With that, they turn around and walk to the door, not looking back once.
“How am I meant to be on time when there is no clock?” I shout, but the only reply I get is the door slamming shut. I climb out of bed and pause, lifting my arm and feeling how it doesn’t even ache anymore. After touching my neck and finding nothing but smooth skin, I try not to freak out. I mean, I’ve read about vampires in books, but they aren’t nearly as dark and deadly as they are in real life. And I can’t just shut the book on my life.
A mixture of my parents’, my brother’s, Arlo’s and Sophie’s faces come into my mind, and I wonder what they are each thinking right at this moment. Are my parents and Sophie looking for me and possibly my brother? They must be thinking the worst, I know I would be right about now.
Then there is Arlo, who has no one but his adoptive mother to look out for him, and she worked abroad so much Arlo was always alone. I doubt she would notice him missing for a long time, I didn’t ever think they were close. But my parents would notice. They have always loved Arlo like their second son, which makes their pain so much worse. A small part of me is in Denial Town, pretending there is zero chance Austin is on this island, and the rest of me, the part that isn’t stupid, knows he has to be here somewhere. One thing my parents taught us was to survive even when everything feels lost. I never thought much of their advice until now. Until everything is more lost than I ever thought imaginable.
Back to my plan. The only thing keeping me going. I climb out of bed and walk to the window, looking at the sun high in the sky and realising I must have slept all the way through the day and night and into the next day. No wonder I feel a million times better. Or at least my body does. My mind is another subject altogether.
There aren’t going to be enough therapists on earth to deal with me when I get back. When. Not if. I blow out a breath and walk to the door, pick up my boots and the pile of clothes at the end of my bed, and step out into the corridor. It’s empty, and the castle is silent, at least from what I can hear. Knowing the devil could be around any corner, I quickly open the door Cross said was the bathroom and head inside, thankful for the glass lamp lit on the counter and a tiny circle window for light in the dim room.
There is a modern enough bathtub, grey counters with mirrors above it and one toilet. The counters have three sinks, and piles of stuff line the wall, everything from deodorant sprays to perfumes to piles of hairbands. Hoping the girls don’t care, I pull my hair up into a messy bun, and then I just stare. There is still dried blood on my neck, the dark colour a vivid splash against my pale skin. Blood drops speckle against my cheek and nose, and my dress is crusty, the blood dried to make it rough and horrible now.
But that’s not what I stare at. It’s my eyes and the sheer difference in them from the last time I looked in a mirror the night of my birthday. That night, that pink dress, seems a lifetime ago. With shaky hands, I wash in the sink before drying off with a towel I find on the counter. I hang the towel over the bath when I’m done and quickly get changed into my new dress, a duplicate of the first sari I had, but this one is red in colour, a deep thick red that reminds me of blood, and it fits the same way the other did but tighter around my chest and heavier below the waist. I tug my boots on, wishing I had socks, and straighten up.
I can do this.
The monster in this castle isn’t going to break me. I’m going to break him.
Walking out the bathroom, I remember my steps to the main part of the upstairs and down the corridor Cross said the kitchen was in. As I get closer, I start to smell food and hear pots and pans clashing around, and male voices. The last door seems to be the one with the most noise behind it, and I knock before stepping through into a big kitchen. Cross is half sitting on a stool right in front of a massive, modern steel kitchen with at least three cookers that I spot right away. A large man, clearly a vampire, moves around the room in a chef’s white coat with many, many stains littered upon it. He pauses in whatever he was doing, turning to me and meeting me with his big blue, almost kind-looking eyes. He has a bushy white moustache that curls at the edges and gives me a French vibe right away, even before he speaks with a thick French accent that makes him hard to understand.
“Ah, oui, she is beautiful indeed,” the man comments.
“That’s the second time I’ve heard that on this island, and I have to say, it’s rather sexist for my beauty to be the only thing you find to comment on,” I reply, placing my hands on my hips. “I have a brain if you aren’t aware.”
The vampire barks out a laugh, a laugh that goes on and on, and my cheeks burn red a little. Cross chuckles and pats the empty stool next to him.
“I do apologize. I am more impressed by your quick tongue than your beauty,” the man tells me as I slide into the seat. “I am Hector Passereau, at your service, madame.”
“I’m Riona Dark,” I reply with a small smile. “And you aren’t as scary as most of the vamps I’ve met so far.”
“Not everything is black and white, Miss Dark,” Hector states with his warm eyes watching me closely. “Now, what is your favourite food for breakfast? Or perhaps brunch, as it is quite late in the morning.”
“I like to sleep in every now and then,” I say, feeling the need to clarify. “And I will eat anything. I’m not fussy.”
“Anything it is, madame,” Hector proclaims, and he does a dramatic wave before heading to the fridges at the back of the room. Feeling Cross’s eyes on me, I turn to him just in time to see him look away. He picks up a cup of something warm, and I smell the coffee. Before I can say anything, I feel a change in the room. Cross goes tense, his eyes moving behind me, and I look back, finding the prince right behind me.
“You need to be marked.”
“Well, good morning to you too,” I say, clearing my throat and stepping off the stool, all the while keeping my eyes on the Mad Prince. “And honestly? Fuck off.”
He stills. I just told a bloodsucking monster to fuck off.
I’m so dead.
To my surprise, Maddox’s lips turn up into an intense smile, and it’s scary. No, not just scary, downright petrifying. He takes two steps, and before I can move away, his hands move to my upper arms, holding me in place. He feels as strong as a rock as I try to move away.
“Get the mark ready, Cross,” Maddox instructs. He devotes his time to confining me, staring me down, and I don’t dare look at whatever the hell Cross is doing. “I spent a lot of time thinking about where to mark you.”
He moves quickly, titling my head to the side and leaving my neck exposed in his grip. He leans down, my heart pounding in my chest as I swallow the scream I want to let out, and he presses a soft kiss on my neck. His kiss feels like a promise, like a claim. “And I decided this would be the perfect place. Then every time I bite into your soft skin, I will see my mark.”
He lowers his voice, and my heart beats like it is trying to do its own dance. “And so will my brother or anyone who dares to touch you.”
“Mark me all you want, but you can’t own my soul. No one ever will, and I mean that,” I reply, even as my hands shake.
“I will have your body and blood willingly soon. I will wait,” he counters, breathing the words against my neck, his hot breath making me shiver. Cocky monster.