"In the late 1500s, the Duke of Ulaidh died during a hunting accident, and his son, 17-year-old Fiachra Slatherty, inherited the title and everything that went with it. He was young and rash and too passionate for his own good."

"Fee-uh-kra?" I repeat the name, trying to remember where I know it from. It seems familiar, ringing a bell in a room I haven't visited recently.

"Yes," Alaric sighs, settling his back against the mountain of black and red-covered pillows between him and the backboard of the beautiful dark oak bed, large enough to fit an entire nation of people.

I am blown away by how natural it feels for me to rest with my head on his chest and have his arm around me, holding me in place beside him.

This is weird, isn't it?

This man is virtually a stranger and a rather stiff and unapproachable one at that and yet, lying here, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feels so incredibly right. It feels like I was meant to be here, as if this is what I was born for.

True, lying on an intimidating man, like Alaric Slatherty's chest, is not something I had on my list of life goals and possible career choices when I was in high school. Still, I feel content and at home. Safe and almost happy.

Well, drinking the man's blood was definitely also not on any of my to-do lists... and probably a lot weirder.

"Fiachra was too young for all the responsibilities suddenly resting on his shoulders, and there were many power-hungry people ready, willing and able to manipulate him by pretending to advise him. His mother ranked the highest among all of them. While she plotted and colluded, the boy spent his days getting to know the other nobles who suddenly were interested in him. He got to know some of them a little too well..."

"Oh? Was he a womanizer too? Is that something that runs in the family?" I ask, peeking up at Alaric and receiving a frown in answer.

"I'm not a womanizer," he says, sounding truly puzzled and a little bit peeved.

"No, you're the sexist," I remind him with a soft laugh. "I was thinking of Ransford."

Alaric's lips tighten into a line, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "Stop thinking about Ransford." His sudden outburst causes me to burst into mirthful giggles.

"Oh, my, Mr. Slatherty, please tell me that you are not jealous!" I tease, reaching up and running the tip of my forefinger along his lower lip and down the side of his jaw to his chin. I really don't know what's come over me. I think it is his blood noisily and vibrantly thrumming through my system, causing my head to spin, that is making me so bold and flirtatious.

And the fact that he smells better than any frothy mug of coffee.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" he scoffs, but I can see the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, and I heard his heart skip a couple of beats at my touch. He is not as cold and unaffected as he's always trying to lead others to believe.

"I do," I smile, nestling into his chest. "Please tell me everything."

Alaric shifts awkwardly and clears his throat, his arm tightening around me.

"The young duke's mother arranged a marriage between her son and the daughter of a very rich and powerful marquess. They were married for about five months when, one morning, after a horrible storm which caused severe damage to the duke's property and the village nearby, the servants made a gruesome discovery on the mansion's doorstep."

He swallows, taking a deep breath and just when I'm sure he's not going to tell me the story after all, he continues.

"There was a woman lying on the porch and a blood-soaked bundle on the doorstep. When they unwrapped it, they found a baby boy. He'd been drained of his blood, and it was used to write a rather elaborate curse on the sheet he was wrapped in."

A shiver trembles down my spine, and visions as vivid as if I'm seeing the images on a TV screen run through my mind like on a movie reel. Closing my eyes does not get rid of them, and I clench my teeth to stop myself from moaning out loud.

"The mother of the baby was older than the duke," I tell Alaric in a strangled voice, and he doesn't react, as if he is not surprised that I know facts I should not know; he simply links the fingers of his left hand with those of my right hand, resting on his chest and gives them a comforting squeeze.

"She'd seduced the boy, and he was enthralled by her. She thought that she could manipulate him into marrying her by getting pregnant," Alaric sighs. "Why she thought that she would be able to do that is beyond me. Her father was a cash-strapped baron, and she was the childless widow of a count with little power and wealth. Fiachra's mother had found out about Marie du Pont's scheme and expedited her son's marriage to Frances Gordon.

"The dowager duchess was rather ruthless, I'm afraid. She went out of her way to ruin Marie, forcing the pregnant dowager countess to live the rest of her life cloistered in shame on her crumbling estate.

"Rather than find a positive way out of the problems she'd brought upon herself, Marie decided to get revenge on the people she felt stole the life she was entitled to. She killed Fiachra's son shortly after giving birth to him and used her blood and that of the baby to curse the Slatherties.

