Page 58 of How to Dump a Vampire

A pang of discomfort shoots through me, and I pause mid-motion, frowning. What was that? I reach inward with my senses, prodding my own magical energy gently. There. Another pulse, like a plucked string, reverberates at my core.

Realization dawns swiftly. Draven. Our bond thrums with his unspoken call, transmitting sensations and emotions whether I wish it or not.

Cursing under my breath, I reinforce my mental shields, trying to block out the unwelcome connection. I want no part of this “destined” entanglement, no matter what sweet words and promises he uses to tempt me.

I’ve spent decades perfecting the art of solitude, remaining aloof and untethered. The last thing I desire is some mystical vampire bond threatening to tie me down again, forcing unwanted intimacy. Better to sever this thread between us before it strengthens any further. Before either of us gets hurt more deeply.

Another pulse ripples through me, and I clench my jaw, fighting the reflexive urge to listen, to soothe, to go to him. I never asked for this.

With ruthless effort, I force his intrusive presence from my mind, rebuilding my walls stone by silent stone.

Peace. I need peace to think and meditate upon what is wisest now.

I settle onto the wool rug before the fire, slow my unnecessary breaths, and close my eyes. Focus inward. Let the mind be still as a forest pond…

But the very air around me seems to tremble and blur. Draven’s call reverberates more insistently. Without warning, the floor drops away beneath me. My stomach lurches as magic wraps me in crushing darkness.

No! I’m being pulled right to him! Panic claws at my throat. I grasp outward blindly with my power, trying to halt the summoning and anchor myself back to my room.

With a gut-wrenching wrench, the darkness splits open. I collapse to my hands and knees, gasping though I need no air. Rough stone meets my palms instead of homespun wool.

Blinking, I peer about cautiously, muscles tensed to spring, but no attacker awaits, only silent bookshelves rising around me like monoliths in neat, familiar rows.

The archives. Somehow, Draven’s call hurled me all the way to the castle archives.

Cold fear trickles down my spine. Our bond should not be so strong already thathe can summon me thus, no matter how unconsciously. I cannot let this continue. I must go now before—

A thunderous crash echoes through the vast chamber, followed by a pained grunt. I freeze, listening intently. Sounds of a scuffle filter through the shelves then a fury-laced voice I recognize as the elder prince berating someone. Draven’s name punctuates the tirade like a curse.

Body coiled tight, I creep between the shelves toward the commotion, peer cautiously around a corner, and inhale a sharp breath at the sight meeting my eyes.

Prince Theron looms over a battered Draven crumpled on the flagstones amidst scattered books and shards of broken wood. Blood, vampire blood, slicks Draven’s chin, dripping from his split lip. He’s been brutally beaten, one eye rapidly swelling shut, but he glares up at his brother with indomitable defiance.

“The truth… our people deserve…” he rasps out hoarsely.

Blinding rage whites out my vision at seeing him thus. How dare the prince raise a hand to his own? To my mate!

Power surges tumultuously within me, bucking against my restraints like a rabid beast.

In the shadows, my skin ripples as magic flows just beneath the surface. The rows of books begin to tremble, a low ominous rustling rising in crescendo. I taste blood and snarl silently, fangs descending.Destroy the threat. Protect what is yours.The primal instincts wells up, demanding release.

With a guttural shout, Prince Theron staggers back as a book launches itself at his head then another and another. He throws up his arms to shield himself from the barrage. Draven struggles to rise, but I pin him safely down with an invisible binding spell, not wanting him hurt further in the chaos.

“Enough! Show yourself, sorcerer!” Theron roars over the cacophony.

Naturally, I don’t.

The color drains from his face. He turns and flees the archive, still pursued by a cloud of books hurling themselves at his back.

In the wake of sudden silence, I sag against the shelves, adrenaline rushing out of me. Gods, what have I done? I cannot afford to lose control like that,not even in Draven’s defense. I must go quickly before he or anyone else discovers me here.

Steeling myself, I weave the teleportation spell to return home, fighting to ignore Draven’s bewildered voice calling distantly for the “invisible spirit” to come forward. His earnest concern for his unseen defender plucks at my heart, but I silence the unwelcome pang. Attachment can only lead to ruin for us both. I must be strong, for his sake as well as mine. If nothing else, this moment has reminded me just how ruthless Draven’s family is. I can’t become part of it.

With a gut-wrenching twist, I tear myself away, leaving him with nothing but mystery and unanswered questions. The familiar confines of my guest chamber reform around me, and I collapse by the neglected tea kettle, hands shaking. The herbs have over-steeped, but I drink anyhow, the floral brew bitter and astringent on my tongue. It will not fully take care of my bloodlust, but it will hold me over for the night until I can find more or return home.

As my body regains equilibrium, I slump back against the rug, equal parts drained and rattled. This day has only reinforced the danger posed by my bond with Draven. He seems able to summon me withoutconsciously intending to, and the murderous rage that overtook me when I saw him harmed… A shiver wracks my frame. I came perilously close to exposing myself, nearly willing to kill for his sake. That cannot happen again. There is only one way to assure both our safeties now.

Draven’s parting words echo through my mind, making my heart ache. “Rest well, unseen spirit…”

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