by L. J. Red
The dark wash of Jacob’s presence rippled over her. She wasn’t alone.
She spun around, and there he was, the shadows flickering and cloaking him as he came quickly forward, too fast for her to take more than a single step backward. She didn’t want to step backward. She wanted to step closer. This was the pull she had felt, dragging them both together as if urged, as if there was a connection running between their bodies.
“Sparrow,” he said, and his hands were suddenly on her shoulders. She breathed in deep, shoulders rising, pressing against his hands. She felt unmade, like he was pulling her into her individual parts just from the pressure of his palms.
“Oh God, what is this? Is this real? Are you really here?” It couldn’t be, and yet, it felt so real, so much sharper than a dream.
“You ran,” he said, as if he hadn’t even heard her question. “You ran and I—” He closed his eyes for a moment, an expression almost of pain running through him, and his grip tightened on her shoulders, urging her closer.
Was he really here? Was he talking about the class? She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to remember what had happened. She needed a distraction, a distraction like the fluttering feelings in her chest, the liquid heat pooling in her core, the insistent pressure of her desire. She finally gave in, letting go of her fears and her worries. For one shining moment she pressed herself against him, the soft lines of her body flush with his hard chest. His grip tightened around her, enveloping her, curling his entire body around her until there was no way to mistake his reaction to her. The hot, hard line of his cock made her wriggle, tensing up, anticipation running through her. He wanted her. Fuck yes, he wanted her. She felt buoyed up with joy. But, wait, her hopes crashed. This was a dream. Nothing was real. Jacob, the real Jacob, didn’t want her. This was just a feverish mind giving her what she wanted.
She pushed at his chest, pulling away, feeling like she was tearing herself apart to do it. Yes, this was what she wanted. She couldn’t deny it. He brought out this reaction in her, stronger than she’d ever felt. Yes, she wanted him to curl up around her, to go further, to strip her down and… But not here, not in a dream where none of it was real, where none of it mattered. She wanted the real Jacob, not an illusion.
“No, let me go. I don’t want this.”
His grip slackened.
“Don’t want it? Sparrow, I need to tell you—”
“No,” she said, pushing him away. “You’re not real, you don’t matter. This is my dream, let me go.” She finally pulled free.
“Sparrow, wait,” he said, reaching for her, but she danced out of reach with a lightness, a speed that she didn’t have in real life. More proof this was a dream, not real, something she could change, something she could control. She reached for the shadows around them, familiar friends. She had lived in the darkness while on the streets. None of this was new to her; it was all achingly familiar, like she’d always been meant to become a vampire one day.
She pulled them around her and cloaked herself in darkness, just like Jacob did, using them to skim away from him, away from the bridge, away back toward the door that hung in the darkness, the light from the Sanctuary within casting a bright rectangle on the ground. She slipped inside and the door slammed behind her. She was back indoors but still dreaming. She could feel Jacob’s presence through the doorway and she pressed back against it despite herself. The wood was hard against her shoulder blades. He wasn’t really there, she told herself. It wasn’t really his presence. It was just her mind playing tricks. Trying to give her what she wanted. Someone on her side, someone who cared about her. Pathetic.
Jacob didn’t care about her, not any more than the other rescued vamps he was protecting. He looked out for them all because he was a Shadow, that was all. She wasn’t special, she scoffed, finally finding the strength to push away from the door. Of course, she wasn’t special. Who would pick her? She had never really changed from that little street kid she’d been as a teenager, and she would never be anyone’s first choice.
