Page 62 of How to Dump a Vampire

When my vision clears, I’m no longer amid the sunny market but a dingy, rundown wooden room. Vampires are fighting with each other. Several are dressed in finery that tells me they must be connected to nobles while others are clearly of a much lower class.

My gaze lands on Draven grappling viciously with another vampire, and my heart clutches with fear. Draven is drenched in blood from numerous gashes marring his body. The other vampire has him pinned, greedily feeding from the gaping wound at his throat.

At the horrific sight, the last tattered shreds of my control utterly shatter. Savage, primal bloodlustsurges up from deep within, consuming all reason and sanity.

No! I desperately try to cling to some scrap of humanity, but my thoughts dissolve, lost in a rising red haze. The ever-present thirst I constantly keep locked down and controlled is unleashed now with explosive force.

I let loose an inhuman snarl as the monster within takes over. Magic flares wildly around me, lashing the air like the lash of a whip. With blurring speed, I launch myself at the vampire on top of Draven. The vampire has only a split second to look up before I descend on him in a whirlwind of claws and bared fangs, ripping ruthlessly into his vulnerable flesh.

Hot blood splashes my face, and I lunge mindlessly for more. The rich metallic taste only fuels the frenzy growing within me. From far away, I hear chaos exploding as the other vampires react to my sudden berserker fury, but I am deaf now to everything except the screaming bloodlust and hunger driving me.

I carve a path of mangled bodies through the cramped room, consumed by my primal vampiric nature. My vision narrows down to the pulsing veins and frantically beating hearts of my prey. I am the hunterand they my feast. Nothing exists in this moment but the need to rend, to feed.

Only when gentle hands grasp my shoulders, sending a magical warmth through me, do I hesitate in my rampage. Panting, I blink away the haze of violence to find Draven gazing at me with a look of confusion.

“Thorn?” he murmurs.

Shame crashes down on me, horror at what I’ve done threatening to crush me where I stand. Somehow, Draven’s steady gaze anchors me before I can spiral too deep.

Taking in the ruin surrounding us, he says grimly, “We need to talk.”

The other vampires—Anthony included—seem shaken but unharmed. They are kept at a wary distance by Draven’s upraised hand. With dreadful certainty, I know I have just exposed my monstrous true nature to them all.

Before I can properly panic, Draven turns his compelling gaze on each in turn. “You will forget what transpired here,” he commands, voice resonating with power. “We were set upon by enemies and prevailed. No other details remain.”

Their eyes all take on a glazed look of obedience. Draven has wiped their memories, saving my secret. All except Anthony, who watches solemnly, clearly still in possession of his wits.

Catching my frightened gaze, he simply bows his head. “Your secrets are safe with me.” His sincerity makes me sag with tearful relief and gratitude.

With a reassuring hand on my back, Draven guides me quickly away. My chaotic thoughts swirl like scattered leaves in a storm as we make our harrowing way back to the safety of the castle. I cling to Draven’s steady presence at my side like a lifeline, the one fixed point in my unmoored world.

Whatever consequences loom ahead, whether rejection or punishment for my monstrous acts, with Draven, I can weather the coming storm.

24

Draven

Thorn trembles against me, clearly shaken by the violent loss of control. As much as I burn with questions, now is not the time for interrogation. Her needs must come first.

I guide her swiftly from the carnage, one arm wrapped firmly around her slender shoulders. She moves as one hollowed out, numbly putting one foot in front of the other. Once we’re back at the castle, I steer her to my private chambers where we can speak away from prying eyes.

Now inside my room, I gently cup her chin and tilt her face up to meet my gaze. Dried blood streaks her skin, marring its usual porcelain perfection. She looks so lost it makes my chest ache.

“Let’s get you cleanedup,” I murmur.

After leading her to the washroom, I dampen a cloth and tenderly wipe away the gore. She flinches when I uncover the gashes on her hands from her vicious attack. I pour a healing tonic into each cut, erasing all traces.

When no more blood remains, I lift her newly healed palms to my lips in a fervent kiss, ignoring her faint sound of protest. “There. Good as new.”

I guide her back to the sitting room and settle us both near the hearth. Now I can focus on her emotional wounds. I rub her cold hands between mine, willing warmth into them.

“Are you hurt anywhere? I saw them feeding on you.” Thorn asks softly, brows creased with concern as her eyes search me for injury.

My brave, compassionate fledgling.

I give her a small smile. “I will survive.”

She scowls. “That wasn’t my question.” Her fingers probe my healing throat wound with exquisite gentleness. I wince slightly before I can mask it.

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