SWNOVELS Chapter Trouble Magnet
Viola
All morning, I’ve been floating on air as if the world beneath me simply doesn’t exist. The pleasant heaviness in my limbs is a sweet reminder of last night’s events, which made it nearly impossible to get out of bed until little Elliott came searching for me.
I don’t even remember coming to bed—I suspect Darius brought me up. The three of us are now sitting in my bed, having a little breakfast picnic. I wasn’t sure if it was wise to introduce Darius to Elliott, but they’re technically family, and since Elliott doesn’t speak, he won’t tell a soul about the strange man hiding out in my room. I watch as Darius butters some toast for Elliott, who quickly takes a liking to him.
“When you get older, I can show you how to use a proper blade, like a Geom or a Do. But first, we master the butter knife,” Darius says, going on to explain the difference between the two types of swords to Elliott.
At this moment, I’m reminded just how old Darius really is. His eternally youthful appearance helps to camouflage what he is or what he was. Darius exudes a certain air of charisma, separate from his magical aura—the way he carries himself with a confident air of nonchalance makes him intoxicating to watch. His movements are deliberate, precise, efficient, and deadly. Even the simplest tasks, like buttering toast for a three-year-old, excite me when he does them.
It’s especially nice to watch him be himself, free of those chains, and the more I watch him existing, the deeper I fall in love with him.
Soon, we’ll be heading into town, with William in tow, to sign the paperwork Mr. Collins promised to have ready for us. Since I don’t really need to be there this time, I want to surprise Darius with a new wardrobe that will fit him better.
I hop off the bed, take out a tape measure, a pen, and paper from the little sewing table, and creep up behind Darius as he fixes his collar in the mirror.
When I start to measure the width of his shoulders, Darius chuckles.
“Are you sizing me up for a coffin?” he teases.
“Not exactly,” I reply, continuing my measuring.
Darius gently takes my hand and takes the pen from my fingers, writes all the required measurements for a suit on the slip of paper, and hands it to me with a devilish smirk on his lips.
“These measurements haven’t changed in a very, very long time. I’m sure I will love whatever you choose for me,” Darius reassures me with a tender kiss.
“Right,” I say as I fold the paper and slip it into my skirt pocket.
“Something’s bothering you,” Darius observes, taking my hand and placing it on his heart—the feeling of it beating in his chest brings a smile to my face.
“Once all this paperwork is taken care of, we can leave?” I ask, needing reassurance.
Darius leans against the desk behind him. “I’ve already had William order a coach for us, all of us—you, me, Sophie, and Elliott. I much prefer to fly, but I don’t imagine a French witch like Sophie travels light.”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but it’s not working. Being here is unsettling, and until we physically leave this awful place, I can’t let myself get complacent, I can’t get comfortable. As much as I want to blind myself with dreams of us on the beach or the new visions of us under a canopy of pink flowers, I need to stay focused with my feet planted in reality.
Darius places his hands on my hips and pulls me to stand between his long, open legs. I gaze up into his eyes but make sure not to look too long—it’s like staring at the sun—beautiful, but it’ll make you blind.
“Darius, how are you thinking of dealing with William?” I ask quietly so Elliott won’t hear.
“How would you like me to deal with William?”
“He’s hurt you far more than he could ever hurt me. I’m sure after three years of fantasizing about killing him, you’re not short of ideas.”
Darius’s brow raises in the most delicious way, his wicked smile confirming my suspicions.
“You’re not wrong there. I think my favorite was to skin him alive,” he looks over at Elliott, who sits on the floor looking at a book of pictures.
Darius sighs dejectedly. “Knowing Elliott is alive and well makes it more difficult for me to imagine killing his father. Blood is a powerful thing, Viola.”
Having experienced that power for myself, I know what he says is true, and I would hate to be the one responsible for the death of Elliott’s father, no matter what a monster he might be.
“You could always have him commit himself to a mental asylum. Even if he told the truth that a Vampyre possessed him and made him do it, who would believe him?” I suggest.
Darius smirks. “Alive, but not living. Seems karma crueler than death, and a twisted idea that I can thoroughly get behind.”
Darius leans in closer as he caresses my cheek with his thumb. I bask in the effect he has on my body, enjoying every shiver he sends rippling across my skin. The way his gentle kiss elicits a response of such a large magnitude is incredible, and if I give in to this desire, we’ll never leave this room.
I place my hands on his chest and he grumbles in disapproval when I gently push myself away from him. “We need to get going.”
Darius nods but pulls me back in and nuzzles my neck. “Sophie is going with you into town, I hope?”
“No, she wants to scour William’s office for information on Dhampirs, which we failed so miserably to do last night.”
Darius chuckles into my neck. “There was nothing miserable about last night. And Elliott?”
I try to pry myself away from Darius. “Amber will be watching Elliott today.”
Darius sighs as he finally releases me. “All right, you take care of yourself, my love. I won’t be too far away if you need me.”
