by Callie Rose
It seems different, somehow, like getting bit by a friend.
Don’t think like that, Mikka, I remind myself angrily.
But before the thought can form into any kind of real command, Connor starts drinking. Silvery pleasure runs through my veins, clouding my head and putting a heavy, warm weight low in my belly. He’s gentle, holding me close, and doesn’t let his hands drift too far. Still, I can feel what this is doing to him, and I have the urge to tease him with my hips, to grind against the hardness of his cock. What’s wrong with me?
I restrain myself from moving too much, but I can’t keep from enjoying it. There’s some kind of magic that goes along with these voluntary feeds; something that makes them less horror and more foreplay. Arousal pulses deep inside me, and I forget about my own directive to keep still, allowing my fingers to drift into his hair.
Time passes at a slow, dreamy rate, and I can’t tell how long it all lasts before he finally withdraws his teeth from my skin. After sliding out, he licks my wounds closed but doesn’t pull away. Not much, anyway. He’s still holding me close, his forehead almost touching mine and his eyes burning.
There’s a bit of my blood on his lip. Without thinking, I run my thumb over it. He catches the tip of my thumb in his mouth, kisses it, and releases it back to me with a slow turn of his head. My clit throbs, my body practically straining toward his as he cages me in against the wall. I want him to do that again. I want him to do a hell of a lot more than that.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I tilt my head up even more, closing the last small bit of space between us as I press my lips to his.
He responds instantly, holding me closer and kissing me back, his mouth hungry and warm. Every move is slow, deliberate, but I can feel the tension in him just below the surface.
He wants me, I realize, and not just for dinner.
When Connor finally breaks the kiss and pulls away, his eyes are bright. The fierce pull inside me that draws me to him against all my better instincts, reflects back at me from his gaze. He chuckles softly, his voice a little rough.
“I don’t usually kiss someone after I feed from them, but… fuck, I really wanted to do that. I’m sure all the guys say this,” he murmurs with a crooked half-smile as he raises my hand to his lips to kiss my knuckles. “But that’s never happened before.”
I open my mouth to say something—but what? My usual snappy comebacks to dudes who feed me lines in bars don’t feel right, not with him standing there looking at me like I’m something precious.
When a few long seconds pass and I don’t say anything, the tension between us begins to build again, as if fed by my silence. Connor’s expression turns more serious and intense, and he starts to lean in again, moving in for another kiss as my heart thunders away inside me.
“May I cut in?”
The voice behind Connor is cool and smooth, deep and precise. Even though I’ve only spoken to him once, I recognize who it is immediately.
Bastian.
Goose bumps prickle across my skin as my breath hitches. Connor’s smile falls, and his shoulders tense as he draws back a little. He clearly wants to tell the prince to fuck off, but the “request” was more of a command, and we all know it. After a long pause, the blond man steps away from me but keeps his gaze fixed to mine.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I get the distinct impression that if I say “no,” he won’t leave. He’s asking if I’m okay with being alone with Bastian, and if I tell him I’m not… would he disobey a direct order from his prince?
I blink, stunned, but nod at him. I don’t know how to feel about the protective look on Connor’s face, and I’m not sure I want to start some shit between these two vampires. Normally, I’d love to watch two bloodsuckers fight it out, but it could only end badly in this case. It could risk blowing my cover, and more than that, I have a feeling Connor wouldn’t last long in a fight against a vampire as powerful and experienced as Bastian.
The thought of watching this sweet, gentle man get his ass kicked makes my stomach twist unpleasantly, even if he is a vampire.
“Yeah. I’m okay,” I manage to say. “Thanks.”
Bastian waits for Connor’s respectful—if terse—nod before taking my arm. Connor hesitates again before reluctantly turning and heading back toward the great hall.
I assume we’re going to follow him, heading back to the revelry and dining, but the prince sweeps me right past the big doors and on down the corridor. Memories of James’s attack rush through me, bringing a sick wave of panic with them. I shut it down quickly, but not fast enough. Bastian cocks an eyebrow at me, then looks away, and I can tell he noticed the change in my demeanor. He doesn’t comment on it, but I’m not sure that’s better—because now I have no idea what he’s thinking.
After guiding me through the corridors with a sure stride, he takes me to a door that I haven’t explored yet. It matches every one of a dozen or more doors on this side of the hallway, and at first, I think it’s just another little sitting room, like the one James dragged me into. But it opens into a narrow hall instead. From what I’ve mapped out in my head, I’d guess this hall cuts right through the heart of the palace.
Another narrow corridor cuts across this one, forming a cross. Ha. How ironic. On the far side of the intersection, there’s an elevator, something I haven’t seen anywhere else in the palace yet. There’s a keypad in place of a call button, but it isn’t made with steel buttons like some older keypads, which sucks. If it were, I might be able to guess the code based on the wear pattern. This one is a touchscreen, which I haven’t learned any tricks for yet.
Bastian stands between me and the screen while he punches the code in. I can’t see what he’s pressing without making it obvious that I’m trying to, so I keep my peace, not wanting to draw suspicion. There will be other chances for me to try to glean the code. Or at least, there better be—because this elevator might be my best chance of getting out of here with Nathan.