"According to the curse, every child conceived by a Slatherty would die before, during or after birth. She delivered the curse to their doorstep, and as a sacrifice to seal the deal, I suppose, she cut the main vein in her neck and bled out on their porch, her blood running like a river down the steps, staining the cobblestones of the courtyard."

We lie in silence for a few minutes, my heart fluttering nervously at the details of such a horrible story. I cannot even begin to understand the depths of hate someone must experience to be able to do such a dreadful thing. Marie du Pont was clearly quite disturbed.

"She dabbled in the dark arts," I whisper as more knowledge seeps into my mind. "She never meant for the duke to live long. She wanted it all, and the baby was just a means to an end; she had no love for the poor little innocent... or for Fiachra."

The thought of a mother being that callous is closing up my throat in mourning for the long-dead baby who was used so cruelly and never felt the arms of a loving mother around his little body.

"Fiachra was devastated. Up until the moment of that awful discovery, he'd thought he loved the woman and that she'd abandoned him," Alaric continues after a while. "He did not know about his mother's scheming... which probably saved his life. His mother worked hard to sweep the entire scandal under the rug and keep the Slatherty name out of it.

"Nobody realized at the time that Frances was a few weeks pregnant. Being extremely superstitious, everybody feared for the life of that baby once it became known. When Ransford Slatherty was born healthy, and both he and his mother survived and thrived, they were all relieved, thinking that the curse had failed.

"What they did not know was that the curse did not affect Ransford as he was already conceived before Marie created her curse. He fell outside of its immediate effects," Alaric's hand slips from mine to run his fingers through his hair in agitation.

He is clearly not enjoying telling me all about the curse that has his family in its vice-like grip. "Fiachra fathered more children after his son was born. They all died. The last one took Frances with her when she died."

I can feel all of it. Life had turned despairing for the Slatherty family, surrounded by so many deaths. Even now, sorrow still covers the family like a thick, suffocating cloak.

"By the time she died, Fiachra had been quite fond of his wife. He was overcome by guilt and also terrified of something happening to Ransford or his future grandchildren. Desperate to save his family, he made the ultimate sacrifice, killing himself in the same way and the same place Marie did, thinking it would break the curse."

"It didn't," I mutter, swallowing against the knot in my throat and sliding my hand over Alaric's stomach to his side to hold onto him a bit tighter. I'm surprised by how warm his skin is after being in contact with mine for a while. The chest I'm lying on is radiating so much heat that any cold I'd felt earlier has dissipated. This would've been quite cosy and romantic if the subject matter we were discussing wasn't so intensely grim.

"No, it didn't," Alaric confirms. "Ransford grew up and got married. At first, everybody thought that his children would be safe since he had survived the curse or fell outside of it, but they were wrong."

I hold my breath, my heart filling with dread and pain as memories - not mine - of babies and women lost to the curse flow through me, a sad sea of names and faces I have no idea how to sort into place.

"When his second wife passed away during the first trimester of her pregnancy, he did not want another wife, but as you must know, marriage had little to do with love back then and everything to do with politics. He was given almost no choice but to marry again. His new wife, Grainne, was only 16 years old, and he was 34."

"That's a bit... She was just a child!" I know times were different back then. People seldom lived past their late twenties. Ransford must've been truly healthy to have lived as long as he had. Back then, people married early and died young. Still, the age gap was disturbingly large.

"Yes," Alaric agrees. "But it wasn't uncommon. Grainne was proud to be chosen to become the duke's wife, and Ransford was fond of her. He'd known her for most of her life. According to all their writings on the subject, she was feisty and cheeky, and he really liked her and did not want to lose her too. He treated her more like a little sister than a wife, regardless of the pressure to have an heir and her frustration for what she seemed to view as her failure to be a wife. I think she had a crush on him, and he was giving her some time to grow up. Besides, he was terrified of what might happen to her..."

I smile at the thought of Grainne having a crush on Ransford, and I agree. When I'd seen their portraits - was it today? - I felt something affectionate between them. I wasn't sure what exactly. Alaric falls silent, and when I tilt my head back to look up at him, his face is set in stone, his eyes delving into a turbulent past I cannot begin to understand.

"It was almost ten years before she got pregnant," Alaric sighs, closing his eyes. "I guess she wore him down."

"Grainne did something to make it work, didn't she?" I know she did, but exactly what it was makes no sense to me.

