A Violet Fire (Vampires in Avignon #1) - Kelsey Quick Page 0,70

my nose and await more explanation that never comes. My brain tries to find something to respond with, anything at all, until I finally resort to comedy.

“Well, I would say that finding my personality attractive, of all things, is grounds to see a doctor.”

He snorts. “Things like that. You speak your mind, and you are who you are. Unashamed.”

“...I guess,” I murmur, unsure of his point.

“The rest of my colleagues would advise me to throw you off a cliff after the last few nights,” he remarks with the darkest sense of humor that I have ever heard. “That is how we are supposed to handle supply problems. But I find myself lacking the desire to rid myself of you, more so than any other case. It’s strange—how intriguing you are to me.”

The loss of what to say constricts my vocal cords. Can I venture enough to admit that a part of me finds him intriguing, too? More and more it’s apparent how different he is from other vampires—his beliefs and his character.

“So, you don’t really mind how I am, even though it clearly upsets you?” I ask, recalling his reactions the night before.

“It upsets me at times because it isn’t what I am accustomed to...,” he clarifies. “I am unused to being regarded in such a way from anyone, let alone a human. But the honesty in your company is actually, if I am honest, refreshing.”

My heart thunders through my ribs.

“I wanted to atone for my actions yesterday,” he says, retrieving a shimmery trinket from within the chest pockets of his robes. A long silver necklace with an emblem of Cain dangling from the end. The stainless-steel pyramid, beneath a diamond, has ‘Zein’s Favor’ inscribed along the rim. I fight to keep my jaw in place but to no success.

“The Laisse,” he explains. “With this you are seen and regarded as my preferred supply unit. You no longer have to work for your meals nor the things you would normally have to trade for. Free to indulge so long as your devotion to me and my cause remain. You can move about the castle at your leisure with it, as well.”

The cells in my brain refuse to work for a couple of seconds. I reach out and take the weighted piece. I know what the Laisse is. It’s an honorary token symbolizing a supply unit’s worth. The real Head of Supply, and the one thing all supply units strive for in their lifetime. Except for me, that is.

“How can my devotion to you remain if…” I think better of finishing that sentence and quickly shut my mouth.

He laughs. “If you harbor no devotion at all? Then to be open to the idea would suffice.”

But so many others are already there.

“Why me?” I think of Anaya, specifically.

Zein shifts his eyes away. “I was unfair to you last night. And while many would argue that you should, I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

I drink in the lines of his youthful face, the scar that travels down it, every nuance of character. There is no sign that would make me think he’s joking, even though I can’t help but feel that he is.

“What is it that you want, then?” I ask.

“Ideally, for you to stop hating me,” he says matter-of-factly.

I snort, my cheeks catching fire. Zein laughs, rotating the ornate, near-empty glass in his hand. “That’s funny to you?”

I raise my eyebrows and nod.

“Say I stop hating you...” I smile, looking up at him. “Then what?”

“Then, hopefully, I can make you happy enough to want to stay here. With me.”

My heart pounds dangerously in my chest as the heat from my cheeks spreads to the curves of my ears. Everything he says sounds so wrong, so… forbidden. Vampires and humans don’t mix on any level other than bloodlust—at least, they aren’t supposed to. His words, however, seem to funnel to the one thing that Cain forbids from all of their subjects. Endearment.

Vampires growing attached to their spouses or slaves in a way that renders them vulnerable is against the law, as they strive for an emotionless type of killing perfection. A part of me dwells on the word ‘vulnerable.’ This could work out in my favor if I take advantage of it, using Zein’s favor to find a way out of our cooperative terms. However, a fickle part of me hooks to the other, more dangerous word.

At Nightingale we were taught that it was natural to desire affection, but to