“New,” I managed, sounding more breathless than intended, especially considering my limited respiratory function. “But not a complete dumbass … so, I suggest you back off.”
One corner of his mouth tugged back in a winning smile that made merry little sparks of silver swirl in the depths of his stare. “Brave words for a girl alone. Don’t you know, this is a den for lovers?”
“Oh yeah?” I countered, one brow lifting in challenge. “And yet here you stand, alone. Kind of a sexist double-standard, isn’t it?”
Amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes, he chuckled. “I suppose it would be, but I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Dropping his voice to a seductive whisper, he risked life and limb by brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “That rule doesn’t apply to me. My name is on the lease.”
I shifted my weight, cocking one hip, and slapped him with a bored glare. “Still, the rules of basic social conduct hold firm, and you’re standing well inside my personal bubble. Do we need to have a conversation about boundaries?”
“I would much rather talk about you claiming to be undead, while the smell of sunshine still lingers on your skin. Were you made in the parking lot this same night?”
Fear of being detected, and having to battle my way out in a flurry of fangs, anchored me where I stood. A fact the brazen stranger took advantage of by tracing the knuckle of his index finger down my forearm.
“Does this place have an undead age restriction I didn’t know about?” I asked with every ounce of manufactured moxie I could muster.
A little DJ magic and the music made a smooth transition to the soulful cords of “Take Me to Church” by Hozier, adding a hypnotic melody to a percolating yearning I couldn’t name.
“Not in the least.” Rocking back on his heels, the magnificent stranger fought back a grin. “It’s usually the more mature vampires who visit us here. Newborns are far more interested in … ahem, physical exploration of every conceivable kind. If you found your way here, you either are mature beyond your years or have well-connected friends.”
Intrusive nature, wandering hands, slathered on charm; there was a growing laundry list of reasons to loathe this guy. Why then was I wishing it was me nibbling on his lip? “I tried the mature and responsible route and got my throat ripped out before my twenty-first birthday. Adulting is significantly overrated. Let’s go with option two.”
“In that case …” Hooking his forefinger into the collar of his shirt, he pushed the fabric aside to give me a glimpse of his thick, throbbing vein. “Fancy a taste?”
Vlad be damned, I did. More than I had ever wanted anything in my life, I wanted to sink my teeth into him and claim every drop of him.
“Pardon me?” I coughed, choking on the words.
“Have you been part of a formal blood-letting?” he asked, with the casualness of requesting I pass him a napkin. One eyebrow rose in tempting invitation. “It would be my honor to grace you with a sampling.”
Blood-letting, a tradition dating back to the days when Vlad still left boot-prints in the earth. It acted as a way for humans to show support for the immortal beings fighting to protect them from the Turkish tribes thirsting to claim their lands and enslave them all. It was history I had studied. Repeatedly. Even so, hearing the suggestion of it slip from his luscious, ripened lips twisted the concept to the pornographic.
“I’ve never done it.” The words hitched in my throat, wavering with desire. “But these clubs are all about blending, right? I’d love to do you. I mean bite you. Taste you! Shit, there’s no way not to make this sound filthy.”
Shoulders shaking with laughter at my expense, a dagger appeared in his palm as if from nowhere.
A symphony of hand-polished silver, it must have been tucked into the back waistband of his slacks.
“Come with me?” he softly coaxed, reaching for my hand.
A man, so sexy I could weep, brandishes a weapon, and asks me to take a walk with him.
Of course, my dumbass linked my fingers with his.
Micah told me to blend, make them think I was one of them. This was me playing the part—or at least that’s how I justified it to myself.
Was it my imagination, or had the room gone silent?
Giddy apprehension seemed to crackle through the air.
Filled with equal parts morbid curiosity and gnawing desire to drop fang, I let him lead me to a private booth prepared in a quiet corner of the room.
“Something tells me this wasn’t a spur of the moment decision,” I jabbed, jerking my chin in the direction of his spread. “Would any vampress have done, or were you looking for someone particularly naïve?”
