“If I bite someone,” I start, “and they’re not Spectators, does it mean—”
“No,” it speeds out of him. “I’ll tell you everything I know. First generation was experimental. They seem to be the only ones plagued with the uncanny ability to reproduce and decompose. The deranged scientist at the helm of the experiment thought injecting them with a cocktail of genomes would regenerate tissue, stop it from mutating and turning necrotic, but they only managed to achieve half the mission. Turns out, that in less than a couple years the first round of bodies started to slow down and not long after—rot. They got the regeneration part right. They don’t need food or water. Instead, they crave somatic stem cells, especially those found in grey matter, to reverse the decomposition—and because of that, they really do eat brains.” He wiggles his fingers like it was a joke on some level.
“They eat people?” I spike up onto my elbows.
“They want to cure the disease the Counts accidentally inflicted on them. They still have the ability to think, feel—decompose, but their muscles are congested in a half-rigor state.” He takes a breath. “The Counts rounded them up, locked them up, and threw away the key.”
“And now they’re everywhere,” I expire the words in a sigh.
“Just here. There’s a portal that seems to congregate them within a five-mile radius of Ephemeral. If they go undetected, they can navigate the woods as far as they like, but, as far as I know, the Counts don’t give them a day pass. A few of them have figured out a way to escape, and the gateway just so happens to be right beneath our feet.”
“Perfect.” I close my eyes a moment. “So… zombies do exist.” I hold my breath as I say it.
“I think Hollywood dubbed them zombies.” Cooper knocks his shoulder softly into mine. “As far as I understand, they’ve been Spectators from the beginning.”
“Why Spectators?” I can feel my pulse quickening at the mention of the creatures. This horror, it’s real, and somehow it’s swallowed me, and now I’m a part of it, too.
“Because they can no longer live normal lives. They’re forever locked up, forced to observe the world, no matter how much they want to reclaim their place in society, they’ll never be anything more than monsters.”
“How many generations of Spectators are there? More importantly which one am I?”
“Two. First gen is thought to go as far back as the late forties, early fifties. At some point in the eighties, one of their interned scientists finally got it right. She figured out a way to regenerate the cell structure right after death, but it was of no use for the first batch.”
“She?” I push into him. “It figures. It took a woman to get it right.”
“She happened to be the same one who got it wrong. So if you’re looking for someone to blame for the mishap of thousands of immortal Counts, you’re looking at the same woman.”
“Am I an immortal?” A part of me is numb to the idea that this is all there is to the afterlife. It can’t be right. Deep down inside I know it’s not.
“Nope, you’re just on round two. As far as I know, there are only the two go-rounds, the formula doesn’t take twice—and after that, you’re susceptible to a dirt nap just like the rest of us.” He turns into me. “You can die, Laken. And if you do, she doesn’t have the ability to bring you back, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the Counts have her working on act three.”
I pick up Coop’s hand and rub my thumb against his flesh a real long time. It takes everything in me not to lose it. This reality—this suffocating sadness paralyzes the words from passing through my vocal cords.
“And Wes?” It hurts like hell just to say his name.
Coop doesn’t say a word.
“Tell me,” I whisper. “I really want to know what’s going on.” I scoot in. I’m depending on Coop for everything. “What did you find out?”
He takes in a deep breath, expands his chest for miles before pressing out a depleted smile. “Wes is nearly a pure just like you,” he whispers.
“And the rest of him?”
“Levatio. Not enough to evoke any powers.”
“Is he a Spectator, too?”
“I have no idea.” Coop shakes his head with sorrow.
“How in the hell did he know I’m one? Spectator equals resurrection, right? That means he knows I died at some point.”
“Maybe he thinks you died when you fell out of the tree house?” Cooper twists his lips as though he doesn’t believe it for a second. “Or he’s hiding things from you.”
“I’ll ask him.” Suddenly I’m filled with the desire to wrench Wesley’s balls until he fesses up to everything.
“I wouldn’t rock the boat just yet. Wes seems pretty certain you hit your head and from what I can tell, he really cares about you.” He lowers his gaze as he says it.
“Okay, so how is he reading minds? Did he steal the brain of some Celestra?”
“No, not that,” he says it sad, soulful as if the news he had to give me was far worse than brain robbing. “Look, I don’t want to hurt your relationship.”
“Bullshit.” I call him on it.
Cooper catches my gaze and holds it. An entire river of truths is dislodging itself tonight and his brazen affection for me is part of it. “Okay, so I wouldn’t mind hurting it just a little.” He measures an inch with his fingers and squints before taking up my hand again. “Laken.” He depresses my name in a sigh, as his hair washes gold under the light. Coop looks amazing in every way. A part of me wishes I didn’t hold any of the memories from Cider Plains, then he and Wes would be on an even playing field, and who knows where my heart would take me.
I blink the thought away.
He tugs at my hand and smiles. “There’s only one way someone can infuse themselves with Celestra powers.” He circles my face with a level of despondency in his eyes that terrifies me.
“Tell me, Coop. Is this something I can do?” God knows, I’d like to read a mind or two.
