces. She called them faerie sandwiches, then make up stories about how she and her best friend used to play with faerie children. At least until her friend was stolen by one the day she turned twenty-four.
She believed most daily frustrations could be cured with either food or sleep.
I smile at the memory as I drop into my chair. Father grunts at my lacking display of lady-like behavior but doesn’t bother looking up from the reports he’s reading.
Ben sits across from me and greets him and Sabrina. He folds his arms and stares me down, while one of the kitchen staff hurries to bring him a place setting.
“Something did happen, didn’t it?” he asks wryly.
A fork clatters against a plate. Sabrina gasps. “You told me you didn’t meet anyone interesting!”
Father grumbles. A sound I instinctively understand as “I don’t want to hear it!” and “Don’t make me regret letting you out of my house.”
I glare at Ben from across the table, then turn to address my sister. “That’s because I didn’t. And nothing riveting happened either.”
“Then what’s with that smile?” Ben pushes, ignoring what I’d told him out in the hall.
I spear several thin slices of roast meat onto my fork. If he keeps going with his interrogation, he might let something slip that could ruin our plans.
Stubbornness is one of the traits he and I share. We tend to butt heads and challenge each other. Instead of causing conflict between us, we use it as motivation to improve. It’s the reason I can now best him almost every time we fence. Then there are times like this, when one of us has trouble letting a topic go.
