by Tessa Bailey
With a sigh, he turned away and continued removing items from the grocery bags. Candles and matches. Clothes. A hairbrush. Boots. All for her. Thankfully, when he started speaking again, she was able to ignore the tide of gratitude and focus on his story. “His name was Jaxson. We grew up together.” He braced his hands on the kitchen counter. “I was the ringleader back then, getting us both into trouble. Stealing cars before I was legally allowed to drive them.” His head fell forward. “We got picked up by the cops one day, brought down to the station. Jaxson’s uncle came and picked him up, but my parents never showed. I don’t blame them. But I realized none of my antics would get their attention, so…I decided to knock off the bullshit. It wasn’t getting the desired results. I never had anything to show for stealing but a few bucks and it always went too fast. A cop handed me a recruitment brochure and I just threw myself into going straight. Being on the other side of the law. And it felt…good. Better.”
Had she breathed for the last two minutes? “What happened to Jaxson?”
Elias said nothing for a long time. “I’d already led him down a dark path, hadn’t I? I introduced him to a shit life and he couldn’t get out. He wasn’t as determined as me.”
“You pronounced ‘stubborn’ wrong,” she said softly.
He expelled a sound. “Pot meet kettle.”
She battled the urge to steer him away from what she sensed was a sad story. One he wasn’t finished telling. “Where is Jaxson now? Do you know?”
“Dead.”
Her stomach seized. “Dead?”
Elias turned to face her again, his expression remote. “One of my first drug busts…he was in the entry point room cooking meth. He pulled out a Glock and…” He plowed a hasty hand through his dark hair, his frame riddled with tension. And…grief? “I’m still not sure if mine was the kill shot, but I know he recognized me. Even through my gear.”
“Elias,” she whispered, invisible fingers clawing at the walls of her throat. Why had she brought this up? Forced him to relay such a horrible tale? Not only did she regret making him relive what must have been a terrible moment, but seeing him this human was a danger to her resolve. “Then…” She swallowed hard and pushed the acidic words out. “You know what it’s like to lose a friend.”
“Yet I took yours anyway. Is that what you’re going to say?”
Looking him in the eye was nearly impossible. “Yes.”
He nodded briskly, saying nothing.
“I know you were a new vampire. You were confused and hungry. But you could at least apologize. You’ve never once said you’re sorry for taking everyone I love. I loved them.”
His fist came down hard on the kitchen counter, his otherworldly strength causing the Formica to buckle loudly beneath the blow. “Would it bring them back?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, but continued in a raw voice. “I’m a man of actions, not words, Roksana. Remember that.”
When she wanted to roll face down on the bed and scream into the mattress until her throat was raw, she breathed deeply instead. In, out, in, out. Accept the past for it is set in stone. Focus on what you can change. “A man of actions,” she repeated, her voice threadbare. “Good. Because it is necessary for us to trade favors once more.”
“What favor do you need?” he asked without missing a beat.
“I need you to teach me how to play poker.”
CHAPTER NINE
Las Vegas 2017
Thirst ruled Elias.
His fingertips scraped his throat raw in an attempt to rid himself of the pain. The desperation. The dryness and the yearning. His vision vacillated between sharp—so sharp he could count dust motes in the darkness—and blurry because the hunger ripped through him, grinding his organs between hot metal plates. Need food. I need food.
Laughter rose up in the back of the van. Sinister amusement from the vampires who’d made him like this. A parasitic creature, just like them. He’d barely been able to believe these things actually existed when he suddenly became one, writhing on the floor in mindboggling pain one moment, his organs grinding to dust, then opening his eyes to a different world. No physical pain at all, just the thirst. The unending thirst.
“Silly man. It is no longer food that you need,” Inessa sing-songed from the front seat, her body outlined by the bright casino lights passing by on either side of the van.
“I’m not drinking blood,” Elias growled through his teeth.
