Chapter 27

Oriel paced in the drawing room, back and forth, back and forth, until exhaustion wore his feet thin, and he slumped into a chair. A quiet stillness hung over the estate as everyone slept. All except Mr. Chaplin, who hadn’t yet returned from delivering the letter to Zachariah. He needed desperate sleep himself, especially with the danger behind him, but the danger in front of him now lent him anxious energy. Fatigue weighed down on him, the life draining from him far too quickly. How much time did he have left? Days? Weeks? Months?

He let out a sigh and dropped his head into his hand. He never should have left his estate in the first place. Although Cosette’s innocence hadn’t been taken, they had still suffered for the trip.

Memories of entering Mr. Dahl’s estate broke through his thoughts. Cosette’s terrified screeches. His desperate need to run up the stairs and break down the door. Cosette struggling against Mr. Dahl’s advances. Bile rose to his throat at the thought of another man trying to force himself on her. If Mr. Dahl had been successful, she would never have been Oriel’s. It broke his heart to have seen her terror. Her tears. He cared about her so much. His dear Cosette.

And he couldn’t deny the surprise he felt when he had walked straight into Mr. Dahl’s house without permission. He had even burst through the bedroom door without permission. Under any normal circumstance, he would have never been able to do such a thing. His loss of fangs must have made him less of a vampire, making him able to bend normally unbreakable rules.

“Where is he?” he whispered. If only he could materialize, this would have been much faster.

He recalled the words in his letter.

Zachariah, I have a matter of the utmost importance. A medical emergency. If you will come to my estate as soon as you can, I would be ever so grateful. Please be discreet. I do not wish for Cosette to find out your reason for being here.

Oriel At last, he thought when the door opened in the entry room, and to his relief, Mr. Chaplin brought along Zachariah. Oriel attempted to stand to receive him, but he found himself unable, his strength too depleted.

“Oriel,” Zachariah said, alarm in his expression, but he said no more before Mr. Chaplin closed the drawing room doors behind him. Only then did he continue. “You look awful.”

“That’s good to know.” He sighed into his hand as his brother-in-law sat across from him and unpacked his medical bag.

“Ingest bad blood? Or…” Zachariah paused as he seemed to notice the raging blisters on his hand. “Sun damage.”

Shaking his head, he replied, “Iron damage, actually. But I’ll live from that.” He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead. The heat in the room stifled him, though his bones chilled as if frozen over with ice. “I need you to tell me if anything can be done. And if not, how much longer I have.”

He pulled his fangs out of his pocket where he had stored them earlier, holding them in his open palm. Zachariah’s eyes widened, and for the first time since his arrival, true sorrow lived in his eyes.

“Oriel, this is quite serious.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Which is why I asked you to be discreet. I can’t have Cosette finding out. Not yet.”

Zachariah took the fangs from him and inspected them before he proceeded to inspect his mouth. First his gums, and then the back of his throat. He found it difficult not to gag on the wooden stick he stuck behind his tongue. The longer Zachariah examined him, the farther his mouth pulled into a frown. Oriel didn’t like how quiet he had gotten.

“Tell me what happened,” Zachariah said, and he relayed everything to the best of his ability—everything except the parts with Cosette, especially the night she had rejected his advances. Zachariah listened, giving his undivided attention until Oriel finally finished. By now, he barely kept himself upright. It took every ounce of his energy just to remain in his chair.

“Can you transform?” Zachariah asked, and he shook his head.

“I could at first. But not anymore.”

“Materialize?”

“No.”

His brother-in-law scribbled on a notepad. Zachariah’s continuous frown alarmed him. He usually smiled, even during trying times.

“This is not good,” Zachariah finally said as he tapped his notepad with the end of his quill. “It can take up to two months for death to occur after losing one’s fangs. The inability to transform usually occurs within the last two weeks, and you’ve reached that point within twenty-four hours. You’ve exerted yourself too much, and I’m afraid if you don’t rest, you could speed up your deterioration even more.” He started to pack up his medical bag. “I won’t rest until I find a remedy for you, but to my knowledge… There isn’t one.”

Oriel swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “I had expected as much. But as long as I’m still alive, there is still hope.” He struggled to stand, and if Zachariah hadn’t reached out to steady him, he might have toppled over. “Thank you. For your help.”

“We are kin.” Zachariah gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I will do everything in my power to help you. Everything.”

Together, they walked to the front door, but before Zachariah left, Oriel said, “There is one more thing.” A part of him feared how many innocent lives might be taken in Dracula’s wrath, but the shah needed to know, as well as his kin, Willow and Adam. “The slavers were talking about your nephew, Jesper. They know where he is living, and they discussed plans to abduct him as they did with Cosette.”

Zachariah’s face paled, and he quickly opened the door. “I will tell Dracula immediately. You get some rest, Oriel.”

Giving him a look of gratitude, he watched as Zachariah left the estate with haste in his step, and only then did he blow out the candle and head upstairs—albeit slowly. His movements were sluggish as if heavy weights lined the bottoms of his shoes. He sighed with fatigued relief when he finally reached the door to his bedchamber.

To his surprise, he found a sleeping figure in his bed.

He smiled softly as he closed the door behind him and climbed onto the bed beside Cosette. This was new. Perhaps the progress they’d made at the lodge hadn’t been lost at all.

“Good night, my dear Cosette,” he whispered as he took her hands, giving each of them a kiss. “I am so very glad you are safe.”