Page 19 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
Chapter Eight
Jonathan hadn’t trulyexpected Felicity to be correct in her assumption about a roaming fledgling. So, for the first few seconds of the attack, all he could do was watch as she struggled with the crazed, snarling creature. The vampire was unlike any he’d ever seen, with completely black eyes and a mouthful of ragged teeth. Beneath the tattered remains of his burgundy jacket, his skin was covered in cuts that oozed a viscous, black liquid.
Felicity managed to get herself free and scrambled to her feet, placing herself between him and her attacker. The damned woman was putting herself in mortal danger. A newly made vampire could tear a human limb from limb with ease. He reached out to grab her and whisk her out of danger before halting.
What was he thinking? If he interceded in the fight and showed his strength, he would certainly reveal himself.
She was a hunter. She could likely handle herself.
So rather than assist her, he behaved the way he assumed a human would and fled screaming into the nearest alley. From there, he watched the two figures circle each other for several seconds until the fledgling leaped, teeth bared. He tensed, expecting the creature to grab her, but she whipped out a sword and slashed in an arc. A twitching hand splattered to the ground.
The creature stared at the stump, as if not understanding what had happened.
Felicity raised her weapon again, but the fledgling was too fast. He dodged her swing and tackled her to the ground. She let out a sharp cry and dropped her sword. It slid out of her reach.
Watching the fight drew him back to the night after Marguerite had abandoned the nest. He distinctly remembered stumbling through Cheapside, desperate to purge the anger from his veins. Because he had been looking for a fight, he had found one in a group of drunken sailors. He’d attacked them with a desperation similar to that of the vampire currently assaulting Felicity. The fight had not been fair, but Jonathan had not cared. All he had wanted was for someone to end his suffering.
It hadn’t worked.
He blinked and returned his attention to the two figures grappling in front of the fountain. They weren’t making much noise, aside from the occasional grunt and the snap of teeth. He stepped out of the shadows. Felicity might have started off strong, but her eyes were bloodshot, the arms of her linen shirt were torn to shreds, and her hands on the forehead and lower jaw of the fledgling trembled with the effort of keeping him from biting her.
He sighed, then jogged over to the pair. With one hand, he grasped the vampire by the back of the neck and flung him across the courtyard. Felicity looked up, panting heavily, her eyes wide.
“How did you…?” she whispered, before shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She grabbed her sword, struggled to her feet, and stumbled to the fledgling.
“What are you doing?” he asked. He had intended to speak lightly, but there was a noticeable growl to his words.
She severed the vampire’s head then grabbed the thing’s arms and looked over her shoulder. “Don’t just stand there. Help me!”
The absurdity of a hunter demanding he assist her in disposing of the remains of a kill almost made him laugh. The fledgling twitched, alive despite the decapitation. The creature would remain so until killed by sunlight or wood thrust through his heart.
Sigh.
He had put himself in this position, and there was no easy way to get himself out of it. He reluctantly grabbed the creature’s other arm and helped her flip the vampire onto his back. Instead of staking the thing, she was scrutinizing its body like a constable at the scene of a crime.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Checking its neck.” She unbuttoned what remained of the fledgling’s burgundy jacket and inspected his flesh.
At that moment, the cloying aroma of incense wreathed around him. He dismissed it at first, assuming a nearby church had opened its doors and let the smoke that had built up inside burst free. But then he caught a subtler smell. Burning candles.
Incense and beeswax. The two scents he associated with his maker. He whipped around, expecting Marguerite to be standing nearby, but there was no one.
“What’s wrong?” Felicity asked.
He shook his head. “It’s nothing.” The courtyard was still. He must have imagined it.
She shrugged, then removed a wooden stake from her cloak and stabbed the fledgling. He immediately turned to dust.
With the danger gone, Jonathan remembered what she’d said earlier. If there was a maker allowing fledglings to roam unchecked, then he needed to tell his nest. The hunters might eventually capture the perpetrator, but it would be better for hiskind to handle the situation rather than allow a vampire to fall into the hands of the enemy.
Of course, he couldn’t tell any of this to Felicity. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to her, as for once, the clever quips that he had relied on failed him. Instead, he asked the first question that came to his mind. “Why do you hate vampires so much?”
She stared at him. “What kind of question is that?” She gestured at the pile of ash. “It attacked me. What is there not to hate?”
When she put it that way, he could understand, yet the furious way she’d fought suggested there was more. “Are they all like that?”
She chewed her lower lip. “No. Most people can’t recognize them on sight. One of my closest friends—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. They are demons without consciences. For that alone, they deserve death.”
