Vampire Bonds (Darkbloods Book 1)

by Delia E Castel

  Rolling my eyes I pick up the insulated pot and pour coffee into Poppy’s cup. “Where’s Madoc?”

  “Still investigating leads in Ireland.” She casts a nervous glance at Maeve, who sits next to Luci and opposite me. Even though she looks less downcast these days, Maeve still hasn’t managed to utter a word since arriving here. She doesn’t even take notes in class and probably can’t even write about what happened to Malone Convent.

  “What are you wearing tonight?” I ask to change the subject.

  “A glamor,” she says with a smirk. “I’m going as Madonna.”

  Luci barks a laugh. “We slayers have to settle with costumes. I’m going as Tiana.”

  I flash her a grin and turn back to Poppy. “Totally cheating.”

  She bumps me on the shoulder. “What will you wear?”

  “A leather jacket and matching pants.” I add a generous splash of cream to my coffee. “This year, I’ll be Gabby the vampire slayer.”

  “And you call me a cheat,” Poppy mutters.

  Applause and cheers echo across the dining hall and I turn my gaze to the podium, where I’m expecting to find someone making another announcement.

  Evangeline stands at the doors, beaming.

  “She’s looking surprisingly radiant for someone whose mother got murdered,” Poppy mutters into my ear.

  “Maybe it’s the shock.” The words sound fake even as I say them. I can never forget what Evangeline admitted about her parents under the influence of Aunt Clarissa’s magic. There’s no way they didn’t tell her about Sister Shevette’s death especially when Driver announced it to the whole convent.

  “Thank you, everyone.” Evangeline raises both hands, urging the hall to go silent. When the voices quieten, she says, “What happened to my Mom wasn’t a tragedy. It’s the first casualty in a war this creature started. First it attacked Acolyte Augustine, it eviscerated me, and murdered my mother.”

  The room goes silent, and even the sisters of servitude stop walking about to listen to Evangeline.

  “This creature might have started the war, but thanks to the generosity of Presbytera Driver, I’m going to work hard to earn back your respect and slay it.” She pumps her fist in the air. “Who’s with me?”

  About half the room’s occupants rise and applaud. The other half glower. Sigrid rushes out of her seat and flings her arms around Evangeline. Kofi joins her other side and clasps her raised fist.

  My body stills, and bitterness spreads across my tongue. That night, Evangeline had three slayers and four conciliars under her command. Between us, we might have been able to defeat the monster, and Sister Shevette might have lived. I stare down at my coffee cup with unfocused eyes, and I can barely feel Poppy’s hand on my shoulder.

  I understand why Driver gave Evangeline another chance. I get the irony of having let a monster escape, only for it to return and kill her mother. But the way she’s basking in the adulation tells me that neither her injury nor Sister Shevette’s death will fix the moral weakness of a girl willing to let a rival slayer die.

  It takes me twenty minutes to get dressed. It takes Poppy twenty seconds to transform into someone I barely recognize as Madonna.

  Poppy stands in front of me with tousled, dirty blonde strands restrained by a black hair tie, huge wooden earrings and too many necklaces over a black camisole top. The shoulder pads on her sparkly, black jacket make her look bulkier than the real Madonna, and the lace gloves clash with the gold-and-black lapels and cuffs.

  “What do you think?” She grins, exposing a gap in her teeth.

  I shake my head. “Madonna doesn’t look like that.”

  “She did in the mid-eighties.” Poppy flips open her laptop, taps something into Google, and produces several pictures of the singer wearing the same outfit, down to the thick, gold-buckled belt. “I can make you look like Rosanna Arquette, and we can be matching.”

  I spread my arms wide. “What’s wrong with my vampire slayer chic?”

  “Come on then.” She opens the door, where a few of the mages mill around the hallway waiting for their slayer dates.

  I glance from Napoleon, to Albert Einstein, to Isaac Newton, who looks surprisingly handsome for an old guy. “How is anyone supposed to pick out their date from a crowd of famous dead people?”

  Einstein grins. “Easy,” he says in a Jamaican accent. “Nobody changes their voices.”