“Yes.” It comes out low, as if he didn’t want me to hear it. “But you’d need a willing Celestra.”
“And?”
“And their blood.”
36
Just One Taste
I roll over and bury my face into Cooper’s pillow as the feathers poke through the fabric in shards. Just the thought of Wes drinking blood at midnight like some coffin-dwelling vampire, racks up all kinds of insane thoughts of ruby-encrusted goblets and prisoners confined to dungeons. How did this become our life? Me with a zombie contagion and him with an unnatural thirst for life-giving plasma?
I suck in a breath at the realization. “He’s a vampire!” I sit up, abruptly. “Wesley Parker Paxton is an effing vampire!” A visual comes to me of him downing bodily fluids in the morning like some grisly energy drink.
Cooper laughs through a smile. “Vampires are contrived strictly for literary purposes from authors with overactive imaginations, or”—he motions—“perhaps a bastardized version of the Counts and their nocturnal infusions.”
“What do you mean by infusions?”
“Drinking—absorbs it right into their cellular structure.”
“That’s disgusting. Wes would never pass the chalice. There’s got to be another way. I bet he injects it like a blood draw in reverse.”
“Maybe old Wes would never down a pint, but what about the new and improved version?”
God. This is sick beyond reason.
“So, do they have some Celestra drinking fountain in the kitchen at Henderson? Why would Wesley want to drink blood? What good is it to read people’s thoughts?” I touch my hand to my chest in horror. “And who is the Celestra in question who’s letting the Counts siphon off an artery like it was a straw?”
“No to the drinking fountain. As for who specifically lets them drink, I have no clue. The factions have questioned this practice for years. It’s been long since believed that Celestras are either giving it up for cash and prizes, or some of them have been taken against their will, for
ced to donate and breed on a regular basis.” His features darken. “It could be anybody, or anybody’s mother.”
Cooper hardens his gaze and the air in the room clots up.
“Cooper…” It comes out fragile. “You don’t think—”
“Yes, I do.” He gives a heavy nod. “Not long after I pledged to Noster, the realization hit that maybe my mother hadn’t taken off on her own—that there may have been specific reasons they wanted her. A little while after that, I learned the Counts were drinking.”
“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Laken, if you penetrate their system—you might be the only hope I’ll ever have of finding her.”
“I will.” This blood-soaked realization makes my head spin. “Coop?” I give a hard look. “Do you really believe me about my past—or are you just using me?” I’m not sure I’d be offended if he copped to the idea of using me. I’m not so sure I’d believe me if the shoe were on the other foot.
“I really believe you, Laken.” He blinks into his admission. “I swear it.” He pushes it out in a broken whisper. “It’s going to be difficult to prove, but if anyone thinks the Counts are capable of what you’re implying, it’s me.”
I lie next to him and wrap my arms around him—hold him for a real long time. Wesley can hear me, and Cooper can hear me. It’s almost unfair.
“I want these powers, Coop. I think they can help me.” I push back with a renewed vigor. “Where can I get this blood?”
“Ask Wes.” He rubs his thumb along the inside of my wrist.
“No, I’m a baby to him. I’m barely pledging my allegiance to the organization. You think Jen or Fletch would know?” I could get nuclear detonation codes from Jen by threatening to take away her pearl blue eye shadow.
He shakes his head. “It’s long since believed there’s an inner circle—some breakaway of diehards that take things a little more seriously than others. For some, it’s simply an offshoot of their religion, and for others it’s a calling.”
“That sounds like Wes,” I nod. “I need to know what’s going on. I need more than Wes is willing to tell me.”
“Too bad you couldn’t hear his thoughts…” Cooper lets the words dangle to see if I’ll take the bait. Cooper laid the trap at my feet, and he’s luring me inside. He has no clue how willing I really am.
“I want to know what Wes is thinking, how much he’s really hiding from me. Maybe I should fight fire with fire.” I run my finger across the inside of his wrist. “Have your father draw your blood, and I’ll drink it.”
He doesn’t say a word. Just studies my newfound resolve as though it were going to cost him his life.
“My father can’t know about this.” His lips curve with an aborted smile.
“We can get a vial and do it ourselves.” God—what am I saying?
“We don’t need a vial.” Coop dips his chin and tempts me with his wanton desire. He wants me to reciprocate, to meet him halfway and explode in a ball of lust-filled passion. “It doesn’t take much blood.”
“Excellent.” I exhale my relief.
He taps the side of his neck.
Great. This is probably just some elaborate ploy to get me to give him a hickey.
“Can’t you prick a finger?” Just the thought of my lips pressed against his neck has me unnecessarily aroused. This is a very bad idea on multiple levels.
“That won’t produce the amount you’ll need. Blood oxidizes pretty quick outside the body. The purest way to do this is for you to create the incision with your teeth—while your lips are sealed over me.” He glances down at my lips and his chest expands in anticipation. “Stay away from arteries. We don’t need a bloodbath on our hands.”
“I would never kill you.” On purpose.
He gives the slightest hint of a grin and runs his tongue along his bottom lip.
I’m still Wesley Parker’s girlfriend.
