I grimace, but stand up any way, taking the box and opening it on one of the counters. Inside is a lovely but deeply old-fashioned dress. I don't know enough about historical fashion to tell if it's baroque or regency or whatever but I know I've seen things like it in classical portraiture.
"It's for The Provokar! Prince Nikolai has requested you try it on," the delivery boy says cheerfully. "And accompany me back to his home where he can have a proper fitting done."
I look up from the box with a frown of disbelief.
"You’re joking right? I'm not wearing this," I say flatly, to the delivery boy's dismay. "How in the hell am I supposed to compete wearing something like this? It's got like six layers and probably needs a hoop skirt."
"It's traditional," the delivery boy insists. "Every lady in dispute-"
"Yeah but I'm not just the lady in dispute," I point out, annoyed. "I'm also a competitor. And also, fuck tradition!"
"But Prince Nikolai said-"
"Oh, right," I stop him, holding up a hand. "I forgot. Fuck Prince Nikolai, too. Goodbye." I shove the box at him, making him stumble back.
I return to my seat, picking up my book again, but the delivery boy is persistent.
"Please, miss," he insists. "Prince Nikolai acknowledged that you would probably... not be amenable to returning to him for a fitting. He requested that if you would not agree, then to at least try it on and report to me any alterations that need to be made."
"There don't need to be any alterations," I say without looking up from my book. "Because I'm not going to wear it. Ever. You can bring it back to him and tell him I said so."
"But miss!" The delivery boy is distraught, clutching the box like a child. "It's a gift!" He leans closer, speaking in a conspiratorial hiss. "He is trying to be nice!"
"He is failing," I say, giving the delivery boy a look that makes him quickly move out of my personal space. "I'll be wearing whatever I think gives me the best chance of victory. If Nikolai actually wants to give me a gift, he can withdraw from the contest and save me the trouble of wiping the floor with him."
"I will... inform him of your decision," the delivery boy concedes, looking like the idea is giving him hives. I don't envy him breaking the bad news to Niko. "But if you're going to reject a gift, you should at least do it in person."
Before the delivery boy can test my patience any further, someone else pushes through the lab door, not bothering to knock. I suppress a groan as I recognize Arsen's ex. Just who I didn’t want to see.
"Evening, Claudette," I say, trying not to sound as unenthusiastic as I feel. "Here to call me an idiot for trying to compete in The Provokar?"
"Oh, not at all," Claudette scoffs, leaning on the counter and inspecting her nails. "I think it's a fantastic idea. Please get yourself killed in a dim-witted attempt to avoid the inevitable."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say, trying not to roll my eyes as I put my book aside, giving up. "What can I help you with?" I glance away as my phone buzzes on the counter. A text from Jackson. I swipe it away, ignoring it for now.
"Actually, I'm here to help you," Claudette replies, turning to face me with a practiced toss of her hair.
"Pardon me, miss," the delivery boy interrupts. "If I could just finish my conversation with the lady-"
"Well aren't you cute," Claudette cuts him off, looking him up and down appraisingly. "Are you Baetal? What are you doing here little guy?"
The delivery boy takes being called a 'little guy' like he deals with it often enough to not acknowledge it.
"I'm making a delivery," he replies tersely. "On behalf of Prince Nikolai. A dress for Miss Sasha, for The Provokar."
"Ooh, let me see!" Claudette doesn't wait for permission before pulling the box out of his arms and unfolding the dress. She holds it up with coos of admiration, examining the fabric and embroidery with clear appreciation.
"Oh this is gorgeous!" she says. "Traditional but still fashionable. Who designed this?"
"Prince Nikolai's personal-" the delivery boy attempts to answer and Claudette waves him off.
"Don't tell me, I don't actually care." She turns to me, holding the dress up to herself. "Are you keeping this? Can I have it?"
I open my arms invitingly. "Be my guest." I hope you trip coming down the stairs while you’re wearing it. I smile at the thought.
Claudette squeals with delight, bouncing in place for a moment, before returning to admiring the beadwork.