  I grin back at Luci’s conciliar and follow Poppy down the stairs, where a crowd of acolytes and apprentices gather around the Magus. We wait behind Ayesha, who stands on tiptoe and kisses a pirate on the cheek. I lean to the side, expecting to see someone famous, but Finn is wearing his real face.

  The Magus counts our heads and leads down a stairwell and through a passageway that leads to an underground parking lot with four school bus-sized vehicles. When we board, a quartet of armed slayers and their conciliars take up the front and back seats. With a weary breath, I suppress a pang of guilt and take a seat close to the front.

  After the shortest bus ride ever, we reach another underground parking lot and ascend a stairwell booming with music. I’ve never liked large gatherings, and when I was under Jude’s love spell, I only went to clubs to please him.

  We step into a black-and-white tiled ballroom enchanted with a night’s sky ceiling depicting a thunderstorm on a full moon, complete with clouds. A bolt of green lightning fills the room with light, making my heart flip.

  “They’ve really made an effort this year,” I shout over the strains of The Monster Mash.

  “Even the drinks table looks creepy” Poppy points at the far-left corner.

  I follow her finger and find an old crone standing over a bubbling cauldron of fluorescent-green liquid, ladling cups of smoking punch to students.

  “Let’s get some.” I grab her hand.

  “Pops,” shouts a voice from behind.

  We both turn to find Madoc standing by the doorway, wearing his usual black t-shirt, leather pants, and a grin. Poppy screams and launches herself into his arms. I stand back and smile. With her boyfriend returning from Ireland, at least she won’t mind me leaving early.

  As soon as she releases him I wave to get her attention. “I’m going upstairs to find my uncle.”

  Poppy’s smile fades, which makes Madoc frown. “I haven’t had a chance to say hi,” he says. “Stay for a drink at least.”

  “Sure.” I reply with a shrug.

  We head toward the drink-serving hag and pass a bar surrounded by hanging lights shaped like long fangs. The servers wear blood-stained bandages and hand out regular-looking cans of soda.

  A tall figure approaches us, grinning with blackened teeth, wearing a skull-and-crossbow top hat and his face painted in the style of the day of the dead. “Hello, little frog.” He holds up a voodoo talisman. “Would you like to dance?”

  Joy surges through my chest, and now it’s my turn to fling my arms around a man. Uncle Fred hugs back and swings me in a circle. He hugs Poppy, shakes hands with a grinning Madoc, and we walk across the dance floor and through a barrier of magic that fizzles over my skin. The music dims, and the lights turn brighter as we step into a chill-out zone of pumpkin-shaped sofas illuminated by floating jack-o’-lanterns.

  “What do you think of the decor?” Uncle Fred gestures at the center of the zone, where a sextet of skeletons sit around a cobweb-covered table. One of them holds a bottle that pours endless amounts of red liquid into a punch bowl.

  “Did you do this?”

  “I helped,” he says with a smile that implies he enchanted it all.

  Uncle Fred takes my hand and guides me to a sofa. “Your grandmother has sent me some worrying messages.”

  “About Mom?” I ask.

  Pain flashes across his eyes. His fingers go slack, and he lowers himself into the seat. A lump forms in my throat at my mistake of talking about his missing slayer. I sink into the spongy sofa next to him, wrap my arms around his bicep, and think of something to change the subje
ct.

  “Grandma wants you to spy on me, right?” I ask.

  He nods. “She thinks this warlock of yours might be controlling the monster.”

  I rear back, releasing my hold of Uncle Fred. Grandma sees the supernatural world as the Order and its allies versus everyone else. She doesn’t even know Alaric but she’s already built up a conspiracy based on one little snippet of information I gave her on the helicopter pad.

  “How much do you know about this young man?” Uncle Fred asks.

  “Don’t tell me you agree with her,” I say.

  His brow forms a deep frown. He twists around in his seat and places both hands on my shoulder. “It’s a reasonable question, Bree.”

  I drop my gaze from his and bite down on the inside of my lip. My defensive reaction is probably making him suspicious.

  “Warlocks vary from the mischievous to the downright evil,” he continues. “They’re free to practice any magic they desire with little consequences—”

  “He’s not…” I shake my head. Uncle Fred would freak if he knew about Alaric being a vampire. “Trust me, some warlocks get labeled like that because they refuse to bow to the Council of Mages’ authority.”