A second later, the doors slide open without a sound, and he steps aside, gesturing for me to go in ahead of him. God, I wish he’d say something. I can’t read his face or his body language. It’s a lot harder to make my feet move when I don’t know if I’m stepping into an ambush.
Apart from the metal doors, the elevator is glass. Not that it does me any good right now—there’s nothing to see outside but the concrete shaft—but my heart leaps with excitement anyway. On the off chance that he’s planning to take me above ground, it will show me where I am. And, possibly, a way to get out.
I try to appear perfectly innocent and only vaguely interested as the vampire prince follows me into the elevator and pushes a button. He grants me a small, tight smile, which is the most expressive I’ve seen his face be since he caught me wandering the halls on my first night here.
Shit. That’s probably why he stole me away from Connor. He’s probably taking me away to punish me for wandering around the other night.
I have to suppress a shudder at the thought. I don’t know what vampire punishments look like, but I’m not in a hurry to find out.
My concerns take a back seat as we move higher and the concrete shaft gives way to city lights around us. We’re in the sleek high-rise building that sits atop the vampires’ lair, I realize, and the ambient light spills in through large windows.
Bastian glances at me, watching my expression as I take it all in. “We can’t very well run our legitimate businesses from the underground,” he tells me, his voice smooth as melted butter. “As much as the Elders would prefer it. We have too many of our own kind to take care of to allow ourselves to be surpassed by time and technology.”
“So this building, it’s—?”
“Our base of operations these days,” he says. There’s a touch of nostalgia around his eyes, or maybe I’m imagining it. “Perhaps not as dramatic as the palace below, but just as intimidating.”
I frown. “Why would the Elders prefer to do business from the undergrou
nd?”
He sighs. “Many of them are anchored in the past, I’m afraid. Immortality tends to affect different people differently. Some become obsessed with youth and novelty, desperate to feel as young as they look. Others…” He presses his lips together, his eyes going a little unfocused as if he’s lost in some thought he isn’t sharing. “I believe they are intimidated by progress, and so they fight to keep the world around them working as it did when they first felt power.”
“Oh.” I nod, not quite sure what to say.
A small smile pulls at his lips, making his face look a little less like it’s been carved from stone. “They would prefer, I think, that I dispatch with dishonorable businessmen by beheadings in the throne room. Lawsuits strike them as being tedious and unreliable.”
I fight the chuckle that almost bursts from my lips. The idea of Elon Musk or Bill Gates being called to task in a Victorian-era throne room is just too ridiculous. I mean, probably not Victorian, per se. Bastian can’t possibly be that old.
When the elevator finally stops at the very top, we step out onto the roof and gaze down at the city below. The air is fresh up here, in a way that I’ve never tasted it. I inhale deeply through my nose, closing my eyes to revel in the crisp clean feel of it. Down below, a breath like that would have choked me.
I open my eyes to see Bastian watching me. His expression is stony and inscrutable again, but his storm cloud eyes are warm.
“That’s why I come up here,” he says softly. “I remember when I could walk the streets at night and taste the harbor in the air. Before exhaust fumes filled the world with poison.”
Before exhaust fumes? I can’t remember when cars replaced horses as the way to travel, but I know it wasn’t yesterday. Curious, I narrow my eyes at him. I know I shouldn’t ask, but what the hell. Worst he can do is kill me.
“How old are you?”
Bastian raises a brow, looking surprised, but not necessarily offended.
“Let’s see,” he murmurs, as though he has to calculate it. “As of this year—I am five hundred years old.”
I blink, trying to wrap my head around that. “I never was much good at history in school,” I tell him. “But I’m pretty sure that means you’re older than the US.”
He nods, sighs, and gestures at the city below. “Everything you see around us? I watched it grow. I was here when the underground was on the surface, or just beneath it. I watched this city rise, fall, and rise once more. It’s falling again. I’m sure you see that.”
Awed as I am in the face of that kind of longevity, I can’t help but think that he and his kind are some of the primary reasons why this city is falling. It occurs to me, though, that Bastian might not see it that way. The world seemed so much different to me just fifteen years ago. What would five hundred years do to a man’s perspective?
“What stands out most, in all of your memories?” I ask him, curious in spite of myself.
The prince looks at me strangely, then makes a noise that’s almost a laugh. “You aren’t like most tributes, are you? Not like most people, for that matter.”
“Is there a difference?” I ask with more heat than I intended. “Between people and tributes?”
His lips quirk and his eyes sparkle with something like amusement. “That’s a matter of perspective, I suppose. All chihuahuas are dogs, but not all dogs… you understand.” He surveys the city again, then looks at me with renewed interest.
I’m a little worried. This conversation isn’t going the way I expected it to at all. Part of me thinks I should just drop the subject, but I bring him back around to the question I asked earlier. Even though I’m not sure I actually want to know his answer, I feel compelled to get inside his head a little, if I can. He’s always such an enigma, usually so hard to read, and he’s the man who ostensibly runs this place.