Emerald-hued pillar candles had been arranged in a circle, their wicks not yet lit. In the center sat a clay bowl containing a black book of matches. On its glossy black cover, a logo was imprinted. From where I stood, it looked like a silver D.G. encircled by braided vine.
Stepping in close enough for his chest to brush mine, he dragged his fingertip down my jawline and gently tipped my face to his. “If I said I was waiting specifically for you, would you believe me?”
“Not a chance in hell,” I countered, and turned my palm skyward in invitation to his blade.
Eyes locking with mine, he wet his lips and dragged the curve of the dagger across my skin, splitting it in a silken ruby ribbon.
“What’s your name?” he murmured, voice raspy with craving.
“Vinx.” Shivering in anticipation, I fought against the demanding push of my fangs as he repeated the gesture across his own forearm.
Presenting me with his gifted essence, he spoke in a lover’s whisper as my lips sealed around his wound to suckle in invigorating pulls. “Spirit lords, connect my ethereal cord with that of Vinx. Let us converge like the Moon’s light and darkness. May we be one and the same in thought and in spirit.”
The words struck a chord of discontent somewhere in the back of my mind. Unfortunately, I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not with his blood spilling over my lips.
He tasted like a hard rain after an arid drought.
The first flower of spring that persevered after a harsh, unforgiving winter.
The lilt of a child’s laugh riding a gentle breeze.
Life. Love. Happiness. Strength.
All intermingling in the heady brew of his gift to me.
Easing himself from my greedy hold, he held my bleeding hand over the bowl. Without offering explanation, he squeezed and manipulated my injured flesh, coaxing four fat droplets into the waiting clay bowl. “May my mind and will become one with hers.”
That was it.
That was the skip in the record that pulled me from the magnetic rhythm of the moment. All the research Micah forced on me, all those hours toiling over every Nosferatu book I could lay hands on, none mentioned any kind of an incantation during a blood-letting.
Edging back, I snatched my hand away. “You’re not human. Human blood tastes like it’s already started to sour. What the hell is this?”
In place of an answer, he struck a match and lit each of the candles with care. “When I walk, she will walk with me. When I speak, she will echo each syllable. When I feel sorrow or lust, her heart will respond in kind. I thank you, my dark lords, for helping me. May you make the cord between myself and Vincenza strong like the chains … of a prisoner.” Casting a devious stare my way, he blew out the match. “Only when the sunrises after tomorrow’s half-moon will we no longer be united. Her mind will again be her own, and no memory of any of this will remain.”
Invisible tendrils coiled around me, chaining me where I stood. I could feel their chill slithering into my veins, binding my free will.
“Who are you?” Struggling against them was useless, still I thrashed for freedom. “Why are you doing this?”
With a carefree chuckle, he bent down to blow out the candles one by one. Each stole another chunk of my self-control.
“My name,” Puff.
“Is Dorian Gray.”
Puff.
“I’m doing this,” Puff.
“Because war is coming,” Puff.
“And I crave chaos.”
Puff.
A cloak of magic blocked out the world, and—for a time—I was gone.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Gray?” my subservient body queried in my absence.
Sucking air through his teeth, Dorian tipped his head back and let his lecherous stare wander the length of me. “Had we more time, I can think of a great many things. But for now, obedience is of utmost importance.” Raising one arm over his head, he snapped his fingers at a middle-aged man with a pointy-chin and receding hairline.
The man darted over in an instant, a nervous twitch fluttering at the corner of his right eye. “Yes, Mr. Gray?”
“Vincenza,” Dorian purred, ignoring the fact that his lackey had spoken at all, “be a dear and kill him for me.”
Nerves contracting the side of his face into a pained grimace, the man’s goose-egg stare lobbed from me to Dorian, and back again. “No! You can’t. I’m a necromancer. All your plans are for naught without me!”
To his great regret I was already moving, darting in on the attack at another’s command. Tangling my fingers into his hair, I wrenched his head back and sank my fangs into the pounding pulse of his jugular.
