The Bloodlust

by L. J. Smith

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because if we don’t drink human blood, we don’t need humans,” she said in a tight voice. She pushed open the door. Buxton, Hugo, and Percy were sitting around the coffee table, playing poker. They looked up when we entered, and Buxton narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Boys, we’re going dancing tonight. We need some lightness,” Lexi announced, pouring herself a glass of blood from the decanter on the side table. She glanced around the room. The three nodded. “Will you come, Stefan?”

  I shook my head. I was not in the mood for lightness. “No,” I said, then headed upstairs to plan Damon’s rescue alone.

  Chapter 16

  I searched in vain for peaceful sleep but never found it. Instead when I closed my eyes I saw Damon, his legs curled around a hard wooden chair, his arms bound in ropes. His skin bled, the droplets a dark maroon where the vervain-soaked ropes bit into his flesh.

  Next came the images of Callie, her flame-colored hair flowing behind her, her eyes lit with a frightening passion. She and her father danced around Damon, my brother’s form prone on the ground. They threw their hands in the air tauntingly, gripping wooden stakes, the ends so sharpened they reached a fine point. Their movements became more frenzied as they approached, readying their weapons . . .

  But worst of all were the visions of Katherine. I would see her, looking beautiful as always, her porcelain face hovering above mine and her glossy mane tickling my shoulders. With a coy, knowing smile she would lean toward me, and then she would open her mouth. Her fangs glinted in the lamp light as they plunged into my neck.

  My eyes flew open. Sleep would not afford me any rest. My mind went to memories of Katherine. The human part of me—or what was left of it—hated her with every fiber of my being. My hand curled into a fist involuntarily when I thought of her, and how she’d destroyed my family.

  But the vampire part of me missed what she’d represented—stability and love. And just as that part of my soul would last for eternity, so too would the part of me that longed for her. I wanted her now, beside me, curled up in my sheets. I wanted her to lean against the windowsill and listen as I told her about Damon, and tell me, in her calm, even cold, matter-of-fact way what to do. Being with Katherine had made me fearless, confident. She had made everything seem possible.

  Even though I trusted Lexi, I knew she didn’t trust me to take care of things . . . she didn’t believe that any plan I had would work. That was why Lexi reminded me so often of all the obstacles in my path. I longed for the Katherine I had fallen for, the one who seemed both fearless and to truly care for me. I wanted her by my side right now so I would feel less alone. But I knew that couldn’t be. That Katherine had never really existed. Besides, she was gone, and she was never coming back.

  The door opened, and Lexi stood there, a goblet of animal blood in her hands. She brought it to my lips. I took a few deep sips, despite the disgust it called up in me.

  When I had drained the cup, she put it on the nightstand, then brushed my hair off my forehead. “Are you still going to the fight tonight?”

  “Are you going to try to stop me?”

  “No.” Lexi bit her lip. “Not so long as you simply leave it at saving your brother. Revenge is for humans—and killing Gallagher won’t teach humans any lesson.”

  I nodded, all the while knowing I’d use brute force if it was necessary to free Damon.

  “Good.” Lexi turned to leave. Halfway toward the door, she turned back and locked eyes with me, and her expression softened. “You’ve cheated death once. I hope you’ll cheat it a second time.”

  After dressing, I walked to Lake Road with human speed. By the time I got there, it was past dusk. Lanterns and torches were set up around the perimeter of the fairgrounds, making the entire area look as if it was bathed in daylight. The circus tent was striped red and white, and surrounded by midway games and individual booths. “Fortunes Told!” a poster above one read. “See the World’s Ugliest Woman—If You Dare!” proclaimed another. I could hear the chattering of some type of animal coming from a far corner, but I couldn’t get a sense of where Damon was.

  Just then, Callie walked out of the main tent, trailed by her father and her two henchmen. She was wearing the same pair of overalls she’d had on the night before over a man’s linen shirt, and her hair fell around her shoulders. There was a smudge of dirt beneath her eye. I had a sudden urge to wipe it away but stuck my hands in my pocket instead.

