Page 15 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
He snorted. “Does it possess the secret to transforming lead into gold?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
He couldn’t take his gaze off the codex. When he presented it to his siblings, he’d be free of their constant pestering to search for his fated mate. He remembered the lithe, red-haired chorus dancer who had joined his bed the previous night. Her blood had tasted like sour cherries from the wine she had imbibed, which had left him feeling tipsy. That had never happened before and was further evidence his condition was worsening. Still, he’d not been an accomplished thief as a human by acting rashly. He’d wait a few days, long enough for Felicity to let down her guard, and then complete his mission, leaving her furious and devastated by his betrayal.
Exactly how he wanted her.
“Are you actually going to help me?” she asked.
He blinked. Was that desperation or hope in her voice? It was not something he had expected, and it left him scrambling for a teasing response. He was saved by the sudden appearance of a red-bearded man wearing a long leather coat and an odd triangular hat.
Felicity straightened. “Great-Uncle! What are you doing here?”
Jonathan watched the exchange with interest. So, this man, who looked as rough as a sailor with a ragged scar across his cheek and shoulders as large as a barge, was the leader of the Sorrow hunters.
“Benedict heard the rumors,” Mr. Sorrow said. “Is this how you show your loyalty to your family, Felicity? By disobeying a direct order and stealing artifacts out of the archives?”
“It is not what you think. I—”
Mr. Sorrow drew his right hand back, as if he intended to slap her. “Cease your chatter!”
The fury in the man’s voice made Jonathan realize the perilous situation in which he’d placed himself. Tampering with Felicity’s memory had worked because she was young and inexperienced. Mr. Sorrow was neither and therefore much more likely to recognize Jonathan was a vampire. Before the hunter noticed him, he hopped off the table and relocated to a shadowy corner, while staying close enough to listen to the conversation.
“Your behavior is entirely unacceptable,” Mr. Sorrow said. “I might have expected such disobedience from your cousins, but not you.” He grasped her upper arms. “I’ve already lost Vincent and Winifred. I cannot lose you as well.”
She didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. Jonathan recognized everything about the scenario, and the familiarity was like a knife slipping between his ribs.
“I was only trying to help,” Jonathan whispered.
The remains of the music box he had carried all the way from a West End market lay shattered at his feet. It had been made of porcelain and hand-painted with tiny, red roses. When he’d seen it, he’d immediately known it was the perfect giftfor his maker. But when he had presented it to her, she had smacked it from his hands.
“You risk all of us by venturing out during the day,” Marguerite said. “I did not create you to fritter away your time.” She sighed. “You are young, child. Still a fledgling. You must listen to your elders.” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed the top of his head. “I cannot lose you.”
Jonathan shook the memory away. He’d done everything he could to earn his maker’s love, but he no longer believed Marguerite had ever wanted the best for him. All she’d cared about was her own selfish desire to keep each of her children under her power. That was why she’d sent Helena to the abbey, to prevent Lucina from forming a stronger bond with her nest sister than with her maker.
A similar situation was playing out between the figures in front of him. The way Felicity stood stiffly upright, despite Mr. Sorrow’s evident disapproval. The way her shoulders curled inward. The way she didn’t speak, didn’t defend herself. She didn’t have to. She had been trained to bear the guilt in silence. That was how her family kept her obedient, through suffocating bonds of duty.
He crossed and uncrossed his legs. What was he thinking? Mr. Sorrow was nothing like Marguerite. She’d occasionally been stern, even cruel, but everything she’d done had been to protect her nest.
“You will bring the artifacts back immediately,” Mr. Sorrow said.
Jonathan tensed. He hadn’t wanted to intervene, but he no longer had a choice. If the codex was returned to the hunters, it would be far more difficult to steal.
He should have just taken the damned thing when he’d had the opportunity.
“I understand your concern, Mr. Sorrow,” he said as he joined Felicity’s side. “But I can assure you, this museum is well guarded.”
Felicity glanced at him, eyes wide. He rested a hand on her shoulder, assuming the many layers of fabric would insulate her from his icy skin, then squeezed.
“And who are you?” Mr. Sorrow asked. His nostrils flared, and his eyes darted between Jonathan’s face and his hand on Felicity’s shoulder.
“A professional,” Jonathan said.
Mr. Sorrow’s scowl remained in place. Jonathan was about to shift tactics when Felicity spoke up.
“I know I’ve made mistakes, but all I want is a chance to prove myself.”
The old man’s jaw worked. “You had your chance six years ago. The exhibit you curated failed. I see no reason to try again.”
