by Annika James
They both chuckled, thoroughly enjoying annoying me. Bastards.
“We’re just trying to get in the mood, ladies,” Matt said, grinning at me in the rearview mirror. I stuck my tongue out at his reflection. He’d been teasing me since Thursday.
Steven settled on a song with a hard hip-hop beat, the bass vibrating though Matt’s car, mimicking a cheesy movie soundtrack as we pulled up to Conor’s house.
House—it was a damn mansion—the thing had different wings. I wondered if they had a “west wing.” It sat regally at the top of a long curving driveway, all sprawled out and lit up. Cars were parked everywhere along the drive, as well as on both sides of the street. Matt pulled in behind a red truck a little ways down the block and we began the short hike to the front door.
I was nervous and excited all rolled into one. Nervous to see Conor, but excited to see him also. Go figure. I pondered what he’d meant by his strange actions in the hallway the other day. Of course, he could have just been messing with me and it hadn’t meant anything. Yet here I was, stomach tied in knots of anticipation, all the same.
We entered into a large foyer with marble flooring and elaborate crystal light fixtures. Dark wood trim framed everything, including the huge, winding staircase. People milled in and out through the hallways leading every which way off the foyer. Wow, old money, I guess.
Matt obviously knew where he was going and led us down a wooden-floored hallway that opened into a huge kitchen. The floor in here was marble, but everything else was sleek and modern. Stainless steel appliances ringed the room, mixed in with granite countertops and smooth, silver cabinets. A large island sat in the middle of the kitchen, steel-topped, surrounded by black and metal chairs.
It was obvious the main action of the party was elsewhere in this huge place. I could hear a distant thumping of bass, not close enough to distinguish the song. Matt approached the bottle-covered island and mixed a couple blood cocktails for Cora and Steven, dispensing a thick, red liquid from one of two crystal decanters complete with spigots, and mixing it with what looked like rum.
I tried not to think about where the blood came from. I hoped they’d been willing donors. It was most definitely human—the old families only drank human blood—no animal blood for their rich tastes. Matt and the others would probably still get some human to offer up their vein later in the night, however. Warm and fresh was always best, so I was told.
For me, Matt held a cup under the other dispenser and filled it with a pink punch. I’m sure it was potent, the vamps liked to keep their human guests with as few inhibitions as possible, the more likely they would agree to donating blood for the night. I wasn’t planning on donating, so I’d have to be careful how much I drank. Just in case someone took me unawares.
I took a sip of punch and let the sweetness linger on my tongue before swallowing. It almost didn’t taste alcoholic; however the aftertaste spoke to its potency. I would have to drink slowly, and not have more than a couple.
A doorway off the kitchen led to a dark stairway punctuated with flashing lights. The bass beats grew stronger, and as we descended, they became almost deafening. It was like walking into an underground dance club. As the room opened up, I saw a mass of people dancing. Goddess! How many people were here? Probably at least a hundred. I blanched a little at the scene of writhing bodies squashed together in the dark. Several closed doors led off the main dance floor room. Those must be where the vampires would take their willing donors. Vamps liked to treat their food well, and sometimes the volunteers got a good make-out session out of the deal. Sometimes, more like almost always.
Matt had explained the process to me once. He would flirt with a girl to let her know he was of the vamp variety. Eventually, he would get around to asking if she wanted to donate blood. He used those words: ‘donate blood.’ Why didn’t he just say “Can I bite you?” The willing donor never felt pain because vamp mind tricks mixed with their saliva made it feel good to get bitten. When he was done—he never took very much and only needed to bite someone once a week—he’d lick the bite marks and the wounds quickly healed. I’d love to have magic spit, too.
In the pulsing darkness, I found Cora’s hand in front of me and squeezed. She paused, looking back at me.
“You okay?” Her words got lost in the music, but I read her lips just fine.
I swallowed, looking again at all the gyrating bodies. Every claustrophobic cell in my body screamed for me to get out of there. Not only was I feeling trapped, but I’d just willingly walked into a crowded basement full of vamps. I could do this. I gave her a nod and tried for a smile. I think I almost succeeded.
We made our way deeper into the throng. Around the edge of the dancers, couples and small groups sat on couches, making out, or more. Every so often I saw a vamp lead someone into one of the rooms, closing the door behind them. Getting bitten didn’t hurt, if the vamp didn’t want it to. I heard it could feel amazing; it only hurt for me because I hadn’t been willing. They weren’t supposed to do it without permission, but not all vamps cared about rules.
I knew they didn’t take enough blood to do any damage. It still reduced one to food, which just kind of wigged me out. This was my first big, feeding party and I was suddenly super nervous. Usually the humans who came were willing to get bitten. I was not one of those humans. Steven disappeared into the mass of bodies. Matt paused and looked back at us. I hadn’t realized I hesitated at the threshold of the gyrating bodies.
He leaned in and spoke into my ear, close enough I could smell his cologne, different from Conor’s—Matt’s was lighter, a fresh scent. “We can go back upstairs, Ash,” he suggested, blue eyes sympathetic. He dressed comfortably tonight, just a T-shirt and jeans. I wanted to have fun. I wanted my friends to have fun. And I really wanted to see Conor. So, I shook my head.
