Page 44 of Fangs

I should be terrified. Instead, I feel a thrill of possessive satisfaction that I don’t want to examine too closely.

“If you want to stay,” I manage, “you can’t be seen. The other girls—they will ask questions. They will—”

“I know.” He releases me, stepping back. “That is why I am going to show you something.”

He moves toward the far wall, his hand trailing along the stone. His fingers find a seam I didn’t notice, and with a soft click, a section of the wall swings inward.

A dark narrow passage yawns before us.

“After you,” he says, gesturing with a flourish.

I hesitate. “Where does it lead?”

“To a place only I know. A place that has been locked for two hundred years.” His eyes catch the dim light, gleaming with hope. “Trust me, Lucille.”

I take a breath. Then I step into the darkness.

The passage is narrow, the walls rough-hewn stone that scrapes against my shoulders. Blake follows close behind, holding my hand, his presence a constant, hot pressure at my back. The air grows colder as we descend, the faint scent of dust and age filling my lungs.

We emerge into a spiral staircase, the steps worn smooth by centuries of use. We climb until my legs burn and my breath comes in ragged gasps.

“I built this tower,” Blake says, his voice echoing in the narrow space. “To watch over all my land. It is impenetrable. Full of hidden places only I know. Like a vertical maze.”

“You built this?” I ask, incredulous. “The entire tower?”

“I built everything.” There is a note of dark pride in his voice. “Every stone. Every secret passage. This was my stronghold. My sanctuary.”

We reach the top. A heavy oak door stands before us, bound in iron that has rusted with age. Blake presses his palm against the wood, and the lock clicks open.

He pushes the door inward.

The room beyond is vast—a master bedroom that hasn’t seen light in centuries. Dust coats every surface. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling like ancient lace. The bed is massive, its posts carved with twisting vines, its curtains rotted to rags. Old furniture looms in the shadows, draped in white sheets that have yellowed with time.

“Home,” Blake murmurs, and there is something achingly sad in his voice.

I step inside, my footsteps stirring clouds of dust. “It is beautiful.”

“It was.” He moves past me, his hand trailing along the bedpost. “But it can be again.”

He raises his hand, and a gust of wind sweeps through the room. The dust lifts, swirling upward like a vortex. The sheets snap free from the furniture, folding themselves into neat piles. The cobwebs dissolve. The grime vanishes from the windows. The bed curtains transform, the rotted fabric becoming rich velvet in deep burgundy and gold.

Within moments, the room is pristine. Magnificent. A chamber fit for a king.

I stare, my jaw dropping. “Impressive.”

He turns, a smirk curving his lips. “I have my uses.”

“I see… If you were a maid, you would be very efficient.” I laugh despite myself. “A maid vampire. That is a new one.”

He grins, and for a moment, he looks young. Carefree.

“This is our secret place,” he says, his voice softening. “Nobody else knows about it. You are safe here, Lucy. During your heat, you can stay in this room. The shadows will bring you food. Water. Whatever you need.”

I look around the room, taking it in. The bed. The privacy.

“What about when my heat ends?” I ask.

His expression flickers. “You will have to leave.”