by Helen Harper
He glances at the lit window of Fingertips and Frolics. ‘I know you don’t like this,’ he says, ‘but you can’t change it. There’s no way back. It’s time you stopped trying to find an escape route and started facing facts.’
I look him in the eye. ‘That’s easy for you to say. I never wanted this.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ he snaps. A muscle throbs in his jaw. ‘I’m sorry. There are only so many times I can say that, though. What’s done is done. Sooner or later you’ll realise that being a vampire isn’t so bad.’
‘I doubt that,’ I scoff.
‘Bo,’ his voice softens, ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I feel responsible for what happened to you.’
‘You are responsible.’
He sighs. ‘Fine. I’m responsible. Feel free to blame me as much as you want. But you can’t keep leaving the mansion. The rules are in place for a reason. Right now, you’re still too vulnerable to be outside.’
I don’t want to keep arguing with him but I just can’t help it. This is too important. ‘I wasn’t doing anything dangerous.’
‘How do you know? Anything could have happened! Anyone could have been in that shop!’ Frustration crosses his face. ‘I don’t want to see you getting hurt.’
Despite feeling oddly warmed by his words, I don’t veer off track. ‘I can look after myself,’ I tell him.
‘You’re part of the Montserrat Family now. That makes you my responsibility.’
‘I’m not a child.’
He looks at me steadily, then gives a short, sharp laugh. ‘No. You’re definitely not that.’
There’s something in his eyes that makes my stomach squirm. I tell myself that we have a special connection because he’s the one who turned me. In these modern times, would-be recruits are usually injected directly into their veins with a combination of vampire blood. To make it easier for me to not drink for the full lunar month following my initial turning, so that I could become Sanguine and be more human than bloodguzzler, I drank Michael’s blood directly. Clearly, it didn’t make much difference in the end.
I put my hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make your life more difficult. I’m really not. I just…’ My voice trails away.
‘Bo,’ he sighs again. ‘I get it. I do. But you can’t do this.’ He reaches out and pulls the feather away from my ear, twirling it in the palm of his hand. Then he changes the subject. ‘This is pretty.’
‘Not pretty enough to warrant the cost.’
His eyes narrow for the briefest second. ‘Where did you get money from?’ He holds up his hands. ‘On second thoughts, I don’t want to know. The last thing I need is to have to discipline someone else.’ He tucks the feather back behind my ear, his fingers brushing against my skin. ‘How about a compromise?’
I stare at him warily. ‘Go on.’
‘You’re not going to find a cure. If such a thing existed we would already know about it.’ I open my mouth to speak but he places a finger against my lips. ‘However,’ he continues, ‘your case is a special one. Because you didn’t want to be recruited and you agreed at my urging, I can afford to treat you differently without receiving too much flack.’
I find it hard to imagine anyone giving Michael Montserrat flack for anything.
‘If you promise not to sneak out again, I’ll take you out once a week.’
I have a sudden vision of us dating. Dinner, dancing, bowling. I shake my head to rid myself of the images. Far too weird. That can’t be what he means.
He looks amused, as if he knows what I’m thinking. ‘I’ll show you how far you can push yourself. What skills you have now that you’re one of us.’ His eyes gleam at me in the darkness. ‘I can show you your real potential.’
One-on-one vampire lessons with the Head of the Montserrat Family? I don’t want to know what amazing skills I have now or what my potential is, but that’s still a hell of an offer.
‘Of course,’ he adds, ‘if you don’t agree, then the only alternative is to lock you up in your room until you see the light. We’ve got plenty of time and I can be a very patient man.’
I’m fairly certain he’s telling the truth – he’d have absolutely no qualms about sealing me inside my tiny bedroom back at the Montserrat mansion until I choose to drink the Kool-Aid and give in.
