Blood Bound

by Becca Blake

  The tent flap opened, and two pairs of feet came into view. The first, presumably belonging to the giggling woman, wore heeled boots that came up to her knees. Her thighs were bare other than a short, tight skirt that didn’t do much to hide her assets. With the way she was dressed, she seemed out of place in the Third District—likely another vampire who had joined the guard for a quick fuck during his shift.

  Miria turned her attention instead to the guard, whose thick, black boots slammed against the ground with heavy thuds. His arm was wrapped around her waist, and for all of his protests about whether or not they should be out together that night, he appeared to be enjoying himself.

  The pair stopped in front of the table that concealed Miria. She sucked in a breath, too afraid to exhale. The wood creaked as the man leaned back against it, the woman right in front of him, and the sounds of lips smacking together in urgent kisses followed.

  “I’m serious,” the man said between kisses. “If we’re caught out here…”

  “Then don’t let us get caught.”

  “A man I worked with died earlier. I don’t know if I’m feeling up for this tonight. I’m serious—we can’t do this anymore.”

  Miria frowned. She hadn’t heard about any vampire deaths in the Third District. Then again, she’d been a bit too busy to catch up on the latest gossip at the Silver Leaf. She made a mental note to ask Zephyr about it later if she managed to avoid the guard’s attention long enough to escape.

  “Is that so?” the woman asked. The guard’s belt buckle clicked as it was undone, and the sound of rustling fabric followed. The woman lowered herself to the ground, her knees only inches from Miria’s head.

  With the sloppy, wet sounds coming from above, the woman would be too preoccupied to notice they had an unwilling voyeur. Still, Miria shrank back farther beneath the table.

  “I can leave anytime you’d like,” the woman said with a smile in her voice.

  He growled, low and possessive, his previous worries over the enforcement of rules seemingly forgotten. “You can leave when I’m done with you.”

  The woman got to her feet and let her dress fall to the ground with a giggle. The man’s pants crumpled to the floor, and she kicked them away before crawling on top of the table with him.

  The wood groaned under their combined weight. The goods from the cart scattered to the ground around it. A wave of charcoal pencils rolled down beneath the cart, landing just next to Miria. She rolled onto her stomach and flattened herself out as the table continued to creak out threats of collapsing. Wouldn’t that be her luck, to be discovered because a poorly constructed table collapsed and crushed her?

  “Hang on,” the guard grunted. Another belt buckle clicked, and he dropped the harness that held his sword to the ground next to his pants.

  Miria’s eyes widened at the sheathed sword that had been hanging from the guard’s hip, now right in front of her. Just within her grasp, if she only reached out to take it.

  The lovers were distracted by each other, if the loud moaning was any indication, but surely when they were finished, the guard would notice that his weapon was missing if she did try to take it. And it wasn’t as though Miria would be able to escape unseen if she took the weapon and ran with it.

  But she’d never get another opportunity like this again.

  Miria pulled herself forward with her arms, crawling slowly and quietly to the edge of the table. She reached out her hand and gripped the leather belt. The couple’s pace didn’t slow as their bodies smacked against each other. Miria took a deep breath, barely resisting the urge to gag at the heavy odor coming from above her. She pulled the belt back, careful not to let it drag on the ground for fear the metal buckle would draw their attention.

  Just as carefully, she pulled the sword free from its sheath, timing each pull in rhythm with the couple’s flesh smacking together to conceal the sound. When the sword was free, she took a deep breath and poked her head out from under the cart, just enough to peer up at them.

  In the fervor of their passion, neither of them noticed her. The man’s eyes were squeezed shut as he pounded into the woman over and over again, earning a gasp with every thrust.

  If Miria just rolled out from beneath the cart and made a run for it, they might not even notice her. She could just disappear into the dark streets, untouched and unseen. The guard’s confusion over where his weapon had gone might give her enough time to get away, maybe even make it home if she was fast enough.

  You don’t have to be better than your opponent in a fair fight if you can make sure the fight isn’t fair.

  A fight with a vampire, let alone two, was a fight Miria couldn’t win. Not even if she had a weapon and her opponents didn’t. But here, concealed beneath their cart like a silent assassin waiting to strike, she could guarantee the fight wasn’t fair.

  She could guarantee there wasn’t a fight at all.

  Before she could convince herself otherwise, Miria pushed herself out from under the bed and leaped to her feet, the guard’s sword in her hand. He turned his head at the sudden noise, but before he was able to roll off of the woman and defend himself, Miria plunged downward into his chest.

  The vampire attempted to sit up, but his efforts only served to impale himself deeper. Beneath him, the woman screamed. He reached out and gripped Miria by the arm, fingernails digging into her skin. He pulled her toward him, baring his fangs.

  With her free hand, Miria pulled the sword free from his chest and sliced it across his throat. The blood spilled out with a sick gurgling sound. He rolled toward her and fell off the table, his arm still reaching for her even as he stilled.

  The woman stopped screaming and gaped at Miria. “What are you doing?”

  “Your kind is a fucking curse,” she spat. Her grip tightened around the hilt of the bloody sword in her hand.

