Page 32 of Veiled Yearning

“In the beginning, I was just another servant. But after I’d been there for a week, he wanted to see me alone. And that’s when I discovered he wasn’t… he bit me. Took my blood. I didn’t understand…” Voice wobbling, she stops to collect herself, taking several shuddering breaths before going on.

“That’s why we were all there, really. Not just as servants, but for Vittorio’s blood supply.”

“Vittorio?” I’m scanning through my memories, searching for someone with that name. Since Chiara’s younger than me—born in the early nineteen-hundreds—it’s possible I knew of the man, even saw him in a vision. But so far, I’m coming up empty.

“Vittorio.” She says his name like a curse. “The most evil man I’ve known. He was brutal. Beating all the servants, hurting us when he fed, demanding that we work for hours straight even when we were exhausted from blood loss. And if anyone tried to escape…”

She shudders, her fingers convulsing around mine. “I tried to run. But there was always someone watching—a servant who had hopes of being turned by Vittorio as a reward—and they would tell him. Then… he’d use his ability to stop me.”

Watching Chiara relive this is torture. But I know she needs to get it out, so I stay silent, still holding her hand.

“He could cause unbearable pain. Debilitating. The first time, I fell to the ground and he just dragged me back. But the second time…” Chiara looks back up at me, her eyes dark and glassy with tears. “He hurt me. So badly, he had to use his own blood to heal me, or I would have died.”

Rage ignites; an inferno inside me. I’m imagining poor Chiara, so hurt and afraid, no one willing to help her.

If only I had known.

If I’d had a vision of her back then, Frederick could have found Chiara. And we would have rescued her from that horror.

“After that,” she recalls, voice going small. “He kept doing it. Hurting me. Healing me. For years. I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew I shouldn’t, it was wrong. But I couldn’t bear living like that anymore. I thought if I could get Vittorio mad enough, he’d… he’d kill me.”

God.

Another deep breath, and her words come out in a rush. “It didn’t work. I antagonized him, forced his hand, and he hurt me so badly I thought… but he wasn’t willing to let me go. I’m not sure why, I wouldn’t be able to give him blood anymore. But he turned me anyway.”

“At first, I thought I’d be able to escape. Being a vampire, I knew I was more powerful. I thought I could get away before the other servants could spot me. But they watched me all the time, and Vittorio was still so much more powerful than me. So I was stuck.”

Now things are fitting together, and I think I know where her story is going. Part of me wants to tell Chiara to stop, that she doesn’t need to keep tearing these painful memories free. But then again. There’s a reason she’s telling me.

Still kneeling on the floor, I reach toward Chiara and brush away the fresh tears. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “So sorry.”

She closes her eyes for a moment; her lashes a long sweep of dark against her cheeks. “Then I discovered what I could do. At first, just with the light. Then one night by the fireplace, the fire. And I started thinking… what if? What if I could take Vittorio’s energy, too? So I practiced, and I waited, and”—her expression twists in pain—“I planned it. The whole thing.”

Chiara’s shaking so badly now, her teeth are chattering. But she holds my gaze as she tells me the rest. “I waited until Vittorio was alone, and I took his ability from him. I used it against him. And when he was on the ground, screaming in pain, I cut off his head. Then I ran. I killed a man, and I ran away. Away from New York, as far north as I could go.”

“Ah, Chiara.”

“I killed him, Gavril. I took his power, and I killed him. And how it felt—”

Now she’s sobbing, one hand clapped over her mouth trying to stifle it. In stuttering starts and stops, she drags out the rest. “It was horrible… like poison, burning… I had to fight… to pull it away from him… and using that power. I felt so… dirty. Evil. It hurt so badly after… but I thought I deserved it.”

After a shaky breath, she whispers, “I’ve been so scared. If anyone knew what I could do… what if they wanted me to do it again? Or they made me? That’s why I’ve been alone for so long.”

Holding her hand isn’t enough anymore. So I do what my heart is telling me, and I pull Chiara carefully into my arms, tucking her into my chest.

For a second, she freezes, and I think I made a terrible mistake.

Then she sags against me, giving me all of her weight. Head nestled under my chin, her hot tears soaking my skin, fingers clutching at my shirt. And even though she’s crying, this feels more right than anything I can remember.

It’s awkward holding Chiara while kneeling on the floor, so I stand up and carry her over to the bed. I settle her on my lap and she curls into me and somehow I’m stroking her hair and murmuring things like it’s okay and I’m so sorry and you didn’t do anything wrong.

“It was so bad,” she whispers into my neck, her lips a soft whisper on my skin. “Doing it. After. It feels so… wrong. Even though I had to do it to escape, I never wanted to do it again. It’s too much… like Nicolas. What he does. I can’t be like him, Gavril. I can’t.”

“Ah, Chiara, you’re not.” My heart aches for her. And now I feel even guiltier than I did already about what happened on the way here. “You’re not like him. Not even close.”

“I know it makes me selfish.” She pulls her head away from my neck and peers up at me with a tear-drenched face. “But what if I turn into—” She cuts herself off. “I wasn’t going to do it again, but I did. I tried to when the Custodians had me. But the pain was so bad, I couldn’t concentrate. I think that’s why they kept hurting me.”

“And then you had to. On the road. I’m so sorry, Chiara.”

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