No sooner were the words out of his mouth did his fangs descend for the first time, cutting into his lower lip. The pain was fleeting, the injury suturing itself and ceasing to exist within seconds, but the horror remained. This had to be a nightmare. He was caught in a fucking nightmare.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked raggedly, trying to breathe through his nose, through the increasing desire to slice his fangs into something fresh. Living. He fought the impulse, though instinct told him it was the only thing that would satisfy him. Sustain him.
He thought of her. The soft slope of her neck. The gentle give of her mouth.
The ultimate satisfaction lay with her. Somehow it was indisputable fact.
No. No, goddammit.
“Where is Roksana?”
“We’re bringing you to her now.”
“No. I…” He buried his head in his hands and squeezed hard, alarmed by the absence of prolonged pain. “Please no. I don’t think she’s safe around me.”
He glanced up to find Inessa’s surprised gaze locked on him in the rearview. “How curious,” she murmured. “Still he worries for her well-being?”
Elias scanned the faces of the other vampires, finding their expressions confused. Why? “You swore she would be spared,” he shouted at Inessa, wincing as a painful ringing started in his ears. Brought on by the hunger? Yes, it had to be. He couldn’t close his eyes without picturing awful scenes. Holding down Roksana and burying his fangs in her neck, the blood surging thicker and faster into his mouth the more she thrashed. “Fuck,” he rasped into his hands, self-loathing pouring over him like boiling oil.
Never. I will never.
“Yes, I did agree to spare her, but I didn’t say how,” Inessa said, her eyes ticking back to the road. The van began to slow, finally stopping outside a small, white wedding chapel. Elias leaned forward and saw that a statue of guitar-playing Elvis sat positioned near the door. “It will be up to you to keep her safe, Elias. Think you can manage?”
Again, a ripple of disgusting laughter filled the van and Elias’s stomach swarmed with nausea like he’d never experienced before. An inhuman variety. It was anticipation and denial, wrapped tightly around an unholy requirement for sustenance. Needing blood sickened him, but not enough to stop wanting it. Pining for it.
Elias was barely conscious of being hauled out of the van, propelled toward the door of the chapel in a moving huddle of a dozen vampires. He could sense the excitement and bloodlust in them, could see them licking the tips of their fangs through his adjusting vision.
They were there to kill Roksana’s friends.
On Inessa’s order. To punish Roksana for her disobedience without her realizing her mother was responsible and thus, bringing her back into the fold.
No. Not a fucking chance he’d let this happen. He’d only spent one too-short night in her presence, but this was a girl who loved deeply and fiercely. Losing her friends in one fell swoop—violently—would crush Roksana. He’d witnessed the affection between the girls. The bond. And he knew all too well what it was like watching a friend die.
Elias had to stop them.
Before they could reach the door of the chapel, Elias turned and launched a right cross at the vampire to his left, but his fist moved at an unnatural rate of speed, carrying his body with it so he stumbled on the sidewalk and missed his target completely, landing him yards away. Dizziness rocked him.
Thirst was a bottomless pit in his stomach and it yawned wider by the second.
Fight it.
Elias spun around a
nd gripped the closest vampire by his shirt, hauling back with his fist, but when he normally would have buried his knuckles in the guy’s smug face, his arm slingshotted and Elias himself went flying, landing on his hands and knees before the statue of Elvis.
Laughter cut through the night, self-disgust impaling him like a dagger.
“Are you finished?” one of the vampires asked, gripping Elias by the hair and yanking back his head. “You may have held on to some of your humanity, but your motor skills are a thing of the past. It will take time. Time you don’t have right now, so get the hell up.”
Elias struggled through being pulled to his feet, but quickly he saw the vampire was right. He lacked any control over his new abilities. It was as though he’d been put in the captain’s chair of a rocket ship. Jesus. He couldn’t save Roksana’s friends.
He wasn’t even sure he could save her.
From himself.
Someone tried to handle of the chapel door, but it was locked. A sign hung on the door that read, “Ceremony in progress.”