“Just don’t leave me alone. I’m good.” I forced a brave smile and took another drink. Liquid courage. I knew he had no problem understanding me, with his vamp hearing. Matt nodded and grinned at me. Cora gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, and we plunged farther ahead into the dancing crowd.
We danced and drank, and danced some more. Either Cora or Matt was always at my side, allowing me to relax and have fun. As long as they were by me, I could forget about all the other vamps in the room. Steven found us and he and Cora got cozy on the dance floor. Matt picked a human girl to dance with and I think he was working up the courage to ask her if she’d go to one of those rooms with him. She looked willing enough, practically wrapped around him as they slow danced to a fast song. Was Megan completely out of the picture?
Matt was a cutie. His big blue eyes framed by thick, black lashes made him look all innocent. His sandy brown hair was shaggy, like he didn’t really do much with it, which just added to his cuteness. He had a square jaw, high cheekbones covered in freckles, and a smile that promised mischief. He never experienced any problems getting girls to donate for him.
He didn’t seem to date much. Lately, I hadn’t seen much of him, period, except at school. Matt always said the problem with dating a non-vamp was you couldn’t bite them regularly unless you wanted them as a familiar. Most vamps our age weren’t ready for that kind of commitment. Then there was the inevitable jealousy when the vamp went elsewhere for donors.
Part of the purpose of these types of parties was a chance for the vamps to get blood straight from the source. Most humans who came to the parties were aware of what they were getting themselves into and were willing to give it up. By showing up with other vamps, I telegraphed the message that I was available that night. Looked like my escorts were going to be leaving me for the moment, though.
Matt whispered into the girl’s ear and she nodded, rubbing her hands up and down his arms and tilting her head so her neck was exposed near his mouth. Matt’s Adam’s apple bobbed with a visible swallow. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. When he opened his eyes, they were practically glowing. He leaned over to me.
“I’ll be back. W
ill you be okay?” Even in the midst of his blood thirst, he thought of me. Was I so pathetic? I glanced at Cora, otherwise occupied with Steven, then down at my empty cup, and then back at Matt and nodded.
“Yeah. I’ll just go get another drink.” I hoped I sounded braver than I felt. He squeezed my shoulder and smiled, the girl tugging on his other arm.
“Meet you back here.” He turned and went with her into the mass of people. I moved in the other direction, pushing my way through until I popped out of the dancing crowd. The air lightened and I instantly felt cooler and more clear-headed. I made my way upstairs, enjoying being able to breathe easier.
Chapter Three
In the empty kitchen, I refilled my cup. Not wanting to return immediately to the suffocating basement, I took a little self-guided tour. I hadn’t seen Conor yet, and didn’t really want to imagine what he and Victoria were doing in a dark room.
I wandered down a long hallway full of closed doors. Here and there, a painting hung in an ornate frame, or a small, fancy table adorned with a vase sat along the wall. It felt like I was in a museum. All the decorations seemed old, and I didn’t want to touch anything, in fear of breaking it.
I found an open door and walked into a large, cozy room. Bookshelves lined the walls. They stretched from floor to ceiling, and even had those ladders on wheels to help one reach the top shelves. I gasped. It was beautiful. So many books, of every size. Some looked old with leather bindings, and some were obviously newer. A fire crackled warmly in the stone fireplace, giving off an orange glow. Two large, leather chairs sat on either side of a chess board. It was such a cliché and I loved it.
I set my drink on a small end table. In awe, I approached a bookcase and ran my fingers along the spines of the books, reading the titles. My fingers itched to pull them out and read them, smell the pages, ingest the words.
“You like books?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I got halfway around before I blanched and froze, mouth dropping open. Conor walked farther into the room, right at me, a half-smile lingering on his lips, making my knees swiftly turn to mush.
He wore soft, black pants and a dark green button-down shirt that had a kind of sheen to it, like silk. He looked amazing, all black and green and smoldering, and standing right in front of me. He gazed at me expectantly. Oh yeah, he’d asked me a question.
“Uh…Yeah. Actually.” I was freaking brilliant. He was a breath away from me, staring down at me with a strange intensity in his green eyes, and he smelled like heaven. I tried not to visibly breathe him in. His lips twisted into another half-smile.
“Read me something,” his voice commanded soft and deep. The shining emerald color of his eyes mesmerized me.
“Um…what?” Had I heard him right? He reached over my head and pulled a book off the shelf. He flipped through the pages and paused, and then handed me the book, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a grin.
“Read for me.” A command again. I tore my eyes away from his and looked at the proffered book. Love poetry? What a total player!
My mind screamed in outrage, but my eyes scanned the page, ready to read. He had probably done this exact scene a hundred times to get girls all pliable and willing to do whatever he wanted. I knew this logically, yet I couldn’t say no to him. I was alone, in a cozy room, with Conor Peterson, and he wanted me to read him Sir Thomas Wyatt’s “Whoso List to Hunt.” We’d read it in English class earlier in the year. It was supposedly about some dude chasing a deer, but in reality, he was chasing after a woman who wasn’t his.
