Blood Rules (Blood Immortal Book 2)

by Ava Benton

  I had held my tongue then, as always, even though half the point of feeding was the experience of latching onto a throat or a wrist and sucking the blood, swallowing mouthful after mouthful, knowing the witch’s heart was beating the exquisite fluid into me.

  There was something more to it, as well, a feeling of connection. Connection was one thing I missed from my old life, years ago when I was nothing more than a hunter. Feeling as though I were part of something, touching a warm body or kissing warm, soft lips and knowing the other person was there in the moment with me.

  I had never felt anything like it since then, except when drinking the blood of another. And now even that had been taken from me.

  I kept to myself throughout the ride to Monika’s home, though that was nothing new. I generally stayed quiet unless called upon to speak. I had nothing to say, for one thing—even if I did, offering my opinion without being asked or making small talk was frowned upon. I wasn’t there for conversation or to make friends. I was there because my Sire had decided to kill the daughter of a High Sorceress hundreds of years earlier.

  It only bothered me at certain times, and I was already in a dark mood thanks to the self-doubt swirling around in my head. I rarely doubted myself, so this was new. I shifted in my seat, perturbed to the point of physical discomfort.

  She noticed. “Are you feeling all right?”

  That solicitous tone.

  I told myself she was sincere, if only to keep from yelling at her. “I’m fine. Thank you. I do feel better now.”

  “I brought the extra vial, just in case you need it.” The way she said it, one would think she was talking to a toddler.

  I bit back my distaste and said, “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”

  “I only want you to be well. Do you think you need some rest?” Her normally smooth forehead creased with worry.

  “I can’t imagine resting. I don’t think I’ve rested outside The Fold in the last five centuries,” I shrugged, then looked back out the window.

  The conversation was making me distinctly uncomfortable, though I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why.

  She was digging.

  For what?

  “It’s just that I know it’s rare for a Nightwarden to be on duty for as long as you have,” she pressed. “I’m starting to wonder if I haven’t, I don’t know, worn out my welcome. Overused you.”

  “Overused me,” I snorted bitterly.

  “I don’t mean to offend you.”

  “You’re not offending me in the least,” I answered in a flat, dull voice.

  It was the answer that was expected of me, though that didn’t make it any less true. I was amused more than anything else at the way this powerful, talented witch backpedaled.

  “But I don’t know the rules, you see,” she continued. “I don’t even know if there are rules when it comes to this. Perhaps I should step down entirely, allow us both to get the rest we need.”

  That caught my attention. I wasn’t sure I was ready to go back to The Fold yet. I enjoyed the era I was in. Though I didn’t have much reason to use current technology, the fact that it existed fascinated me. I enjoyed reading about it throughout the long, sleepless nights natural to all vampires. I enjoyed watching movies on television—just about any type of movie I could ever want to see. The ones depicting times in which I had lived fascinated me the most. They were almost always laughably wrong, but what else could I expect from humans who had never known real life back then?

  Going back to The Fold… I didn’t mind the idea of peace, quiet, and a long sleep. But that was roughly the only aspect I would enjoy. Waking up in another hundred years would mean starting from scratch, learning everything I’d had to catch up on in the last few decades—which was a lot. A hell of a lot. And life had only picked up speed since then. I would be hopelessly behind, if there even was a world left in a hundred years.

  “It’s entirely up to you and your coven,” I reminded her.

  “My Council, you mean. I would have to run any plans past them for approval. I don’t get to make many of my own decisions—much like you.” She offered a weak smile.

  I turned away again. She might not have offended me before, but I was closer than ever. The fact that she thought we were in any way alike was beyond me. I was little more than a slave, forced to pay for a crime I didn’t commit. Living with the weight of my brethren on my shoulders. If I refused to serve, my Sire would die and so would the rest of us because we were bonded to him.

  It was something I had reminded myself of throughout Penelope’s fits of violence, throughout Francesca’s endless monologues, throughout all the little indignities I had faced over time. It was the only thing that kept me from wreaking bloody, satisfying havoc more than once.

  She thought we were the same because she had to serve her coven’s best interests, all because she was special and had been chosen to lead them.

  A good thing my heart can’t break for her, I thought with a grimace.

  “Regardless, I don’t have much of a say in the matter. I’ll follow your lead.” I put as much emphasis on my words as I could, ending the conversation.

  It was a pointless one.

  She helped nothing with her attempts at making it look as though I had a choice. It was almost cruelty, though I knew she would never see it that way. She thought she was doing me a service.

  Arriving at Monika’s was a relief.

  Now Marissa could irritate someone else for a while.

  I climbed from the car before she did, looking both ways to ensure we were alone and safe before opening her door.

  She unfolded her tall, curvaceous body and gave me a tentative smile. “I hope she doesn’t mind our dropping in like this.”

  I clenched my teeth together to keep my jaw from falling open. “She’s not expecting us?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I wanted to tell her there was no such thing as “not exactly” in a situation like we were in. Either Monika expected us, or she didn’t.

