Page 8 of Blood & Bedlam

Inside the Manor, my feet climb up the stairs, cutting a familiar path to my chambers. I find my ears counting heartbeats, my eyes devouring every inch of the woman in my arms. Lights dance in the sconces around my bed as I lay her gently against the dark silk, the ruby jewels of her dress a spray of blood against the dark material beneath her. A sigh huffs from her lips, and I follow the line of her jaw down to the delicate curve of her neck, the dried blood and identical puncture wounds on the column of her throat prominent against the bruises blooming over her skin.

Rage tears through me at his audacity, at the cruelty of his thrall. He was unnecessarily rough because he saw her as nothing more than food, a toy he could use and dispose of, like so many of his kin. I can’t bear to see his mark on her a moment longer. Lifting my thumb to my mouth, I let my fang sink into the skin and press the welling liquid against her wounds, soothing them as the skin begins to stitch itself back together. I let my fingertips linger, soaking up her radiating warmth as she heals.

Every logical thought in my brain warns me against taking what I’m seeing at face value. Dead wives don’t just come walking back into lives without something nefarious at work, but I can’t bring myself to hold on to the skeptic. All sense of self-preservation circles the drain while I trace my finger across her skin, digging slightly under the soft fabric covering her shoulder blade. I hesitate, because there is a sure way to know if this is truly Mina. If I push back this fabric and am met with unblemished skin, I’ll have my answer.

An impossible coincidence.

Genetic anomaly.

I steel my breath and push the sleeve of her gown back, exposing the soft expanse of her shoulder.

“Impossible.”

The word escapes on a harsh exhale as I trace the tip of the patterned flesh embedded into her skin, three shades darker than her own. I don’t need to pull her closer to know that the shape it makes is a curved, crescent moon. A birthmark I traced with my fingers and lips a thousand times, both eons ago and in my dreams every night since. Blood roars in my ears, nearly drowning out the soft footsteps pacing outside in the corridor.

When the door opens to reveal Juliette, I’m too keyed up to catch myself. My vision sharpens, pure predator, fangs lengthening to razor points. I greet her with a deadly hiss.

“Papa?” Juliette’s hands come up, placating and gentle, but she stills, eyes wide. I swallow, sucking in a deep breath, warring with the instinct to protect that’s taking over, harsh and demanding. The Blood surges through my veins, pushing the beast within me closer to the surface.

“Your eyes …” She trails off, and the very real fear in her voice arrests my spiral. With effort, I force my fangs to recede, close my fists as my taloned fingernails do the same and suck in a deep breath as the war drums in my skull quiet. Juliette takes a small step into the room, the door closing shut behind her. I force my body to relax, to remember that she is of my Blood.

“You know her?” she asks curiously, eyeing Mina’s unconscious form over my shoulder. I dip my chin, because I don’t trust my voice right now. “I dreamt of her. The girl with the moon birthmark,” she whispers, pointing absentmindedly to her shoulder, mirroring the mark on Mina’s.

Another nod.

“You need to speak with the family. They’re waiting for you in your study.” Even as I know she’s right, I can’t make myself move. Can’t bear to even think of leaving Mina’s side. I need her to wake, to know what’s happening here. I shake my head and tuck a stray curl behind Mina’s ear. She stirs again, nuzzling her face closer to my palm, and it fills me with a sense of quiet joy and longing that I thought I’d locked away.

“She won’t wake yet,” Juliette predicts. I sigh, because we both know she’s correct. Her Dark Gift manifested in clairvoyance and dreams—she’s rarely incorrect in her predictions.

Juliette simply knows.

The rest of us have learned to listen. She approaches slowly, settling at the foot of my oversized bed, leaning against the post.

“What else can you see?” I say with a grunt, my voice a rasp as I stroke Mina’s cheek.

“Not much. She’s surrounded by a shroud, dark and heavy, Papa.” Juliette winces, pinching the bridge of her nose as her eyes cram shut, fighting the barrage of pain swelling over her.

“Enough, Jules. Don’t hurt yourself looking,” I implore. She shakes out the pain and brings her eyes up to mine.

“You need to go talk to them, Papa. They’re worried. You lost control, and you never lose control.” I know she’s right.

I still can’t move.

“I can’t leave her. Not alone.” Not again. I swallow the final thought down, instead of cursing it into the cosmos. Whatever the Fates are conspiring for me, I’m not going to give them a chance to snatch it away.

“I’ll stay with her,” Juliette offers. “We’re going to be great friends.”

The corner of my lip tips up. “You saw that, too, did you?”

“No, but I’m a delight—she won’t be able to resist.”

She says nothing more as I come to myself slowly, still stroking Mina’s cheek. A flurry of worry barrels down our bloodlink from the others, breaking through the last of my bloodlust. I stand, my fingertip scraping gently across Mina’s cheekbone until it drops off. Instantly, I miss her warmth, but I force my feet to retreat, pausing only to drop a grateful kiss to the top of Juliette’s head.

“I love you, Jules.”

“I love you, too, Papa.”

Reine