Dinner had ended as quickly as Becca had wished it to. Now, seated on a single velvet-cushioned chair in the parlour, she could barely recall what she had eaten, nor what it had tasted like.
All she remembered was him.
She had felt Lord NightBane's gaze throughout the entire dinner, an invisible weight upon her skin, steady and unrelenting. And yet, each time she lifted her eyes, he was looking elsewhere, as though completely absorbed in the dull conversation between her father and the Countess. But she knew he had been watching her. She had felt it as one feels a cold draft in a closed room.
The Earl had suggested they take digesting tea in the parlour before retiring. Lisa sat where the light was brightest, deliberately positioning herself so the chandeliers glimmered upon her hair. The Earl and the Countess occupied a double sofa near the hearth. NightBane, however, chose the darkest corner, beside the window, where the candlelight thinned into shadow. There, his figure blended so completely with the dimness that one could almost mistake him for a part of it.
Becca wondered if anyone else noticed how unnatural his stillness was, how even his breathing seemed too controlled, too deliberate. His posture was graceful, but wrongly so as if he had practiced the art of appearing human.
The servants brought in tea. Fine porcelain cups clinked softly upon their saucers. Becca's hand trembled slightly as she poured hers. NightBane accepted his cup from the maid with a polite nod, but never drank it. He only lifted the rim toward his lips once, inhaling faintly before setting it down again.
Even at dinner, he had eaten almost nothing. His plate had returned nearly untouched. Becca's mind churned with curiosity. Perhaps he feeds on things that bleed, she thought.
Her imagination stirred uneasily. She told herself to stop, but couldn't.
NightBane broke the silence first.
"Earl Blackwood," he said smoothly, his voice deep but calm. "I hadn't seen your heir earlier this evening."
At once, Becca noticed the faintest stiffness in the Countess's posture. Her fan, which had been lazily waving moments ago, froze mid-air.
Becca frowned. She herself had not noticed John's absence during dinner; she had assumed he was occupied with council matters. But now, seeing her stepmother's reaction, she sensed there was more to it.
"Yes, my lord," her father said, his tone casual but his eyes wary. "My son travelled to our estate in Denville. Take your eyes off those serfs for a moment and they begin to think themselves lords."
NightBane's grin was slight, revealing the faintest flash of teeth. He brought the teacup to his lips again, sniffed, and said simply, "True." The word left his mouth like the echo of a thought rather than a reply.
The silence that followed was broken by Lisa's eager voice.
"How is your cousin, Lord Crest?" she asked, her tone light but edged with interest. Becca could tell her sister was still captivated by Crest's charm, the way his silver hair had caught the light the night they had visited.
NightBane's lips curved in faint amusement. "My dear cousin," he said, "has gone late-night hunting with his pack."
Lisa frowned. "Hunting? At night?" she said, a little laugh escaping her. "That's not very human, is it?"
Becca turned her head sharply, studying Lisa's face. There was no hint of jest there no suspicion, no knowledge. Lisa's tone was that of innocent wonder.
So she truly doesn't know, Becca realized. She doesn't even know what they are.
"My cousin," NightBane said, leaning back slightly, "finds the night more... suitable for his appetites."
His gaze shifted toward Becca, catching hers for a fleeting moment before she looked away. The brief contact left her pulse racing.
"It's late," the Earl said suddenly, his voice cutting through the still air. "My dear, escort Lisa to her chambers for her night rest."
The Countess rose at once, masking her irritation with a thin smile. "Lisa, come," she said softly. "You need your rest."
Lisa sighed but obeyed, though not without a final glance toward NightBane. "Goodnight, Father. Goodnight, Lord NightBane. Please tell Lord Crest I said hello."
"I shall," he replied smoothly, inclining his head.
As the Countess and Lisa left, the air seemed to thin again, the warmth of the room fading with them.
The Earl set down his cup and stood. "I'll excuse myself," he said, already halfway toward the door. "There are matters to attend before dawn."
And just like that he was gone.
Becca was left alone in the parlour with Lord Damion NightBane.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Becca could hear the faint ticking of the clock and, louder still, the wild rhythm of her own heart. She tried to steady her breath, but the sound of it seemed to echo in the stillness.
