A Violet Fire (Vampires in Avignon #1) - Kelsey Quick Page 0,73
fingertips, and I halt.
A door!
Swiftly, I fumble for the handle and let myself inside, shutting it directly behind me with all the haste of prey. I tuck my chain back into my dress as I take in my surroundings. The room opens to a wide space of onyx furniture, gleaming cabinets, and displays of armor and swords along the walls and corners. A marine-blue velvet rug with golden embroidery sits flat beneath a low table with glass canisters of green liquid resting on its surface. An armory of sorts? Maybe a negotiation room. There is no way this place could be considered a library—unless a handful of books along the mantel counts. I wouldn’t even be able to see any of these details if not for the saving grace at the center wall: four, tall and massive windows letting in the dull grays of Cain’s dying night—that of an impending dawn.
I rest on the sill and take in the beauty of the landscape beneath me. For a moment I feel like I’ve scaled the Nightingale walls all over again. Something expands in my chest, causing my eyes to brim. For all of Cain’s downfalls its countryside isn’t one of them. Pastel pinks, yellows, and blues of the flowering Tiltrees; the reds of maples; and forest-green of the pines—all create an illusion of vivacious, rustling rainbows. And in such a tantalizing moment, brought together by emotion, beauty, and the need for power, I consider escaping right now.
I find the clasp on the window, the one keeping me from the crisp air of the outside world, and I slowly place my hand upon it. I consider it, completely outside of myself—until the despairing feeling of being watched shrouds me once again in its veil-like grip.
To the beat of my heart, I turn to see a towering shadow at the crest of the room.
“Are you attempting to leave?”
The shadow materializes, sending my stomach coiling into knots of fear and confusion. Lord Anton Zein, in the flesh, covered by dark leathers and red-dyed robes. An ominous smirk curls into his cheek, and my body tenses. The curves of my fingers pick nervously at the hinges of the window clasp. How long had he been following me?!
“O-of course not, I just… needed fresh air,” I lie between beats.
“I see,” he says calmly as he nears, closing the distance between us. He leans forward against the panels, taking in the world I had considered fleeing into moments before. The hearty scent of fine wine and citrus filters off of him as the silence grows impossibly loud. Finally, he parts his lips.
“Is it because of Nightingale’s poor example that you take me so easily for a fool?”
My heart twists in my chest, sending spasms across my body and freezing every unnecessary line of thought I have.
“I do not take you for a fool, my lord.”
I watch his smile expand from between strands of silver-platinum hair. Within a second, his hand flies to the top of mine, and I nearly squeal.
“Then… why are you shaking, Wavorly?” he asks in a whisper. I try to yank my hand away but he firmly grasps the whole of it, tightening so that I can’t get away. “Surely not because you are afraid of me?”
Swallowing my inhibition, I relent. “I wasn’t trying to leave, nor was I needing fresh air,” I mutter, “I was surveying. Just in case.”
He releases my hand, his fingers brushing the lines of my wrist as he returns to his proud posture.
Meeting my expectations, he indulges. “Just in case of what?”
But how should I respond? Is it better to be honest? Or should I play it safe—appeal to his ego? I take a deep and calculated breath.
“…You know I wouldn’t leave without Savvy,” I murmur.
He shifts his weight, and the sheen of his pants catches the budding light. I lift my gaze to his face where he’s wearing an expression I can’t even begin to comprehend.
“Mm, but you were considering it.”
He has me. He’s pinning me down and forcing me to admit my betrayal. What else is there to do except admit it? There’s no way up… unless I bring him down with me.
“Just as you’ve considered doing unforgivable things to me.” As I utter the accusation, a thread of fear rips through me, causing my palms to grow slick with sweat. He frowns, but luckily, that’s all he does. Perhaps this ground I constantly try to equal out between us is something more tolerable and welcome than