Free The Vampire's Reflection by Shayne Leighton Page A

find an easier answer for sustenance instead of continuing to be so reliant on her, simply because she was there and they were comfortable with her. But as her scar blazed along the side of her neck, she was reminded of the horrible truth. She needed them as much as they still needed her.
    She couldn’t shake the memory of the nightmare. She couldn’t just lose herself in the serene silence of peaceful thoughts. The only thing that remained, replaying over and over, was the vision of Valek and the woman over him in the bed. It wasn’t the same jealous sensation Charlotte experienced when she’d found him with Evangeline. This was more finite. More like an omen. She ground her teeth as developing tears stung at the corners of her eyes.
    The scar at the side of Charlotte’s throat, which had finally cooled for about an hour, thanks to Sarah, began to blaze again up the side of her cheek, to her temple and down along her left shoulder blade. It wasn’t insufferable yet, just an annoying discomfort. Squirming, she dug her nails into the skin of her thigh to distract herself. She didn’t ever imagine Valek’s initial bite that evening, so many nights ago, would leave such an intolerable impact. Nightly it plagued her. It begged to be ruptured again. That was what it desired—for her to be bitten by the same set of incisors that had created it. It was the only thing to pacify her. Maybe it was her body telling her it craved something more. Something Valek would never give her in a million years. To be like him.
    Her life had changed so vastly over the course of the past few months. As it turned out, her happily-ever-after hadn’t ended so happily after all.
    The small gaggle of Vampires had become Charlotte’s new family in spite of all of the discord. They’d moved from Prague, which was still under siege, back to their modest, Bohemian Occult village, hidden from the rest of the world and its mundane, mortal towns and cities. She was a part of the magic, though alone in her mortality.
    Valek had reestablished the rules, however, once the coven of rogues moved in. He kept his promise to Charlotte, challenging Francis’ original agreement that she would be looked after and protected by the coven as long as she remained their exclusive source of blood. The new agreement was this: Valek would house his new family, protecting them from the eyes of whatever was left of the Regime, as long as they promised not to lay a single talon on Charlotte. Begrudgingly, they obliged, though not without sneaking tastes here and there. And Charlotte could hardly help herself anyway, needing them as much as they still wanted her. Whenever Valek caught one of them with her, the consequences were always gruesome for the perpetrator. It caused Charlotte’s innards to twist with guilt upon hearing their painful cries from downstairs, in Valek’s office, as he punished them. The fault was always at least half hers.
    The left side of the ornately carved double doors creaked open, and a pair of lavender, ballet-flat clad feet toed in over the polished wood floor. Sarah padded back into the library almost silently. It had been nearly an hour since she’d left and Charlotte wondered what she’d been doing. She watched the Witch as she drew deeper into the study, carrying with her a silver tray of the enchanted food. There was her answer.
    A ceramic teacup rattled atop it and a plate of the fresh sweet rolls she’d been mixing earlier enveloped the room with their heady, cinnamon smell. It was actually enough to make Charlotte sick to her stomach. The spicy scent burned in Charlotte’s nose, a catalyst for the bile lifting once more in the back of her throat. She held her breath as she willed herself not to dry heave. There was nothing in her stomach to regurgitate anyway, but she didn’t even want to think about eating. The scar produced such strange effects. There was only one thing she craved now. Her fingers wound in tight, impatient