Chapter 11: Duelling Desires
"Going for a ride, Arianna?" The deep voice echoes from the other side of the library.
I can't see the source - half hidden in shadows - but I mumble "what?" in confusion before I can stop myself. Then I look down at my riding outfit, realization dawning on me.
“I assume you aren’t here to snuggle up in an armchair with a book,” the voice continues sarcastically. “Your outfit is better suited to the oudoors. Going somewhere?”
I have a pretty good hunch of who's behind that voice, but I gather my nerves and take cautious steps toward it. I walk over the floor covered in a Persian carpet. In the shadows, I see the silhouette of Aleksandr, my new stepfather’s enigmatic and infuriating jerk of a brother, seated at a grand piano. The broad, muscular back, the tall physique - there's no mistaking him.
How in the world does he know what I’m wearing? He hasn’t even turned around to look at me. Is he some sort of fashion clairvoyant? Does he have eyes on the back of his head? After everything I’ve witnessed in the past twenty-four hours, nothing could surprise me.
“So, what exactly is your plan, child?” Aleksandr's voice slices through the silence, making me pause. “You miraculously find an escape from the Castle of Endless Night, you stumble blindly through the snowy valley in that weak mortal body of yours, you inevitably get lost or fall prey to wolves, or worse… and then what? Will you cry out my name into the dark, begging for me or my brother to come save you?”
I scowl, feeling the urge to snap back with a biting retort. But my survival instincts kick in, and I remind myself that maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't provoke the guy who might actually have eyes on the back of his head.
“Never,” I snap. “Where’s my mom? I want to speak to her.”
The cold laugh that follows is chilling, and as Aleksandr turns to face me, a wicked grin splits his unnaturally handsome face. As his ice-blue eyes lock onto mine, my mind involuntarily replays the intimate encounter we’ve had just hours ago. His presence, his touch, his cold breath caressing my ear, the way he’d been so close… his fingers plunging into me...
Oh no, not again, I think, my cheeks heating up as I struggle to keep my composure, fighting back the fire rising up between my legs, the sudden ache of longing deep inside.
“Tell me where I can find my mom,” I demand, my gaze darting to the floor, avoiding his eyes. “Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll be on my way.”
“I’ll gladly tell you,” he says smoothly, his voice carrying a hint of cunning. “In fact, I’ll take you there myself.”
In an almost supernatural display of speed and grace, Aleksandr moves from the piano to right in front of me. In close proximity, I can't help but notice his scent—pine needles and salt and iron, an intoxicating blend that sends unexpected shivers down my spine. I feel pathetically small as he stands towering above me, exuding an air of raw power.
He grins down at me, and the sly twinkle in his eyes is both infuriating and oddly captivating. My breath hitches as his fingers brush against my chin, and I mentally curse my traitorous body for responding to his touch.
“Take me, then,” I manage to say, my voice betraying more than a hint of ambiguity. “I mean, take me to my mom.”
I blush at the unintended double entendre, mentally chastising myself for the involuntary response. But hey, there's no denying he has a certain appeal—even if he's a pain in the neck. Figuratively and maybe literally.
“I will,” he purrs, his finger tracing a path down my jawline, sending electric sensations racing across my skin. I suppress a shiver, inwardly cursing the fact that he's probably enjoying my reaction. “But I’d urge you to reconsider.”
“Why?” I counter, my voice faltering as I feel a swirl of conflicting emotions. I clench my thighs together as an urgent throb pulses through me, momentarily clouding my thoughts. “I can handle myself just fine.”
The amusement dancing in his eyes only fuels my frustration. It's as if he can sense the internal battle I'm waging, and I have a strong urge to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his face.
“Because, unless you’ve already forgotten, your lovely mother was wed to my brother but mere hours ago,” he continues, his finger trailing down my collarbone, setting my skin on fire. “They are newlyweds, and this is their first night as a married couple. They’ll be going at it like two cats on heat for many more hours, I’m sure. Do you really want to bear witness to all that?”
Gross. The mental image of my mom and Konstantin getting busy is enough to make me want to hurl. I recoil, my face contorting in disgust.
“Of course not,” I mutter, sighing deeply as I flop down into an armchair.
“So, how long do I have to play prisoner in this creepy castle?” I ask, my gaze fixed on the eerie blue flames. “I mean, I hope this isn’t a forever thing.”
“No worries, little one,” Aleksandr replies smoothly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re not our permanent entertainment. Your dear mother simply wants you to witness her transformation. It’s a bonding thing.”
“Great, can't wait,” I mutter sarcastically.
As he elaborates on the Blood Moon Ceremony, explaining it in a cool, sardonic manner while his fingers dance across the piano keys, I listen with a mixture of curiosity and dread.
“Sounds like prom night from hell,” I mutter under my breath, suppressing a shudder.
“Exactly,” Aleksandr confirms, seeming amused by my less-than-enthusiastic response. “But it's a rare and special thing, a once-in-a-millennium event, for a mortal to be chosen to join the immortal ranks—more specifically, the Vasiliev family, the mightiest in all of Romania… all of the world, actually.”
“Geez, no need to get all humble about it,” I think, rolling my eyes internally at his dismissive tone.
“Don’t be so quick to make assumptions, little one,” he says. “You might find that you actually enjoy yourself at the ball. It’s a magnificent celebration that few mortals have ever attended, more grand and lavish than anything you’ve seen in even your wildest dreams. You should feel honored to be our guest.”
I just snort irritably in reply, tempted to snap at him again, but deciding against it. I need to get answers, after all, and honey attracts more bees than vinegar.
“And how exactly does the ceremony work?” I ask, imagining my mom stripping naked under the red moonlight and lying on an altar.
“Well, first the lords and ladies of all the noble bloodlines will be ceremoniously announced upon their arrival,” he answers boredly, his fingers still caressing the piano keys. “That’s followed by banal chit-chat and dancing and eating and drinking for hours on end, and then at midnight, your mother - my lovely new sister-in-law - will drink Konstantin’s blood under the light of the blood moon. The change will be quick, but spectacular, and mother will be forever transformed. I won’t get into the details - you’ll have to see for yourself. After that, more dancing, more eating and drinking and mindless frivolity until sunrise.”
Something about what he said is bothering me. He mentioned that the guests - all of whom I’m assuming will be vampires - will be eating and drinking at the ball. Food? Hors d'oeuvres and wine? Or something more… stereotypical?
“And what exactly do you, uh, eat and drink?” I inquire with a cringe, my stomach churning in anticipation of the answer I already know. “I’m guessing it’s not garlic bread and tomato soup...”
Aleksandr grins widely at my quip, his amusement evident.
“Eating and drinking are the same thing for my kind,” he says coolly, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Come now, child, you might be an ignorant infant, but surely you're not that naive… you know what vampires feed upon.”
"Stop calling me a child!” I snap back, glaring at him. “I’ve told you like five times already, I’m eighteen, which is practically an adult. And besides, you carry on like you’re so much older than me… you only look thirty or so, and you’ve got the whole world convinced you’re thirty-five. So how old are you, really?”
“Anya turned me over seven hundred years ago,” he says, his voice suddenly weighted with a somberness that's unexpected.
“She turned you?” I ask, flabbergasted. “But isn’t she your and Konstantin’s mother? What kind of mother would do that to—”
My words are abruptly cut off by a bloodcurdling scream from outside the library, the sound of sheer terror piercing the air like a knife.