Page 23 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
Lucina tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Let him be, sister. We cannot expect him to admit to that which he has not yet accepted.” She yawned. “I’ve had enough for one night.”
Helena crouched down and allowed Lucina to climb onto her shoulders. After they left, he leaned back and stared at the fire. Watching Felicity fight had been quite revealing. He had assumed, based on his observation and investigation of her family, that she had received only minimal training, but after witnessing her exceptional reflexes, he knew that was not true.
The fire cracked and popped. The sound reminded him of the snapping of the fledgling’s jaws as the man had attacked Felicity. The vampire’s pale skin had been mottled with bruises, which meant he had likely been left alone for quite some time. Like Jonathan, the creature had been abandoned by his maker.
Marguerite.
He was sure he’d caught her scent during the battle, although he’d left that detail out of his report. One whiff of incense and beeswax was not proof. The possibility remained that she was the maker of the fledgling, but given how tightly she’d controlled her nest, he could not imagine her creating more vampires, only to allow them to roam the city without her guidance.
He pushed to his feet and returned to the room where he spent his daylight hours. Despite what he’d told his sisters, he felt like there were hundreds of knives cutting him apart from the inside, and there was a stickiness in his chest that no amount of coughing had dislodged. He removed his coat and shirt, then inspected his flesh in the moonlight. There were several angry wounds covering the upper part of his chest and his hip. Injuries that should have healed hours ago. He probed a section of purple-yellow skin and winced at the shooting pain.
According to his brothers, the third phase of mate atrophy included unexplained bruises.
Impossible. It was much too soon. Cordon and Marcus had been decades older when they’d reached the third phase. Jonathan had gone too long without drinking human blood, that was all. He would change his clothes and visit theGrand Cirque. There was a flirtatious acrobat, Amelia the Aerialist, who’d previously suggested she would be amenable to his patronage. But as he imagined lowering his mouth to the neck of the muscular beauty, her shape twisted and warped until it was Felicity in his arms, and he was suddenly certain that only the hunter’s blood would ease his thirst.
The damned woman was ruining his life. It didn’t matter how delicious she smelled, or how entertaining she was to tease, or how her determination reminded him of himself before he’d allowed apathy and bitterness to bloom in his heart.
He shook his head. His sisters were right; he’d become too involved with the hunter. It was time to end their association. He would find a victim to restore his strength, then break into the museum and steal the codex before his symptoms worsened.
Chapter Eleven
Felicity’s head feltlike it was stuffed with freshly shorn wool as she sprinkled herbs around the perimeter of the conservatory. The night had hardly begun, and her muscles screamed with fatigue, but she couldn’t return home until she refreshed the warding spell that had been eroded by time and traffic.
She hadn’t seen Mr. Drake since he’d thrust her away at the fountain. Did he regret his actions? She hoped not—because she intended to offer herself to him in exchange for his help. As a spinster and a working woman, she had little use for her virtue. Better to use it to pay for the revenge she so desperately sought.
Assuming he ever returned to the Sloan House.
She finished sweeping the herbs and leaned against the wall. Keeping her eyes open was impossible. It was like there was an anchor secured to her chest, dragging her into the depths of sleep no matter how much she tried to keep to the surface of consciousness. After several minutes of fighting, she slid down until the tips of her black leather boots were pressed against the legs of the nearest table and then rested her head against her knees.
A crash jolted her awake. She wiped the drool from her cheek and checked her watch. More than an hour had passed. Had that crash been in her dream, or had it been real? She struggled to her feet, gritting her teeth through the prickling pain in her limbs, then walked over to the door and pressed her ear againstit. There was no sound. She turned the handle, then peered outside, only to see the creature that had once been her cousin standing in the hallway.
“Hello,” Winifred said. She wore a crimson evening gown covered with twinkling gems, an outfit more appropriate for the opera than a late-night museum visit. “I wanted to give you another chance to change your mind.” She stepped forward, then frowned. “What…?” She lifted a hand and reached for Felicity but then winced and recoiled.
Felicity’s heart pounded. The warding spell had worked. Winifred was incapable of entering the room.
Her cousin furrowed her brow. “What have you done?”
“I’ve taken precautions.”
Winifred took a step back. “I don’t have to be your enemy, Fel.”
“You aren’t going to stop my exhibit.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Something in those words made alarm bells go off in Felicity’s mind. “You put up the notice.” She clung to the doorknob to stop herself from hopping over the line of salt and herbs.
Winifred frowned. “What notice?”
Felicity barked a laugh. “You expect me to believe that it’s a coincidence that you show up here, asking me to cancel my exhibit, and then a threatening note appears outside my door? I don’t think so.”
“Please listen—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses!”
Winifred sighed. “I had to try.” Then she turned around and walked back down the hallway. Felicity hoped the guards would spot her, but of course that didn’t happen. When Felicity could no longer see Winifred, she sagged against the door.
Far too close. If it weren’t for the warding spell, the confrontation might have gone much worse. She didn’t want to believe Winifred could murder her so easily, but that was what vampires did. They had killed her parents, Vincent, and Uncle Ethan. Given a chance, they would kill her, too.
