Jealousy ❧

Merrick adored showering his betrothed in delicate kisses. And Caralee, lying curled in his embrace, found herself utterly enthralled by the change in his demeanor. Gone was the fierce conqueror who had claimed her with all the smoldering intensity of an immortal predator; in his place was something softer, rarer. Something that disarmed her more completely than even his unearthly strength ever could.

There was tenderness now. Peace. His lips moved languidly over the curve of her temple, down the line of her jaw. The press of each kiss was unhurried, a silent promise of affection rather than possession. Caralee closed her eyes and allowed herself to bask in it. For all that Merrick had been—dominant, commanding, intoxicating in his passion—he had never, until now, been gentle. And she realized, with an aching flutter in her chest, that she craved this version of him just as desperately as the other.

He did not speak. He didn't have to. One of his hands remained at her shoulder, idle fingers tracing lazy, looping circles over her pale skin. The rhythm was hypnotic. His gaze, meanwhile, was unfocused, his green eyes staring off into some far corner of the chamber, as though trying to hold onto a fleeting thought. His expression was unreadable, but serene.

The spell was broken by a knock—firm, singular—at the door.

Merrick exhaled heavily, the soft rise and fall of his chest disrupted by a sigh that carried the weight of centuries. The quiet intimacy between them shattered like thin ice beneath a careless boot.

With a final stroke along her spine, he shifted her with effortless grace, guiding her upright. His arm snaked around her waist and gently helped her swing her legs down over the edge of the chair. Caralee rose to her feet as he did, still silent, but her heart ached as the warmth left her side.

Facing the door now, Merrick's voice turned to steel—low, resonant, the kind of command no one could disobey.

"Enter, Jacobo."

The door creaked open and Jacobo stepped in with his customary flourish, bowing low, arms outstretched as if performing on a stage. "My lord," he intoned, "Lady Celeste is here to see you."

Another sigh escaped Merrick, more resigned this time. "Have her wait in my office. I shall attend to her shortly."

Jacobo gave a theatrical pivot, cloak sweeping like a curtain across the stone floor as he vanished again, the door closing with a final click.

Silence fell once more. But it was different now. Weighted. Awkward.

Caralee stood motionless for a moment, keenly aware of the sudden shift in his energy. He had gone still again, staring at the closed door as if wrestling with unseen ghosts. She felt intrusive now, like an uninvited guest who had lingered too long.

She moved to retreat, circling around the grand oak desk that dominated one side of the room. Her hands lightly grazed the edge of it as she paused.

"If it pleases you, my lord," she said softly, her voice demure, practiced. "Shall I return to my chambers? Or would you have me remain here?"

She dropped into a perfect curtsy, head bowed low—not out of subservience, but out of politeness, of instinct. The manners of a peasant girl trying to emulate the grace of court.

Merrick turned, startled—as though he had momentarily forgotten she was even there.

He crossed the room in two silent strides and kissed the top of her head, his cool lips pressing gently into her hair. Then, with a fingertip beneath her chin, he tilted her face up and pressed a final kiss to her lips, slower this time. Regret lingered in it.

"I must go," he murmured. "The thirst gnaws at me."

Her brow furrowed. "You've not fed?" she asked, concern laced in her whisper.

"Not properly," he admitted. "Not since I took from you. And that was... indulgent, not nourishing. Celeste has been my feeder for decades now. It is time."

Caralee blinked. "Celeste is your feeder?"

He nodded, unbothered. "She has served in that role a long while."

The revelation slithered through her, sharp and unwelcome. A pit opened in her stomach as she imagined her fiancé—her sire—in some shadow-draped room, feeding from a woman whose name alone spoke of poise and grace. Celeste. The name was like satin. It made her feel like a child in a borrowed gown, like a flickering flame beside a hearth of long-burning embers.

And yet, what right had she to feel this way? Vampires had to feed. It was no different than eating a meal. And still, the jealousy curled through her like smoke.

She remembered the strange heat that had overtaken her after feeding. The lingering desire, the soft pull between souls. She remembered kissing Renauld. Auralia. The intimacy that came unbidden. Feeding was arousing. Natural. Chemical. So why did the thought of Merrick doing the same with another make her stomach twist?

You fool, she thought bitterly. You drank from Donovan. You let yourself feel things. Was it guilt, then? A projection of her own transgressions?

She didn't know. Her thoughts swam.

While she wrestled with her feelings, Merrick had begun to tuck in his shirt with practiced, graceful efficiency. He swept a hand through his hair, smoothing it back, then pushed in his chair at the desk with mechanical ease. He seemed to have slipped into another version of himself—the poised noble, the vampire lord. The softness was gone, packed neatly away with the silence.

He turned to her once more and pressed a final kiss to her forehead.

"You may return to your chambers, or walk the gardens, if that suits you better," he said, his voice calm but detached. "Do not leave the courtyard. And try not to wander. These halls are… not always welcoming to aimless guests."

His thumb brushed her cheek in a final caress, and then he turned away.

The door opened. Closed. She was alone.

Caralee remained standing for a long time, her body motionless, her thoughts a whirlwind. The warmth of his kisses lingered, clashing bitterly with the cold confusion now pressing in on her. She should not feel anything. He had done nothing wrong.

And yet… she did. She felt everything. Too much.

And for the first time since awakening into this strange, immortal life, she realized: this—whatever this was—was far more complicated than she had imagined.