Page 144 of Claimed By Fangs and Darkness
“Stealing your freedom is not my objective, dear,” Aster said. “I want to keep you safe. Your magick makes you a target for the rest of your life. Every power in the realm will seek to kill you or use you, or use you and then kill you.”
I swallowed. He wasn’t exactly wrong.
“When the turned are squashed like every other mortal rebellion in the past millennium, where will that leave you?” Aster paused. “Don’t misunderstand me. I also want your precious heart—I’ve wanted it since the moment I learned you were still alive.”
No, since I was a fuckingchild.
“How does Juliette feel about that?”
Aster smiled softly. “Juliette has always desired sisterly love. She isn’t the jealous type. She believes love can and should be given freely; she doesn’t subscribe to archaic models of monogamy. She’s told me from the start that she believes I’ll always know what is best for us. That if I want to love you, I should.”
I fought the urge to snort. Once again, the dark thought passed through my mind: At what point would this level of love bombing have worked on me?
I shuddered.
“And what about Conrad?”
Aster looked stunned, jolted out of his dreamy romantic bullshit. “What about him?”
I caught a note of anger in his eyes. It was interesting how much he and Juliette talked about this incestuous poly lovefest when they both showed such blatant possessiveness beneath the surface.
“You seem close,” I said, pretending to look more nervous than inquisitive.
“We’re old friends, yes. Not many of my brothers and sisters understand my lifestyle. But Conrad is a romantic too, believe it or not. His coldness is a reflection of deep heartbreak, the death of his wife a couple of decades ago that still torments him.”
There it was. A blatant twisting of the truth. I already knew Aster was full of shit, but catching him in the lies was soothing in this sea of careful, consistent manipulation. I saw Vesper’s story clearly in my mind, the scar that cut across her cheek.
“Conrad and I are building something beautiful, together,” Aster continued, oblivious to the fire building in my chest. “Etherdale is not the only city that has lost her way. The realm needs gentle guidance from strong, measured rulers, notwar.”
My heart skipped a beat. I closed my mouth, playing dumb. I couldn’t be heavy-handed, not when Aster was flirting with treason.
“I hated the turned too, you know,” I said, lowering my voice. “I hated what they’d done to the city that had always protected me. The circular violence, the provocation of Conrad and his men. But then the born started rounding up witches like me. They attacked me and my brother. I did what I had to do.”
I let a degree of pleading and uncertainty enter my eyes and voice, channeling the current as if I were practicing magick.
And the more it worked, the easier it became.
Aster pulled my hand into his, and I let him. “I know you did, Evie. And now they want you to spy on us, to give them anything that might level the scales. But I have nothing to offer—we will preserve order merely because we have more power and numbers. That is the truth.”
I stared at our hands. “I’m afraid if I don’t give them something, they won’t let me keep coming back.”
“Is it a jealous lover? Is that who you report to?” Aster asked. His jaw feathered, a low hum of power coloring the air.
I shook my head, pretending to be offended. I channeled the old Evie, the one who would sooner die than be with a vampire.
“I’ve never been fed from before,” I said quietly.
Aster’s eyes flashed intensity, hunger. For a moment, it felt like I was channeling Vesper now—the wisdom I’d gleaned from her over the past week, the lessons from her stories and the way she held everyone under her spell.
He was distracted and vulnerable. I played innocent as I claimed power. It was a risky move, a test of Aster’s commitment to his show of chivalry.
His throat bobbed. His pupils moved rapidly.
“I told you what I am,” he said, voice gravelly. “Aman. A vampire.”
He stood, lording over me before his hand slowly reached for my face. I fought the urge to recoil from the cool brush of his fingers.
“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” he asked.
