“Vampires kill people.”
“We have to in order to survive,” he corrects me haughtily. “And we don’t make a habit of it. Witches kill vampires, and sometimes they kill people too. Oh, and humans? Let me tell you about fucking human beings. They throw each other under the bus every single day, then have the nerve to say we’re the soulless ones.”
He’s getting a little worked up, his eyes turning dark, shadowed by those arched brows, his jaw tense. This is the first time I’ve seen him less than icy cool. Obviously humans are a sore spot for him.
My god. What if he had kidnapped me and I wasn’t a vampire or a witch?
“I would have killed you,” he says, his voice going deeper, darker. All the hair on my body stands on end, my fight or flight instincts firing up. “There was a moment when I saw you in the car, before I realized I couldn’t compel you, where I thought perhaps I had made a mistake. I would have killed you. Would have bitten you, sucked you dry, and left you in the woods for someone else to find.”
Jesus. A ball of fear unfurls in my stomach, my hand instinctively pressing over it. I immediately look away, hating that he just caught me off-guard. All of this conversation, he had tricked me into thinking he was…well, not a friend, but an acquaintance. Something like that. Making me forget that he’s a full-fledged vampire, and, more than that, a remorseless killer, every single part of him forged to be as cunning and lethal as possible.
“You think less of me now,” he says quietly. “You’re right to.”
I press my lips together for a moment, then say, “I can’t do this. I can’t be…like you.”
“No one said you have to be like me,” he says. “Most vampires aren’t like me. They fear me. I’m the one who turns them over to people like Atlas and your parents to be executed. I’m the mercenary here, flitting between both worlds. Occasionally I’ll capture a witch and deliver them to the vampires, because there’s nothing quite like witch’s blood. I am loyal to no person, no group, except the one here in my house.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ve had my blood,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. He holds out his hand to me. “And that’s why I know your potential. Why you’re worth so damn much. Give me your hand.”
I stare at it, the smooth lines of his palm, his luminous white skin. “You would have killed me without any remorse.”
“Listen, moonshine. You don’t get to live as long as I have if you carry any remorse with you. You learn to let that go.”
“But the remorse keeps you human.”
He gives me a stiff smile, showing his fangs. “Who says that’s something to aspire to?”
And that’s when I realize that I’m not safe. I never was, I know that much. This man, no, vampire, will sell me to the highest bidder, someone who will kill me. He’s pretending to help me through this process, The Becoming, but he’s a killer without remorse. Proud of it, even.
“Give me your hand,” he says again, and as he stares at me, I can feel myself falling deeper into his eyes, hypnotized. I put my hand in his and he pulls me to my feet.
He’s trying to compel me.
His eyes narrow.
And before I know what’s happening, I’m running over to the curtain, tugging down on it hard until it rolls up, and I drop to my knees and out of the way as the direct sunlight hits him dead on.
My own eyes pinch closed, the light hurting them, giving me a headache, and I stare up at Absolon, expecting him to start dissolving in a cloud of dust, or at least running away screaming.
But he’s still standing in the sunlight, though he’s wincing. He glances down at me, shaking his head.
“Was that your sad attempt at killing me?” he asks, scoffing. Suddenly he’s crouched down at my level, holding out three fingers. “Three ways to kill a vampire, Lenore. With a blade of the mordernes. With fire. Or with decapitation. Sunlight does nothing to us, except bother our very sensitive eyes. I suggest making friends with sunglasses.”
Then, quick as a lightning strike, he reaches out and grabs me by the throat, pulling me up as he gets to his feet, and tossing me on the bed. I nearly bounce off, my instincts to fight back at an all-time high. I quickly eye the antique lamp, but before I can make a move for it, he’s already in front of it. I didn’t even see him move.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he sneers at me. “I got that lamp from Queen Victoria.” He then goes for the rope. “You going to make this easy for me, or hard?”
I shake my head.
No.
I am not being tied up again.
“Seems your bloodlust is coming through,” he says, wrapping the rope around both his hands. “You’ll be hungry pretty soon. But I have things to do, a party to prepare for, and I can’t have you fucking things up. You had your chance today, you should have taken it.”
Then he’s at me, working fast, until I’m tied spread eagle again, this time on my stomach.
“Sweet dreams, Lenore,” he says. I can sense him moving over to the window, pulling the curtain back down. He turns off the lamp, blows out the candles, and leaves me in the dark.
Chapter Nine
Thirsty.
So fucking thirsty.
I’m dreaming about rivers of blood, about oceans, about all the things I cannot have. This thirst is deep inside me, turning my insides into a desert, a painful ache and longing for something I’m not sure how to get.
I am lost to my cravings.
Reduced to nothing more than a junkie looking for their next fix.
I hate what I’ve become.
No control.
No life.
No love.
If I wasn’t feeling so hollowed out from my thirst and hunger, I’d be in tears over all that I’ve lost. My parents, my friends, my school, a future that once seemed so boring and predictable but sunny and promising at the same time.
I can’t be what I am.
This…thing.
This creature.
But I am, because in the depths of me I feel an urge that will run me into the ground, an urge that will end up destroying me.
My truest nature.
