Page 2 of Vampires of Eden: Oliver
Eventually, Camille is at my side. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting, but when I try to move, my legs are numb.
“Lord Blakeley is expecting you at dinner tonight,” she says, standing over me. “It’s the last dinner before the bonding festivities begin this weekend…”
I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”
“But he’s expecting you. The viscount as well—”
“Camille, look around.” Shifting to my knees, I crawl back toward the headboard, then drop down onto my stomach and lie against the pillow with my eyes closed. “I said that I was sorry. I begged for his forgiveness, but he still took everything. How can I go to dinner and pretend like I’m fine? We don’t even need to eat food this often. It’s ridiculous.”
How far can you push someone before they snap? Before all the restrictions, punishments and admonishments backfire and all that’s left is a hurting pile of ashes?
“Your grace, it could always be worse… Remember Thomas.”
My eyes blink open. Those two words pulsate in my ears like a warning signal.
Remember Thomas.
I don’t say anything, but I lie against the bed, heart racing. Frightening, forgotten images of my elder brother flash to the forefront of my mind—his skin covered in ugly scabs. His body emaciated and his spirit broken.
To this day, he is an empty shell of the vampire he used to be.
“Sasha will be here tomorrow,” Camille adds, hopeful and much less cryptic. “Both Lord Blakeley and the viscount have permitted her to visit with you prior to the festivities, but if you refuse to go to dinner, I think that will be canceled, and inevitably, we’ll both be in trouble…”
Exhaling, I push myself upright. The situation is already bad enough without dragging Camille into it. She shouldn’t be exposed to the wrath of Lord Blakeley because I’m feeling sorry for myself. That isn’t fair to her.
“Alright,” I say, rubbing a palm down my face. “I’ll go.”
She nods, turning toward the closet. “You should take a shower, and I’ll lay something out for you. I’ll be waiting outside.”
I stand, then drag myself into the bathroom. How am I going to get through this evening—no, through this entire circus? Smiling and faking my way through weeks of celebratory dinners, local tours and events.
The first mating attempt with Alexander. God…
“I know there’s a lot going on right now,” Camille says, popping out of the closet with pre-pressed and ironed clothing draped over her arm. She walks with efficiency toward the bed. “But don’t forget that you’re sitting in with the viscount during his meeting with the Italian dignitary next week. And the designer will be here on Monday.”
Confused, I pause in the doorframe to the bathroom and glance over my shoulder. “The what? What kind of designer?”
“We’ve talked about this, your grace—he’s coming to make custom suits for your and Alexander’s wedding. Now, hurry, please?” She stalks toward the bedroom door. As she leaves, she gently closes it behind her.
I shake my head. I have no idea what she’s talking about.
The small dining room is dimly lit when I push open one of the double doors and slip through the gap. It’s quiet. Like the calm before the storm. We use this space for immediate family members, saving the larger, more grandiose dining rooms of the castle to impress visiting lords, ladies and dignitaries. Tonight, there are only three of us. Me, Lord Blakeley and the viscount. My purebred vampire fathers.
One is domineering, prideful and insatiable in his yearning for respect, status and validation. This strange, inherent need of his covers us like a virus. An infectious ailment that steadily deteriorates and worsens the quality of all our lives.
The other is innocuous. Not unkind, but complicit and culpable by silence—always standing idly by as a witness to the harm being done.
My fathers… don’t like me at all. No matter how hard I’ve tried to be what they want me to be, and do what they want me to do, I’m never quite good enough. Somehow, I’m always wrong. A misfit.
It’s exhausting. Living underneath the weight of their constant disappointment.
Love is completely off the table. As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to the painful realization that my existence is for functional purposes only. No one loves a broom or a shovel.
“Why have you kept us waiting?” Lord Blakeley’s stormy-gray eyes are emotionless as I approach the table and take my seat. A pair of bronze Gothic candelabras line the center of the white tablecloth. The light from the candles dances and casts ominous shadows across his stern face.
“I apologize,” I say reflexively with my head bowed.
“The season of your bonding ceremony has finally arrived,” Lord Blakeley goes on. It’s as if my body is physically shrinking beneath the heft of his aggravated voice and gaze. “We have been anticipating this moment for centuries, Oliver.Ihave been yearning for this pivotal ascent in our clan’s history. It feels as if you are singularly determined to ruin it. To throw everything away.”
