Book 4: The Feeder

Michael

I carry her upstairs, my manor passing by in a blur of stone and dark finishes. Emelda hurries behind me, followed by a handful of maids who peek their heads out of the various rooms off the main second floor hallway. It’s such a large house for one person, but right now, it feels crowded and suffocating as several pitched, female voices call after me in alarm. 

Emelda does her best to calm the fray as I slip into a bedroom–the blue room, I like to call it–and quickly lay the trembling little vampire woman on the bed. She looks like death itself. Her skin is so pale, she’s nearly silver in the gray daylight pouring through a break in the navy blue curtains. 

Emelda rushes out a breath as she slides into the room, shutting the door with a snap. “You brought her here? Why?”

“She was attacked.”

“Well, I told you that already–”

“I don’t think it had anything to do with whatever happened at the inn.” I glance over my