And yet there’s another part of me too.
One that’s also deep and dark, sitting inside me as it always has.
The well.
And if I look inward, I can see it there, crescent moon gleaming on the water.
Inviting me to drink from that place.
A place of power and energy that was cut off from me my whole life, through runes and hexes and spells, or whatever the hell my parents did to me without me knowing.
It’s all accessible again.
There for the taking.
So take it.
“Lenore?”
I blink, lift my face from the sheets in time to see the lamp switch on (Queen Victoria’s lamp, I guess), then Wolf step into frame. “Am I disturbing you?” he asks.
I stare at him for a moment, my cheeks going red over the memories of him between my legs. Two days…maybe it’s good I don’t remember it all.
“You think I want another round?” I ask him, my voice thick with sleep. “Because I don’t.”
He smiles at me, an easy grin that reaches his golden eyes. “I would if you were game, but otherwise, no.” He looks flustered for a moment. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it…”
“It’s fine,” I say.
God, please don’t say another word about it.
He stares at me, questioningly.
“Are you reading my thoughts?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “I don’t have that ability.”
“Ability,” I muse. “So it’s not a vampire thing?”
“It’s a Solon thing,” he says. He gestures to my arms. “Would you like me to untie you?”
I nod.
“Solon isn’t your average vampire,” Wolf goes on, undoing my right wrist first. He smells like dill and mint.
“Great,” I mutter. “Just my luck to be
kidnapped by an extraordinary vampire.” I pause. “What makes him so special?”
Other than the fact that I can tell he just is.
Wolf eyes me for a moment before he reaches over and undoes my other wrist, my skin aching as the pressure is released. “Maybe the same thing that makes you so special.”
“He’s part witch?”
He shakes his head, suppressing a smile. “No. And it would kill him to hear you say that…so maybe save that as ammo for another day. He’s sure to piss you off again.”
With the rope off my wrists, I push myself up, my back aching. I thought vampires didn’t get aches and pains. Shitty deal.
Wolf moves down to my ankles, his light brown hair gleaming blonde in the candlelight.
“Why are you untying me?” I ask. “Are you helping me escape?”
“Escape?” he says, looking up at me, brow creasing slightly. “No. There’s no escape.”
He says it so simply that it detonates in my heart.
He gives me a quick smile. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right.”
“But it’s the truth, right?”
“It’s the truth.” He sighs and goes over to my other ankle. “I’m untying you because Solon told me to do so.”
“And you do everything he says. Did he…make you?”
Another suppressed grin. “No. I am a lot like you. A natural born. My thirty-fifth birthday was very similar to this.”
“Wait,” I say, leaning forward, rubbing at the indents in my wrists, trying to ignore the lack of tattoos. “Not your twenty-first?”
“Males turn at thirty-five. Gives the women a bit of an upper hand, doesn’t it? They get more experience. Though I guess when you’re living for centuries, those fourteen years don’t make much difference. And if you don’t identify as male or female, then it could happen at any period in-between.”
“So then, what is Solon if he’s not half witch? Half…werewolf?”
He starts laughing, face going red.
“What?” I ask. “Are you a werewolf? Your name is Wolf.”
He calms down, but he’s still smiling. “I’m Norwegian. My parents named me Wolf. I’ve held on to the name ever since. Simple as that. And if you’re asking about werewolves, then I’m guessing you probably think Santa Claus is real too.”
I frown. “Uh…is he?”
He rolls his eyes. “No,” he says dryly. “There’s no Santa Claus, sorry to disappoint you. And there’s no such thing as werewolves. They were us all along. Back in the old days, vampires were more likely to shapeshift. Doesn’t happen much anymore.”
“Shapeshifters!” I exclaim. “I have shapeshifter erotica on my Kindle.”
“Yeah, I bet you do,” he says. “Okay, come on.” He gestures for me to get off the bed.
Suddenly I’m filled with fear, unable to move.
“Not until you tell me what’s happening.” I feel like the lamb being led to slaughter.
“Solon told me to give you a tour of the house,” he says patiently. “Says he didn’t get a chance the other day. That is if you’re feeling okay.”
The other day. Where is time going? I haven’t even felt the need to go to the bathroom. Though I guess if I’m not consuming anything, that might happen. I don’t know what to expect with my body anymore.
“Where is he?” I ask, still suspicious.
“He’s running some errands. For the party tonight,” Wolf says.
I have too many questions, but I’m not going to pass up the chance to get out of this damn bedroom.
I get to my feet, feeling unsteady for a moment, leaning against the bedpost.
“Are you okay?” he asks, eyeing me with concern.
I nod. “Just dizzy.”
“We weren’t sure if you’d be in the throes of bloodlust right now,” he says. “But you seem…normal.” He studies me carefully. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m thirsty, if that’s what you mean. In fact, I’ve been dreaming about…”
“Blood?”
I make a face even though my body grows warm at the thought. “Yeah.”
“Hmmm. Maybe it’s being tempered by your, uh, other side. I know when I turned, I was insatiable for days. I hope it’s not like that for you. It was a fucking trip.”