I push down my rising anger and chew my lip. I know that O’Shea has exhausted every possibility he can think of. My next plan was to visit my grandfather. He has a wealth of knowledge in that crafty head of his. The trouble is, I’m not sure how he’ll react to me not making it to Sanguine. That’s the main reason I’ve put off going to see him up till now. I don’t want to have to deal with his censure as well as my own. I’m scared to think what the look in his eyes in will be. The last conversation I had with him suggested that he understood what I was doing, but that was when there was the chance I could avoid being a real vampire. He bloody well sent Beth after me to help with that. Promising Michael that I’ll stay within the fold might give my grandfather time to come around to what I am now. And it’ll give me time to become brave enough to face him.
I’m not giving up on the chance of finding a cure but I can put it on hold for a while. Just because I’ll be a virtual prisoner doesn’t mean that O’Shea will be. Besides, Michael’s not mentioned my illicit possession of a phone so I’m sure I managed to hide it before he saw it. That means I can contact Rogu3 as well. Perhaps playing docile little fledgling for a while will be a good thing.
Michael’s arms are folded as watches me. ‘Okay,’ I say cautiously, ‘I can promise that for now.’
His mouth tightens, but I swear there’s a sparkle in his eyes. ‘For now?’
I shrug. ‘Best I can do.’
‘Then it’s a deal. I’ll throw in a sweetener and even let you keep that damn phone.’
Before I can say anything, he sticks out his hand and I shake it. His grip tightens until I can’t pull away and my fingers start to feel crushed. He leans in towards me. ‘Don’t break your word, Bo,’ he whispers into my ear. ‘There’s no telling what I’ll do.’
He releases me and I yank back my hand, pain shooting through my fingers. I stare back at him, remembering that he’s not the Head of the Montserrat Family because he’s a nice cuddly guy with good looks and a pretty smile. He’s bloody scary.
Chapter Two: Rooftops
Beth and I are lounging on the sofa in companionable silence when Ursus appears. He gives a good impression of a snarl. With a lazy yawn, she gazes at him. ‘Hi Ursus.’
‘You are supposed to be meeting Ria to go through your latest evaluation.’
Beth checks her watch, an old battered Timex that she never takes off. ‘Oh smeg. Yeah, okay.’ Slowly clambering to her feet, she yawns and stretches her arms high above her head.
‘Get a bloody wriggle on!’ Ursus curses, his expression growing more irate when she takes her time over finding the stilettos that she insists on wearing. Eventually she manages to put them on and flashes him a brilliant smile. ‘Thanks for the reminder, boss!’ she trills, before sauntering away.
I hide my smirk, not moving from my position on the sofa. He jabs a finger in my direction. ‘This is all your fault!’
I blink, a picture of innocence. ‘I didn’t know she had a meeting. I don’t see how it’s my fault.’
‘It’s your attitude,’ he hisses. ‘It rubs off on all the others.’
‘Hmm. My attitude, you say? I’m never late for a meeting.’ It’s true. I can’t abide it when people aren’t punctual so I make a point of always being on time. Or if not on time then early. I just don’t think my time is more valuable than anyone else’s. But that didn’t stop me from enjoying Beth’s little show.
Ursus glares at me. Since the time he and Ria attacked me in the garden of the Montserrat mansion – followed swiftly by me saving the day from psychopathic Nicky – we have fallen into an uneasy truce. I have a bit of a soft spot for the big bear. He tolerates me;
I think he’s wary of the fact that I seem to have a good relationship with Michael and is worried that I’ll blurt out what he did to me. I wouldn’t do that but it’s fun watching him tiptoe around. For all that vampires are supposed to live exciting, glamorous lives, it does get rather dull hanging around the Montserrat mansion as a fledgling. I need to invent my own entertainment if I’m not going to go completely stir crazy. It already feels as if the walls are closing in on me and I’ve barely been here for six weeks. And that’s with sneaking out several times too. Goodness knows how bad things will get when I can’t enjoy any solitary freedom in the outside world.
‘You need to drink before you go out.’
The humour leaches from my face. ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You’ve not had any blood today.’
I gesture towards a bowl of salt and vinegar kettle chips. ‘I’ve been nibbling.’
‘You didn’t drink yesterday either.’
My stomach grumbles, loudly betraying me. Ursus raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.
‘I’ll grab a blood bag on the way out,’ I say, getting up. I try to face up against him but he’s almost two feet taller than I am and considerably wider. Even I know my posturing looks ridiculous.