  His lips thin. “I taught you better than to put blind trust in someone you barely know.”

  “And you taught me to judge a person by their actions, not their background,” I say. “Remember how you used to take me to homeschooling meet-ups so I could know native kids?”

  “Just be careful,” he says.

  I wrap my arms around Uncle Fred’s neck and press a kiss on his cheek. “Rick is a good guy who has done a lot for me. Even if the Council calls him a warlock, he’s still caring.”

  Uncle Fred sighs, not sounding convinced. “What will I tell your grandmother?”

  “That it’s my life?” I say with a hopeful lilt to my voice.

  Poppy and Madoc arrive in the chill-out zone, each holding a pair smoking drinks. Behind them, the Halloween party is in full swing, with about two-hundred people in fancy dress doing the pelvic thrust. The scene from the Rocky Horror Show plays out on a projector. I snort, but it actually looks like a lot of fun.

  “Room for two more in this family reunion?” asks Poppy.

  Uncle Fred beckons them over, and Madoc pulls another sofa close with his magic.

  The music fades, and everyone falls to the floor, just as a cloaked figure steps into the room. It’s Alaric, dressed like a vampire, complete with white makeup, slicked-back hair, and a tuxedo. He surveys the room of fallen time-warpers and turns to the chill-out zone.

  A pair of active slayers step in behind him and gape at the sea of students lying on the ground. One of them nods in Alaric’s direction, and the other follows.

  All the blood drains from my face. “What the hell is he thinking?”

  “Who’s that?” Uncle Fred asks.

  Without excusing myself I rise to my feet and rush out of the chill-out zone. The baseline of Sweet Transvestite thumps across the room, and I rush through the mass of people rising to their feet.

  A mage dressed as Shrek stands in my way. His lips move, but the music is too loud for me to hear his voice.

  “Excuse me,” I shout.

  He grabs my arm, trying to hold me in place.

  A snarl rises to my throat. Of all the times for Jude to resurface for another of his non-apologies. Shoving him aside, I continue through the swaying throng to the edge of the dance floor.

  The slayers corner Alaric by the cauldron, and the crone has stopped serving drinks to glower at him. A shudder runs down my back. She’s probably one of those slayers’ conciliar. I pick up my pace, hoping to reach the group before one of them starts a fight. Even with his speed, he might not escape a room filled with slayers and their conciliars. He speaks to the slayers with an exaggerated shrug, and one of them wraps a hand around his bicep.

  Panic makes my heart flip around my chest like a dead fish. I quicken my pace and shove people aside to get to Alaric. Right now, I’m more worried about what he might do if they try to slay him.

  “Hey, Rick!” I loop my arm around his. “Nice Costume.”

  He turns to me and grins with sharp fangs. The only thing missing from this ensemble is the red eyes. “I want to suck your blood!”

  “Do you know this jackass?” asks one of the slayers.

  “Gatecrashers aren’t allowed,” says another.

  I snatch the drink from his hand and place it on a side table. “He’s leaving.”

  Alaric tilts his head to the side. “Thanks for your hospitality, ladies. May I stay for a dance?”

  The slayers exchange irritated glances, but one of them shrugs. “As soon as the song is over, you’ll leave.”

  Alaric inclines his head and grins.

  Clenching my teeth, I force a grateful smile. The longer this arrogant vampire stays in the presence of the slayers, the more probable he’ll get caught and staked.

  He picks up the glass of smoking liquid and says, “Drink?”

  “I thought we were going to dance.”

  “This song is about to end,” he says.

  “You’re familiar with the Rocky Horror Show?”

  He raises a brow. “I am an aficionado of the genre.”

  “Right.” I grab his arm and drag him away from the slayers. Right now, I can’t tell if they think he’s a vampire playing a double bluff or an annoying troll for dressing as a vampire. I don’t care to stick around and find out.

  The next song plays, and it’s Uncle Fred’s favorite, I Put a Spell on You. This one’s the Nina Simone version. Alaric offers me his hand. I shake my head, but he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me onto the dance floor.

  He grins. “I prefer the Screamin’ Jay Hawkins original.”

  “You would,” I murmur into his ear. “Why are you here?”

