Jess Haines - Stalking the Others

It took a moment for me to find the words. When I met his eyes, I did nothing to dampen or hide my rage and frustration and fear of the situation. “You. I’m afraid of you. You’re—sort of—nice to me now, but what will you do with me after you get what you want? What do I do when I’m left with nothing but need for you, a slave like ...”

I stopped, thinking. Who in this household would match that description? Who did I know who was like those kids screaming and crying for their lost, dead master in the police station some—what was it? Three years ago, now? It bothered me that, though I knew that some of the people in this household had to be bound and that all of the humans in this building were donors, not a one truly fit that mold.

It hung me up long enough that Royce finished my sentence for me. “A slave like the unfortunate Renfield in Mr. Stoker’s fairytale? Like you were when Max and I bound you to us by blood?”

I said nothing.

“Shiarra, I could have forced you to remain by my side when I bound you the first time. Use your head. You must think very little of me if you think I have pursued you only to make you some mindless puppet. I’m not Max Carlyle; I don’t intentionally set out to hurt those weaker than I am. What value would you be to me, broken and without that vital spark that makes you so precious to me? Just because you’re afraid you couldn’t stop me doesn’t mean I’m about to take advantage.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure what for. Since when had I been precious to him? And hadn’t he been on the verge of “taking advantage” of me only a minute or so ago? “I don’t trust you. I don’t know how. You’re”— a monster . I left the rest unsaid.

He sighed. “I’m not about to make you do something you don’t want to. What I don’t understand is why you keep denying yourself. You know as well as I do that I won’t force the bond or anything else on you. Really, what are you afraid I’ll do to you?”

“You’ll bite me,” I said, small voiced.

His brows arched, and he sat up, leaning toward me. “Is that all it is? You don’t want to feel that again?”

“No!” I cried, the admonishing finger I waved at him trembling, even as anger rose up to quash any lingering sense of desire or curiosity I might have been harboring. “I won’t go through it again, Royce. Not with you, not with anybody. It’s bad enough I wonder sometimes what it would be like, what you could make me feel—I’ve already lost everything else. If you touch me, I won’t be me anymore. Don’t you understand? I don’t want to lose what little is left. It’s all I have.”

He studied the tears tracing down my cheeks, the way my other hand rubbed at the ghost of bite marks on my throat—which I stopped as soon as I realized what I was doing—and his unruffled visage shattered into a deep frown of concern. I hated so much that he could look so calm and sincere, when all I could think about was that night when I had been trapped under the weight of a vampire who had only waited long enough to hear me scream in terror before stealing the life from my veins.

When Royce spoke, his composure grated on my nerves far more than it should have. How could he be so collected when I was falling apart right in front of him?

“The sharing of blood isn’t a horrible, monstrous thing when it’s done between two people who care for each other. What we have may not be love or lust, but there is desire and the potential for friendship between us. All I wish to do is explore and perhaps even solidify that connection. You’ve not done so much as given me the courtesy of a moment’s consideration to my wants or needs.”

“You haven’t exactly done the same,” I accused.

“Not true. I respected your wishes in the situation with Max. I provided you and your friend shelter when I had nothing to gain. I have spent time, money, and other resources to preserve your life even when you seemed bent on destroying yourself. I don’t think I need to explain to you how unusual it is for one of my kind to be so selfless—I’ve not felt so compelled to be so for anyone in centuries. And yet you spurn me at every turn, as though you see me as some terrible, wicked creature.”

“Maybe I do,” I countered, bristling at the accuracy of his statements. “Why do you keep trying to foist yourself on me, then? You’re no saint, Royce. Not even close, and don’t try to pretend that you’ve only done what you have out of the goodness of your heart. What do you have to gain?”

“Must I have an ulterior motive for everything that I do?”

“Answer the question,” I snapped.

He regarded me steadily, saying nothing for a long moment. I was beginning to think he was going to ignore my demand before he spoke again.

“As I have told you before, you underestimate your worth. While there are many who answer to me, I value those of great will and strength and courage over the many who only work for me and mine because of some perceived chance at immortality or power. You have no idea what a rarity it is to find a person who will speak to me so plainly, particularly one who does not crave what I can do to or for them. It is not something I intend to let slip away. True, you are neither terribly wise nor clever—but your valor is what sets you apart. Your damnable stubbornness, or perhaps your prejudice, is all that stands in the way of what could be a mutually beneficial relationship. You so readily turn me away when I doubt you have any idea what it would really be like for you to allow me the liberties our contract grants me. I admit, your continuous efforts at rejecting anything and everything I have ever offered you—save when you had no other choice—both intrigues and irritates me. I’m not used to being thwarted, Ms. Waynest.”

“Oh, we’re back to ‘Ms. Waynest’ now? Well, Mr. Royce, I didn’t take you up on your offer because I don’t want to be bitten. Unlike some people I could mention, I want my freedom. Did you ever consider that?”

He didn’t rise to my bait, remaining calm in the face of my anger. “Your safety and your freedom are hardly at stake with me, and I have no intentions of involving myself in the minutiae of your every waking move. Answering to me would be much like answering to your business partner—if a bit more intimate.” The slight twitch at the corner of his lips and the way his eyes glittered were the only things that betrayed his amusement with my horrified gasp. “Now. Have you ever honestly considered letting me touch you, or have you only said ‘no’ out of reflex? Or to spite me?”

That shut me up. We stared at each other across the vast chasm of different worlds; he was trying to build a bridge over that nothingness to make me see vampirism in a different light. Knowing it didn’t make it any easier to pause and take an honest look at the situation. He didn’t give me time to come up with an argument or justification.

“Max and his people had no consideration for your feelings or safety. I do. I promise you that you are in safe hands with me. It’s not the same experience when it’s done with someone who cares about their donor. Give me a chance to prove that to you, Shiarra. Give me the opportunity to prove to you that it is not as bad as you fear.”

I shifted my gaze down to my knees, fighting the urge to let the cold fingers of terror creeping up my spine translate into a shudder. My hands tightened in the sheets at the mention of Max. Being bitten by him and Peter were harsh memories I’d sooner leave to rot in the back of my mind. Having them brought up here, now, did nothing to soothe my fears.

Yet he did have a point. I’d never given him a chance before. Not by any stretch of the imagination. My phobia of being bitten had grown stronger after the two vampires forced themselves on me—vampires who didn’t care overmuch whether I survived the experience.