"Velvet looks very elegant on you, Lady Rebecca," NightBane said finally, his voice low, smooth, and strangely cool. "You compliment the dress."
She looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time in full. a deep, burning red that seemed to shimmer like blood beneath candlelight.
"Shouldn't that be the other way around, my lord?" she said, forcing a calm smile. "The dress compliments me. It gives me more... highlighting."
He chuckled softly. "Perhaps. But the dress is only elegant because it rests upon you. You give it meaning."
His voice lowered, rich and unhurried. "That is to say, you are elegant, my lady."
Her cheeks grew warm. The words were so simply spoken, yet they stirred something dangerous within her. Before she could stop herself, her tongue betrayed her curiosity.
"Which of the night creatures are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
NightBane's grin widened. Slowly, he set the porcelain cup down upon the table, the sound delicate yet deliberate. He turned toward her, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"Take a guess, would you?" he murmured, reclining into the shadows. One leg crossed lazily over the other. He looked like a painting come alive dark, refined, and vaguely predatory.
Becca hesitated. If she was wrong, she thought, it might cost her dearly.
But curiosity had always been her ruin.
"At first," she began carefully, "I thought perhaps you were a witch. But witches are drawn to the living, they mimic them too perfectly. You… do not."
She paused, her fingers tightening around her cup. "Then I thought perhaps a vampire. But vampires are cold-blooded, pale, unable to touch silver. You, however, handled the cutlery with ease, though you ate nothing. Which leads me to another theory… perhaps a werewolf?"
NightBane's laughter came low and rough, vibrating through the air.
"Your study is not without merit," he said. "But you are mistaken. I am not one of those mutts that howl at the moon." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming. "Nor am I one of those deceitful, green-blooded fiends that prey without reason."
Her breath caught. "Then you are a vampire," she said faintly.
Before the words had finished leaving her lips, he moved.
It happened so quickly she barely registered the motion only the rush of air and the faint flutter of her hair as he appeared behind her chair. His voice came close to her ear, calm and quiet, every word brushed with danger.
"Some call me that," he murmured. "Others call me something else entirely a curse, an abomination."
His breath ghosted across her neck, cool and deliberate. She froze, the fine hairs on her skin rising. Then, with disarming gentleness, his lips brushed the hollow of her neck soft as a whisper, yet enough to make her blood race.
Becca's fingers tightened around her cup until she feared it might crack. Her throat was dry. Her mind screamed at her to move, yet her body disobeyed.
"I've been wondering," she began softly, her voice carrying the faint tremor of restraint. "Why it was me the council chose and not Lisa."
Rebecca continued, the words slipping free before fear could stop them.
"It doesn't make sense. Lisa is the one men look at twice. She's gentle, easy to please, and perfectly mannered. She's what a family like mine would offer to secure a noble alliance."
Her gaze hardened. "But instead, it was me."
Her voice grew quieter then, almost to herself.
"My father said the council made the decision that you requested me personally." She let out a faint, humorless laugh. "I stopped believing that the moment he said it. The council doesn't make choices like that. He made a bargain, didn't he? One that had nothing to do with love or preference."
She lifted her eyes again, steady and cold. "I was the price of whatever he wanted from you."
"Why did you choose to marry me?" she asked, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady.
NightBane remained behind her, his voice barely audible now. "Because your sister," he whispered, "would never have come up with such a theory. She is a beauty, yes, but one with no brain." he paused then continued"An alliance should offer something worth keeping… even if not for long. Don't you agree, my lady?"
"I am not an object of bargain, my lord," Becca managed, though her voice trembled as she said it.
"Damion," he corrected softly, close enough that she could feel the shape of his lips against her ear. "We will be married soon, Milady. Formalities should be beneath us."
"It's not... very respectful," she said, trying to keep her composure, even as the warmth of his voice melted through her restraint.
"I do not ask for your respect," he murmured. "Only your permission."
Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs. "Permission for what?"
"To call your name."
Becca swallowed, realizing too late that she had already nodded before she'd thought it through.
"Rebecca," he said slowly.
Her name fell from his mouth like a spell soft, lingering, the air seems to have grown tight.