Ward of the Vampire by Kallysten Page A

over it.
    We soon reached the third floor. Like the first two, it was decorated with pieces of furniture and art as beautiful as they seemed old. We stepped through a small salon and into a sitting room, and while I paused to take in my surroundings Mr. Ward went to the fireplace on the far wall. If he’d extended his arms on each side of him, he still couldn’t have touched both ends of the carved stone mantle. He crouched next to the hearth, fiddled with something on the side, and fire came to life, the faux logs instantly glowing like embers.
    “Well?” he said as he glanced back at me. “Don’t just stand there. Come warm yourself.”
    I shuddered at his impatient tone, remembering the gentleness of his words in my ‘fantasy.’ Dropping my gaze to the floor like a scolded child, I crossed the room to approach the fireplace. Even as I did, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with me.
    Why was I jumping at each of his commands? He was bordering on rude—no, forget that. He was rude, snapping orders at me and glaring without reason. And instead of telling him what I thought of his manners, I just obeyed.
    “What’s happening to me?” I mumbled when I was standing two feet away from him, close enough to the fireplace that already the flames were warming me. “This isn’t me. I don’t let people talk to me like that. Order me around like… like…”
    I didn’t even know how to finish. I looked at him, and was surprised to see a flash of guilt cross his features.
    “I’ll try to get a grip on myself,” he said as he walked away from me.
    I watched him go to an ornate cabinet against the wall. The whole front was carved, colorful glass panels set into branches and leaves so realistic I almost expected to see them move against his hands.
    He opened the topmost door and drew two glasses out, setting them on the flat surface below. After a beat, he pulled out a third glass and closed the door. He then reached for the larger doors beneath. They opened to reveal a collection of bottles. I don’t know much about alcohol, but when he poured a deep amber liquid in each glass, I assumed it was some kind of scotch or whiskey.
    He drank deeply, refilled his glass, and then put the bottle away. With his glass in one hand and a second one in the other, he came back toward me.
    “It’ll help clear your mind,” he said as he handed me the second glass.
    This time, there was no order to take the glass and drink. I crossed my arms and refused to take it.
    “I’m pretty sure alcohol is the last thing I need to clear my mind,” I said. “How about an explanation instead?”
    Shrugging, he poured the contents of my glass into his and took another sip. Four plush armchairs were set in a semi circle around the fireplace. He sat in one and placed the empty glass on the floor.
    “Lilah owes both of us an explanation,” he said, his eyes fixed on the flames behind me. “She’ll be here soon.”
    Something told me it was useless to argue with him, but I’d only been too compliant so far. Now that I could fight back, I did.
    “How about we begin without her? How about you start by telling me what the hell you mean by fantasy? Why did you say I broke her… her…” I struggled to remember the word he’d used.
    “Compulsion,” he breathed. “It’s called compulsion. Or sometimes, thrall. That’s what she did to you when she told you to be nice to me. It was an order, like when I told you to follow me up here. You can technically refuse to follow that order. But if you do, you die. That’s why you couldn’t breathe. It was your punishment for not being nice to me like she told you.”
    Punishment? Thrall? I wanted to laugh at the idea. It was ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous.
    At the same time, I remembered all too well being unable to breathe.
    I remembered, also, how I’d been unable to even think of saying no, back in Miss Delilah’s dressing room, when she’d told me to try on the