Sold to the Night Lord - Chapter 81: Chapter 81

I brush one of the stones with my fingers.
“I want you to wear it tonight, ruby queen.”
His hands vanish completely from my body, and in the blink of an eye, Cassian is gone—leaving me with a racing heart, swollen lips, and my naked body sitting on the vanity.
I stroke the ruby again between my fingers and turn to look at myself in the mirror—pale where the explosion of color decorates my neck.
I don’t have much time to think about what just happened, much less to regret it.
Naida and Clarissa burst into my room, as always ready to work their magic with their hands on me.
I’m sure Cassian has everything to do with this.
“Good morning, miss,” Clarissa sings.
I see her with her lips pressed into a trembling line and her cheeks flushed from trying not to laugh.
“What is it?” I ask.
She bursts into laughter, and Naida—more animated than the last time I saw her—approaches me, making faces and odd hand gestures.
“Oh, I’m Cassian’s enemy! I hate that wicked vampire!”
I cover my face with my hands and stifle a groan of frustration.
The whole damn castle knows, and no one plans to let it go.
“Did you hate him before or after he carried you through the castle?” Clarissa accuses.
“I’m not going to talk about this with you two.”
They look at each other and shrug, unconcerned.
“You’ll come to us eventually.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a fact—women talk.”
Naida gives a playful tap on my shoulder.
“And the experience with a vampire is one worth sharing.”
“Do you happen to know something about that?” I reply accusingly, narrowing my eyes.
Her cheeks flush, and she looks away.
Suspicious.
Clarissa comes to the rescue, sends Naida off to the wardrobe, and takes her usual place behind me.
Thank goodness she gives me a bit of time to cover up again.
She wears a smile full of warmth, and despite the embarrassment I just felt, I know neither of them is going to judge me.
They probably, more than most, understand that there are things you can’t fight—and when your life is going to unfold permanently within these walls, you can’t help but live and seek out the experiences you would have if your life were fully your own.
That makes me wonder—what twists in my chest, is it real, or just something born of the need to feel?
I fear the answer is clear.
Under normal circumstances, Cassian and I would have always been enemies.
“Seems like tonight is going to be a little special for you,” Clarissa comments.
“What do you mean?”
“I have the feeling that Cassian doesn’t intend to take you as just a feeder.
I’d dare say you’re going as his companion.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I quote, directly from his mouth: ‘Elara already shines on her own, but tonight I want her to blind everyone who looks at her. Can you make that happen?’”
“Well, that doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“Silly girl.”
Clarissa rolls her eyes and resumes her task.
Between the three of us, a comfortable silence settles, only interrupted by small comments about my preferences for tonight and the soft clatter of their tools.
They slide a beautiful white dress over me, pull the laces in the back until my breasts peek generously, and I’m surprised to see it’s one of the few dresses that isn’t as flowy as the ones I wear daily.
They cover my hands with gloves that go above the elbows, fasten matching earrings to my ears that go with the blood-red ruby necklace, and before I leave, they drape a white fur cape over my shoulders.
A quick glance in the mirror reveals that everything is designed to make the red of the jewels pop.
“It’s… beautiful,” I manage to say.
I’m completely captivated by the shine of the gems and the contrast with my skin, my hair pinned up to reveal my neck, and my gray eyes that seem to hold the clouds of a storm.
“You’re beautiful—will you believe me now?”
“Maybe another day.”
I smile and wave goodbye to them, then clutch the cape to my chest.
I descend the steps carefully and am surprised to see Cassian at the foot of them, waiting for me.
He always waits inside the carriage.
“I see your maids took my words very seriously.”
He bites his lower lip with a fang.
“You look like the sin I’d commit over and over again, Elara.”
I don’t need a mirror to know the color of my cheeks right now.
I try to suppress the small smile threatening to curve my lips and slide my gloved hand over his.
He doesn’t take his eyes off me—not when he helps me into the carriage, and not when we begin the ride.
We’ve been bumping along the road for a while, sitting across from each other.
I don’t know if it’s that or the dress that’s making it hard to breathe.
“You can’t breathe,” Cassian says, as if he read my thoughts.
“I’m fine.” I smile faintly to downplay it.
“Will you tell me what’s expected of me tonight? Where exactly are we going?”
“Tonight there’s a celebration hosted by one of our kind—a Pureblood of lower rank, but known for throwing great parties.”
“Is there a special occasion?”
“You don’t know?” He arches a brow, his eyes never ceasing to warm my skin.
“Tonight marks the signing of the Treaties.
It’s been… four hundred years? Or was it five hundred? I’ve lost count.”
“That still doesn’t answer my first question.”
“You’re my companion, therefore I want you with me.”
“With you?”
“All night.”
That means he won’t vanish from my side at the first opportunity, leaving me alone among people I don’t know, nor will he only come looking for me when he needs a sip of my blood.
“Have you grown tired of ignoring me?”
“I told you I never ignored you,” he huffs. “I was doing what I had to do to keep my sanity.”
Again, that breathlessness.
I think it has more to do with him than this beautiful but uncomfortable dress.
“Turn around.”
“What? Why?”
“Just do it.”
I look at him suspiciously before turning on my seat to face the carriage wall.
I hear the sound of his clothes shifting and his breath—cold as death—tickles my nape.
His fingers move quickly and skillfully: he undoes the knot of my cape, reveals the dress beneath, and without asking, starts loosening the laces at my back.
“I’ve always hated these things,” he mutters.
“Why?”
“Because they restrict.”
Without meaning to, a little giggle escapes me.
“What’s so funny?”
I cover my mouth with my hand and take a moment to compose myself.
Feeling the cold leather of his hands on my back doesn’t help.
“Sorry.
It just seems funny that you, of all people, hate something that restricts.”
“I must’ve played the villain in your story a little too well.”
His breath slides down my back, and I feel his nose tracing a part of my spine.
As quickly as he appeared behind me, he disappears and returns to his seat.
I press the dress against my chest with my arm, now without the earlier discomfort.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“No need to thank me.”
He crosses one leg over the other in a masculine pose.
“I prefer when your breath catches because my hands are on your throat.”
Despite the amusement on his features, it’s not a joke.
I know he enjoys it—he loves it—and I’m afraid I’m screwed,
because I want to feel his hands stealing my breath away.