Chapter 3

Cecilia assumed that my move to the old garage meant I had given up.

She began testing my limits without a shred of restraint.

The estate kitchen first cut off my dinner, then stopped delivering clean drinking water altogether. The only things left outside my door each day were cold cuts left over from banquets, spoiled broth, and sometimes even half-drained blood bags.

I was human. I had no use for blood, and I refused to touch any of it.

I survived on nutrient pills I had formulated myself, slipping out at night to collect filtered water from the greenhouse.

When she saw that I still wasn't making a fuss, Cecilia had the space heaters removed and the power to the garage cut.

A cold snap hit Santvela without warning, sending nighttime temperatures into the single digits. The old garage was an iron icebox. I piled every piece of clothing I owned over myself and still shivered awake all night.

I endured it.

Not because I was afraid of her, but because the Moonfrost needed two more days.

Then came that afternoon.

I had just finished checking the perfume paste in the underground cellar and was heading back toward the garage when I caught a sharp, acrid smell of burning.

My stomach dropped. I pushed open the courtyard gate.

Several estate servants were grabbing fistfuls of the herbs I had hung on drying racks and tossing them into an iron barrel.

The flames leapt high, and charred leaves curled away on the wind.

"The lady says these things reek and attract rogue vampires. Since there's no heat in the garage anyway, might as well burn them to keep us warm."

Martha, the head housekeeper, stood at the front, grinning with satisfaction.

In the fire were Arctic snowmoss, silverleaf, and sunbloom root I had brought back from a hunter encampment in the North.

Those herbs were what kept the chronic heart palpitations from years of blood loss at bay. They were the medicine keeping me alive.

I had once walked through a blizzard for two days just to find a patch of snowmoss untouched by silver contamination.

Now they were turning to ash before my eyes.

I stood rooted to the spot, fingernails digging deep into my palms.

It hurt.

But not a fraction as much as watching three years of work trampled on a whim.

Martha saw me return and wasn't the least bit alarmed. She planted her hands on her hips and laughed.

"Miss Evelyn, so sorry about this. The lady says the main house fireplaces need more fuel, so we had to scrounge up something to burn. You've always been so kind, I'm sure you wouldn't give us trouble over a few weeds?"

I looked at her and nodded slowly.

"No trouble at all."

Martha's grin widened.

The next second, I lunged forward, grabbed her by the hair, and shoved her face toward the burning barrel.

Her shriek tore through the quiet of the courtyard.

Flames licked the ends of her hair, and the stench of singed strands filled the air. She thrashed wildly, and I flung her to the ground just before her skin touched the fire.

The other servants stumbled back in terror.

I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket, wiped the hair oil from my fingertips, then tossed the handkerchief into the fire.

"Go tell Cecilia."

I looked down at Martha, my voice quiet.

"If she likes playing with fire, I'll play along.

"Next time, it won't be just a few strands of hair."