"Yes, she went to see Alazne, a Pavee woman. She was a renowned medicine woman and very knowledgeable when it came to curses and such. In fact, many believed that Marie made use of someone similar to create the curse in the first place."

"Alazne?!" I gasp, memories of dark hair and yellow eyes causing me to crawl deeper into Alaric's arms, cringing away from remembered nails like talons.

You were brought here with evil intent, Child, but instead, you could be the redemption that is needed.

"What's wrong, Aubrey?" Alaric asks in a soothing voice, gently stroking my hair and running his long fingers through the curls.

"I think I might've met one of her descendants."

"Yes," he agrees, undisturbed by the news. "There are a few of them working for us."

The woman I'd seen was not clean and neat, dressed in black slacks and a white shirt like the women I'd seen in and around the mansion. I want to hear the rest of Alaric's story, not speculate about a woman I may or may not have seen, so I just drop the subject.

"What happened?" I ask, nervous about having my suspicions fulfilled.

"They worked on a counter curse," he says through clenched teeth. "Apparently, they couldn't break the curse; they could only modify it, and the answer lay in Grainne's blood, some of which Alazne used to create a potion for a ritual nobody is completely clear about."

Sighing, he removes his fingers from my hair to rub his hand aggressively over his face; frustration is etched into his voice when he speaks again.

"Aubrey, the problem is when people mess with forces and draw on darkness they don't understand and know nothing about, they ruin their lives and the lives of everybody touched by their actions. In our case, for generations and centuries.

"Grainne Slatherty thought she was saving her family, but she ruined it even further. The curse wasn't broken; it simply evolved... and now you have us... I have no idea what we are," he says in a voice choked with emotion. "Sometimes, we need the blood of other humans to keep us going. We don't need it often, but we do need it.

"There are some perks, I suppose," he snorts derisively as if he cannot bring himself to think of anything as a perk. "We're stronger than any human is supposed to be and faster too. All our senses are honed to a point where it becomes unbearable.

"We can see in the darkest of dark, and most light is painfully blinding because our eyes are so sensitive. We can hear the sigh of a mosquito just before it settles in for a long drink and sense the presence of every person on this island. Of course, all of these wonderful things only happen if we survive puberty."

"Am I going to bite people and drink their blood?" I ask, realising that my eyes are also becoming sensitive, and so is my hearing. I so do not want to run around drinking people!

"No," he says, resting a cool hand against my flushed cheek. "You won't turn into what we are; you'll just... be very healthy and take much, much longer to age."

"Well, that sounds like a bargain," I mutter, smiling when Alaric chuckles softly.

"Grainne's blood, embedded in the new curse, can save a Slatherty from death and madness," he picks up his story again. "She was the first woman able to give birth to a cursed Slatherty baby and survive, and her children all lived. Some of them became enhanced humans condemned to be healthy and strong and live alone.

"When Slatherty children survive through puberty and they... well, turn... some of them have their minds and conscience fully intact while others turn into heartless monsters, hell-bent on ruling over the world and enslaving humanity..."

I do not like the sound of that!

"There is a portion whose bodies survive puberty, but their minds and souls don't. They become mindless shadows of themselves, driven purely by their most base urges - a danger to all."

I understand enough of what he says to realise that the Slatherties I know all fall into the first group. The strong, healthy ones who retained their conscience. I can feel his sadness for the ones who live as dangerous shadow beings. I wonder if he has any direct siblings among them.

"There are some Slatherty children who go through somewhat easier puberty, and if they survive, they are more or less normal humans, except for a few extras. One of the horrible things that went with this counter-curse is that only the ones who turn into strong, enhanced beings are fertile. And of those, only the men successfully have children. The females' wombs are hostile and would devour their young long before they can form properly. If it were the unturned ones who were fertile, this wicked curse might've been gone by now."

"Mostly, we prefer not to marry or have children... but it happens..." he adds, sounding so incredibly lonely that I stroke my fingertips over his chest, trying to soothe the heartbeat that has become erratic while he talks about the horrors of the curse. I can feel the grief saturating his soul. It is breaking my heart.

Alaric cares about his family very deeply.

"Ransford, decided to move the bulk of his family to this island the Slatherties owned and used on occasion through the centuries... mostly for smuggling when there was a king in charge that they did not see eye to eye with. He thought it best to keep the more dangerous members of his family here, safely out of the public eye. He needed to hide his... unsuccessful children from the world... mainly for the safety of the human race.

