Page 27 of Captive Hybrid

Chapter Eleven

Zenna

The vampire, Evelyn, looks me up and down, auburn brows slightly raised. ‘Wow,’ she says, copper eyes grazing over my demure grey dress, the vines on my forearms and limp, icy hair. ‘Definitely part fae, aren’t you?’

I blink at her in the torchlight. I glance up toward Drusilla, but the Origin simply gives a nod and takes her leave. I turn my gaze back to Evelyn. ‘What makes you say that?’

Evelyn buries her hands in her jeans pockets. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a female vampire dressed so casually. I thought they all liked to flaunt their cold beauty. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ She turns and shoulders the heavy stone doors open. Though, perhaps they’re not heavy to a vampire. ‘Look at you. Pale, snowy skin and hair. How could you not be?’ After a pause, she blinks at me. ‘You’re looking at me as though no one’s ever said that to you before?’

I follow her numbly through a dimly-lit corridor, relieved to be out of the cell. I fidget with a lock of my hair, twirling it through my fingers. Does this mean I get my hair from my father? I try to picture a man with white-blond hair. ‘They haven’t.’

Evelyn’s brows arch, but she doesn’t press. ‘Let’s get you something else to wear. You’re not a feeder or subjugate.’

‘I was given this to wear.’

A hint of blush reddens her cheeks, illuminating her autumnal hues. ‘Um. Everyone will think you’re a human that vampires can feed off. Sorry,’ she adds. ‘That’s how they dress. And you’re not wearing a choker, so anyone could use you.’

I falter in my tracks, heart racing. ‘What are you talking about?’ My voice tumbles down the stone hallway for all to hear.

Evelyn takes my arm, leading me into a small chamber room filled with extra linen and toiletries. Her grip isn’t painful, not even tight. Just enough to steer me. ‘You don’t know much about vampires, do you?’ Her voice is barely a whisper, clearly lowered so that no nearby vampires catch her words.

‘No,’ I hiss. ‘Why would I?’

‘Look, you just need to be careful. We can smell you. You can’t hide your nature from us, but if you dress like a feeder, you’ll be treated like one.’

Not even Drusilla had commented on my outfit. She probably figured Evelyn would take care of it. ‘Callen gave this to me.’

Evelyn’s lip curls. ‘Callen is a bastard,’ she says, as though it’s a known fact.

‘What’s a choker? I mean, what does it mean?’

‘It’s what it sounds like. A leather piece designed to go around a feeder/subjugates throat, blocking their throat. It shows that they’re owned, claimed by a vampire, and are not to be shared.’

My stomach does a backflip. ‘I might hurl.’ My hands hover over my throat, my bare skin feeling vulnerable.

Evelyn’s nostril flares, just slightly. ‘Would you rather I let you go around as you are?’ There’s an edge to her voice.

‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’ I’d rather not anger the one vampire who seems to be on my side. Or, you know, not trying to actively get me killed or eaten. ‘I just… the thought of someone—Callen said if he bit me, he wouldn’t be able to stop.’

The mild anger dissipates. ‘Yes, that’s probably true. Most of us are old enough to have excellent control over our feeding, especially human blood. But something as exotic as yours? Well, it could be addictive. Now, come on.’

Evelyn leads me through a labyrinth of winding stone corridors, into what appears to be living quarters. She raises her hands. ‘This is where some of us live. Those closest to Drusilla,’ she adds. ‘We try to spread out, so we don’t get in each other’s way.’ She stops in front of a door and pushes it open. ‘This is me.’

The vampire woman leads me into a sprawling, stone-carved apartment suite. She’s obviously a fairly important person within Drusilla’s court…nest, whatever, if her home is anything to go by.

We step into the kitchen, all clean, white tile, then the sprawling loungeroom, flush with neat furniture, throws and comfy-looking cushions. Softer than I would have expected of a vampire’s home.

Evelyn pads through her home, leading me toward a large bedroom as she tosses open her wardrobe. ‘Now, do you prefer skirts, jeans, dresses…?’ Evelyn glances at me for a moment, then nods. ‘Definitely winter colours, aren’t you?’ Her intense gaze grazes over me from head to toe, taking in the ice-white of my blonde hair, my snow-pale skin, to the bright blue of my eyes, down to the green vines on my arms.

Her gaze makes my heart quicken, and I try not to think of a predator sizing up prey.

‘Um, I don’t mind.’ My focus isn’t on the huge assortment of clothes. I poke my head out the door to the hallway, at one end is a huge floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, packed with neatly stacked paperbacks. Something in my heart flutters to life.

Evelyn emerges from the bedroom, her arms piled high with clothes. ‘There you are. Oh. You found my little library. Do you like books?’

‘Yes.’ The word is a whispered reverence. I take a few smaller steps forward. Some of the books toward the top are old, the marks on the spines unfamiliar, an old language, perhaps.

Evelyn huffs a little laugh. ‘I see.’ She sets the clothes down. By the shelves is a little sitting area—two deep leather armchairs, perfect for reading in. ‘Hey, I know being here has been rough, but it doesn’t have to be.’ She holds up an outfit, then nods at a door, a second bedroom. ‘You’re welcome to stay here with me, and the books are yours to read as you like.’

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