SWNOVELS Chapter The Plot Thickens
Viola
Elliott sits in the kitchen, munching on a piece of sponge cake while Serena hands me a cup of tea. I can’t help but smile as I watch him eagerly shovel another big bite into his mouth—it might be cake, but at least he’s eating something, which I assume is a good sign.
I haven’t spent much time around children, and I feel uncertain about what to do with him here. William must be up to something, sending him here like this—which reminds me I have to close the curtains back in Darius’s room as soon as possible.
As I observe Elliott, I know that I must protect him. Despite being William’s offspring, he is innocent, and I refuse to treat him as a pawn in whatever game William is playing. If William is willing to arrange my father’s death, he is undoubtedly a master of this game—in a single move, he acquired valuable real estate in seven different countries around the world.
“Elliott, are you tired from your journey?” I ask.
He shakes his head. I have learned that asking yes or no questions is the most effective way to communicate with him.
“Would you like to join me for a little walk in the garden after tea?” I suggest.
Elliott nods gently and reaches for his teacup. Unfortunately, it slips from his hands and shatters on the ground. Before anyone milling in the kitchen can react, Elliott bursts into tears. As I move to console him, he withdraws, a subtle action that hints at fear. My heart sinks at the thought that this little human might be accustomed to physical punishment for something so minor as a broken tea cup.
“I’ll get that, little master. Not a problem, dear. Calm yourself,” Mrs. Abrams says calmly as she starts picking up the pieces.
Elliott’s crying persists as if he’s unable to stop himself. I gently scoop him into my arms and carry him outside into the gardens out back.
“Let’s begin our walk, Elliott. Do you like butterflies? It’s a little late in the season for butterflies, but we might be lucky enough to find one of the white ones.”
I try to look at his face, but he’s hiding in the crook of my neck and refuses to budge. I hold him a little tighter and keep walking toward the rose garden.
“The white ones are called Cabbage Whites or Pieris rapae. From a distance, they might look plain, but if you look closely, you’ll see two or three little black dots on their wings. If we don’t find one out here, there’s a book I found in the library about moths and butterflies.”
I begin to sing a lullaby—I didn’t even know I knew the words to any lullabies. Elliott’s sobs gradually subside, as if he’s trying to listen to the melody.
I walk slowly, continuing to hum the tune. After a few minutes, Elliott is fast asleep in my arms—he must have been exhausted by the journey after all.
Sitting on a garden bench in the shade of a maple tree, I examine Elliott’s little face. Something inside me softens, and I take a deep breath to steady myself and hold back my tears. The sight of him, so small and vulnerable, adds an edge of danger to our predicament.
“Well, isn’t he just bloody adorable,” I hear Mr. Dixon’s voice behind me.
I glance over my shoulder to see him leaning against the maple tree, where he shoots me that perfect debonaire smile my way.
“You could always feed him to your Vampyre friend as a little snack,” Mr. Dixon audibly snaps his teeth together, playfully biting the air.
I smirk and examine Elliott’s peaceful face. “I don’t think he would want to eat a member of his own family, Mr. Dixon. What brings you here?”
I don’t see or hear Mr. Dixon move, but a gust of wind hits my neck at incredible speed, making me flinch. Looking down at the ground, I notice three glass bottles of human blood neatly labeled, identical to the ones from Dr. Gibbons’s office.
“I went to visit my bride today. Dahlia will soon be healed enough to travel. I thought you could use these. They’re not Fae or witch, but they’re freshly drawn and still warm. Get them to your friend as quickly as possible.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dixon. I will.”
When I turn to look behind me, he’s already gone.
With one free hand, I carefully slip the bottles into the pockets of my skirt and carry Elliott to the room Mrs. Norris prepared for him—the one adjoining mine.
Amber adjusts the curtains slightly as I remove Elliott’s shoes and cover him with a blanket.
“Amber, will you stay with him and make sure he doesn’t roll off the bed? I also don’t want him waking up to an empty room.”
“Yes, milady. Mrs. Norris suggested hiring a nurse to care for him, but I suppose she’ll take that up with the master,” she says, bringing a chair to Elliott’s bedside.
Amber takes a book from her pocket and opens it to the first page.