"There," I say to the delivery boy. "Your package has been accepted, so there's no need for me to go anywhere. You can tell Nikolai that I loved it, and that it will look wonderful on Claudette."
"Thank you," Claudette says with a coquettish grin at the delivery boy.
"Hey," I say as the despondent delivery guy starts to turn away. "Tell him if he wants to get pissy about it, he can take it out on me during The Provokar. Don't let him blame you."
"Yes, miss," the delivery guy mutters, looking like he doubts it will be that easy. Claudette waits for him to shuffle out before she sets the dress down again. In the brief silence I realize one of my timers has been going off for a while.
"Now back to business," Claudette says, hopping up onto the counter. "I've got a deal for you."
"I'm listening," I reply, turning off my timer and checking on the centrifuge. "Damn it. You made me over cook my proteins."
"There are more important things to worry about than your dumb amoebas or whatever," Claudette says impatiently.
"Not really," I say. "I mean, I am working on a cure for the vampire version of the plague. That's pretty important."
"As important as your personal future and potentially your life?" Claudette counters. I grunt, the closest I'll come to conceding that she has a point. "I can give you some information that could make winning this a lot easier on you."
"What's that?" I ask, frowning, as I transfer the protein from the centrifuge onto a slide. I'm only half paying attention at this point. There's no way Claudette of all people is going to be genuinely helpful.
"I can tell you what Arsen is going to choose for the first contest."
I freeze, then carefully push my slides away, folding my hands in my lap and giving her my full attention. "I’m listening… What's the catch?"
"Nothing you didn't want to do already," Claudette says with a little shrug. "I tell you this and, if you win, you don't pick Arsen. You don't pick clan Draugur. I don't care if you go back to Prince Fancy-Pants or stay a free agent or join the circus. Whatever. You just don't stay here. Capisce?"
"Yeah, makes sense," I say. "Too bad I'm never going to agree to it. I may not want to be bound to Arsen forever but that doesn't mean I'm just going to drop him and the Draugur and never look back when I win."
"So, what, you're just going to string him along?" Claudette asks, her lip curling with disdain.
“No!” I say, too defensively to sound convincing. My cheeks heat in frustration. “I mean, that’s not what I’m trying to do. I want to be with him I just… I’m just not ready for that kind of commitment! Jesus, I just met the guy. And forever is a long time.”
Claudette gives me a strange look as I run my hands over my burning face, apparently caught off guard by my sudden vulnerability. I didn’t mean to blurt that out, but it’s too late now. Word vomit is clearly a sickness vampires aren’t immune to.
“This whole thing,” I confess, even as I tell myself I’m an idiot for confiding in Claudette of all people, “it’s just too fast. Being bitten, finding out vampires are real, the plague, the cure, this stupid fucking challenge- It’s too much! How am I supposed to know whether I really have something with him, or if it’s just the stressful situation or like, vampire blood or whatever?”
Claudette watches me as I push my hair back, trying to get my nerves under control. I’ve had too much coffee. I’m practically shaking. Or maybe it’s twitching.
“Listen,” Claudette says, without her usual catty tone. “You don’t want Arsen. B
ecause Arsen doesn’t really want you. Not the way you want him to.”
I laugh a little at that, nerves making it too sharp, as I remember his mouth on me a few hours ago.
“I’m pretty sure he does.”
“No, listen,” Claudette insists. “He’s a user. He’s really good at it. He can be charming as fuck when he wants to be. He makes you feel like you’re the most important thing in the world. But once he’s got what he wants from you, or when something better comes along, he will drop you in a hot second. Exactly the same way he did to me.”
That does make me pause for a moment, but I shake it off.
“Arsen wouldn’t do that,” I insist. “He’s been nothing but kind to me.”
“Yeah, he was real kind to me too,” Claudette laughs mirthlessly. “Until you showed up. He was kind to the girl before me, too. His kindness only extends to the people he needs something from. Once he’s got what he wants or he decides he wants something else, that kindness goes away real fast. Girls love thinking the way he treats other people is a front to cover the soft side he only shows to them. That they’re the only ones who know his true self. If they had half a brain they’d realize who he is in ninety percent of situations is his true self. The personality he only puts on when the two of you are alone? That’s the act.”