Elias’s focus wavered, thirst ripping his chest open.
There was a blur to his right. In an eerie mimicry of S.W.A.T. procedure, a foot kicked in the chapel door, again making him wish for his teammates. Kenny, Jenks. Anyone to help.
But there was no time for regrets.
Light spilled out and there she was.
Roksana.
She stood at the front of the church, to the left of the bride and groom. Dressed in a blue gown, she held a bouquet of pink roses in her hand.
Christ. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. A dream come true.
And he wanted to drink her blood. Wanted it so bad, his fangs sliced into his bottom lip again and they ached so badly, he couldn’t close his mouth. Could only surge forward, along with the rest of the mob of monsters, his sole purpose in this horrifying afterlife to reach her.
His vision was sharp enough to see her face pale, the roses tumbling from her hands.
Screams shattered the peaceful scene. People started to run, but not Roksana. She remained stock still, unblinking, watching him tornado through the white pews that were already being sprayed with the blood of victims.
As badly as he wanted to throw Roksana to the ground and obey the call for sustenance that refused to be denied, her obvious fear slowed his progress. She made a tiny sound of shocked distress, a single tear sliding down her cheek—and he stopped two feet away, as if hitting a wall of solid glass.
Think about what you’re doing.
Control yourself.
Elias attempted to breathe deeply out of habit, but the usual calming effect never took hold. He couldn’t even feel the oxygen expanding his lungs. Couldn’t feel his pulse or the beat of his heart and yet somehow, he was positive that organ still functioned because with the falling of one tear from Roksana, it sputtered one last time and broke.
“Elias? H-how did…what did they do to you?” she whispered, flinching and stumbling backwards when one of her friends screamed in agony. “Oh my God. No. Vampires.”
Roksana tried to run past Elias, but he stepped into her path and wrapped his arms around her, holding her with ease as she fought like a wildcat.
“Let me go. They’re killing them!”
The volume of the ring in his head amplified until he could hear nothing, not even her screams. Her sweet neck was so close. He could hear the life pumping in her veins. It would take no effort to insert his fangs into that beating river of red and end his misery.
The end of his thirst was only the beginning. There was more. It was as though drinking her blood was inevitable. Written in stone. Futile to resist.
You’re losing your mind. Remember who you are.
His time as a human felt like it had lapsed years ago, instead of hours. Who had he been? Not a man who hurt women. Not a man who would take something from a woman against her will. And with absolute conviction, Elias knew he would have rather died than see Roksana in the kind of emotional pain that had her shaking like a leaf in his arms.
Quench your thirst. Drink from her. You can’t help it.
Yes, he could. He would.
Before Elias registered his own actions, he picked up Roksana in his arms and blew through the chapel, through the chaotic violence, and taking one last, longing look at her beautiful, devastated face, he deposited her in a back office and held the door closed until the massacre was over, his bones riddling with agony every time she screamed.
CHAPTER TEN
Moscow, Present Day
Roksana peeked under her pair of cards, memorized her hand and quickly slapped them back down on the cardboard box. A pair of jacks. That was good, da?
After the painkillers gave her some blessed relief, she’d drifted off to sleep for a solid nine hours, waking to Elias watching her in stoic silence from his seat on the kitchen counter, shuffling a deck of cards deftly in his hands.
It was nighttime again, Tuesday, though she didn’t know what time exactly. Time and space had been whittled down to this dark, little flat. And Elias. Now she sat on a nest of blankets and the clothes she’d been wearing upon arrival in Moscow, grateful she could finally remain upright. Lying down like a useless baby was hell on a slayer’s pride.
“I know you have a hand, Roks.”
She frowned. “Of course I have a hand, vampire. You dealt me one.”
“A good hand, I meant.”
“How do you know this?” She sat up straighter, pleased when her spine didn’t shatter. “Is my pulse giving me away?”
