Page 9 of How to Dump a Vampire

Kneeling by the hearth, I add a few more logs to the fading embers, stoking flickering flames back to life. Orange light fills the small space as I sink down onto my blankets.

The fire now crackles steadily, warming my face, but its heat cannot thaw the ice within my conflicted heart. Thorn’s touch unlocked foreign sensations I dare not examine too closely.

I’ve known this woman barely a day, yet in that brief span, my soul feels irrevocably changed. Her nature tempts me to cast aside my own armor in turn, to walk away from the responsibilities awaiting me and let one of my siblings take my father’s place on the throne of Trettera. He hasn’t chosen his heir yet, and I imagine my life here would be much more entertaining than if I returned to court.

But come daylight, I must don my princely mantle once again and return to a life of protocol and appearances. My world has no place for such vulnerability as Thorn evokes within me.

I stare into the freshly fed flames, wrestling with truths too disquieting to confront. When sleep finally claims me, my dreams are haunted by emerald eyesthat see far too much and by the lingering ghost of her touch against my skin.

***

The howling wind outside pulls me from restless dreams. Blinking up at the rafters of the rustic cottage, I need a moment to gain my bearings. Right. I’m still stranded here with Thorn.

Speaking of whom, I lift my head to see her already up and bustling about. She pauses to stoke the logs in the soot-stained hearth and then glances my way briefly before busying herself hanging a kettle over the awakening flames.

I sit up and scrub a hand over my face. My makeshift bed of hand-embroidered blankets on the hard wooden floor provided minimal comfort.

Yawning, I try to shake off the lingering unease from my fitful sleep. Something about sharing such confined quarters with Thorn all night puts my instincts on edge, even as my treacherous heart stirs at her nearness. I don’t get feelings. Toward women, I should say. Do I become angry, sad, happy, or find someone attractive? Yes, but it’s always fully under my control.Thorn is getting past my walls, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that.

Crossing creakily to the frosty window, I peer outside at the bleak vista. An impenetrable wall of swirling white obscures the forest beyond. I can scarcely make out the woodpile a few yards from the cottage beneath the mounting drifts.

Any hopes I harbored of escaping this enforced proximity with the prickly witch are quickly dashed. We’re both snowbound here, it would seem. Just marvelous.

I turn back to deliver the news, only to find Thorn already watching me resignedly. She stands clutching two steaming mugs, the firelight playing over her delicate features.

“So it seems we are fated to enjoy each other’s company a while longer,” I announce wryly. No point denying the obvious, given the weather’s unrelenting fury.

Thorn’s mouth presses into a thin line as she hands me one of the mugs. “Obviously. Drink. It will take the edge off the… discomfort.”

I eye the beverage curiously before taking an experimental sip. Rich, earthy flavors coat my tongue,at once foreign yet distantly familiar. The warmth infuses my belly, seeming to spread restoring tendrils throughout my entire body.

I blink in surprise as the ever-present hunger pangs of my vampire nature ease, my empty reserves somehow replenished by the mysterious contents of this brew. Most astonishing. Not even blood itself could provide such instant satiation.

“This tea is good,” I remark, swiping my lips clean. “What’s in it?”

Thorn tenses almost imperceptibly. “Just a restorative tea from herbs found in these parts,” she murmurs evasively.

My eyes narrow, but she avoids my gaze, busying herself with menial tasks. Clearly there is more to this than she cares to share. I file that away for later consideration.

I drain the last of my mug, warmth spreading through me. As Thorn collects our dishes, I offer, “Allow me to tidy while you cook.”

She only nods and I look around for what to do.

Tidying is new to me. As the eldest son of a noble family, I never had to. Such tasks fall to servants.

Selecting the stoutest broom, I sweep with vigor, but where a sword handles light, this tool bucks in an unfamiliar grip. Thorn watches subtly from her work, eyes dancing though her face remains neutral. Her gaze prickles my skin.

Pausing, I declare, “Fear not. The situation is well in hand.”

No sooner do the words leave my lips than the broom slips, scattering debris. Thorn’s lips twitch as if to smile, but she says nothing of my fumbling. Her discretion intrigues more than mockery might have.

With her instruction, my sweeping proves more adept. As the final dust bunnies are dispatched, I glance to where Thorn works. Her focus on the task at hand seems complete, yet something in her eyes betrays more observation than she lets on.

I stride over to the rough wooden shelf holding Thorn’s random assortment of spices and jars. “How about I whip us up something tasty?” I declare enthusiastically, grabbing ingredients without really looking too hard at what they are.

Behind me, Thorn makes a strangled sound. I glance back to see her watching my haphazard ingredient selecting with barely disguised horror.

“Or… perhaps you would prefer to handle the culinary matters,” I concede reluctantly, carefully replacing the items in no particular order.

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