  It was mothers like Marissa who made me glad I didn’t have one of my own.

  There was already a car in the driveway—we had parked behind it—so the odds of her being home were good.

  I wished they weren’t. I was in no mood to stand around feeling foolish because Marissa didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. I walked up the steps to the little Cape Cod-style house and stood with hands clasped behind my back as my charge rang the bell.

  Footsteps. They came closer, down the stairs. They stopped.

  I could almost sense Monika’s panic—and the way she couldn’t decide whether to pretend she didn’t hear the bell.

  Too late.

  “Monika? I didn’t mean to disturb, but I haven’t seen you in so long, and I wanted to catch up before the meeting.”

  I glanced around, wondering what to duck behind if they got into a fight. I had experienced many things in my long life, but a fight between two witches was still something I had managed to avoid. Even when I guarded Penelope.

  The floorboards creaked again as Monika approached with caution.

  I could see her through the window in the center of the door, through the lace curtain.

  Halfway down the stairs. She completed her descent and opened the door enough that we could see her face. Her hair was wet, dripping on the floor.

  “This is a surprise,” she managed to laugh, uncomfortable. “I would’ve taken a shower earlier if I had known you were planning on stopping by.”

  I averted my eyes, even though she was wearing a tightly-belted robe.

  There was something so fragile about her at this moment. I couldn’t even explain it to myself. Surprised and dripping wet and completely at a loss.

  “Well, come in, come in.” She stepped back and opened the door wider so we could step inside.

  I looked down at the floor, up at the ceiling, anywhere but at her. I had never felt so uncomfortable around her or, frankly, any witch.

 
Only the ones whose blood I drank had ever warranted consideration before. She was no different than any other witch, even if she was Marissa’s daughter. It wasn’t like I knew her.

  We had never spent much time together without her mother nearby. Even so, I felt the need to apologize for our rude arrival.

  “When did you get back?” Marissa asked, making herself at home in an overstuffed easy chair, spreading her long, flowy skirt over the seat.

  Monika tucked her hair—normally brown flecked with auburn, but nearly black thanks to being wet—behind her ears. A nervous gesture. “Three days ago? No. Four.”

  “Four days.” Marissa raised an eyebrow. “And not a word to your mother.”

  “Mother. Come on.” She glanced at me.

  “I’ll wait in the kitchen,” I murmured.

  Marissa waved a dismissive hand. “No need. It doesn’t matter whether you hear this or not.”

  “Mother, please.” Monika winced, then shrugged apologetically.

  “I’ll wait in there anyway.” It was either that or indirectly kill my entire vampire family by killing her.

  I turned with my fists clenched tight by my sides and stalked into the kitchen, where I took a seat at the table and waited.

  The way I always waited.

  3

  Monika

  “What is wrong with you?” I hissed when he was out of the room.

  I knew it was pointless. He could hear me with his super hearing or whatever it was.

  Konstantin was a closed book, but I had the feeling he knew a lot more than he ever let on. He saw a lot. He heard a lot.

  “What?” My mother snapped in a tight whisper.

  “You’ve never treated him like that before. Did I miss something while I was away?” I sat on the ottoman, in front of the chair my mother sat on.

  She dressed the way modern witches were expected to dress—the flowy clothes, the colorful scarf around her throat, silver bangles on her wrists. Like a sideshow fortune teller. All she needed was to move the scarf to her head and add a crystal ball.

  She shrugged. “No. Nothing. Everything on this side of the Atlantic has been status quo.” Her voice was icy.

  She wasn’t going to let me get away with leaving town—there I was, thinking she might thaw out a little if I stayed away long enough. When would I learn?

  “Have you heard anything from Aunt Cressida?”

  She shook her head, frowning. “I would think at a time like this, my sister would reach out to me. I mean, if not now, when?”

  “You should’ve made the first move,” I mused.

  “Me?” She pointed to herself.

  “You knew when Vanessa was kidnapped that she would be a wreck. You could’ve offered support. And now, with Mariya gone…” I shook my head and wished, not for the first time, that I had been closer with my cousins.

  But neither of our mothers would allow it because of some stupid, ancient fight that had nothing to do with us. How pointless. I never had sisters of my own. They were the closest I would ever get.

  “She hasn’t spoken to me in over a century, Monika. You don’t know what you’re talking about—though I know you mean well. I doubt that I even crossed her mind through the whole nightmare.”

  I wasn’t so sure, but if that was what she needed to tell herself…

  “There isn’t a problem between you and Konstantin, then?” I asked, chewing my lip.

  “No. I told you. Everything’s just fine.”

  “It’s not like you to just, I don’t know, dismiss him that way.”

  She avoided my eyes.

  I sighed. “Do me a favor and never go to Atlantic City unless you plan to lose a lot of money.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means you’ve always had a tell. Whenever you’re lying, or conveniently avoiding the truth, you look away.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve missed you these last months. No one else acts like they’re my mother.”