He shakes his head. ‘That’s not going to cut it, Bo. To have full strength, you need to drink from the vein. You know that. I have no idea why you insist on having this conversation at least once a week.’
He does have an idea ‒ more than an idea. Michael told me that he got together all the Family seniors who are in London to tell them exactly who I was, how I’d ended up as a recruit and what I’d done as a result. Sympathy isn’t exactly Ursus’s thing, though. I prefer it that way: I’m not going to get anywhere by crying on his shoulder. He barks a lot at me for a reason; I do need to drink – I just don’t want to.
‘Fine,’ I grumble, stalking out with him at my heels. ‘You don’t need to come with me though,’ I tell him without bothering to turn round.
‘I wouldn’t want you to get lost on the way.’
I’d laugh but I had tried that a couple of weeks ago. I told Ursus I was going to drink, then somehow got caught up chatting to a few others along the way. He was not impressed when I almost collapsed a few hours later during his latest PowerPoint presentation.
I give in and let him catch up. We trail down the huge staircase and into the one room in the mansion that really gives me the heebie-jeebies. My feet freeze to the floor before I enter. It’s not a conscious act and I hate myself for it. Ursus nudges me in the small of my back and propels me forward. Matt is already there, his blond head curved round the neck of a pale-skinned woman. His minder is by his side, double checking that he doesn’t go too far with his guzzling. Unfortunately Matt doesn’t go anywhere these days without an experienced vampire by his side.
A red-headed guy bounces toward me. He looks impossibly young and my stomach turns. ‘You can have me!’ he says, with far more enthusiasm than should be allowed. He pulls down the collar of his T-shirt to expose his jugular. I shudder.
‘Actually,’ I mutter, ‘your wrist would be better.’ Most vampires go for the jugular; it’s nearer the heart so the blood tastes sweeter. It’s also much more convenient but I hate the intimacy of it. I eye my willing victim. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-two.’
I’m still suspicious. It’s not unheard of for teenagers looking for kicks to pretend to be older than they are so they can become vampettes. The Family is pretty good at sorting out the fake IDs but no system is perfect. ‘Are you sure?’
He blinks, suddenly nervous at my tone. ‘Yeah.’
Ursus lays a hand on my shoulder. ‘Connor is one of our regulars, Bo. He knows what he’s doing.’
I’m not about to give in so easily. ‘Why?’ I ask him, trying to ignore the faint outline of blue veins under his freckled skin. ‘Why do you do this?’
‘I want to.’ He shrugs and looks at me archly. ‘I don’t come here normally‒ I tend to hang around the vampire watering holes. They’re quite friendly and it’s a good way to meet people.’
I can think of easier ways to make friends. Connor is starting to realise I’m more scared than he is and his nerves are disappearing in favour of a bit of attitude. That’s better than fear, I guess.
‘Bo…’ Ursus warns.
‘Okay, okay,’ I snap. I glance at Connor as I bring his wrist to my mouth. ‘I’m sorry about this.’
A dreamy smile crosses his face. ‘I told you. I want to do it.’
The familiar ache rises in my teeth as my fangs elongate. Nell tells me repeatedly that it’s my gums which hurt as the tooth enamel shifts. I don’t care. The pain feels like it’s in my teeth so that’s what I’m going with. Maybe I should get someone to bring me some Bonjela, in case she’s right. I take a deep breath, push down the nausea rising up from the pit of my stomach then slowly and very, very carefully, sink my teeth into Connor’s flesh.
It’s the initial piercing of the skin that’s the worst. I’m not sure if it’s psychological or not but the sensation of ripping someone apart, even gently, always makes me feel ill. Once I find the vein, however, and the warm sweet blood fills my mouth, everything else starts to fade away. I can’t quite bring myself to suck; instead I just let the blood gush down my throat. It means I don’t drink as much as I probably should before the healing properties of my bloodguzzling saliva close up the wound but I get enough.