My heart lodged in my throat. As much as I wanted to throw the book in his face and march out of the room, my mouth read the words aloud. I was basically his to command.
I felt like such a wuss and it struck me again why vamp/witch relationships didn’t work well. The power balance was too uneven. Even with my own power base, he still held me powerless to deny him anything. Or did I feel that way because I might be falling in love with him? Such a sucker, and not in the literal sense.
“Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, alas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.”
I recalled so far in the poem, the narrator was looking for love, and he was one of many hunters chasing the ‘deer.’ Was there a specific reason Conor had chosen this poem?
“Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.”
I was grateful for our English teacher, because without having discussed the poem, the archaic language would have me so confused. It really was pretty when you heard it read aloud, and thought about what it meant. The narrator knows his love of the woman is futile, and he knows he must stop chasing her, but he can’t. Kind of like my crush on Conor—futile, yet I persisted. Huh. Over-relate much?
“Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about:
Noli me tangere, for Caesar’s I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.”
There it was, the collar that read “Don’t touch, I belong to someone else.” Conor didn’t wear a collar, but he was still not mine. I wondered not for the first time if he was trying to tell me something. Was he the deer? Or was I? His looming presence unnerved me and my voice started weak and breathy. As I read, it grew stronger, the words sounding almost musical, even to me. I tried not to stumble over the Latin phrase Noli me tangere. I was sort of familiar with the language as it was often in my spells, and knew it translated to “don’t touch me.” Then I was done.
My heart beat wildly. His scent invaded my senses and my skin prickled with warmth. My tongue stuck to the roof of my dry mouth. Why was my drink so far away?
I closed the book and handed it to him, not meeting his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just reached up and replaced the book on the shelf.
I could tell he was still looking down at me. His hand rested on the shelf next to my head and his other hand came up on the other side, trapping me between his arms. I looked up shyly. How many times had I pictured being alone with Conor? It was like a dream, and I was frozen, unsure of what to do, unsure of what he wanted from me. What was he playing at?
He leaned toward me, holding my gaze with his. I forgot how to breathe, how to think. Then his lips touched mine, electricity exploding up and down my body. Soft and gentle, they probed, tasting, testing. I didn’t move to touch him, just remained frozen. There was only the kiss. His mouth moved to my jaw, kissing his way down to my neck. His teeth grazed my skin.
I unfroze and found my voice. “No!” I felt a surge of power push through me.
Conor flew backward across the room. He crashed into a bookcase, sending an avalanche of books over him as he fell to the floor. He slumped there, holding his head, dazed.
He looked up in confusion, mouth opened ready to speak. At that moment, my muscles remembered how to move and I ran for the door. It opened in front of me, not of my power, and Matt appeared. He’d probably felt my surge of power. I hadn’t meant to throw Conor. Panic had overtaken me and I had lost control for an instant.
I flew into Matt’s arms and he embraced me. Matt was my rock. His presence calmed me, it always did. He was like a protective big brother. I knew he understood the whole scene in the seconds before I’d found his arms. I buried my face in the T-shirt pulled tight across his strong chest, and breathed in his scent, a mix of fabric softener and cologne. It was familiarity, it was home, and it helped to center me. I peeked out at Conor. He stepped out of the pile of books and straightened his clothing.
“Is she yours, Matthew? I thought she was unclaimed.” Conor was now being formal. Vamps often add
ressed each other formally, even the teenage ones. He thought I was Matt’s, and to bite me would have been a serious offense to Matt’s family. I was not claimed, nor would I ever be, thank you very much. Matt’s arms tightened around me.
“No. I told you she’s not claimed. Did you try to bite her?” Each word seethed with anger. I had never heard so much menace in Matt’s voice. He trembled ever so slightly. Wasn’t Conor his friend? I felt like there was something else going on here I didn’t quite get.
“I just assumed she’d agree.” Conor’s voice came from right behind me. “I’ve never been turned down before.” His voice wasn’t cocky, not even confident. He stated it like he’d simply said his eyes were green.
“Did you ask her?”
Conor said nothing. Matt must have seen something in Conor’s face, though, because his grip on me tightened, voice outraged. “You didn’t even ask her?” He was furious. I raised my head. There was fire in his eyes, and if looks could kill, Conor would have been so much more than dead.
I turned in Matt’s arms, forcing him to loosen his hold, although he didn’t let go completely. Conor’s brow furrowed, mouth drawn into a tight frown.
“I thought it was what she wanted.” His voice was soft and unsure.
Matt let go to put me behind him, further protecting me. “Ashlinn’s been bitten before. Without permission. Without the aid of making it feel good. Drained. Almost to the point of death.”
I shivered, remembering the night I met Matt. I would never forget the feeling of having life literally sucked out of me, of hovering so close to death. I was so young, at the time I hadn’t really known what was going on. Almost dying, however, would remain embedded in my memory forever. Matt had found me and knew what to do to nurse me back to health. He’d been my protector ever since.
I looked around Matt’s broad back. Conor’s wide-eyed gaze found mine. “I am so sorry, Ashlinn. I offended you. I meant you no harm. I was unaware of your past and thought you were giving me the okay.”
