Page 36 of Kept 3
“What happened?” he growls.
I shrug. “I fell. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not ‘nothing,’ Josephine,” he says, raising his eyes to mine, his voice gentler now, “burns, cuts, scrapes. I may need to keep a nurse in situ all year round if this continues.”
I snort and try to pull away.
“No. Come with me,” he says, his voice once more, firm.
“Where?”
He doesn’t answer, instead pulling me towards a nearby powder room where he motions for me to sit on a long marble bench running the length of one wall, as he begins opening cupboard after cupboard until he finds what he is looking for. Returning to me, he holds up a bandage and a tube of cream.
“Now be brave,” he says gently, as he begins his ministrations, “this might sting.”
I shake my head in wonder, watching his beautiful head bent over my arm as he carefully cleans my cut and binds it tightly with the bandage.
“It doesn’t require stitches,” he murmurs, looking up and meeting my eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You clearly have something on your mind, Josephine,” he smirks, “your eyes are very expressive.”
I shrug. “I was just wondering how someone so bloodthirsty can be so gentle.”
“A butcher’s wife might ask the same of her husband,” he replies quietly, “how can he kill animals every day, all day, and then bounce his baby on his knee at night?”
“Except you don’t butcher animals,” I murmur, “and I’m not a baby.”
“In some matters you are,” he says, frowning and turning from me.
I scowl and hop up from the bench, turning to leave.
“Will I see you at dinner?” he asks my retreating back.
I turn, surprised, and notice the hesitancy in his eyes. He obviously doesn’t think so, given what happened last night, but strangely, it hasn’t crossed my mind that we wouldn’t dine together, as we do every night.
“Of course,” I say quietly, noticing the relief in his face and turning, embarrassed.
10
I wander along the hallway, studying each one of the former Lady Montague’s – they are all similar in that they are perfectly coiffured, beautifully dressed and lovely to look at.
For two weeks now I have lounged in jeans and t-shirts, albeit designer, and read Nicholas’ journals. He was quite willing to allow me to read every one when I broached the subject at dinner after my first walk outside. I’m not sure if it was because I hadn’t tried to run, or if he was feeling guilty about our bed antics, but his answer shocked me.
“If this is what you need to truly understand the depth of my feelings for you, and to understand how I live, then, by all means, Josephine, read my journals. By the way, I have taken the liberty of ordering some clothes for you. They will arrive tomorrow.”
I left the dining room that evening stunned, and for the first time, without a kiss to either my hands or lips and feeling somehow, empty.
All fortnight I have read the journals and learned nothing about any super vampire. I don’t know what James expects, maybe a Darth Vader kind of moment where some creepy old vampire jumps out and says “NICHOLAS, I AM YOUR FATHER” or a subtle reference to ‘the ancient’ but I hadn’t seen anything of either kind.
When I told James, after the first week, that my search was fruitless, he suggested I widen my net and read every fourth or fifth journal, rather than perusing them in order. I was doing that now, but so far, they were all very similar. Nicholas had travelled, killed, hunted the hunters, married here and there, and kept lovers sporadically. It was this last matter that interested me the most, as I read his accounts of how he met them, what they were like, what they did together. He sounded dispassionate in his recounts, almost distanced, as though he had a wall around himself that could not be breached, no matter how intelligent or talented or attractive they were. I couldn’t help but acknowledge that his attitude to me was very different. But as for reference to another vampire, an all-powerful creature of the night, as I told James – it was a no show.
“Keep reading,” he told me when I met him last week, “I know the secret is close.”
“Just how do you plan on killing some super vampire anyway, James? You haven’t confided any of their weaknesses to me. I know they can’t go into the sunlight, but do they melt? Does silver harm them? I know they don’t like milk – what happens if they get it on them?”
He stared at me. I could see he was calculating how much to share, but finally, he shrugged and pulled from his boot a long, silver blade. It was not shaped like any knife I had ever seen, in fact, if I had to guess I’d say it looked like a cross between a trowel and a cake server, albeit with a metal handle. Handing it to me wordlessly he nodded to me to take it. As I held it, I could feel its weight; its appearance was deceptive. Its edge too, while appearing dull, was razor-sharp, and all over it, strange rune-like symbols had been etched in a lighter, golden-coloured metal.