  I chuckled and patted her hand. “I’ve known you too long. What is it, then?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. “I—I don’t know. I think there’s something wrong with him.” She mouthed that last part, so he wouldn’t hear.

  I didn’t want to spend the rest of the conversation mouthing things to each other, so I cast a ward around the kitchen that would muffle any sound coming from elsewhere in the house. “There. Now we have a little privacy. What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s flying into these blood lust rages out of nowhere. I don’t trust him in public anymore. Perhaps it’s been too long that he’s been outside The Fold. Perhaps my blood isn’t enough for him anymore. I’m not sure. But I feel as though I might be putting myself or others in danger by keeping him in my service.”

  “Oh, come on. He’s always been well in control of himself before.”

  “Which is why this is so surprising. Monika, I thought he would kill me just before we left. One minute everything was fine. The next, he was gouging the bathroom sink with those claws of his and baring his fangs at me. I was terrified! I’ve never seen him that way before. I swear to you, I thought he would attack me. I think he wanted to.”

  Her announcement knocked the wind out of me. “This is very serious. You have to talk to somebody about this.”

  My heart was heavy, but that didn’t change anything. Konstantin was practically part of the family—if family meant hardly ever speaking to someone and not even knowing their last name. For that matter, I didn’t know if he had a last name.

  “I’m sure I should. I’m not certain how to approach it, though.”

  “We’ll think of something. I’m glad I came home when I did.”

  Not Konstantin. It didn’t seem possible. He and my mother were practically attached at the hip.

  “Well? What about Europe?” Her face brightened. “I’ll never forget visiting there when I was your age. It was such a special trip.”

  “This was pretty special, too,” I smiled. “I feel so much better than I did before I left. It really did the trick, I think—I might move there permanently.”

  I didn’t mean it, of course. I would never leave my coven. But it was fun to get under her skin.

  Her eyes flew open wide, like I had just threatened to renounce my powers. “You wouldn’t!”

  I tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible when I got a reaction like that. “No. I wouldn’t. Come on. You know me better than that.”

  “Don’t even joke. My only daughter, leaving permanently.” She shook her head, making her silver earrings jingle. “Especially since you know the Council will likely replace me with you when the time comes.”

  That again.

  I changed the subject before she could go any further. “Anyway, I brought you back some presents. I even brought something back for Konstantin.”

  “For Konstantin?” Her eyebrows went up.

  “I stopped off in Serbia before flying back. I thought he might like something from his homeland,” I said with a shrug. “It was the least I could do. He’s always been good to you and done his job, right?”

  “That’s true.” But she didn’t sound like she approved.

  “I’ll go upstairs and get them.”

  Was she right about him?

  I hoped not, and not just for her sake. I had no idea how his world worked or what they would do to him if he got sent back to The Fold ahead of time. I didn’t even know who “they” were. But there had to be a “they.” Somebody had to be in charge.

  I took a look at myself in the mirror above my dresser while I pulled the gifts from my suitcase, the only one I hadn’t unpacked yet. It had been almost empty when I left for Europe, since I knew I’d need space for anything I bought over there.

  Sometimes I wished it were true that witches traveled by broomstick. It would’ve saved me a ton in baggage fees.

  I giggled softly to myself—where would I store my luggage on a broomstick?

  When
I saw myself, I noticed that my cheeks were flushed. I was smiling. My good mood couldn’t have come from my mother’s visit, even though it was a relief that she was speaking to me again. A pain in the ass or not, she was still my mother.

  At least I looked better than I had before I left for Europe—I was afraid somebody would mistake me as an extra from The Walking Dead when I boarded the plane. I had needed the rest.

  No, more than that. It was more than fatigue that had sent me overseas.

  Nobody would ever know the pain I had been through in the weeks leading up to the trip—not physical pain, but something much worse. I could’ve dealt with physical pain, maybe even enchanted it away.

  Night after sleepless night spent worrying, certain that my life was slipping away, was another story. It was agony, not knowing what was wrong, not knowing how to stop it. Feeling so weak I couldn’t get out of bed sometimes. Falling asleep for no reason, out of nowhere. My pale skin, the circles under my eyes, the lack of enthusiasm for anything—including living.

  Part of me had expected to die in Paris or Rome, peacefully, away from my mother’s drama and the questions and prying eyes of the coven. Maybe while looking out over the Seine, or while admiring the Trevi Fountain or Spanish Steps.

  My mother wasn’t the only one with a flair for drama, I supposed.

  Only I hadn’t died.

  I had gotten better, stronger, happier in less than two weeks.

  My appetite had come back with a roar, and I had eaten my way from Naples to Rome to Sicily. I had tanned on the Riviera and eaten more butter than I thought was possible in Paris, smeared on fresh-baked bread so good it had brought tears to my eyes, then washed it down with the richest wine imaginable. I had visited Greece and admired the quiet beauty of its coastal villages, making friends with the locals, learning about the world as they saw it.