“I’m only going to the tailors,” I try to reassure him.
“Yes, but trouble always seems to find you.”
With another kiss that makes it almost impossible to tear ourselves apart, we get ourselves out of there.
Darius follows William and me in the car, but I never see him, no matter how hard I look. His stealth is impressive, but even with my new eyes, I can’t spot him. I wonder how different it is for him to be a Dhampir vs. a Vampyre. For me, the difference has been huge.
I’ve already broken six teacups by holding them too tightly. Mrs. Norris isn’t pleased, saying she’ll have to buy a new set that won’t match since she doesn’t know where the old one came from.
The whole world looks different—the hues of light my eyes can now detect are so wonderful that when I stop to look too long, I fear I might start crying. It’s as if I can see past the physical object, like a flower, and literally see the energy of life flowing within every petal.
Edmund drops me off at the tailor’s before taking William to the lawyer’s office. I watch the car drive away with bated breath, hoping everything goes smoothly. Once those papers get signed, we can leave with this place.
I leave the tension outside before entering the tailor’s shop and greet Mr. Abbotsford. Mrs. Norris recommended him as the only appropriate tailor for a Lady of my standing to visit. Ince I find a few outfits for Elliott, I pass the paper with Darius’ measurements written on it to Mr. Abbotsford in the hopes he’ll already have something in his size, though unlikely due to his incredible build.
Mr. Abbotsford eyes the paper curiously.
“Huh,” he mutters before disappearing into the back of the shop without any warning.
After a few minutes, he comes back out with three large boxes. He opens the envelope attached to the top box, takes out the paper within, and compares it with the one I gave him.
“Incredible,” he says, handing me the two sheets of paper.
I compare the measurements and handwriting written on both. “They’re identical.”
“Indeed, these were ordered a few years ago by a Mr. Kane. He never came around to pick them up,” Mr. Abbotsford leans in and lowers his voice. “Is he back?”
“Is who back?” I ask.
“Kane, the murderer of Lady Spencer,” he explains.
Uh-oh.
I shake my head with feigned confusion. “I am Lady Spencer, I assure you, I’m just fine.”
Mr. Abbotsford leans back, eyeing me curiously.
“These are for my cousin—” I start.
Mr. Abbotsford snaps his fingers as if recalling something. “Oh yes, I did hear your cousin was in town. How curious their handwriting is near identical.”
I place my hand on the boxes Darius must have ordered here before his imprisonment. “How long have you had these? Perhaps if they’re still in fashion, I could purchase these from you, it saves me the time of waiting.”
Mr. Abbotsford shakes his head. “This Kane fellow had peculiar tastes, I very much doubt your cousin would find these appropriate.”
I watch as Mr. Abbotsford removes the lid from the top box and unfolds tissue paper to reveal a decadent, black three-piece suit with fine golden detailing on the vest.
I feel myself smirking at the idea my Darius has such lavish taste. I’ve only ever seen him in his simple white shirt and trousers so far. The clothing Sophie found is nothing as fine as this. I can’t wait to see him in this and see the man he usually presents himself as.
“Three suits, eight shirts in total, all black,” Mr. Abbotsford explains with a regrettable sigh. “The goldthread alone is worth a small fortune.”
“This is real gold?” I suppress a chuckle. It’s unbelievable—Darius has finer taste than even I do.
He nods, putting the lid back on. “Take them, Lady Spencer. They were bought and paid for, and no one here will ever wear them. My wife will finally be glad to be rid of them.”
“All the shirts in here are in black?” I ask to confirm.
“Yes.”
It makes sense—white shirts might get stained during feeding, and black would conceal blood stains better.
“Could you please have these delivered to my address along with Master Elliott’s order? And also five more white shirts and a suit in that navy fabric over there, in the same measurements and this pattern,” I ask, pointing to one of the sketches on the wall.
“Absolutely, Lady Spencer,” he responds, pulling the roll of navy fabric from the shelf behind him and placing it on the counter for me to inspect. “You have wonderful taste; it’s a much more appropriate choice for a modern-day gentleman.”
I bite my tongue because nothing I say here really matters, and truthfully, I can’t wait to see Darius in his overly ornate clothing. I would have assumed him to have simpler tastes for a warrior, but I guess I’m still getting to know him better.
Once I finish sorting everything with Mr. Abbotsford, I exit the shop. Almost instantly, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my eyes immediately lock onto Mr. Dixon, who stands across the street, his eyes boring into me.
The smile that spreads across his blood-tinted lips spikes unease deep into my belly. A tiny sniff of the air confirms that my improved eyes are not deceiving me—it’s blood, human blood.
But that’s not what bothers me the most—what makes my heart leap out of my chest is what he holds in his hands.
In one hand, Mr. Dixon holds the emerald-encrusted charm William came home wearing, while in the other, he holds the hand of Elliott.
My little Elliott.