Page 5 of The Hawk and the Nightingale

“Those conversations don’t always go well, but you’re right,” she admitted, feeling a pang of guilt. “I should have told you. Forgive me?”

“Only if you promise to come back to my club tonight.”

“You grant your forgiveness so easily?”

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I was more embarrassed than mad, and I shouldn’t have yelled like a madman in your shop. I suppose, since we’ve both misbehaved, now we’re even.”

Laughter bubbled up from her throat. “If you think a bite is equal to a bit of yelling, you really do have amnesia.” She sobered, and added, “I am sorry for not telling you. After the first bite, you went along with everything so willingly, I assumed you would remember.”

“Come to my club tonight, and we can make new memories.”

“Would it be all right if I came earlier?” she asked. “The music was distracting, and I wish to give you my full attention.”

“Sunset then?” he asked, and she smiled. He paused, and asked, “Do you like to drink things other than blood, or did I waste hundreds of dollars’ worth of product, too?”

Amalie laughed. “We drank the red wine, and the champagne,” she replied. “I’m not a fan of whiskey, though, so that went untouched, as did the martinis. Forgive me?”

Hawk kissed her knuckles. “Forgiven, my nightingale. I will be waiting for you.”

With that, Hawk swept out of Amalie’s shop with a grace and dignity that belied her memory of him on his knees, begging for more bites. Amalie watched him disappear down the street, and briefly contemplating following him. But she assumed he was busy, and she did have several tasks of her own to complete before sunset. When she turned back to her display case, Iveta was scowling at her.

“You bit him?“ she demanded. “You, the woman who insisted we could not attract that buffoon’s notice, bit him?”

Amalie pursed her lips as she gathered up her cleaning supplies. “It wasn’t something I planned on doing,” she began. “But he was so kind at the club—“

“The club? You bit him in public?” Iveta screeched. “Amalie, this is a dangerous game you’re playing. What if someone saw you?”

“Hawk’s people are loyal to him.” It had been plain that Hawk treated his employees well, which made them both attentive and discreet. “They would not betray him.”

“Not unless they were also loyal to him.“ Out of long habit Iveta refrained from mentioning the name of Amalie’s once-husband, the warlord Marek. There were ears everywhere, and many of those ears belonged to Marek. Iveta took Amalie’s hands, and said, “I have protected you for too long, against too many threats, to let a mortal unravel it all now. Please, my lady, be careful.”

“I will.” When Iveta raised her eyebrows, Amalie laughed. “I will be careful. Promise.”

Iveta squeezed her hands. “See that you are.”

Chapter Four

Amalie - Prussian Village, Before

The day after Amalie’s sixteenth birthday, word came to her village about Marek’s impending arrival so he could collect the tithe. The warlord hadn’t been through that area of Europe in so long no one living had been to a tithe, but the memories lingered. As Amalie soon learned, memories of such events lingered long after death.

When Marek’s entourage arrived in the village square, the elders wasted no time in making him feel welcome. Bonfires were lit and larders were emptied, for while her village was small, it had never lacked for resources. The elders spared no expense, and Amalie wondered why this soldier was being feted like a king. Her friend Katia took her aside, and explained the tithe, and the man who collected it.

“Do you not know, Ama?” Katia asked. “The Marek is upyr.”

Upyr. Vampire. Intrigued, Amalie looked toward the long tables where the Marek and his men were seated. “Which one is he?”

Katia pointed to a man near the center of the table. “Him,” she whispered.

“He’s handsome,” Amalie said. Marek wore a bear pelt across his shoulders, fastened across his chest with a heavy gold chain that gleamed in the firelight. His hair and eyes were almost dark as Amalie’s, and he was easily the most attractive man she’d ever seen. Next to him sat a woman with hair as pale as straw, wearing an emerald green cloak and a large garnet at her throat.

“Who’s that next to him?” Amalie asked. “His wife?”

“His mother, Varushka,” Katia replied. “Marek is the warlord, but she is the true leader of the clan.”

“Then he does not have a wife,” Amalie mused.

“What are you thinking?” Katia asked, then she saw how her friend’s eyes tracked Marek’s every move. “Ama, no,” Katia said, shaking her head. “Those who leave with him never return!”

---