Her thoughts twisted and dragged her down so deep she barely noticed the flashes of white flickering across her vision. She was walking forward again, pulled again, but this time no gentle, insistent heat. No, it was a different kind of draw, a cold wind pushing her forward. She stumbled, finally starting to notice. She was moving again. Why? Hadn’t she been by the door? She looked behind her, but the hallway receded into darkness, an aching, empty void. She shivered, and still she was dragged forward, the call insistent, winding deep around her mind, aching in her fangs and shivering down her bones. She pulled and struggled, trying to step back, to turn, but her body only took her forward. The walls began wavering around her. The thick red of the wallpaper turning gray, turning to rough concrete, the warm yellow lights turning into harsh fluorescents. The shadows that had cloaked her were burned away under the glare in a billowing cloud like smoke, and when her vision cleared she saw him. The horror from her memories, from her nightmares. Roman. The vampire who had turned her.
He looked unlike any other vampire she’d seen. He looked like a monster. His skin bleached out under the fluorescent lights, sickly pale, his fine white hair drifting around his face. His fangs were sharp and white against bloodless lips, and his eyes cruel.
“Finally,” he said, his voice winding, sick and sibilant, around her mind. “I have you where I want you.” Suddenly he was before her, his hands clutching at her waist and dragging her forward in a mockery of the embrace she had shared with Jacob. “You little bitch. You’ve been a slippery little thing, but I’ve got you now and you’re going to do exactly what I want,” he said, his hands sliding up her body.
“No, get off me, let me go!” She struggled in his grip, trying to break away but his cold hands were too tight. He slammed them suddenly on either side of her face, gripping her skull tightly.
“Oh, I’ve got my hooks in you now. You’re going to do exactly what I want, my little fledgling, you all are.”
“No,” Sparrow screamed and screwed up all her strength reaching, not forward, but back, back to the door that must exist somewhere in the dream, back to the flickering echo of Jacob’s presence. She felt something, a connection, a boost of power, and using that fragile sense of Jacob behind her like a tether, she tore herself away from Roman and up, out of the dream.
Chapter 13
Sparrow launched herself out of her bed. Roman. He was in her head. She looked around. Her room had darkened, the day fading while she slept. Had it just been a nightmare? Or something more real? Could Roman be behind the visions she’d been experiencing or was it just her mind pulling her darkest fears out in front of her? Those strange flashes of hatred she’d felt for Dana, for Lucian, it made sense if it was coming from Roman. But how? How could he be in her head? It wasn’t possible.
She sat on the corner of the bed, her head dropping into her hands. No one had known about vampires until a few years ago when the world had suddenly discovered they were real. Maybe things like this, mind connections, telepathy, maybe they were real too. If there was the slightest chance she was a danger to the Shadows, who had done nothing but keep her safe, she needed to protect them somehow. But how? She wasn’t a fighter. She sank her fingertips into her hair, clutching tightly. What could she do except… she raised her head. She could leave.
She stood abruptly. She could get away, somewhere isolated, far away, where she wouldn’t be a danger to anyone. Not forever, no, she couldn’t leave forever—she had to come back for the court case—but maybe keeping her here, keeping her safe from HUNT and Roman, was only bringing the threat inside. She couldn’t trust herself, her reactions. She felt frayed, strung out thin and out of control. Whether it was Roman’s doing or her own tired mind, she needed to take herself away.
Sparrow walked over to the window and pushed back the curtain; the sunset cast slanted orange-pink light over the Sanctuary’s grounds. She didn’t want to leave, she admitted to herself. She’d finally started to
feel like she was fitting in here. She dropped the curtain. That was exactly why she had to leave. Because these people were her friends and she would not allow herself to put them in danger.
“You’re not one of them,” she said out loud, the words dropping into the silence. She needed to remember that. They might be welcoming but she wasn’t one of them. She shouldn’t want more than she could get, shouldn’t hunger for a connection that wasn’t going to happen.
She brushed her hair back from her eyes and stared around the room. Her decision made, it didn’t take long to gather up her possessions. None of it was really hers; just her amber necklace, the only thing she had left of her mother and her life before the streets. Everything else was donations, even down to the clothes she was wearing.
Sparrow slipped out of her room. It was barely nighttime and most of the other vampires were still asleep. She passed a few vassals moving on their rounds, but they didn’t spare her any notice. She slipped out of one of the side doors and glanced up at the cameras. They were angled out, defending against a threat from outside, not from within.