  “My kind? I’m not a—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, Miria sliced her throat, too. She fell back against the cart, her body lifeless as she stained the table full of parchments and inks red.

  Miria would need to run soon. But for just a moment, she stopped to admire her handiwork. She stared down at their bodies, reveling in the exhilarating thrill she felt. For the first time, she had power over vampires, even if it was only two of them. For the first time, she didn’t have to fear them.

  The woman’s long, black curls fell aside, revealing a pair of pointed ears.

  Miria swallowed back a lump in her throat as she remembered the woman’s final words.

  I’m not a—

  With a shaking hand, Miria reached out for her. She brushed against her flushed cheek, skin still warm and full of the life that had left her so quickly. She pushed up the woman’s upper lip.

  No fangs.

  “You were an elf,” Miria murmured.

  Miria didn’t know what she expected to feel after her first murder. This was no act of self-defense or an accident brought on by the heat of an emotional moment. This was murder. It would be normal, she supposed, to feel scared, or sick. Perhaps guilty or regretful about the lives she’d cut short, the centuries she’d robbed from them.

  Instead, Miria felt nothing—nothing but a cold emptiness as she stared down at the lifeless forms of the vampire and his elven lover, blood still dripping from the blade onto the dirt beneath her feet.

  9

  A high-pitched scream and violent thrashing from across the room greeted Azalea as she awoke.

  “Don’t touch me,” Miria mumbled, her words distorted by her groggy voice. “Don’t touch me…”

  Azalea looked over at Miria, who was alone in her bed. Her eyes were closed, but her arms swung around wildly, hitting against the wall and the mattress as she searched for some unseen opponent.

  “Miria, wake up.” Azalea gave her friend a forceful shake.

  Miria’s eyes snapped op
en, and she jolted upright in bed, startled into consciousness. In what seemed to be a blind panic, she grabbed Azalea’s wrist with one hand, her other clenched into a tight fist. Her skin was soaked in a cold, sticky sweat, and her eyes were wide and wild.

  Azalea knew Miria would never hurt her, but the threatening movements made her flinch all the same.

  As Miria’s momentary confusion at the very sudden wakeup cleared away, she let go of Azalea. “I’m sorry! I thought you were a vampire—”

  “It’s okay. You were having a nightmare,” Azalea said.

  Miria rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she said again, more softly this time. “Last night was… I just didn’t sleep well.”

  Azalea nodded. “That’s understandable. You had a tough day yesterday.”

  We both did.

  Azalea shoved the thought down, burying it deep. She could help Miria as long as she kept the focus away from herself. As soon as she allowed herself to recall the previous night’s events, she’d break down, and she couldn’t let that happen in front of Miria.

  “Do you have to go back to the mines today?”

  Miria glanced over at the clock on the table between their beds and groaned. “Yeah, I need to leave soon.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Azalea said. “You can get through this.”

  “I hope so.” Miria crossed her arms and tapped a finger against her forearm. Her gaze darted around the room, never meeting Azalea’s.

  Azalea frowned. “Is something else bothering you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  If Miria had secrets, Azalea couldn’t fault her for them. She had plenty of her own. What had happened to the days they told each other everything, hiding under a blanket in the dark and giggling as they exchanged confessions about boys they liked or goods they’d stolen from the market? Even in Terra Nocturne, it was simpler when they were younger, more naive.

  Back when they really believed there was a way out.

  Those innocent times were gone now, and pain was all that remained for either of them. Pain which now led to secrets.

  Miria got dressed in a simple tunic and pants and pulled her hair back into a long ponytail. On her way out the door, she paused. “You should stay home today and take it easy.”

  Azalea rubbed her neck. “Yeah, maybe.”

  The door clicked shut behind Miria, leaving Azalea alone with her thoughts in the quiet, empty apartment. She still had hours to kill before she’d have to leave for dinner with Lord Nero, and she didn’t want to spend it sitting alone at home, just waiting for the time to pass. She pulled out the note he’d given her, a formal invitation that would get her through the gates to the First District, and set it on her desk atop a stack of old drawings. His writing was elegant and beautiful, with an old artistic flair she admired. People didn’t write like that anymore.

  With a heavy sigh, she gathered her belongings and took a walk down the street to the bathhouse. As she passed by the market, the streets seemed to be louder than usual, more crowded. She went the long way around to avoid the chaos.

  When she arrived at the nearly empty bathhouse, she paid her fee and dropped her belongings on a shelf. “Where is everyone?” she asked.

  The woman working the counter shrugged. “Word is someone died in the market last night—probably after curfew. No one seems to know any details yet.”

  At least she’d avoided the market on her way here. She’d seen enough death in the last twenty-four hours and had no desire to catch up on the latest gossip.

  The inside of the bathhouse was pleasantly warm, the air thick with humidity from the pool at the center. Azalea peeled off her clothes and lowered herself into the water. The heat soaked through her body, warming her to her core, soothing her aches and bruises. She washed away the last of the dried blood, the lingering feeling of Darien’s hands on her skin. The knowledge that he could never touch her again cleansed her as much as the water that surrounded her.