I fidget with my microscope, trying to ignore the ring of truth in what she’s saying. She’s probably just trying to get inside my head. It’s not like she hasn’t had centuries to perfect her act.
“If he’s so awful,” I point out, deflecting, “then why are you so determined to get him back?”
Claudette laughs, a brief, harsh sound, and crosses her arms over her chest.
“I’ve made my choices when it comes to Arsen. Besides, I know how to handle users. It’s healthy relationships I can’t deal with.”
Yeah, I could see that. She’s clearly got issues.
She gives me one of her trademark nasty smiles, but it’s touched with too much bitterness to quite reach her eyes. I’d almost feel bad for her, if I wasn’t still pretty sure she’s messing with me.
“I’m sorry. But Arsen has given me way more reason to trust him than you have.” Despite his flaws, and his rash decisions on my behalf, he’s done nothing to lose my trust. I don’t necessarily agree with all of his actions, but I understand why he did them. I see the logic in it. Claudette helping me out of the goodness of her heart? I can’t find any logic in that.
“You already have your doubts,” Claudette points out, looking a little desperate. “You said so yourself! If you were sure you had something real with him, you wouldn’t be risking your life to avoid being with him.”
I turn my back on her to avoid admitting she has a point, focusing on arranging my slides on the table, labeling each one.
“Listen,” Claudette says, leaning on the counter next to me. “You’ve got all the time in the world, right? So I won’t even ask you to give up on Arsen forever. Just, if you win, don’t choose him right away. Leave for a while, get some distance, and see if you don’t find something better. Isn’t that what you want anyway?”
She’s manipulating me. I know she is. Unfortunately she’s also right. I don’t want to give up on Arsen. Not even temporarily. But if I lose this fight I might be forced to anyway. I can’t afford to lose.
I turn her offer over in my mind, chewing my lip, and finally give up.
“Fine,” I say. “Tell me.”
“A foot race,” Claudette says at once.
“Really?” That catches me off guard. Arsen never struck me as a runner. Let alone particularly fast. “And you know this how?”
“Never mind that.” She waves me off. “He’s taking advantage of the fact that you and Niko are both Baetal,” Claudette explains. “He can use his Draugur powers to throw obstacles in your way that you won’t be able to turn back on him. If he decides to be particularly ruthless, it’s also an opportunity to take Niko out in the first round.”
I turn a little pale, realizing she’s right. “I thought they couldn’t kill each other until the third round.”
Claudette shrugs. “It’s happened before. It’s all about the semantics and the judge’s discretion of course.”
Oh sure, up to judge’s discretion, and I’m sure a gained IOU for ruling in Arsen’s favor. But what Arsen doesn’t know is I competed in track and field all through high school. This is a challenge I can definitely win.
“Thank you, Claudette,” I say, surprised by how much I mean it.
“Don’t mention it,” Claudette says casually, sliding off the counter. “Seriously. Don’t tell anyone I told you. I’ve got a reputation to maintain here.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Your secret is safe with me,” I promise her.
“You’d better get practicing,” Claudette says, scooping up the dress and heading for the door. “You’ve only got three days before The Provokar begins.” She waves a hand over her shoulder as she leaves in a dramatic flourish.
I contemplate that as I return to my microscope. I haven’t done any competitive running in a while. I definitely need to spend some time on the track, but not let Arsen know that I know his plan. And I’ve got to figure out my own challenge and make sure I’m prepared for it.
Finally I’ve got to prepare for the duel, which could not only determine the result of the whole challenge but was also the contest most likely to end up with someone dead.
I stare blankly at my microscope and realize I have one other thing on my plate. Finding the cure. I look at the slide on carefully, checking and double checking what I’m seeing. I’ve successfully isolated the protein in my blood that I think is responsible for curing the disease afflicting the vampires.