“Here, read this one and let me know what you think,” I say, handing her the Vampyre novel. “I’m going to check the library for some children’s books. I’ll be back soon.”
“Alright,” Amber replies, tucking away her book and examining the cover before cracking it open.
I walk slowly, ensuring the bottles of blood in my skirts don’t knock together—it’s nearly impossible to move quickly or stealthily with these clanking about, and they’re rather heavy.
As I reach the door, I feel the need to check on Elliott before I leave the room. “Don’t leave him here alone, Amber, no matter what.”
She smiles softly. “They’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming.”
With Amber’s reassurance, I close the door and hurry as best I can to the library with my new treasures in tow.
When I finally reach Darius, it pains me to see him on his knees like that in the sunlight. I place the bottles on the floor before going around and closing all the heavy curtains.
“You must have heard; our new friend brought you a gift,” I say, kneeling down before Darius in the darkness, trying to catch my breath.
When he refuses to look at me, a pain jabs me straight through my heart.
“Darius?” I continue, sensing something amiss.
Darius huffs and turns away. What’s this? Jealousy?
“Green does not suit you,” I quip lightly, hoping to break the tension.
Still, he doesn’t look at me. I grab the bottles and slide them closer to him as I crawl a little closer.
“He’s so beautiful, Darius, little Elliott,” I peel back the silver foil from one of the first bottles, Darius’s eyes immediately lock onto the bottle as the smell of blood no doubt hits his nose.
“Silky black hair, brown eyes with thick lashes, pink lips, and rosy cheeks,” I say, holding the bottle up to his lips.
Darius’s eyes lock onto mine, sending a chill of excitement down my spine. He takes the bottle with his teeth, removes it from my hand, and turns it upside down, draining its contents in under three seconds before placing it back into my hand.
Darius huffs and looks away, clearly not forgiving me for associating with another Vampyre. I can’t help but chuckle to myself at the absurdity of the situation.
I open the next bottle, and he drains the next two without another word.
If I hadn’t been here to witness his transformation firsthand, I would never have believed it was possible.
I watch in complete awe as Darius’s frizzy long hair turns completely straight, looking richer and healthier. All traces of the silver-grey hairs vanish. His skin tightens as his muscles seem to grow right under his skin, filling out his form.
I yearn to see his face, but he keeps his head lowered as the blood works its magic.
In a sudden burst of palpable energy, Darius roars, his muscular arms tensing as he strains against the chains, his wings springing up behind him with renewed life.
I step back, creating space for him.
Gradually, the holes and tears in his wings mend as they fold inward, accompanied by the sound of bones cracking and melding into his flesh. Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem to be in pain.
As he steps forward, I instinctively move further back—his imposing presence and powerful form cause my body to retreat involuntarily.
Darius stands tall, embodying the glorious and beautiful man that he is. His fierce, youthful brown eyes lock onto mine, sending tingles across my skin.
“Holy mother of God,” I hear myself whisper and slap my hand over my mouth, not meaning to say that aloud.
Darius’s brows furrow in disapproval, and he steps forward as much as the chains allow him to, but I find myself moving backward along the floor.
I can’t look away from him. His features are striking—smooth, flawless skin with a hint of warmth, the fierce, intense gaze of an intimidating warrior that strikes fear upon anyone who meets his gaze.
Darius is undeniably the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen, and it fills me with doubt. How could someone like me deserve to gaze upon such a sight, let alone hope for someone like Darius to fall in love with me?
“This must be some sort of joke,” I laugh like the insane woman I am.
Those lips, those perfectly plump lips of his, curl into the most devilish and mischievous smirk.
“Come here, Viola,” his smooth and deep voice commands, devoid of amusement.
My head shakes gently, my voice barely a whisper. “No.”
His brow furrows—I can’t discern if he’s angry or disappointed.
“Why not?”
“I need a minute. This can’t be real. You’re not real; you’re a mirage. If I touch you, you’ll vanish…”
“Viola,” he threatens.
I lean back on the floor, taking him in with my thirsty eyes. There’s a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes as I drink him in for a moment.
“I’m just going to stay here at a safe distance. You look positively dangerous.”