  She leaned back and closed her eyes, tempted to take Miria’s advice and spend her day relaxing and recovering. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before a gentle hand on her shoulder shook her awake.

  The woman from the counter knelt down beside her. “Miss? You’ve been here for hours. It’s not a good idea to stay in water this warm for so long.”

  “I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep,” Azalea said.

  The woman smiled and held out a towel for her. “It’s fine.”

  Azalea took the towel and dressed as quickly as she could. The market streets were still too crowded, too loud, so she walked around them again. There was enough noise in her head already, and just the thought of the constant buzz of activity in the market was overwhelming.

  Her trip to the bathhouse had taken more time than she’d thought. Had it really been hours? She’d have to hurry to get ready for dinner. It would take her some time to cross the districts, and she didn’t want to risk being late.

  She slipped on the dress she’d worn home last night, which Sara had been kind enough to give her. This one came with a warning that if she somehow managed to destroy it, too, there wouldn’t be another. Still, Azalea slipped a few extra coins into her purse so that if she had time while she was in the Second District, she could buy herself some new clothes that fit her properly. Sara’s dresses were too snug in some areas, too loose in others.

  On her way out the door, she grabbed one of Miria’s cloaks, a green one that clashed with her blue dress. She’d need strength for the night to come, and wearing something of Miria’s would help.

  As she’d come to expect from her trips up the cliff, vampires stood on either side of the gate, guarding entry to the Second District.

  “I need an escort to the First District,” Azalea said.

  The guards drew their blades as she approached. “The gates are locked down tonight. You’ll have to go back home.”

  “I’m supposed to meet Lord Nero Cineris for dinner tonight.”

  “No one moves between the Districts for the next week,” the guard said. “Captain Lucian’s orders.”

  “Lord Nero invited me himself!”

  “And the king of Viridi wants to meet me for tea,” the guard snapped.

  Heat rose in Azalea’s cheeks. “What are your names?”

  “What does that matter?” The second guard, who hadn’t yet spoken, looked nervously between Azalea and his fellow guard.

  “When I can return to the Second District, I want to let Lord Nero know who stood in the way of his feeding.”

  The guard looked at his partner, who shrugged. “Go talk to Lucian and see what we should do.”

  The quiet one disappeared into the watchtower, reemerging shortly after with another vampire. His jet black hair was cut short, and he had swirling tattoos that went up both of his arms and peeked out of the collar of his shirt.

  “Captain Lucian, sir—”

  “Quiet,” he snarled, then turned his attention on Azalea. “You say Lord Nero himself invited you to the First District?”

  Azalea nodded. “That’s right.”

  “How dim do you think we are, girl?” Lucian asked.

  “I don’t—”

  “Lord Nero has access to the finest elves in the city. And you’d like me to believe he summoned one from the Third District? Leave. Now.” He turned back toward the watchtower. “And I expect the pair of you won’t waste my time again.”

  “Wait,” one of the guards said slowly, drawing the word out. “Isn’t this the one who killed Darien?”

  Lucian’s attention snapped back to Azalea. “Is that true?”

  “Yes, sir.” Azalea cast her eyes downward. Darien had worked with these men, and Nero wasn’t here to protect her this time if they wanted to punish her for it. “I was defending myself after he attacked me. Lord Nero was the one who found me after…after it ha
ppened. He was kind to me—he helped me. That’s when he invited me to join him for dinner tonight.”

  “I see,” Lucian grunted. “What proof do you have?”

  Azalea reached into the pockets of Miria’s cloak, but found nothing. She’d been so rushed after her trip to the bathhouse that she’d forgotten to grab the note Nero had written her.

  “He gave me a note,” she said. “An invitation. But I left it at home, and if I go back for it, I’ll be late for—”

  “So, you have nothing?” Lucian drawled, sounding bored.

  She bit her lip. “A guard named Nic escorted me home last night. He could verify I’m telling the truth.”

  Lucian’s eyes narrowed. He gestured for one of the other guards to head into the watchtower.

  Nic emerged a few moments later. His green eyes darted from the captain to Azalea, then back again. “Yes, sir?”

  “This girl says you can verify that Lord Nero invited her for a feeding tonight.” He raised a brow as though he expected Nic to say that she was insane.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “He did. He had me take her home last night after she killed Darien.”

  “Please, let me go see him. I swear, I won’t cause any trouble,” Azalea said.

  Captain Lucian considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Nic will accompany you to the First District. But if you’re lying and wasting our time—and worse, if you’re wasting Lord Nero’s time—you will regret this. Both of you.”

  Nic gave a slight bow to the captain, then took Azalea by the arm. “Come with me.”

  She flinched at the sudden contact. For a moment, it was Darien gripping her again, ready to drag her through the Second District and back to that room in the Blood Den.

  Darien is dead, she reminded herself. He can’t hurt you anymore.

  Once the gate closed behind them, Nic released his hold on her. “I trust you can walk without having your hand held?”