If I can reproduce that, I may be able to develop a vaccine or, if I’m lucky, a real cure.
Hopefully before anyone loses their head in these ridiculous games.
Chapter 15
The next three days were a flurry of activity all over the compound as the court prepared for The Provokar. From what I read, most Provokar challenges were pretty informal affairs other than that one stretch of five hundred years or so. The competitor’s close friends, family, and sires and anyone who was bored that day might show up to watch them duke it out.
But because both Niko and Arsen are princes and Arsen is so well respected among the Draugur this was being treated as a major event. It was the first time in a while that a Provokar had this much political significance apparently, so they were pulling out all the stops.
Everything was being cleaned and decorated and a massive feast was being orchestrated, including not just the finest of human cuisine but apparently someone in the court had tapped their 'reserves.' I wasn't surprised to find out that some of the higher members of the court had little farms and villages where they discreetly raised humans as livestock. That seemed pretty par for the course. I was not only appalled but surprised by the artisanal farm-to-table approach they seemed to take.
A few of them were all too eager to gush about how they paid for their humans to be raised in complete comfort, fed incredibly precise luxury diets to keep them in peak health and flavor.
Apparently, most of the humans being farmed this way didn't even know what they were being used for. They lived in small communities in the middle of nowhere where their every need was seen to by a mysterious benefactor, with the only caveat being that they donated blood once or twice a month. And occasionally, for special events, a well-aged human or three nearing the end of their ability to donate quality blood would be quietly escorted out of town, never to return. Talk about the perfect plot for a Hollywood horror story.
I listened in quiet horror as the courtier in question explained how the chosen humans were treated to a night of celebration in which they were encouraged to gorge themselves on whatever would make their blood taste the sweetest. After which a coma would be painlessly and humanely induced through an herbal tea and the comatose humans would be served up on th
e banquet tables.
Their dedication to preventing any undue suffering is... admirable, I guess. But I think it'll be a few centuries at least before I'm that callous about human life. Maybe eating 'free range' isn't all that different, but it feels less cruel to me than the courtier excitedly talking about his attempts to perfect 'century humans' who could be reliably aged to a hundred years before consumption.
One of these guys has apparently been feeding exclusively off the same village in the Balkans for several thousand years and claims no other blood has the same depth of flavor. Good for them, I guess.
While all this bustle is going on, I've been running back and forth between the lab, the library, and the gym. And I do mean running. I only have three days to get back into shape for the race of my life. I'm not walking anywhere if I can help it. In-between laps, I'm studying previous Provokar and trying to decide the best plan of attack for my own challenge and setting up my ongoing experiments with the protein I found. It shows real promise for a cure. Too bad I can't focus on it because of this bullshit game. When I get in the arena with Niko I'm going to wring his stupid neck for this.
When I do bother to rest, which isn't often, Arsen is there, frequently with water and an ice pack. We're carefully avoiding asking each other what either of us is up to. He knows I'm not pulling out of the contest, obviously, but he isn't pressuring me to drop out anymore. Maybe he's just that sure that he'll win. Well, he's going to be in for a rude awakening come the day of the contest I can tell you that much. At least he's easy to distract with sex. And it's nice for me too, not having to think about anything for a few hours.
The day arrives too soon and I feel vastly underprepared. It's like trying to crunch for an exam you had no idea you'd be taking. I can't even be 100% sure I studied the right subjects.
Before The Provokar begins we gather in the banquet hall where hors d'oeuvres and plasma cocktails are circulating. I snatch one of the cocktails for myself as soon as possible. Everyone is decked out for a formal event. Most of the women, including Claudette, are dressed in the same traditional style as the gown I'd refused. I stand out like a sore thumb in leather pants and a tight, strappy top that, in addition to looking fantastic, will also allow me maximum range of motion in the arena. My hair, tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail, is similarly practical. I can feel the disapproving stares from every other vampire in attendance. Tradition really does mean a lot to these assholes.
Girl, Bitten Page 11
