Page 23 of How to Dump a Vampire

I pass her a piece. She chews slowly, tasting, assessing, and her eyes widen fractionally.

“There is old magic woven through this bread. Subtle but unmistakable.” She fixes me with a piercing look. “What has this woman been doing to you?”

I stare at the half-eaten loaf, remembering the herbs Thorn mixed in. What had she been trying to accomplish with such spells? Had it all been a lie?

Before I can dwell on that distressing idea, sorrow knifes through me again. Thorn’s muffled sobs echo relentlessly, clawing at my composure. Not deception, surely, but desperation.

I meet my mother’s eyes beseechingly. “Please, I need rest now. My mind is… tired.”

Mercifully, she rises without argument. At the door, she pauses, gazing back with ancient wisdom. “There is much left unsaid between us. When youare ready, we shall unravel this mystery of your witch together.”

The door closes behind her with an ominous finality, leaving blessed silence. Still, Thorn’s sorrow haunts me, her muffled sobs echoing relentlessly in my mind.

I stare down at the remnants of spelled bread in my hands. What desperate magic had she worked into this innocent loaf? And why had it caused her such anguish to make me leave?

Had it all been a deception on her part? The thought pierces my heart like a dagger of ice. Surely one who saved my life at risk of her own cannot be wholly false?

No. Her tears are real. Thorn regrets my absence as much as she fears my presence. Of that much, I am now certain.

I rise on shaky legs, hands clenching into fists. I cannot find answers here behind sheltered walls. The only path is back to that hidden cottage, wherever it may lie, back to the mysterious Thorn who even now calls to my soul from afar. First, I rest. Then, I will find her and get my answers.

***

Bolting upright with a gasp, I clutch the silk sheets now damp with sweat. Panting raggedly, I rub my throbbing chest as the lingering agony from the dream fades. Gods, it felt so real, like razor-edged icicles shredding my heart. Probably just stress after recent chaotic events.

Blinking against the daylight filtering through stained glass windows, I take in the lavish suite of rooms. Gilded furniture, velvet drapes, a ridiculous excess of plush pillows on this massive canopy bed. Definitely not the rustic cottage I’ve spent the last week in. Home. My home.

As I awake, things become more clear. Thorn’s magical transportation orb zapped me back here to the royal castle. Back to the vampire nest.

A hollow pang hits my gut at the thought of her. No doubt Thorn is relieved to have her humble abode back to herself without this high-maintenance prince crashing on her floor.

I grimace, kneading the persistent ache behind my breastbone. It almost feels like… longing. Absurd. Ionly knew the witch for a few days before she sent me packing. Too bad the silken tassels on these obnoxious pillows can’t fill the void left behind.

Clearly, Mother was right about me needing rest. Nothing else explains such self-pitying thoughts over a near stranger.

With a groan, I peel back the velvet coverlet to rise. Time to face the inevitable royal duties awaiting my return.

Except the second my feet hit the ornate rug, all strength flees my body. I crash to my knees with an inglorious thud. It’s like the floor dropped out from under me. This fresh wave of agony rips through my chest even worse than the haunting dream. I gasp raggedly, clawing at my sternum which now feels eviscerated. What’s happening to me?

Get it together. You’re a deadly vampire prince, not some mewling human infant.

Gritting my teeth, I crawl my pathetic self back onto the massive bed, focusing on breathing through the pain. Maybe more rest will sort out this strange sickness.

Except the torture doesn’t ease. It only intensifies. This crushing pressure keeps building until I want toclaw my way out of my own skin for relief. A faint sound pierces through the sheer anguish—the soft hitch of a stifled sob. What the…

Forcing myself motionless, I strain to listen past the roaring in my skull. There, beneath the frantic pounding of my heart, comes the whisper soft sound again—a woman weeping quietly.

Thorn.

Her name cuts through the mental haze with crystal clarity. It’s her sorrow I’m somehow feeling. The spell, right? That was what she was doing before she sent me back. Is this from that?

My fangs punch down reflexively with an animal snarl. Who dares reduce my fierce witch to such helpless tears? I’ll shred them to tattered meat! No, calm down. I’m a rational vampire. She was crying after I left too, right? Besides, Thorn doesn’t belong to me. More importantly, if I’m sensing her desolation over here, does it flow both ways? Is my own anguish compounding hers? The last thing I want is to deepen her distress.

I force my fangs to retract and try measured breathing instead, focusing on sending calming vibesthrough our peculiar bond. Can’t have both of us coming unglued. I’m stronger than this.

After several minutes, it seems to help marginally. The crushing pressure in my chest eases a fraction as rational thought trickles back in. Thorn’s muted weeping continues, but it’s more distant now. At least one of us is keeping it together.

Now that I’ve regained some measure of sense, I know what I must do. Get the blazes back to that cottage by any means necessary.

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