But he doesn’t come for me as the sun begins to descend the sky. He doesn’t come as I light all the candles in the room and wait. He doesn’t come long after I’ve changed into a nightgown and even when my stomach growls so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it wherever he is in this house.

I’m only grateful for sleep when it becomes apparent he won’t return to even feed me tonight.

18

Santiago

Just after dusk, Mercedes stirs me from my fitful sleep, waving a cup of coffee beneath my nose. She's perched on my bed in a tight black dress, looking much like a vampire herself. I knew she wouldn't be able to stay away.

"What are you doing?" I glare up at her.

"Tell me everything." Her eyes are dark, lined with kohl, and she can't contain the eagerness churning in their depths.

"There's nothing to tell." I toss the covers off me and sit up, gesturing her out of the way. "Nothing that you should hear anyway."

"Santiago." She pouts. "Don't toy with me."

I offer her a sharp look over my shoulder and catch her staring at the ink on my back. She hasn't seen this piece yet. I'm not in the business of showing the art to anyone, much less my sister. I can tell she's surprised by it.

The art on my face is my own, as is much of the work on my arm. But it wasn't within my capabilities to tattoo my own back, no matter how much I would have liked to.

"Who did that?" she asks curiously as I drape last night's shirt over my body.

"A friend."

"It's beautiful," she murmurs.

"It's a means to an end."

My ink serves one purpose, and despite what some people may believe, it isn't to scare anyone. I was capable of that on my own before I ever had a single scar on my body. I just don't like to look at the memories of that night branded into my skin, and this was the only reasonable alternative.

I walk to the closet and retrieve a white dress shirt and a pair of black slacks. Mercedes continues to annoy me by touching the things in my room, gliding her fingers over the ornate bedposts, and scanning the space with snake-like eyes. She's looking for evidence that my bride was in here last night, determined to destroy any perceived weaknesses in my plan.

"She's in her own room,” I inform her. “She has been since last night."

"I know." Her lips curve into a mischievous grin.

My eyes narrow. "How long have you been back home?"

"Since this morning." She shrugs. "Presumably not long after you went to bed."

"I trust I don't need to warn you to leave her alone." My voice carries an edge to it Mercedes doesn't miss.