Page 22 of Blackthorn
Color drained from Charlotte’s face.
Draven dismissed Lemoine with a wave. Disappointment flashed across her face, but she was a faithful servant and obeyed.
“Explain,” Draven said to his new companion. He stood from the table and slowly approached her. Her eyes grew wider with each step. Wind rattled the balcony doors.
“It’s…it’s not what you think,” she said, which was the worst possible response.
He stood before her, staring down at her.
She looked away, her hands twisting the cloth napkin in her lap.
“Oh? This is not a vampire hunting kit?” He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face to look at him. Her pulse fluttered in her throat. “I invite you into my home in good faith and you bring weapons to destroy me?”
“They were a gift,” she whispered. “To keep me safe.”
“A gift?” He wanted to laugh. “What a terrible dilemma you faced: being rude by refusing a gift or being rude and bringing that gift into my home. If you wanted to kill me, I’m afraid you brought the wrong items.”
He removed the wooden stake. “This is useless,” he said, tossing it to the floor.
Picking up the silver dagger, he examined it carefully. It was an elegant piece. “Now this would hurt, but I heal faster than silver damages me.”
To demonstrate, he gripped the silver blade with his bare hand. The flesh burned and blistered with contact. Charlotte watched, her eyes wide with horror. The scent of burned flesh filled the room. Draven bared his teeth in a snarl, holding onto the blade for a few more seconds.
He pulled the blade away, displaying his injured palm. Red and blistered, the flesh repaired itself. It was a vulgar display, designed to frighten her.
Instead of cowering in fear, Charlotte leaned forward, intrigued. “Fascinating. What happens if the skin is broken? Or stabbed?”
The audacity. He nearly approved. Well, who was he to deny a lady…
Draven leaned over Charlotte, close enough to catch the scent of her soap, and planted his hand on the table. He drove the dagger through his hand.
Charlotte jumped, her hands flying to her throat as she cried out in alarm.
With a grunt, Draven pulled the dagger free and tossed it aside on the table. She snatched his hand and pressed a cloth napkin to the wound. “Are you out of your mind?” she asked, wrapping his hand.
“That is not necessary. I do not bleed,” he said. Still, he appreciated the gesture, unable to remember the last time anyone cared for his discomfort.
“Everything bleeds.”
He unwrapped his already healed hand. “I heal too quickly to bleed excessively.”
Intrigued, she pulled his hand close for inspection. She turned it over, running her fingers over the injury. The flesh was a pale pink, but otherwise, it was unmarred. “Fascinating. Do you heal so quickly because of your age?”
Yes, she was too curious for her own good.
Ignoring her question, Draven pulled his hand back. “The most useful item in your box of pain are the bullets. They alone will not kill me, but they will be unpleasant. Place them carefully.” In theory, all six in his heart could damage it enough to kill him. His body would be unable to heal faster than the poison would be pumped through his veins. Alas, he had never cared to test that theory.
His eyes would be another good location. It wouldn’t kill him, but he would be blinded, perhaps permanently. He wasn’t immortal, just very old. Decapitation or a similar massive trauma would end him, but he had no intention of sharing that information with his curious bride.
Charlotte frowned. “I barely know how to use that thing. You don’t have to worry about any assassination attempts.”
Draven wiped the dagger clean and placed it back in the box. “Keep your toys if they make you feel safe. It is no matter to me. Do not trouble yourself to thank me,” he added, just to see the color rise in her cheeks.
Delightful.
“I should thank you for searching through my possessions?” She straightened her spectacles. Light from the fireplace reflected on the lenses. He was overcome with the urge to remove the eyeglasses. As strongly as he wanted to bundle her up and keep her warm in Sweetwater Point, he now wanted to undress her, bit by bit.
He moved to the fireplace, putting the table between them. Needing to stay focused, he kept his gaze on the fire. “You should be thankful that I have security measures in place to keep all Aerie residents safe. It is dangerous company you keep.”