They would catch her on tape once she reached the walls, but there was nothing for it. She would just have to hope they weren’t expecting it and that she could put enough distance between herself and the Sanctuary in time. She leaned forward, her weight on the balls of her feet, then sprinted across the open driveway, moving vampire-fast, and launched herself up and over the wall. She landed hard on the other side, pain shooting up her ankle and skidded on the sidewalk but didn’t stop, just kept going forward and out into the city.
She felt a presence deep in her chest, an awareness, a sudden, sharp focus. Jacob? No, impossible. She really was losing it.
She didn’t have a destination in mind. She just wanted to find somewhere where she couldn’t be a threat, somewhere isolated, quiet. Somewhere she could get her mind back. Her thoughts went straight to the bridge, the one from the dream, the one from last summer. Keeping to the shadows, fleet-footed and silent, she headed in that direction.
It was halfway across the city and she was quickly swept up into Chicago’s rush hour. Commuters with tired eyes passed her on their way home. The city was in flux, nightlife not yet started, the bars filled with an after-work crowd. She joined the faceless mass of humanity, slipping in like she was one of them.
Her ankle was aching by the time she reached the bridge. Instead of the rush of familiarity, of home, that she had expected, she was shocked at how dirty and dark it looked. Her feet crunched on the gravel as she stepped into the shadow of the bridge. She looked around with new eyes. Was this her life? Was this all she had to go back to? Living rough, living alone, with no one to rely on. Memories trickled back, cold nights and an empty belly.
Sparrow walked over to the cardboard sheets and slid down, her back pressed against the rough stone. She didn’t want to be here. She thought of the Sanctuary with a sharp pang of longing. She wanted to be there, surrounded by the protective aura of the Shadows. The achy feeling in her chest grew, reached, straining for that familiar presence, that dream-sense of Jacob.
She couldn’t go back, she couldn’t put them in danger.
“Hey!” A shout came from the mouth of the bridge. “Get away, this is my place.” A man made his way toward her, waving his hands. His clothes were patched and worn and he was pulling a rickety shopping cart behind him. Sparrow dragged herself to her feet.
“Sorry,” she said. She didn’t want any trouble; she’d leave. Even her old haunts didn’t belong to her anymore, she thought miserably. “I’m going,” she said. He came closer, and with her vampire senses she could smell stale sweat and dirt… and… something else. Something underneath that layer of grime. Something richer, saltier.
She saw a flash of white and suddenly Roman was standing behind the man, his outline wavery, flickery like an old film reel.
“Give in,” he whispered, reaching, pulling. Sparrow took a jerky step back, feeling vulnerable, alone, no defenses. Roman’s voice in her mind echoed, grew, and something in her mind snapped. Suddenly all she could smell was the scent of the human’s blood. It choked her senses, cloying and thick. She was hungry, desperately, violently hungry. His blood. She needed it. How long had it been since she last drank? She’d been putting it off with food instead. Stupid. She needed blood. She was a vampire. It was her right. Her right? A flicker of confusion. Her thoughts felt strange and jagged, almost alien. They filled her up, hunger and hatred and pride. This human was nothing, just another homeless vagrant, just another nobody. No one would miss him. She could take him, she could drink him right down, right here and no one would know. She should do it. She needed it. She deserved it. She was better than him. The urge to drink erased her thoughts, just the frantic need filling her, her fangs sharpening, mouth open wide. Her eyes felt scratchy, blurry, her vision tinged with white.
“What are you—” The man’s eyes widened. “Oh shit,” he said, stumbling backward. “No, no, please—” But she ignored his pleas; she didn’t even hear them. It was like she was possessed, her body moving to another’s will. Far in the back of her mind, part of her was screaming, beating against walls made of glass, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t control herself. All she wanted was the blood. All she could smell was the blood. She wanted to tear him apart.