  “Stefan!” she called, her face breaking into a smile. “You’re here. Father, this is the man I told you about.”

  Mr. Gallagher looked even more imposing up close. He towered above me, his dark brows knitted together. I kept my expression open, innocent. Lexi said Gallagher was a skilled vampire hunter—would he be able to detect the truth just by staring at me?

  “My daughter says you’re curious about vampires,” he said. “Prove you’re serious and work the ticket counter. Then we can talk.”

  “Yes, sir.” I nodded, feeling like Stefan the obedient child.

  “And, boy?” Gallagher asked, turning back toward me.

  “Yes?”

  “You want to place a bet on the fight? Winner’ll take a lot. Could make you a fortune.” He raised an eyebrow.

  My eyes narrowed, and blood screamed through my veins, fast and hot. How dare this man ask me to bet on my brother’s life? How dare he act so self-important when I could rip his throat out in an instant?

  “Stefan?” Callie asked warily.

  Forcing myself to calm down, I reached into the pockets of my well-worn britches and pulled them inside out. “I’m afraid I have no money, sir. That’s why I’m so grateful to have this job.”

  Gallagher took a step closer to me. “You say you’re from Mississippi, boy?” He gazed at me curiously. “Your accent sounds more northern—maybe Virginian.”

  “My parents were from Virginia. I suppose their accent rubbed off on me,” I said in as casual a voice as I could muster.

  After a long moment, he nodded. “Well, when you rustle up some currency, come find me. In the meantime, Callie will show you the ropes. And son?” he called, turning on his heel.

  “Yes, sir?” I asked.

  “I’ll be watching you.”

  Chapter 17

  Don’t be bothered by him,” Callie said, once her father was a safe distance away.

  “I’m not,” I lied.

  Her green eyes flicked over me, as if she didn’t believe my words. But she didn’t press the issue.

  “I’ll give you a quick tour,” she said, taking me into one of the smaller tents. In a corner, a woman was hunched over a mirror. She turned, and I took a step back. Her face was covered with tattoos, which, upon closer inspection, were courtesy of rapidly drying India ink.

  “The tattooed woman,” Callie said. “And the conjoined twins.”

  The woman and the twins next to her waved at us. The twins’ bodies were connected at the hip. They were beautiful, with blond hair and sad expressions. A man with flippers instead of arms whispered something in one of their ears. They glanced at each other, then broke into laughter.

  “This is the show.” Callie opened her hands wide, and for the first time I noticed a wooden stake dangling on a silver chain from her wrist. She also had a sprig of vervain tucked behind her ear.

  “Miss Callie!” A hulking, seven-foot-tall mountain of a man ducked under the door of the tent and walked toward us. He picked her up by her tiny waist and swung her around.

  “Arnold!” she said gleefully. “The world’s strongest man. Married to the bearded lady,” she explained to me before looking back up at Arnold. “How is Caroline feeling?”

  The giant shrugged. “She’s doing well. Can’t wait to come back and introduce everyone to the babies.”

  “They just had twins!” Callie said fondly.

  I nodded my greeting to the man and gazed over Callie’s shoulder. Where were they keeping Damon?

  “Are you ok
ay?” Callie asked. She brushed my arm, and I flinched when the vervain touched my skin.

  “I just need air,” I said, bursting out of the tent.

  Callie ran after me. “I’m sorry, Stefan,” she said, her voice cold. “Some people don’t like it here. They’re not comfortable. But somehow I thought you’d be different.”

  “No, it’s not that.” Even surrounded by these human curiosities, I was the biggest freak of them all: the vampire who pretended to be human. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind. I promise you, I like it here.”

  “Okay,” she said, not sounding quite convinced. But she continued to lead me farther into the grounds. We passed a two-headed cat, a sad-looking monkey playing “Old Tom Dooley” on a harmonica, and the skeleton of what a sign declared to be a sea monster. Some freaks milling around were obviously actors, wearing fabric tubes filled with straw to simulate extra limbs, while others had been born that way.