“When did this happen?” I ask him, following him as he heads to the door. Part of me thinks that maybe on the tour of the house I can still escape. I mean, I don’t know where I’d go given what I know about my parents, but it has to be better than in here. I don’t trust Wolf any more than I trust Absolon, and my fate is still up for grabs.
“Long time ago.”
“So, can you shapeshift?” I ask as he opens the door. We step out into a dark hall, lit candles on gilded wall sconces, the carpet worn and red.
“Unfortunately not.”
“But Solon can,” I guess.
“Maybe.” He smiles, shrugs. “I haven’t seen it, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Told you, he’s not like most of us.”
“And he’s not part witch or werewolf or…demon?”
He tilts his head from side to side, as if considering it. “No. Demons are…something we don’t deal with. That’s a human problem.”
“Lucky them,” I mutter. “Then what is he? Or is this some kind of big secret?”
Wolf stops walking and I nearly run right into him. “There are no secrets in this house.” He looks damn serious, sinister even.
I shrink back. “Okay.”
The darkness on his face fades and he gives me apologetic look. “We’re mercenaries,” he says to me. “Solon, me, Ezra. We’ve been in this house for a long time. Maybe not long in the sense of our lives, but to be in one spot for so long, it’s nothing short of a miracle. People don’t like vampires. They may not believe in them, but they instinctively don’t like them either way. And other vampires, well, we’re not all that popular with a lot of them either. Solon is able to keep us hidden in this house, safe, because of what he’s able to do. As a result, we owe him.”
“So what can he do?”
“We don’t keep secrets, but we also don’t overstep our bounds. That’s for him to tell you.” He starts walking again. I follow him down the hall.
When we pass by the candles, they automatically get snuffed out.
When we pass by bouquets of roses, they automatically shrivel up dead, right before my fucking eyes.
“Wait a minute,” I say, coming to a stop by the roses. “This happened in my apartment. My father bought me fresh roses. Later that night, they looked like this.”
“Solon told you he was in your apartment,” Wolf says. “Can you bring them back to life?”
I blink at him. “Me?”
Wolf points at the candles and suddenly the flames are lit again. “That’s the extent of what I can do. What can you do?”
“What do you mean what can I do? I’m not a…I can’t. I don’t have magic.”
“Sure you do,” he says. “You’re part witch.” He nods at the roses. “Give it your best shot.”
I shake my head. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You’re not even curious?” He pauses. “Then again, Solon wouldn’t be able to do it either. Drives our housekeeper nuts, but she keeps bringing in the flowers anyway.”
He’s said the right thing if he’s egging me on.
“Fine, let me try,” I say. I look at the dried roses and wave my hands in front of them. What the hell am I supposed to say? Abracadabra? Accio?
“Excelsior!” I say with a flourish of my fingers, trying to imagine them filling with water, no, blood, and then growing flush again.
But nothing happens.
They remain dry and dead.
Then I look at Wolf over my shoulder, who is, once again, trying in vain not to laugh. “You were pulling my leg this whole time, weren’t you?”
“I prefer the British saying, taking the piss.”
I shake my head. “Fucking hell.”
“Come on,
” he says. “There’s a lot of house to see.”
I leave the dead roses, feeling foolish, though it’s the lightest I’ve felt since I woke up in this house of horrors.
Though, as we walk down the hall of this floor, the more I realize it’s not as creepy as I first thought. It’s just old. Okay, and there’s a weird feeling in the air, but it’s probably the fact that it’s a vampire lair.
“It is a little creepy,” Wolf says as we pass old paintings of people on the indigo papered walls, their eyes seeming to follow us.
“You said you couldn’t read my thoughts.”
“I pick up on energies, feelings,” he says.
“You’re an empath.”
He laughs. “No. That would mean I take on your feelings as if they were my own. I would be a piss poor vampire if I let myself feel sorry for everyone.”
I swallow hard. “Because you kill them.”
He glances at me. “Sometimes. I don’t go out of my way to do that.”
I hold my arms close to my chest. I’m not cold, I actually feel hot, but I feel weak and vulnerable and small. “Yeah, well Solon told me had I not turned out to be what I am, he would have sucked me dry and left me for dead.”
Wolf nods. “That sounds like something he’d say.”
“What, so he wouldn’t have killed me?”
“Solon likes to think the worst of himself. Defense mechanism.”
That wasn’t really answering my question. But I let it go.
We go down the staircase to another floor that looks like the one above, only the wallpaper is dark green. From the way I can tell, the house is narrow and Victorian. Very San Francisco.
“Where in the city are we?” I ask him, not expecting him to tell me.
“Western Addition.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “What? I live in Hayes Valley. You mean I’m that close to home?”
Home. It sounds weird now.
But no, it has to still be my home.
“You’d be surprised at how close we are to your apartment,” he says. “Mind you, we’ve been in this house a lot longer than your parents have been in theirs.”
He opens a door at the end of the hall, and we step on in.
“This is my room,” he says.
I stop and look around as he heads over to the shut curtains, candles everywhere. It’s roughly the same shape as my room, but the design is different. Sparse, mid-century furniture, lots of greys and browns, a thick woollen rug on the hardwood. Very Scandinavian. Makes sense.
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