"He built the core section of this mansion, and later, he made deals with families wanting to escape the world to settle here in exchange for their labour. By then, he'd learned the art of inducing sleep in unsuspecting people and letting his children feed on them. Just enough to sustain them, never enough to drive them into a blood frenzy or kill the villagers. By the time they woke up, their wounds were already healed. He only chose the strongest and most healthy who would recover quickly."

Alaric shifts his body, manoeuvring me into a position where he can see my face with more ease. "It wasn't right and sounds horrible, but back then, there were only worse alternatives," he assures me, and I can see that he is carrying the guilt of his ancestors around with him despite the fact that he has been nothing but good to the people of Peace Haven.

"The Pavees, Alazne's family, voluntarily came here to care for the mansion and its occupants. They knew about the curse and happily offered their blood in exchange for certain benefits to be found in our blood."

I think I know what benefits he means. My eyesight has improved drastically, and my senses are all on high alert. Drinking his blood just now gave me the kind of high-flying buzz no caffeine-enriched drink could ever give me.

I've never felt more alive than I do right now.

"There were many rumours among the island's population, of course," Alaric points out, "but nothing substantiated, and we've been living here like that for centuries. Of course, we no longer lull people to sleep so we can feed off them... we have the blood banks to fill our needs."

"We're patients, Aubrey, like anybody else," he adds when I don't respond, my mind too busy to do so. I wasn't judging. How could I? I barely even understand what they're dealing with. It's easy to stand on the outside and judge those in the middle of the fray.

"I know," I smile, touching the muscles jumping in his jaw and stroking the tension from his face. "So, Grainne's blood was strong enough to fight the curse to some extent and help the Slatherties carry on?"

"Yes."

"I have the same blood," I state without a shadow of a doubt.

"Yes."

"And it's rare?"

"Very."

"I don't understand," I tell Alaric, pulling away to look into his eyes properly. "My blood type is O-positive. That is the most common type."

"It's not about the type, Aubrey," Alaric clarifies. "It's about destiny and fate and intangible things like that which none of us understand. It's very rare. There's one woman born with that kind of blood every 50 years or so. I only know of 4 so far."

"Only women have the special blood?"

"Yes, only women."

"And I'm one of them?"

"I sensed you the minute the boat you were on was near the shore of this island," Alaric hisses. "Yes, you're one of them. Your blood is exceptionally strong."

"Did you smell me from that far away?" I find the idea highly disturbing and rather appalling. "Do I stink?"

Alaric laughs and the sound is so beautiful that I long to hear it again and again. Laughing is not something the man does often.

"No, it's not a fragrance so much as a reaction of my blood to yours. Though you do smell amazing," he sighs, closing his eyes, his jaw clenching under the strain of his self-control. "You have no idea how hard having you in this house has caused me to have to fight every primal impulse possible for a man to have... and not just me...

"I was worried about Deaglan getting to you. He has no control... and the others... I'm sorry, Aubrey," his voice is filled with regret. "I don't know how this happened. When I appointed you to help me with the antiques, I did not expect a woman, especially not one with your blood. I think you've been lured here, and that scares me. I don't want you to be hurt or used."

That's what that woman said; someone brought me here with evil intent. I don't like that idea. Alaric lays his free hand on my head, stroking my hair, sensing the sudden tension and uncertainty taking hold of my heart.

"If I could, I would put you on the first boat out of here and out of our lives." The statement freezes my heart and causes my brain to reject the thought immediately. "I'm afraid it's too late for that now," he sighs, sounding miserable.

"Please don't leave me again," I say in a voice so pathetic; I would've slapped myself if the genuine fear which inspired the words was not overwhelming me, numbing my body.

"No, I've learned my lesson," he mutters, putting his hand on the side of my face and kissing the top of my head. The knowledge that he was in as much agony as I'd been makes me a little bit happy in a sadistic way.

"Do you also want to bite me? Like Deaglan did?" I ask him after a long silence, during which I enjoyed lying in his warm arms, listening to the soothing pulse of his heart pumping his magical blood through his veins.

"Yes... and no... Deaglan is not himself."

"He was hurt?" I can tell that much, but I'm not sure how or why or when.

"Yes..."

"My blood is healing him."

"It is."

"Would you like to give him some more?"

"That's generous of you," he says with a soft laugh. "It might be necessary, but not right now."