Briefly, he tucked his tongue into his cheek. “Your pulse is always a little…rocky. Around me.” Words of denial flooded her mouth, but he held up a hand, before she could give them a voice. “I know. It’s because you want to kill me. No other reason.”
“My fighter’s adrenaline senses a threat. That is the explanation.”
“Right.” He nodded at the cardboard box where each of their two-card hands was laid out. “Every time you have decent cards, you smack them down on the table after looking. When you don’t have shit, you stare at them longer, trying to decide if you’ll limp into the pot and see the flop.”
“Limp?”
“Yes. Like throw in the blind without raising, just to see if you hit a pair or something on the flop, even though you have bad cards.”
“I see.” Roksana took her sweet time brushing her hair back. “I take it I am not the first one to come up with that strategy.”
His lips twitched. “No.”
Frustration mounted in her breast and she kicked the box hard, scattering the cards onto the floor. “Oops.”
Something like affection flashed in his eyes, but all they had in the apartment was candlelight, so she was definitely mistaken. More than likely, what she’d seen was triumph that he’d forced her into losing her cool. “Do you want to take a break?” Elias asked.
“I can’t afford a break.” She massaged the center of her forehead. “I have to be an expert by tomorrow night.”
His hands paused in the act of picking up the downed cards. “Why?”
“Winning a poker game is the first phase of my task.”
“How many phases are there?” he asked calmly.
Three. The last of which is killing you. “Two.”
Elias absorbed that with a slow nod. “We better keep playing then.” He cut the deck and shuffled them together, never taking his eyes off her. “Do you want two more painkillers?”
“No.” Even though she could feel the last round wearing off, the sharp edges of her injuries reforming under her skin. “No, I…”
“You what?”
“I need to fight the pain and win. My ego is taking too many hits lately.” Why was she saying this out loud and giving him a weapon in the form of her insecurities? It was stupid and reckless, but in the tight cocoon of the candlelit apartment, a place where no one on the planet knew they were, she found herself blurting too many truths. And her honesty might have ha
d something to do with her faith that Elias wouldn’t repeat a word of it to anyone. Why couldn’t he just be completely terrible, instead of mostly terrible with some honorable qualities? God, it was annoying. “First I have my ass kicked and you have to come scrape me off the street like road kill. I can’t even stand up. Now I am bad at poker. At least if I don’t take medicine, I am beating the desire to give in to one weakness.”
Elias leaned forward slowly, the cards seemingly forgotten in his hands. “There can be strength in recognizing your own weaknesses. Just like laying down a bad hand and living to fight another day.”
She took that in, let it roll around her mind. He did have a point. Knowing where her shortcomings lay during a fight taught her the valued skill of compensating. Adapting. “What is your weakness?”
His gaze flickered and dropped away. “Look, you came here to face your own death instead of running away like a coward. That speaks to your character more than some arbitrary skill. If you didn’t have a serious game tomorrow night, I wouldn’t give a shit that you have a terrible poker face.”
Roksana sucked in a breath at his mean-spirited insult. “My face will heal. I just had a fight with fifteen slayers. It tends to leave a few marks and bruises behind.”
“Jesus Christ. Fifteen—” He tossed the deck down and pinched the bridge of his nose. “‘Poker face’ is just an expression. It’s the ability to remain unreadable by your opponents no matter what kind of hand you have.”
“Oh.” Her heating cheeks made her grateful for the lack of light. “I knew there had to be a misunderstanding. Ordinarily, I have a face that inspires sonnets.”
“I’m aware.” A muscle ticked in his cheek. “You know I’m aware.”
The air in the apartment thickened dramatically. Elias’s attraction to her was an unspoken thing. He got annoyed when she brought up other men (that’s why she did it). He made it his business to guard her. To keep the closest of tabs on her whereabouts. Every once in a while, he didn’t manage to hide his hunger when looking at her. But apart from that night in Vegas a million years ago, when he’d been a different person, there had been no verbal acknowledgment of the inconvenient pull between them.
