Page 53 of The Vampire's Bride

I take his hand in my own. “Perhaps I will choose to spend some of my days in the sun. But for now, I find that I am learning to appreciate the moon and the stars with my husband.”

He blinks at me, and the darkness recedes from his eyes as they turn red once again.

“So stop telling me that you’re a monster. I know what I’ve married, and you are more than that. I am choosing to give us a chance, Valaric.” I thread my fingers through his. “Will you do the same?”

His mouth drifts open as if he cannot believe what I’ve just said. After a moment, he nods. “Yes.”

I smile, glad that we’ve finally come to an understanding.

Heat pulses through me as I recall his hands on my body and his warm breath skating across my skin. After our time at the inn and the moment we just shared in the kitchen, I know for certain that I want so much more than simple companionship with my husband.

Valaric leads me to the study. A large sofa and two chairs sit before the hearth. A piano is positioned in the corner on the left side of the room, near a series of built-in shelves that hold a rather impressive number of books.

A row of windows lines the opposite wall. The curtains are pulled back, revealing a view of the gardens and the mountains beyond. The stars are brilliant pinpoints of light scattered across the darkened sky. “This is absolutely breathtaking,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says, his voice smooth as velvet.

Although it is beautiful, it’s so very remote. My heart clenches as I wonder how many years Valaric was alone here. There is still so much I do not know about my husband.

“What do you normally do to pass the nights?”

“When I am not out hunting, I often read.”

I walk to the bookshelf, studying the various titles. Many of the books are in good condition, but some look so worn, I worry they might fall apart at the slightest touch.

They are written in various languages. Most I recognize, but there are a few, especially among the more weathered book spines, that I’ve never seen before. “What is this language?”

Valaric studies it a moment before responding. “It is a dead language, the written word of the original Vampires—the Ancient Ones. Damar found these tomes on one of his travels.”

“What are they about?”

“They are interpretations of some of the writings and prophecies of the Lythyrians.”

“Lythyrians?” My ears perk up. “I thought they were nothing more than myth.”

He runs a finger lightly over one of the books. “I used to believe that as well.”

I stare at the tomes, in awe of the strange and swirling script along the spine. The stories I’ve heard claim the Lythyrians were a race of seers—able to discern the future.

“What happened to them?” I ask. “Why have they been relegated to legend if they were real?”

“They passed from this world many ages ago. No one knows how or why. Some of their writings and prophecies survived in a series of tomes discovered in the ancient ruins of their kingdom. But none of them have offered any explanation as to why they disappeared.”

He sighs heavily. “Damar is completely fascinated with these tomes. I was surprised he left them behind.”

His words suggest that he doesn’t expect to see Damar. At least, not anytime soon. While I’d like to ask more about him, I sense it’s a delicate situation and decide to change the subject.

“Do you ever use this?” I motion to the piano.

“Damar is the one who plays. What about you?”

“I’ve never learned,” I admit.

“What sort of things do you like to do?” he asks.

“I love reading.” I gaze at the books and heat flushes my face as I contemplate telling him something I’ve only told very few people. I’m about to lose my nerve, but when I turn back, I find his attention fully fixed upon me. As if he is truly interested in the answer and not simply asking just to make polite conversation. “I also love to write,” I add a bit hesitantly.

I brace myself for his judgment. Jonathan dismissed me when I first told him of my secret passion. So did my family and my best friend, Lucy. The only person who ever encouraged me when I said I wanted to be a writer, was my father.

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