The fact I’m about to suckle off another guy’s neck means very little in the grand scheme of our relationship. In fact, when you think about it, I’ll practically be creating a deeper bond between Wes and me—that’s one lie I can believe for a moment. And, oh my God—Wes has probably been suckling off the neck of some beautiful young Celestra all these months. Just the thought drives me insane.
“You’re stalling,” Cooper says with all of the allure he can muster. He reaches back and turns off the light at the base, allowing an anemic stream of moonlight to slice through the shutters.
I can’t breathe. My heart rattles inside my chest like a gong, and my skin trembles at the thought of touching my lips to Cooper’s anything.
I feel horrible.
I try to suppress thoughts of being the world’s worst girlfriend and lean into him.
Cooper pulls me in slowly by the waist—weighs me down with his heavy-handed stare. A spark moves through him by way of those sharp sparkling orbs, stabs me in the stomach in one hot bite. He leans in and rests his lips on my forehead, runs his cheek over my hair. His chest thumps erratic, racing in time with mine as though we’ve just concluded the world’s longest sprint.
“Um…” I look up. “How do I do this?” I graze his chest with my hand, accidently landing inside his shirt and touching his rock hard flesh, warm and inviting.
“Bring the blood vessels to the surface.” He compacts a smile. “When you’re ready, bite down. You should be able to draw pretty easy.”
“Okay.” My lips bump into his and my eyes spring wide with surprise. “Sorry,” I say, getting to the business of burying my face in the crook of his neck. It feels beyond exhilarating running my mouth over Cooper’s flesh. I’m not sure if it’s the idea of beating the Counts at their own game or Cooper in general, but I plan on giving a full-fledged effort into doing this right.
I push into Coop, take in his warm scent and taste the sweetness of his skin. My body relaxes over his and it dons on me that I’m lying in bed with Cooper Flanders in the most mouthwatering, compromising position. I bet more than half the female population at Ephemeral would have a spontaneous orgasm at the idea alone.
I try to tell myself there’s a purpose in this, that it’s nothing more than a business arrangement, but I feel something for Cooper that I wish I didn’t.
My tongue and teeth enter into a foreplay routine with his flesh. I try with everything in me to pretend that its Wes I’m here with, but Cooper has stained his effigy behind my eyelids. I can’t stop seeing him, I don’t want to. By some natural inclination, my entire being wants to bless him with my body.
Cooper expels a series of groans under the weight my persistence. His skin transforms from sweet to rust, then gives way to a salty trickle.
“Laken,” he whispers into my hair. His hot breath sears over me in short bursts of lust.
I take in several hard gulps then drag my lips over the incision to dull the pain.
He pulls me up by the chin and breathes into my lips, inflamed with a desolate passion. He hedges in with his mouth, eager to meet with mine.
Cooper, no. I say unable to move. If he starts—if he initiates just one kiss, it will take us places I can’t afford to go. Already I know I couldn’t stop. If Cooper lights the fuse, I’ll detonate right along with him.
I’m falling in love with you, Laken Stewart, he says, gazing into me with great intensity.
“I heard you,” I gasp.
He gives a startled blink as though he had forgotten all about the nature of our experiment.
“Thank you.” I press my lips into his cheek with a platonic show of gratitude. We’re going to find out what happened to your mom, Coop. And I’m going to prove to you I’m not insane. The Counts will never see us coming.
We’re a team, Laken. He envelops me in his arms as he says it.
We’re a team.
37
If the Shoe Fits
Cooper gives me a ride back to Austen House. I hold his hand on the drive home, and he tells me telepathically all about his moth
er, what she was like, the special things she used to do for him and Marky on holidays, their birthdays. He gives a quick kiss just below my knuckles before I get out of his truck.
I made it pretty clear the safety of his manhood was at stake if he planned on making a habit of gracing me with his lips. Mostly I was teasing, but still, my relationship with Wesley is the most important thing in the world to me. What I need is to find a girlfriend for Cooper—one that won’t mind the occasion or two that I’ll have to borrow her boyfriend to drain his neck.
“Why are you glowing?” Jen scowls as I pass through the door. A lit candle sits on the edge of her desk enlivening the dorm with the thick scent of cinnamon.
“I’m not glowing.” A flood of heat rises to my cheeks. “I just ran up the hill to get here.”
“Shut up. I can tell you were with Wesley. That stupid grin is a dead giveaway.”
Crap.
I make a concerted effort to flatten my affect.
What the hell am I doing, grinning and glowing? I might have to slap myself for morphing into a full-blown idiot. This is damn serious. I need to figure out what Wes is trying to hide so I can get out of this demonic den of body snatchers, and drinking another boy’s blood is the only logical solution.
“You’re in a good mood,” I say, changing the subject.
She doesn’t bother moving. Instead she maintains a locked position with her head resting on her arm, her hair splayed all over the desk like jagged shards of glass.
“Blaine says we need to cool it.” She moans.
“Cool what?” They get any cooler, he’s going to have to castrate himself just to make it through the next phase of their relationship.
“Cool, us.” She picks up her head a notch, exposing the bright red blotches patching her face. She’s been crying.
“Oh, Jen,” I go over and offer a hug.
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