“What do you mean when you say I’m not like most people?” I ask, letting the question of tributes vs. people go for the moment.
He flashes me a quick grin. A few days ago, I would have taken it as a threat. Now there’s an almost human quality to him. My guard is down, I realize a little belatedly. I don’t force it back into place just yet, though. His guard seems to be down a bit as well, and if I clam up, I know he will too.
“Most people—tributes and other vampires—want to know what powers I’ve collected. What strength I have. What villages I’ve conquered, metaphorically and otherwise. You… you ask me about my memories.” His voice softens at the end. He sounds gently pensive and a little sad. I catch myself moving closer to him, subconsciously offering him some kind of comfort with my nearness.
For fuck’s sake. Comforting vampires? First Connor, now Bastian. If I’m not careful, I’ll be comforting Rome next. Or, God forbid, James.
Bastian makes a noise in his throat as he considers my question, drawing my attention back to him. And when he speaks, his answer is nothing like what I expected it would be.
“What I remember most—most vividly and most frequently—is my parents dying,” he murmurs. “They were slaughtered in front of my eyes.”
He gazes out over the city, but his eyes are haunted, watching a scene I can’t see. Remembering every second of their deaths, I’m sure. No matter how long ago it happened, I’m positive he can still recall the exact details.
I take another step toward him in spite of myself. I recognize that look, and the feeling behind it. I know that pain. I live in that pain.
“Who killed them?” I ask softly.
“A vampire hunter.”
I stare at him, stunned, my heart going still in my chest for a moment as I stop breathing.
We’re two sides of the same coin, and only one of us knows it.
For once, Bastian doesn’t seem to notice the small shift in my body as I react to his words. He lives in his memory for a moment more, the pain carving deep lines in his young-looking face.
I’m still struggling to breathe right, struggling to push down the emotions surging inside me. I don’t know what to do with these feelings. I don’t want to get any closer to him, but I can’t pull away.
Soon, though, he sighs and smooths his brow, tucking that pain away into some hidden part of himself. All at once, he’s Prince Bastian again, royal vampire in need of a tribute.
My heart skips a beat as he moves toward me, closing the small distance between us. There are so many different ways this could go. I feel like I experienced both extremes the day that both James and Rome fed on me, and from what I’ve seen, Bastian isn’t a disgusting animal when he drinks the way James is, but my heart still flutters with nerves.
The prince surprises me again though. Instead of going right for my neck, he turns me around so that I’m facing the city. It glitters and gleams as if it has something to offer, but I know better. Still, the view is killer. So is the man currently putting his arms around me, holding me close, cradling my body against his like a lover.
The worst part is, I have trouble remembering that he’s a killer as he brushes the hair off my neck and cradles my head on his shoulder. He doesn’t tease—but he doesn’t gnaw on me the way James did either. He breathes on my neck just enough to warm it, sending a slow heat spreading through my body.
I barely notice when his teeth slide into me, but I recognize the wave of ecstasy that goes along with the bite. I don’t know if it’s his practiced touch or his painful confession, but I’m drawn to him. I press close, resting my back against his chest and reaching up to run my fingers through his hair as my other hand holds his larger one flat against my belly.
His lips move on my throat like violent kisses. I can feel his strength, his control… and a bit of leftover melancholy. I understand that. I can’t talk about my parents without it fucking up my mood for days. Some part of me hopes I didn’t fuck him up by prompting him to recall it, and I tell myself that it’s just because a vampire in a shitty mood is more dangerous than a happy one.
I don’t entirely believe my own excuse though.
There’s a tug in my soul as we stand on the chilly rooftop together, a dangerous, impulsive urge to throw caution to the wind and open up to him the way he opened up to me.
If I were a different person—if he were a different person—I would.
Because the thing I remember most is my parents dying too.
Chapter Sixteen
“God, it’s like high school all over again out there,” Jessica complains a few days later as she flops backward onto my bed. “Winona’s got a whole clique going. They all hate her. They all worship her. It’s gross. Elise is collecting all the short-term girls. She says she’s teaching them how to avoid getting picked, but when I asked her to help me learn, she just laughed.”
I frown. “She laughed?”
Jessica shrugs miserably, twisting her hair around her finger as she stares at the ceiling. “She says there’s nothing she can do for me since I signed such a long-term contract. She says if I had made a point of being able to leave sometime this decade, she could have shown me how to get out of here single, but…”
She trails off, pressing her lips tight together like she’s trying not to cry as she runs a hand through her dark hair.
I turn back to the wardrobe, where I’m re-organizing my borrowed clothes for what feels like the hundredth time. Honestly, I don’t give a shit about the clothes themselves, or about closet organization, but it gives me something to do with my hands. I get twitchy when I’m anxious, and if I don’t find an outlet for the excess energy, it usually comes out in the form of blurting stupid shit at the wrong moment.
“You are going to be here for a long time,” I point out as gently as I can. “Are you going to try to stay unbonded that whole time, or is there somebody specific you’re trying not to bond with?”
Jessica snorts, but I can still hear the tears in her voice. I hang up a shirt and shuffle through the rest of the pile for the matching skirt.
