Page 88 of Cloak of the Vampire
“I heard the Lord has been busy this past week,” Bryce now said. “I wonder if he’s going to show up for the Auction—”
“Of course he is,” Jakob cut him off with an eye roll. “Remember what Abe said a couple of weeks ago? The Auction is about hosting other vampire Lords from different Leagues. I doubt our Lord would want to leave so many Lords in his territory without his personal supervision.”
Tansy seemed to tune in to the conversation just then since her head whipped toward Jakob, her huge eyes surprisingly lucid as she said, “Don’t you think it’s a form of human trafficking?”
Everyone turned to stare at her. Zoey was the one to answer. “It’s just the way it is, Tansy, and besides, we’re not human anymore.”
“But it’s wrong,” Tansy insisted, her eyes flickering to me. “Right, Aileen?”
I had no idea why she was addressing me specifically, but I answered her, nonetheless. “You’re right. It is wrong, and it is unfair,” I said. “But alas, you knew what you were signing up for when you got yourself put on the waiting list.” Which was a luxury I, on the other hand, didn’t have.
“None of us knew about the Auction until we actually became vampires, Aileen.” Zoey sent me a pointed look.
“Well, I wouldn’t know,” I said, shrugging, anger unfolding inside my gut. “Since I was never on that list to begin with.”
Everyone snapped their heads toward me now. “What do you mean, you were never on the list?” Jakob asked, his eyes narrowed.
I looked at my classmates. They seemed disturbed by what I just shared. But I was through with keeping this to myself. It’s not like I had anything left to lose. So I told them, “My circumstances are differentthan yours. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and so I was given the Imprint without my consent.”
They seemed to stare at me like they’d never seen me before. “You’re kidding,” Zoey said, searching my face for humor, and when she found none, she seemed stunned.
Jakob gave me a pitying look. “Must’ve been rough,” he said quietly. “But hey, Auction aside, being a vampire is far better than remaining human.” He gave me an encouraging smile. “You should consider yourself lucky.”
I looked away; under the table, my hands curled into fists. He thought I was lucky? What part of this whole shitty situation was lucky? What if Iwantedto stay human so that at least I would know my life didn’t have just a beginning but also an end? What if I wanted to work at a grocery store and be my friends’ punching bag forever?
This whole thing would’ve been tolerable if I at least knew what Ragnor was thinking. But I didn’t. He barely admitted he’d lost control that night at the alley. He refused to tell me whether he planned on buying me in the Auction.
He never made you any promises, Aileen,the voice of reason whispered in my head, making my heart drop and my throat choke.He never told you he wantedyou.
No. He never told me that. Could I really blame him, though? I was the furthest from a good woman. My very being would forever be tainted by my past sins. My soul would always be lacking. I would forever be my father’s creation.
Perhaps I would be better off in another League after all. At least then I would spare Ragnor from finding out he’d slept with a monster.
I put away the brush and stared at the canvas I’d painted black in a fit of frustrated rage. My cheeks were still wet from the mix of perspirationand tears, but I had no energy to wipe them clean as I leaned back and stared at the workshop ceiling.
I can’t do this.
A desperate, defeated part of me urged me to try to run away. But I couldn’t, not when the elevator would only open with a handprint installed into the system.
There was nowhere to hide either. I’d seen guards patrolling the hallways on my way to the workshop after breakfast. They would be able to find me no matter where I went.
Even if in the unlikely event I managed to run away, did I want to live as a Leagueless vampire? I didn’t know anything about the dangers waiting outside. That one time I got kidnapped by those men in Vegas was enough to tell me I was too ignorant and helpless at the moment to fend for myself.
If only I had a concrete plan, an idea as to what to paint, anything, really ...
I hurled the canvas at the wall and bit down a scream. I rose to my feet and kicked the easel, knocking it to the side. I went to the thick pile of canvases and started searching them, tossing some aside as I literally fished for any inspiration.
But all my paintings were just not good enough. They were abstract and obscure. They had no deeper meaning. Even just for show, none of them had any appeal.
When I reached the bottom of the pile, I paused, staring at the first canvas I’d painted during the assessment class, with the scars and the four words aimed at Margarita.He’ll never be yours,the painting said.
And I suddenly felt the impact of the words as if they were aimed at me, and I gasped, falling to my knees as fresh new tears rose to my eyes. Shakily, I grabbed the canvas and stared at the words, reading them over and over again, each time more torturous than the one before, until I no longer needed to.
The words were now etched in my mind.
Ragnor would never be mine. He’d given his heart away to someone else, after all.
So why was I agonizing over all this?
