Page 41 of Marrying Bluebeard

“Feast on that new bride you’re so enamored with.” She bares her teeth in a snarl. “You could drain every last drop, but her blood will never satisfy you the way mine does. Now go. Get out of my sight!”

I turn on numb legs and do as she says. Just as I have every day for the past century with one notable exception—the day I married Adelaide. The best and worst day of my existence.

She’s still asleep when I slip into the room, the sheets wrapped around her legs. She snores and tosses in her sleep. I perch on the edge of the bed, watching her chest rise and fall. She’s perfect in every way, my Adelaide. My gaze lifts to the smooth column of her neck, gleaming white amid a backdrop of wavy black curls, and I run my tongue over my teeth as I picture them sinking in. A small taste, nothing she would miss. It wouldn’t even hurt. Tempting, so very tempting. I bend down, breathing her in. Her eyes flutter open, and I rear back, shame stinging my cheeks beneath her dreamy gaze.

She sighs, soft and sweet. “Oh Bertrand,” she murmurs, eyes closing as she snuggles deeper into her pillow. “I can sleep so soundly knowing you’re here, watching over me.”

I’m the fucking devil.

Guilt sends me stumbling to the toilettes, where I rip my shirt off with a growl of self-loathing before collapsing into the empty bath. All these years, my only tether to humanity has been my refusal to feed off the humans around me, and yet here I am, considering doing just that to the woman I claim to love.

I don’t even try to be careful as I bite down on my arm, tearing the flesh as I feed. It’s a wretched, miserable thing, like drinking your own piss to stave off dehydration. The watered-down blood burns my throat with every sip, but I welcome the pain.

It’s more than I deserve.

27

BERTRAND

Iwake in the bath, alone this time. While I’m relieved to spare Adelaide the gruesome sight, a small, selfish part of me wishes she were here, tenderly wrapping the weeping skin.

God, I’m pathetic.

Dragging myself out of the tub, I cringe at the dull throbbing in my throat, the tightness in my chest. Drinking my own blood may have quelled me last night, but it’s a flimsy fix. I need Celeste’s blood. Three days. What am I going to do for three days? I push the worry from my mind as I wrap gauze around my bloodied arm. It’ll heal soon enough, and for the moment, I’m me. I plan to spend every moment I can with my wife. I creep into the room, heading straight for the bed. Which is empty. Again.

Bloody hell.

All I can think of is Adelaide turning to me with a smile right before she jumped off that damnable cliff. Flying, she said. Fuck.

There’s no time for shoes or a shirt as I sprint from the room, tear through the halls, and trip down the stairs. Every wasted moment is one in which Adelaide could be sucking in seawater or bleeding out along the surf. I have to be there, have to save her. There’s no sign of her on the bluff, but that does little to assuage my fears. It only means I’m late, that she’s already jumped. I’m sure of it.

The water is unusually still when I reach the edge, tiny waves lapping calmly against the rock. No blood in the air, no bodies bobbing out to sea. Still, I’m poised to jump when Ricard’s voice startles me from behind.

“Monsieur? What on earth are you doing?”

“Adelaide,” I rasp, too panicked to form full sentences.

“I see,” Ricard replies, although the dubious tone of his voice suggests otherwise. “Well, if you’re looking for Madame de Montragoux, you’d have better luck in the garden. She was elbow-deep in pruning last I saw her.”

Pruning. In the garden.

I’m an idiot.

Laughter bubbles up in my chest, and I bend over, hands braced against my knees as I let it out in a relieved burst. Ricard’s eyebrows lose themselves in his hairline, his eyes wide as he stares at me in obvious shock. I don’t blame him. I’m rarely seen without a perfectly pressed suit and tie, and here I am now—half naked and cackling like a deranged loon.

I couldn’t care less. Adelaide is in the garden.

“Thank you, Ricard. That’ll be all.” I wave without looking back as I jog around the side of the castle toward the rear garden, relief making everything brighter. I’m a breath away from breaking into song when I reach the garden gate and pause, leaning against the wall as I watch Adelaide work. Her back is to me, and she has on that ridiculously large straw hat of hers, as well as a pair of gloves. I wonder briefly where she managed to scrounge them up, along with the pruning shears, which look rather worse for wear. Rusty and dull. I vow to find her better equipment the moment I’ve fed again.

“You missed a spot,” I whisper, sneaking up behind her and kissing her neck. She lets out a startled squeal, and I grin against her warm skin, wrapping my arms around her waist as I pull her close.

“Bertrand,” she admonishes, twisting around to glare at me with mock sternness. “You scared me.”

“Payback,” I murmur, stealing a kiss. “For leaving me this morning.”

“Leaving you?” The corners of her eyes crinkle in confusion. “I was the one who woke to an empty bed, I’ll have you know.”

Oh. Right. “I must have been in the toilettes, washing up. I’m surprised you didn’t see me.”