"So, we're just drawn to each other because I have yummy blood that heals people?" I ask feeling a bit deflated by the thought and am happy to hear Alaric laugh again, but his laughter is sad now... and so am I. I don't want this strong affection I feel for him to be as simple as that.

"Not quite," he assures me. "The attraction is there and can be overwhelming, but it grows stronger and more stable when there's actual bonding taking place."

"I'm bound to you. I know I am." Not just to Alaric, but also to Ransford and Deaglan... and probably every other male I know... except Leopold for some reason. It's rather disturbing.

"Yes," Alaric confirms my suspicion.

"Because I drank your blood... or you drank mine?"

"That's a very small part of it, but there's a deliberate ritual that has to take place as well," he explains, leaning back to watch my upturned face with narrowed eyes as if he expects an answer from me. "One that you would have to take part in willingly. It cannot be forced."

That makes no sense!

"Oh, but I didn't-"

"Are you sure, Aubrey?" he insists, still peering into my eyes with enough intensity to set my brain on fire.

"Yes, Alaric! I think I would remember if I took part in a ritual to bind me to you."

"You would?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow in the cold, disdainful way I got used to in the last few days. "The ritual could've involved anybody in my bloodline... it carries..."

He is right; I have been forgetting things, but lying here in his arms, I remember every moment I've been in this place in detail, things I didn't remember earlier today. Frightening things.

"I remember being bitten... more than once. Getting a blood transfusion, being fed blood by Ransford and by you. You've never bitten me, and neither has Ransford... or Liam."

Thoughts tumble through my mind. My brain has become like a very complex filing system with millions of pages of data that have been shaken by a wild earthquake, scattering it all around the place, and I cannot make sense of it.

"So, these feelings I have... this yearning, it's all just fake. It's all blood and fate and some ritual that I do not remember. You're bound to me too, and you're not the only one. Do we have no say in it? Are we just puppets, slaves to our blood?"

"No," he says, stroking a gentle finger along the side of my cheek and nudging my head back; he lowers his face to mine, his eyes black, gazing into mine. "There is always a choice. The bond happens on a much deeper level... an indefinable place, in the same way that love happens."

He is right. What I feel is similar to love - strong, all-consuming love. Gazing up into his eyes, the emotions washing over me leave me breathless, trembling under their force.

"If that emotional connection does not exist and a bond is created anyway, it could drive both parties out of their minds."

"That's what happened to Deaglan!" The realisation hits me in a strong surge of nauseating pain.

"Yes, that was part of it... it's similar to when a body rejects a transplanted organ, but it happens at a spiritual level," Alaric agrees, but I can tell that there is more to it, a memory that has been haunting him for too long. "The wife he was bound to tried to kill me... Deaglan saved me."

"Poison," I whisper, taking his hand from my face and bringing his fingers to my lips. It was poison, meant for Alaric.

"Yes."

"And my blood is healing him?" I ask, hopeful, though I'm already certain of the answer to that question.

"Yes," he smiles, his eyes glittering with emotion. He is a far cry from the stoic Alaric I'm always dealing with.

"That's good, isn't it?" I prompt, trying to gauge why he still seems so sad despite his smile and the good news that his brother is healing.

"It is, but," he frowns, closing his eyes. "Someone bound you to all of us, and that is not good. It's not good at all."

"Because you'll fight?"

"Something like that," he shrugs. "The important thing is that it will drive you insane. It will be like being pulled in many directions at the same time."

That does not sound pleasant at all! Can't they just peacefully share me?

"The bond can only be completed with one of us," Alaric answers the question I'm sure I didn't ask out loud. "And it needs to be completed for you to be truly safe."

"How do we break it?" I ask, but I'm sure I already know the answer to that question.

"I'm sorry, Aubrey, but we can not break it," he sighs, gazing into my eyes with a forlorn expression on his handsome face. "It can only be contained by another ritual, with one of us. A binding ritual with a three-strand cord that will make it strong."

I'm having visions of being roped into an uncomfortable three-legged race-like situation with one of them, using a strong rope, but then it hits me with a clarity that once again astounds me.

"A three-strand cord? God, husband and wife?"

"Indeed."

"Oh, my soul, Alaric!" I exclaim, scooting away from him and sitting up in an attempt to see him clearly to verify whether he is messing with me. "That was the worst marriage proposal ever!

~~~