Page 30 of How to Dump a Vampire

She arranges herself artfully at the foot of my bed, voluminous amber skirts arranged just so. At two-hundred-fifty-years-old, appearances andgossip are her chief concerns, even more so now that she’s of marrying age. I brace myself for the inevitable grilling.

“So?” she prompts, flawlessly arched brow lifting. “What happened out there? Who was this mysterious rescuer everyone is speaking about?”

I resist the urge to rub my now throbbing temples. Not this again. “No one of consequence. Just a simple woods dweller.”

Audrey peers at me incredulously. “A simple woods dweller who somehow hauled your frozen royal backside through leagues of blizzard and saved your butt? Unlikely. Oh, do tell me she was some witchy herbalist with a secret cottage!”

I school my expression to careful neutrality lest it reveal anything.

Audrey claps her hands together delightedly, misreading my silence. “I knew it! How utterly romantic. You must invite her to the Winter Festival so I can meet this fascinating new arrival. It’s the least we could do to thank her for returning my favorite brother.”

I choke on a sharp laugh at the thought of Thorn socializing in Everdusk’s gilded halls. “She did not strike me as one for balls and court intrigues.”

“Pity. I shall have to get you thoroughly intoxicated on wine someday and pry all the juicy details from you.” Audrey sighs theatrically. “For now, I suppose your secrets are safe.” With an elegant rustle of silk, she rises and sweeps toward the door. She pauses on the threshold to add archly, “Do clean yourself up though, darling. You are simply ghastly.”

The resounding click of her departure seems to drain the room of color and vibrancy. I eye my disheveled reflection. Perhaps a bath and fresh clothes might lift my mood.

I’ve just finished dressing when the door creaks open again. My shoulders tense, but it’s only Theron, my elder of five years, who enters. His shuttered expression offers little clue to whatever brings him here.

Of all my siblings, Theron remains the one I understand least. Though alike in looks with our jet hair and silver eyes, our natures stand opposite as the sun and moon. While I crave freedom and feeling, Theron cloaks himself in dutiful solemnity.

“Greetings, Brother,” he offers neutrally. “I had hoped to see you up and about.”

I nod warily, waiting for whatever criticism he surely has prepared. Theron loathes idleness or any perceived weakness.

“Rumors are swirling regarding your safe return. Quite the dramatic tale, though details remain scarce.” His tone holds a note of challenge.

I shrug, feigning a casual air. “Little to tell. I got turned about in a blizzard and took shelter in the first cottage I found.”

Theron strokes his bearded chin thoughtfully. “And such a humble abode happened to be equipped to revive a half-frozen vampire foundling?”

I bristle at the pointed disbelief in his words. Theron ever thinks he knows more than anyone.

“As you say, mere rumors and exaggerations.”

“This change in you since your return… it’s unexpected.”

I face him, anger simmering now. “And what business is that of yours?”

Theron’s eyes harden like storm clouds. “Only doing my duty. I find it odd, and odd isn’t always good.”

I bare my fangs on reflex, warning him to watch himself, but Theron merely studies me with thatsearching gaze so like Mother’s, yet his lacks her warmth.

A strained moment later, he turns sharply on his heel and departs without another word.

The heavy silence left in his wake presses down on me. I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling shakily. Gods, what is wrong with me? Why am I so on edge around my own family?

I know the answer, much as I avoid examining it too closely. Ever since Thorn sent me from that warm haven we shared, I have felt uneasy. Not like myself.

After that tense encounter with Theron, I find myself listless again, drifting around my quarters without purpose. The lavish suite, once so familiar, now seems almost alien, its opulence jarring. I was only gone a few days. This is ridiculous!

Growing weary of pacing restlessly on the plush rugs, I sink onto the massive canopied bed. Just a short nap to clear my muddied thoughts, I tell myself, but true sleep has eluded me for days.

I sink back against the plush pillows, spent after the parade of questions from my family. All I crave is to sink into oblivion’s embrace, if only for a few hoursrespite. As I drift off, my thoughts swirl with memories of emerald eyes and a flame-warmed cottage.

When I open my eyes, it takes several blinking moments to realize my surroundings. I find myself not in my lavish royal bedchamber but rather a quaint rustic cottage, its timber walls bedecked with hanging bundles of herbs and dried flowers.

Thorn’s cottage.

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