  “The island was in lockdown with mages running about the grounds, shooting magic at anyone who crossed the wards. As your conciliar, I would say that’s reason enough to worry.”

  “Something happened?” I asked.

  Alaric draws back and frowns, the dark contour of his vampire makeup making his features even more angular. “Are you alright?”

  I nod.

  He pulls us close, filling my nostrils with the scent of musk and woodsmoke. “Then you can tell me after the dance.”

  Alaric sweeps me around the dance floor in a waltz that sends exhilaration through my veins and makes me feel like we’re flying. I don’t know if it's practicing dance moves with Uncle Fred, my slayer training, or our conciliar bond, but I’m matching him step for step.

  Our surroundings fade to a blur of faces and colors and lights. Soon, it’s just Alaric, me, and the melodic tones of Nina Simone. My heart beats as hard as the double bass, and I lose myself in the dance.

  Somehow, this is more intimate than the kiss, as we’re locked in each other’s gazes. Alaric’s eyes are as dark as the midnight sky, and the stars enchanted on the ceiling reflects within his glistening irises.

  I never want this moment to end, never want to leave his embrace, but the music stops, Alaric pauses and presses a lingering kiss on my lips.

  Chapter 21

  That magical moment ends the second the speakers blare out the baseline for Micheal Jackson’s Thriller.

  A groan reverberates through my chest. I grab Alaric’s hand and pull him through the dance floor. Everyone goes wild and swings their bent arms from side to side like dancing zombies. Shrek walks at our side, trying to catch my eye, but I keep my gaze to the door. Just as we’re about to leave, he wraps his hand around my arm and tries to pull me aside.

  I elbow him hard in the solar plexus. “Not now!”

  Shrek staggers back with a grunt. Thankfully, he doesn’t follow. Maybe it’s the sight of Uncle Fred wading after us through the crowd of people strutting and moonwalking like they’re auditioning for a Michael Jackson dance contest, maybe it’s the threat of another gut-punch. I don’t care as
long as I never have to speak or look at Jude.

  “Where are we going?” Alaric shouts over the music.

  “My uncle is following us,” I say in a normal voice, knowing he can hear me with his enhanced vampire senses.

  Alaric stops at the doorway. “The man who raised you?”

  “How do you—” I shake off the urge to interrogate him. For reasons I haven’t fully explored, Alaric’s fixation with my family line means he has kept track of all the Augustine slayers. I tug on his immovable arm to no effect. “Come on.”

  Ignoring me, he grins at Uncle Fred, whose amiable expression now morphs into concern. Uncle Fred stops at my side, places a possessive arm around my shoulder, and pulls me close.

  “Gabrielle didn’t mention you were coming,” Accusation hardens Uncle Fred’s voice, making me wonder what on earth Grandma told him. “I take it that you are Rick?”

  Alaric offers a hand. “Alaric Severin, sir.”

  “Severin.” Uncle Fred shakes his hand. “That’s an old name in magical circles. Are you one of Jacob Sorensen’s many grandsons?”

  Alaric raises a shoulder. “I’m from the Romanian branch,”

  The tension in our little pocket of the ballroom builds as Uncle Fred fires question after question at Alaric, whose lies are as slippery as buttermilk. I don’t know if Alaric actually knows this family of Severin or if he’s just plucked the name out of the ether, but Uncle Fred isn’t convinced that Alaric is a member of such an eminent and seemingly controversial house of warlocks.

  “Rick was leaving,” I say.

  “Stay.” Uncle Fred places his hand on Alaric’s shoulder. “I insist.”

  A palpitation squeezes my heart. What’s he trying to do? Goad Alaric into doing something wicked and warlocky? My gaze darts from side to side. On the far left of the dance floor the crone stands between the two slayers, and all three of them watch us with hard stares. On the other side, Poppy holds Madoc’s hand, her 1980’s Madonna glamor looking stricken.

  Anxiety ripples through my gut, and I chew the inside of my lip. There’s no way Poppy would tell Uncle Fred about Alaric’s status as a vampire, but she might hint something to Madoc. And Madoc? He’s a nice guy who respected my wish not to report Jude to the Council of Mages, but I don’t know if he would help me cover up for a vampire.