When Connor’s blood slows to a trickle, I pull away. I concentrate on not stepping backwards and throwing up. If this young bloke is going to offer himself as a vampette for my delectation then I’m not going to waste any of his precious blood. It would be insulting to him and – worse – Ursus would make me drink all over again. I breathe deeply, then paste on a smile. ‘Thank you, Connor.’
He opens his eyes. ‘That was great. You were very gentle.’
I scan his face. He seems to be telling the truth. I’ll never understand what drives people like him to wander off the street to donate blood to vampires but I have to respect his choice. I bob my head in acknowledgment then, slowly and without too many jerky movements, leave.
Michael is outside, standing next to two others. His head is inclined towards a female vampire who looks about twenty but who I know for a fact is closer to the ripe old age of ninety-five. She smiles briefly in my direction and departs. Then he turns to me.
‘This is Patrick Jones.’ He gestures at his remaining companion. I realise with surprise that he’s an Agathos daemon. ‘He’s a barrister who occasionally helps us out.’
I’m puzzled. I thought the Montserrat Family had in-house lawyers. I give Patrick a quick smile in greeting.
‘Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,’ he says.
Michael stiffens, making me wonder what’s been said. My eyes narrow.
The lawyer hands me a card, shiny and embossed with gold letters: Patrick Jones. Employment Law. Vampire Recruitment Law. Advocate with the Agathos courts. There’s a phone number. ‘Thanks,’ I mutter, stuffing it in my back pocket.
Patrick bows in my direction then shakes Michael’s hand before going to speak to Ursus. I wonder why he’s here. There’s a lot going on in the underbelly of the Montserrat Family that we fledglings aren’t party to.
‘You’re looking, um, casual,’ I say, turning to Michael. He’s wearing a pair of jogging bottoms and a tight-fitting T-shirt in the midnight blue colour that signifies Montserrat. I try not to notice how well it clings to his body.
I receive a grin in return. ‘We’re going to do some exercise.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
‘It’ll help you work out some of that tension.’
‘I’m perfectly relaxed,’ I lie.
‘If you say so.’ He glances towards the large oak front doors. ‘The sun went down about an hour ago so we’re good to go.’
Michael walks out and I trail after him. I wish I was strong enough to go out during the day; I’m su
re some sun would help me feel better. Unfortunately, I won’t be in a position to do that for at least another year and a half, maybe longer. The thought is incredibly depressing. Still, as soon as I’m outside in the brisk night air, I suck a deep breath far into my lungs. It’s good to be allowed out without having to keep looking over my shoulder, even if I’m under escort.
‘I hear you like feeling power between your thighs?’
I blink. ‘Er, what?’
Michael grins and gestures in front of him. Ursus’s gleaming motorbike sits at the edge of the road. I can’t help smiling.
‘Here,’ he says, throwing me a helmet.
I catch it and look down, frowning. Michael is already clambering on the bike.
‘Why don’t you have a helmet?’
‘Because I’m a stronger and older vampire whose skull won’t be bashed in if we crash,’ he replies patiently.
I open my mouth to retort, then think better of it and jam on the helmet. So far, I’ve yet to come across any advantages to being a bloodguzzler.
‘Can’t I drive?’
‘You don’t know where we’re going.’
I can’t argue with that. Maybe I should stop being so truculent. If I continue to bicker about every little thing, he may rescind my little bit of freedom. I need to be smarter and pick my battles.
I climb on behind him. It’s a long time since I’ve ridden pillion and being this close to the Lord of all the Montserrat vampires makes me nervous. Rather than putting my arms round his waist, I grab the handholds behind my hips. Michael tuts and pulls my hands around his middle. ‘Don’t play coy,’ he tells me, ‘it doesn’t suit you.’
Before I can reply, he guns the engine and takes off, accelerating down the long street with the large houses on one side and the leafy shadows of Hyde Park on the other. He’s a remarkably adept driver. It’s still fairly early and we’re in central London so there’s a fair amount of traffic but Michael weaves in and out of the cars with ease and speed. It turns out that Lord Montserrat is actually a bit of an adrenaline junkie. As I gain confidence in his skills, I relax against him and pay attention to where we’re going.
