Page 42 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
The excitement ofthe night did not properly catch up with Felicity until she was back in her bedroom. As her booted feet crossed the threshold, she began to shake. Then she collapsed into a heap and cried for what felt like hours.
It wasn’t that she’d come close to death. She’d nearly died on many occasions. What had truly shaken her was how weak Jonathan had seemed. He might have perished. That thought made her nauseated. How had he become so important to her so quickly?
He was a monster without a conscience, no matter that he’d done more to further her quest for revenge than any member of her own family.
She ran her fingers over the bandolier. The dagger remained safely tucked inside the soft leather. Such a small thing, yet it held the key to find her parents’ killer.
The temptation to examine the weapon was overwhelming, but her eyelids were so heavy that she feared she would fall asleep with it her hands. She carefully removed the bandolier and tucked it inside her writing desk so that no passing servant would report seeing it to Great-Uncle Ezra.
After stuffing her soiled clothes into the back of her wardrobe to dispose of in the morning, she donned a linen nightgown and crawled into bed.
The moment she closed her eyes, Jonathan’s sly grin appeared in her mind. Despite how much he’d annoyed her, she couldn’t deny that deep in her heart, she couldn’t wait to see him again.
*
One excruciatingly boringday later, Felicity sat inside Jonathan’s carriage again, feeling felt like she would come apart at the seams at any moment. The situation not helped by Jonathan’s unusual silence. He’d brought a pistol that rested in a holster on his hip and his cloak made a faint jingling sound when the carriage hit a rut. She assumed there were weapons of some type in those pockets, but when she had asked, he hadn’t responded.
The brothel had been a truly eye-opening experience. Not only because of the discovery of the dagger, but because of how she’d felt when Jonathan had licked the blood from her scratch. From the day she’d committed herself to revenge, she’d stopped caring about marriage and everything that came with it. She’d never even kissed a man before Jonathan, but seeing the couples and trio twined together in the brothel had awakened parts of her that had remained dormant for years. Then Jonathan had slid his tongue across her bare skin, and a wave of heat had rolled through her and collected in her quim.
What would she have done if he’d copied the movements of one of the men and driven his fingers inside her? Perhaps if he’d brought her pleasure, she could have done the same and taken his prig into her mouth. The man inside the brothel who had been the recipient of such attention had certainly seemed to enjoy it.
She shivered at the scandalous nature of her own thoughts. Was she thinking of him this way because he’d bitten her again? Offering him her blood in the alley had seemed like a logicalchoice. If he’d died, she would have had no one to help her find the owner of the dagger tucked in her bandolier.
She ran her hands over the wrinkled fabric of her skirts. Usually, when she thought about the night her parents had died, she simmered with rage. But over the past few days, that sensation had faded. She was still set on revenge, but it no longer felt like that was all that mattered.
The carriage stopped.
“We must proceed on foot from here,” Jonathan said.
They exited the carriage, and he started walking without her.
She hurried to keep up. “You do not wish to blindfold me?”
He sniffed. “No need. In fact, tell the hunters about this location. The nest that owns it is particularly unpleasant. You would be doing me a favor by taking them out.”
“I am not going to let you use my family to expand your territory.”
“Pity.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The moment in the brothel had changed things. It was difficult to continue hating him when he’d saved her life so many times.
“What did this nest do that was so awful that you want them dead?” she asked as the houses on either side of the street became taller and thinner. The roads were so tight that even a carriage would have struggled to get through, which explained why he had stopped several blocks away.
“We had a…disagreementseveral years ago,” he said.
“Should I be concerned?” In every location they’d visited so far, someone had accused Jonathan of wrongdoing. With so many enemies, she wondered if hunters were the least of his concerns.
“Let me worry about that,” he said.
They proceeded in silence for a quarter hour. It should have been awkward, but it felt strangely comfortable. With Jonathanby her side, she wasn’t even worried about being ambushed. Fighting beside him filled her with a sensation she had yearned for since Great-Uncle Ezra had forbidden her from practicing with her cousins and banished her to the role of scribe.
With Jonathan, she felt like she belonged.
“We’re here,” he said.
They were standing at the top of a set of stairs that went deep into the ground. She kept one hand clasped on his arm and followed him down, then through a narrow entrance into a room thick with smoke.
Her eyes burned and her throat tightened as he led her past cubbies carved into the walls, each occupied by a skeletal figure.
