Bloodspell (The Cruentus Curse, #1)(10)
Christian hadn't killed anyone in more than one hundred years; he satiated his thirst and his victims lived, human or not. But with her, the most reviled part of himself craved her blood to the last drop, to the death. Already he could imagine the warm, briny taste of it, and his teeth lengthened, his body trembling. He willed himself under control, his jaw tightly clenched.
She was what she was, and he was what he was.
The laws were clear. And he was bound to them.
Christian pulled into the driveway of his house, an old Georgian mansion that he had spent the last few years restoring. It rested on ten acres of flawlessly manicured grounds, fringed by untouched woodland backing onto even more thickly wooded forest. The property afforded him the privacy he needed. He glanced at his watch. It was almost four o'clock. Right now he needed to hunt. He needed to satisfy his hunger, and drown the taste of her from his mouth.
VICTORIA WALKED ACROSS the open quad between the tall red and white brick buildings, following the student map together with the course assignments she held in her hand. Kramer Hall, it said, for psychology. Oh hell, not five minutes into the day and she was lost already.
Windsor shared the town and its rolling landscape with its sister school, Harland College. Both private institutions, they shared not just the same acreage, but the same benefactors and some of the same facilities, including a library and concert hall. Windsor prided itself on preparing its students for college, and according to the brochure, ninety-eight percent of Windsor graduates went on to a four-year college, with almost a fifth of its graduating seniors matriculating to Harland.
"Okay," Victoria told herself. "Head back to the library, that's the building over there with the big clock, and then start over."
"Hey there! Are you lost? You look confused, and well, you're talking to yourself." Her savior was a pretty girl with tight, reddish brown curls and brown eyes. She was with a dark-haired girl with an extremely sour face. The redhead continued in a friendly manner. "My name is Charla. That's Angie. Are you new? Where are you headed?" It was hard to keep pace with her rapid-fire speech.
"Um, yes, I'm a transfer. I'm looking for Kramer."
"Psych? Yeah, I'm in that building, too. Come on, we're headed there. Those maps are the worst, but don't worry, you'll get the hang of it. Only a few hundred students here, so it's not that big of a place and everything's pretty easy to find."
Victoria nodded her thanks and fell into stride beside Charla. The other girl followed and Victoria could feel the heat of her stare burning into her back.
"I'm Tori by the way, Tori Warrick. Thanks so much for stopping. I was getting desperate."
The dark haired girl's sudden hiss of indrawn breath behind her was barely audible, but Victoria heard it and could feel an answering flush heating her cheeks. Before she could turn around, Charla announced that they had arrived. Victoria shook it off. Maybe she had imagined it—or not, as the dark-haired girl rudely pushed past her and tossed an unpleasant look over her shoulder. Victoria ignored her and smiled her thanks again to Charla before heading into the crowded classroom.
The senior class material was the same as what she would have been taking at St. Xavier's, and she took careful notes on her new laptop during the hour-long course, enjoying the feel of being back in a classroom after the summer.
She glanced around and recognized the dark-haired girl, Angie, sitting about ten rows down. As if she had felt the weight of Victoria's glance, she turned around and stared back malevolently, her dark eyes piercing. Victoria refused to look away—she hadn't done anything wrong—and only the teacher rapping his books on the table signaling the end of class broke their eye contact, neither willing to back down.
Victoria shook her head and gathered her things, refusing to let some random girl ruin her day. She quickly checked her schedule. She had a break and then history, which was in another building. People chatted loudly as they exited the room, laughing and talking about their summer holidays. It felt nothing like St. Xavier's, the energy and excitement were infectious. She couldn't help smiling to herself as she walked toward the concert hall to finalize her assistant job before her next class. This time, she found the building easily.
"Five minutes," mouthed a young woman sitting at the outer desk while she wrapped up a phone call. Victoria waited in the small hall area and perused the posters of concerts and events lining the walls. She loved music. Going to Carnegie Hall every weekend with her parents in New York had been one of her favorite pastimes, and remained a fiercely cherished memory. As she walked, the lilting sounds of Beethoven came from a piano down the hall, its haunting melody flawless. Curious, Victoria motioned to the assistant that she'd be right back.
She pushed open the nearest door, noticing a lone, shadowy figure on the stage at one end sitting at a grand piano. His fingers flew over the keys with practiced ease. The music shifted from Beethoven to something that sounded like Chopin's Fantaisie-Impromptu piece with its impossibly fast finger-work that made her breathless, and then jerked yet again to a simpler refrain that sounded oddly familiar. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as the pianist's raw emotion flowed through the music, his keystrokes forceful and heated. As he gentled his movement and lowered the key, spacing out each note of the last few bars, Victoria recognized the music. It was Michael Nyman's score from The Piano, a piece of music that was as dark as it was sweet, and one that had always moved her. She closed her eyes.