“As anyone in any sort of competitive field will tell you, Hector,” folding his hands, Dorian let them fall in front of him with waning interest, “there’s always someone younger with talent that far exceeds yours. Everyone is replaceable.”
Despite the geyser of vile coppery warmth gushing past my lips, I held firm. Only when the last of the fight seeped from poor Hector’s artery, did I drop him in a crumbled heap on the floor. Retracting my fangs, I rose as the obedient little puppy I was.
“Good girl.” Dorian licked his lips at the grisly sight of me. “Now, I’m going to need you to clean yourself up and head to that bachelor auction. You will get Carter Westerly back at any and all cost. I’ve padded an account for the transaction. Even lined up another vampire to help you convince Mr. Westerly. Go. Make a spectacle of yourself. And, by all means, have fun.”
“Yes, Mr. Grey,” I dutifully answered, turning on my heel toward the door.
“Oh, and Vincenza?” he called.
Immediately halting my stride, I glanced back over my shoulder.
“I meant what I said about the war. It’s coming. And I want you right in the middle of it. That part, I truly hope you remember.”
Silently, I blinked his way, mind absent of the gumption to press for details.
“You may go.” He released me with a flick of his wrist in dismissal.
Feet clapping against the floor, I strode for the back exit. Crashing out into the alley, I found Micah huddled under the street light, dancing from one foot to the other to keep warm.
Whatever repulsive secrets were etched across my face, blanched her cheeks and widened her eyes.
“I’m going to need a gown,” Dorian spoke through me, tone carving out each word with purposeful swipes that matched those of the blade that bound me to him.
“You know I have one for you, but—” Taking a hesitant step forward, Micah reached for me, only to reconsider and drop her hand. “Wh-what happened? Is that blood?”
Hand rising to my lip, I swiped at the spray of crimson covering my face. “Oh, that? I ran into one of our benefactors. Hell of a guy. Helped me find the confidence I was sorely lacking. More on that later. Right now, I have a reporter to find.”
Micah’s gaze shifted over my shoulder, as if expecting the bloody truth to come tumbling out behind me. “Uh … o-okay,” she stuttered, teeth clenched tight with apprehension.
Not that I would remember any of this for a long time to come.
Chapter Nineteen
Experiment Day 505: Effect
Emerging Themes – Concepts which are closely linked in meaning.
“Are you sure the red isn’t too much?” Rau asked for what had to the be the millionth time. Having successfully lured him out of his dressing suite, we had made it as far as the top of the stairs before he launched right back into The Great Necktie Debate. “It’s red. I worry it screams vampire.”
“If that’s your concern, you should try a little bronzer,” I muttered, absentmindedly checking my phone to see how long I had been prepping Rau’s wardrobe choices for his election day appearances. Two hours. That was one-hundred and twenty minutes of my undead life I wouldn’t be getting back. “Your complexion looks like you haven’t seen the sun since the crucifixion.”
Silence.
Glancing up, I found Rau staring at himself in a hall mirror, inspecting his face by sucking in his cheeks and turning his chin one way then the other. “That’s a form of women’s cosmetic, right? I fear that would give me the appearance of a painted corpse. Should I reconsider?”
I tucked my phone into my pocket, pressed my palms together in a prayer pose, and brought them to my lips. “You’re right, forget the make-up. But let’s revisit the ties. Show me the red one.”
Turning to face me, he brought the red slash of fabric to the collar of his white button-down.
“And the blue?”
Switching hands, the blue pinstripe took its place.
“Red again?”
Switch.
“Now the blue.”
Switch.
“Let me see one over each shoulder.”
After draping them as directed, Rau held his hands out awaiting my inspection.
Pursing my lips tight, I narrowed my eyes in contemplation. “Can I see the wave you’re going to give to the voters? I can’t really form an opinion until I see the tie in action.”
Rau raised his right hand, and paused. “You’re toying with me, aren’t you?”