  “Come with me,” Callie said as she tugged on my arm. But I stayed. A black iron wagon rolled up to the tent, similar to the one Father had used to round up vampires during the Mystic Falls siege. It stopped, and the driver jumped from the cart. Immediately, five burly men rushed up with stakes. Once they were in place, the driver unlocked the back of the wagon. The scent of vervain wafted in the air, causing my joints to ache.

  Damon.

  “And there’s your vampire,” Callie said, her mouth set in a firm line as all five men dragged Damon from the back of the wagon. One burly man, his sweat-stained shirt rolled at the sleeves, kept a stake positioned firmly over his heart.

  “Gentle now, Jasper! We need him alive before the fight!” Callie called, her voice sharp. Damon turned, baring his teeth in our direction. I saw surprise in his eyes, which quickly turned into contempt.

  “My little brother, the good Samaritan,” he whispered under his breath, barely moving his jaw. Luckily, he said it low enough that only I heard.

  His voice sent a tremor through my body. Callie cocked her head, and I realized how risky it was for Damon and me to be in such close proximity. Would spite cause him to call me out as a fellow demon? “Are you sure I can’t help with the vampire?” I asked her.

  “You heard my father. We’ll start you at the ticket counter. And if anyone tries to sneak in, let Buck handle them,” she said, gesturing to the hulking man hovering several paces behind her like a distended shadow.

  A commotion sounded in front of the tent. Callie let out a whistle as we approached. The front flap was closed tight, and a mass of people had surrounded a wooden ticket booth. Some, dressed in tattered britches and with dirt-stained hands, were clearly from the shantytown surrounding the lake. But others were dressed in their finest: the men in top hats and silk smoking jackets, the women in feather-adorned hats and silk dresses, fur stoles draped around their bosoms.

  Callie turned to me, her eyes shining. “It’s never been so busy. Dad’s going to be so happy!” she said, clapping her hands together. “Now, go help Buck,” she commanded before running back around the tent.

  I stood in the wooden booth at the entrance, listening for Damon. But instead my ears filled with snatches of human conversation.

  “I’ve got a hundred dollars on the lion.”

  “No, the vampire. Monsters always win over beasts.”

  “I’ve told this pretty lady here that she owes me a kiss if the beast wins.” One man hiccupped, obviously drunk.

  I ground my teeth, wanting to lash out, to bite each and every one of them, to teach them a lesson. But I remembered Lexi’s words about revenge. Killing these men would not help Damon.

  A hand clapped my shoulder. I whirled around, ready to bare my teeth.

  It was Gallagher, his face flushed with excitement. “We have to hustle, son! The fight’s about to start, and the more we pack ’em in, the bigger the payday.” He hopped on an overturned apple crate standing just outside the entrance.

  “Step right up, folks! Welcome to my Odditorium! See the world’s ugliest woman, marvel at the world’s strongest man! But that’s just the warm-up act. Because tonight, we have a battle royale, the likes of which have never been seen. Monster versus Beast. Who will win? And who wants to bet? Because this is one death that will lead to riches for some.”

  The crowd pressed in more tightly around me, swarming like a mass of hungry insects.

  Gallagher grinned at me. “Get ’em in, and get ’em bidding.”

  And so I held out my hand, collecting their coins and orange stubs of paper, all the while resisting the urge to reach out and snap their necks, as easily as I would a twig branch, and drink the liquid within.

  Chapter 18

  As soon as I’d taken every last ticket and accepted every last dollar, I slipped into the tent behind an overweight man clutching a sweaty wad of Confederate notes in each fist. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, sawdust, and, of course, blood.

  People were milling around us, paying extra money to gawk at the Strongman and the Tattooed Lady, all of whom were hidden behind thick black curtains at various intervals along the perimeter of the tent. But the majority of the crowd was clamoring around Jasper. Large wagers were being placed, with lots of shouting and hand signals and stacks of greasy notes being passed back and forth. Jasper gleefully chomped on his soggy cigar and laughed.

  Sailors yanked foreign bills from their billfolds. A few teenagers pooled their coins. Well-dressed men in ties waved gold coins.