Chapter 14
Sparrow launched herself at the human. Sick joy clashed with misery. Half of her wanted this, the other was screaming in denial. She gripped him tight, her claws cutting into his skin, releasing the delicious scent of blood into the air. She couldn’t stop herself. Her fangs ached and she stretched her jaw wide, lunging for his neck.
Before she could connect, a thick forearm was shoved between them, wrapping around her throat and dragging her back with a solid inexorable force. Sparrow was lost to bloodlust. She didn’t understand what was happening. All she knew was that her blood bag was getting away. She tore at the body restraining her, kicking out and scraping her claws down his arms, snarling, wordless and mad, her entire mind lost to need and hunger. She needed blood, and whoever it was that held her back had to be destroyed. The madness rose up and closed around her head like waves of a cold ocean. She was drowning, drowning in the need, and she couldn’t find her way back to sanity.
Her connection with her body was dulled, the outside word world muted. She caught the sound of the person holding her shouting for the human to run. She struggled and raved as the scent of blood gradually faded around her, but even that wasn’t enough to bring her back to consciousness. The person holding her spoke in her ear, their voice a low rumble. Sparrow couldn’t understand the words. She was frantic, violent with need, but somehow, slowly, the tone of voice got through to her. It was gentle, soft, the same tone you might use on a wild animal as you coaxed it closer. Something deep inside her chest was soothed by the voice, something in her recognized it, and a tiny shred of control asserted itself over her mad need.
She felt a cold flicker, an insistent push on the barriers of her mind. Ignore the voice. Push off the person who had her and rush after the human. Tear through him and kill the next one, and the next… The orders came thick and fast, cold and implacable, but weaker, not as strong as that calm voice that kept speaking in her ear, giving her strength. Enough strength to push back against the insistent hunger, enough to turn away from the glare that was splintering and cracking through her mind. She fell back into the embrace, welcomed into shadowy, familiar darkness, and Sparrow’s mind broke free. She knew where she was, she knew who she was, more than the hunger riding her. She knew who was standing behind her, holding her tight in his embrace, not letting her go, not giving up on her but giving her the chance to come back to herself. She choked, sobbed, and then dissolved into tears as the full meaning of what she had been about to do became clear.
Jacob’s grip on her arms turned from restraining to comforting and he gathered her up close, whispering soothing nothings into the curve of her neck as she shook and shattered and br
oke against him.
“You’re okay,” he said. “You didn’t do it. You didn’t hurt him.”
Sparrow turned in Jacob’s arms. “I could have,” she said, staring up at him and blinking away tears, too caught up in the terror of what she had almost done to truly realize she was pressed fully against him.
“But you didn’t,” he said. “Nothing happened.”
“I don’t understand,” Sparrow said. “The hunger, it was like I wasn’t myself, like I was…” A puppet. Terror yawned within her. No, that couldn’t be right. She wasn’t being controlled. She refused to believe it. No, it was bloodlust, craving. Just the blood.
“How did you bring me back?” she asked. “I could hear you, feel you. You brought me back, I don’t understand.” She had felt him in her mind and every part of her body.
“I can explain,” Jacob said, “but not here. Come back to the Sanctuary.”
“No.” Sparrow pushed away from his chest, but the firm bracket of his arms would not shift and she subsided, secretly welcoming the fact that he didn’t let her go. “With the bloodlust, I’m a danger to the vassals.”
“I won’t let you hurt them,” Jacob said, raising his hand to her shoulder and staring into her eyes. “Trust me, if you cannot trust yourself.”
God, she wanted to. The thought of trusting someone to look out for her, to keep her safe even from herself was almost overwhelming. “But why?” she asked. “Why would you do it for me? Why do you even care?”
What was he keeping from her? What secret? She shifted again, wriggling in his grip, accidentally pressing herself against him, and his eyes darkened, a hunger focused not on blood but on her, her body. His hand tightened and pressed for a second against the old healing wound on her neck. She flinched back.
