Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Rhea.
The night air slapped against my skin as soon as I stepped out of the car, a biting chill that seemed to seep through my shirt. It coiled along my bones and even though I wouldn't dare say it out loud, I kinda missed Alaric's shirt that he had propped underneath my neck a while back.

I stilled at the base of the stone steps, staring up at the mansion as it loomed in the dark. Its windows were black mirrors, tall and silent, reflecting only the moonlight. There warm glow, no life stirring, and I doubted he had any guards or servants nearby. All he had was a hollow, echoing silence that pressed down on me the longer I stood there.

“What?” Alaric's voice was smug, and I turned to see him smirking. “Did you think I was going to be poor?”

“What?!” His question caught me so off guard that I was temporarily stunned, and left sputtering to make any sense of my next words. “No! I mean…”

“Relax.” He raised an eyebrow. “If it helps, I've lived so long that it would be a crime to be poor.”

Without giving me so much as a second to process his words, he slipped past me and headed up the steps. He moved ahead without a word, his long strides unhurried, and for a second, I couldn't help but ask myself.

Exactly how old was he again?

Inside, the silence was worse. The doors shut behind us with a slow groan, and even though they locked the cold outside I couldn't help but feel like it trapped something else in. I had no idea what I expected inside the interior of a vampire king's house, but believe me when I said it wasn't what was staring back at me right now.

The living room was huge and looked like something straight out of a Gothic fairytale. In fact, the only thing that hinted at a mix of modernity was the huge flat screen television that had been angled at the back, and the little magazines here and there.

Portraits stared down from the walls, eyes painted so sharply they felt alive, watching. A tapestry stretched across one side, intricate, golden threaded, and yet frayed with age. But it wasn’t the tapestry that held me still. It was the weapon mounted beneath it, a blade too pristine, too untouched by time, gleaming faintly as though it had only just been used. Next to it was a painting of a battlefield, too detailed and I could swear I saw Alaric as one of the warriors..

It shouldn’t exist. None of these things should, not here and definitely not in this time.

“Why are you doing this?”
I forced my voice to steady. “Dragging me here like some, some prisoner?”

Alaric turned slightly, his eyes catching the dim light. I didn't even realize he was halfway up the stairs that led to God knows where, but he looked infuriatingly calm, as though he had anticipated my words, and it sent shivers down my spine.

“Because you are safer here than anywhere else.” His voice was cool, hypnotic even.

“Safer from what?” I demanded. “From you?”

“You know.” A flicker of something, amusement, or maybe irritation, passed over his face, but he answered still. “From the council.”

The word struck hard, but I would rather die than let him know I agreed with him. Instead, I took a step toward him, anger chasing away the tremor in my hands.

“And how long am I supposed to be your… guest?” My voice caught on the word.

His silence was worse than any answer. He didn’t move, didn't even blink, and somehow my stomach churned at the fact that, that might be all I was going to be getting.

Silence. Cold and brutal.

“Alaric?” The quiet stretched. It was suffocating and my chest tightened until I couldn’t bear it anymore. “Answer me.”

He didn't, and without thinking, my eyes did a quick scan of the place. I quickly caught sight of a beautiful vase on the edge of a small table. I swung my hand, and the vase on top trembled before crashing to the marble floor. The sound shattered through the hall, porcelain fragments scattering like sharp stars, and a sharp pain on my leg signalled that I'd been cut but I didn't react.

I froze, waiting for his reaction.

Nothing.

Alaric’s gaze didn’t even flicker to the broken mess. Instead, he lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, pointing down the corridor.

“Your room is there.” He sounded bored, or dare I say tired. “Get some rest, we’ve both had a long day.”

“Alaric, you can't do this to me.” I cried out to him. I hated to admit it, but tears stung the back of my eyes, and for a moment, I thought if I let them shine through, it would thaw his icy heart enough for a tiny bit of warmth and compassion to shine through. “You can't keep me locked up in here.”

He held my gaze for a moment, his eyes unreadable. As the silence settled back between us, I allowed myself to be delusional that he was actually considering my offer.

“Goodnight, Rhea.” My heart plummeted to the ground at the sound of those words. “You have everything you need in your room, but in case you need something else, don't hesitate to ring the bell.”

Then, without another word, he turned and made his way up the remainder of the stairs, before walking through a door at the far end of the foyer.

My chest burned, and it took me a while to figure out which emotion was the sole cause. Was it anger, betrayal or maybe even guilt?

I wasn't sure but luckily, my emotional turmoil didn't stop me from making one last choice.

“I’ll leave,” I whispered to myself as I clenched my fists at my sides, my pulse screaming with defiance. “No matter what it takes. I’ll run again.”

The words tasted like steel on my tongue, sharp and certain.

I didn’t see the shadow linger at the edge of the foyer above, just beyond the flicker of the lights in the hallway. I didn’t notice how Alaric paused, his profile barely visible in the dark, before he vanished into his room.

But he had heard me.

And that knowledge would twist the night in ways I couldn’t yet imagine.