  “Fight, fight, fight!” one red-faced man began yelling. Instantly, the people standing by him began to chant as well. Three well-dressed women, their hair in curls atop their heads, glanced at each other, giggled, and echoed the cheer, their alto voices contrasting with the men’s baritone ones.

  Gallagher strode into the tent, his cane tapping a path through the sawdust. People turned and craned their necks to catch a glimpse of him; in the circus tent, he was just as much an attraction as the freaks. After all, this was the man who’d caught a vampire.

  Be strong, brother, I whispered under my breath, remembering all the times Damon had won fights back in Mystic Falls. Damon had never provoked those battles but had always been a good fighter, always landing a punch fast when a fight broke out. That’s why he’d been so respected in the army. But now, in a battle against a mountain lion, especially after not feeding for days . . . I shuddered.

  “Brother?” I whispered tentatively, at a decibel I knew only his ears could detect. I was hoping for some sort of reply, even though I wasn’t sure whether he could have actually heard me. If he did, he said nothing in response.

  “And now, let’s introduce our fighters!” Gallagher’s voice broke through my reverie. Two animal handlers, their hands in leather gloves and wearing boots that came up past their knees, walked into the ring, leading a mangy mountain lion. The mountain lion had a grayish-yellowish coat and yellow teeth, and, despite its lean body, looked brutal. And hungry. As if on cue, it uttered a roar.

  “In one end of your ring, you have the mountain lion. But this is no ordinary cat. This beast is the Alberta Avenger! He came down from Canada to find the hunter that killed his mate. He eviscerated the hunter, his wife, and all of his children except the youngest, whose legs the lion ate before leaving the rest of him alive to tell the story. Since then, you have followed the mountain lion in the newspapers as it has feasted its way on innocents in the Union and Confederacy without prejudice. Tonight, it is here only after we captured it trying to stow away on a boat bound for the Andes Mountains in South America. The mountain lion, ladies and gentlemen!” Gallagher yelled, his showmanship on full display.

  The crowd dutifully applauded enthusiastically, and some even cheered.

  “Its opponent is a legendary vampire that has been terrifying children and their parents for centuries. Viktor the Cruel was born in 1589 and was heir to the Hapsburg Empire until he first tasted blood—his sister’s—and began a three-hundred-year feeding frenzy that has left a trail of drained bodies around the wor
ld. At an estimated two victims per day, this brings Viktor’s kills to one and a half million people, more than double the size of Italy. This unstoppable lust for blood continues tonight.”

  The applause was more nervous now, but the cheers were louder.

  Gallagher spread his hands apart with a flourish, and Damon came into the ring, surrounded by four handlers. His hands and feet were in chains, and his face was partially hidden by a muzzle. His skin was bleeding from the vervain, his eyes were bloodshot, and the expression on his face was one I’d never seen.

  I could understand the hatred he felt—I was fighting every instinct I had not to kill the people holding him captive. But his imprisonment had changed him. Damon had called me a cold-blooded killer. The look in Damon’s eyes was not one of sport, or survival. It was pure bloodlust.

  A hush filled the tent. The mountain lion strained at his chains, but Damon simply stood in his corner of the ring, as if unaware of what the imminent future held for him.

  “And . . . go!” Gallagher yelled. Immediately, the handlers unlocked Damon’s chains and opened the iron door of the mountain lion’s cage, then ran off the stage. The lion jumped toward Damon, making contact with his chest. Damon let out an anguished moan and fell backward. Then, just as quickly, he rose to his feet and roared, his face suddenly flushed, his fangs on full display. I knew this was all instinctual: Damon’s Power rising to the surface as soon as he’d felt the attack. I had learned this about our kind in the past few weeks: Our power led us to do things before we even knew we were doing them. Despite Damon’s external weakness, his Power was still intact.

  The lion leaped again, and Damon went low, ducking under the claws and coming up at just the right moment to dig his hands into the lion’s neck. But the lion tossed Damon free; he rolled to a stop only when he slammed into the gate surrounding the ring.