“You’re, like, a million years old and freaking out about your wardrobe.” Dropping my hands, I let him see the smirk I had been hiding. “You’re darn right I’m messing with you. I think, and bear with me on this, that there’s a chance you’re overthinking this decision. It’s … a neck tie. As long as you don’t have entrails strung around your neck, humans will look at it, and see … a neck tie.”
Having successfully poked a hole in his inflating tizzy, Rau’s shoulders sagged. An amused smile twisted the corners of his lips. “My darling, Vincenza, how did I ever get along without you? You truly keep me sane.”
“That’s why you keep me around.” The chuckle died on my lips, chased away by the startling truth that I didn’t begrudge my time with him. Not anymore. No longer did I force a smile simply to appease the “monster.” Somewhere along the way, I had come to respect him. Which would make it that much more of a bummer if it turned out I had to kill him. Clearing my throat, I chased away that dreary thought. “Your press secretary sent over your winning and losing speeches. Let’s grab a couple of blood bags, read them over, and take notes on needed changes.”
“Fantastic plan. But first … did we decide on the red or blue?” he deadpanned.
Snatching the blue one out of his hand, I was tossing it over the bannister with a laugh when Duncan came thundering up the stairs.
“Lord Mihnea, you’re needed in the foyer,” he rumbled, nostrils flaring with the urgency of the situation. “It’s Lawrence Rawling, sir. He’s back.”
Chin falling to his chest, Rau shook his head. “I worried about that the moment I saw him at the camp. I had hoped he would prove me wrong. Prepare a cocktail, Duncan, in case it comes to that.”
Duncan moved surprisingly quick for a glacier-sized man, skirting around his boss to get to the fully stocked humidor across the hall.
“A cocktail?” I asked, following Rau down the stairs. “If all else fails, get him drunk? What is the guy, just a colossal bore?”
“It’s a tranquilizer,” Rau corrected, chest expanding at the scene he was walking into. “Rawling is a hardcore blood addict.”
I recognized the man in question at a glance. He was the same pinched-f
ace weasel who disappeared behind a supply truck with Elodie. With wild eyes and glasses askew, he grasped the front of Thomas’ shirt in a white-knuckled grip. His scrawny frame quaked with the intensity of his shouts. “Please! I have money! I’ll give you anything you want. Anything! I just need to see Elodie. I’m in love with her!”
“You are, huh?” Thomas glared down his nose at Rawling, lip curling to show a hint of fang. “And when you threatened her with a silver stake, that was your devoted adoration?”
“She was trying to leave me! She can’t! We belong together … we belong …” Rawling’s caterwaul melded into a quiet chant of self-soothing.
Leaning toward Rau, I asked out of the corner of my mouth, “Does this happen often?”
“More than it should,” he grumbled. The moment his shoes connected with the white marble floor, he erased all emotion from his face and approached the twitchy addict.
“Rau!” Rawling yelped, as if seeing a flicker of hope for the first time. Red-rimmed eyes streaming with tears, a bubble of snot swelled from his nostril. “You have to help me! I need to see Elodie. We belong together. Let me have her. Let me leave with her, and we won’t bother you again. I promise! You have my word.”
“Lawrence,” Rau tsked, clapping a hand on the man’s shoulder to keep him at arm’s distance. “You were doing so well, my friend. We got you treatment, and you were walking the road of recovery. What happened?”
Collapsing against Rau’s chest, despite the vampire lord’s attempt to avoid him, Rawling peered up at him with the adoration of promised salvation. “At the camp, I saw her. I … I saw her and needed her. More than I have ever needed anything in my life.”
“You have a wife and daughter,” Rau countered. “What of their needs?”
“I’m no use to them or anyone without her,” Rawling sniveled. I would have thought it a beautiful testimony of love, had he not added, “She let me feed from her at the camp. That pull, that rush … it’s why I need her.”
Stepping back with disgust, Rau’s face folded into a frown. He glanced to Thomas, he seeking confirmation to the claim. “Your sister fed him?”
Veiled (Veiled Book 1) Page 17
