“Deep breaths.” My sister’s words soothe as fingers sink into my hair, stroking my scalp. I force myself to inhale as the vampire moves away. Garthelle’s voice reaches me, rumbling on a low register. He sounds tense, angry. I could close my eyes and point directly to where he is without the assistance of his voice. His aura brushes up against mine like the radiant heat from a bonfire on a chilly winter night in the woods.
Like that camping trip we took in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. A harsh place in late November. Why we went then, I will never understand. But the sky, the stars. Never before, and never again since, have I seen so many stars twinkling against the black velvet of the midnight sky. As if someone tossed a million flawlessly cut diamonds across the top of the world. And the sounds, oh, the tranquility of the world without humanity. Not quiet or still, not by any measure. The thrum of bullfrogs, tree frogs, crickets and other nocturnal creatures. It was the most beautiful symphony I’ve ever heard.
The memories string together, broken sporadically by sharp, gouging pain, only to flood over my senses once again. Like the rhythm of the ocean’s tide. I lose myself in it, until I no longer know where I am, or when. The ceiling isn’t a clear summer day anymore, but the pitch of deep night, scattered with stars that wink back at me. Like Garthelle’s eyes, when he’s laughing at a joke whose punch line only he can truly appreciate.
I let my eyes slide closed because I can’t begin to comprehend how he could have had the ceiling repainted so quickly. It confuses me, makes my pulse pound in my ears. I remind myself to take another deep breath, and block everything out. Memories are fine with me. I’d rather live in the past anyways.
It comes in flashes, suddenly. Our mother, smiling. Humming a lullaby I can’t remember the words to. Staring blindly at the holo-news, rocking in a weaving, faintly circular motion that’s at once hypnotic and disturbing.
Watching her. Knowing that father wouldn’t be coming back. He wouldn’t save us. Wouldn’t protect us. He’d walked away. Gone. Easier to detach and begin again, apparently.
Jhez and I were curled on the couch together. Side by side that time, not like this. The disparity is jarring. It separates me from the crushing emotion of the memories I keep locked away in a deep, far corner for good reason.
Yet I’m far from at peace with my present existence. Satisfaction is fleeting—brief glimpses and stuttered moments. The glow of a coupe in the boulevard luminescence. The full moon, high in the sky between the skyscrapers, sliding in and out of stringy autumn clouds.
Everything has changed. But nothing has. If the uprising had never occurred, if vampires still walked society in secret, where would that have left me and Jhez? So different from everyone around us even then—just as we are now. We still hide what we are. Not of one, not of the other. So we’ve learned to keep our heads down, blend in. Survival, and all that jazz. People see what they expect to see. Thankfully, so do vamps. No vamp-blood would willingly live on the street, after all. Wouldn’t call it easy, but it was the path of least resistance. One small decision after another. One small concession leads to the next.
And all the sudden you don’t recognize where you are anymore.
I don’t think Garthelle even realizes why we’re different. I guess you could borrow the term dhampyre to apply to us. Our mother wasn’t one of them. She was human, and died like one easily enough. Our father is another story.
Our father, whose likeness whispers to me from the stranger across the room. She throws a glance our way, here and there. I ignore her. Pretend not to notice.
We don’t really know who or what our father was, aside from a vamp. Vincent Noir, face plastered on the media holos almost constantly during the disclosure. The annals of history . . . well. That’s all controlled by them now. And only their ilk has access to it. Humanity is considered a step down the evolutionary ladder. Not worth the effort to educate us, or anything of that nature. We’re so short-lived, for starters. Why would they bother wasting their resources, right?
The vamps begin drifting from the room, the activity moving elsewhere. By that point, Jhez is sporting a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead. Sometimes having twenty random nibbles ripped from your chi can cost you more than one quick john feeding on the street.
“I hope this is ending.” Her voice isn’t any steadier than her hand as she trails her fingers over my shoulder to give it a squeeze. I obligingly grab the back of the couch and leverage myself out of her lap to sit up. My vision immediately begins to tunnel into darkness and I lean forward to hang my head down between my knees.
If only it was as simple as a case of lightheadedness, but I know it’s not. There was one other time when my energy got this low. Desperation had driven me to entertain one too many johns, back to back. It’s the closest I ever want to come to pure insanity. Stupid, stupid, stupid. For as long as Jhez and I have worked the boulevard, I should know better. Should have shot up beforehand with an amplifier or something. Drawn the line a couple hours ago and put a stop to it.
But what choice did Garthelle give me? My life, or my freedom.
The vamp’s reactive alarm sings along my veins. His emotion pulses through the residue of his chi, thrums into the reservoir pooled in my stomach. That, despite the fact that he’s halfway across the room playing host. I don’t know how, but I hear him hasten his guests’ farewells. Each word, the tension of awareness, registers as if I’m standing next to him, can feel the urgency in his stride as he approaches. Nothing of this caliber has ever happened to me before. Chi residue doesn’t do this.
His hands are heavy on my shoulders despite his gentle grip as he squats in front of me. Like the penetrating warmth of the summer sun, his touch pierces to my bones, deeper. Energy-memories surge through me like a vivid dream. I quiver at the sudden flush of heat, shuddering beneath the brush of his chi against mine. When did the room become so cold?
“What’s wrong?” The vampire doesn’t try to veil the depth of his concern. For someone who wanted me dead for my crimes against the lyche, he seems very distraught. Or is it that I can feel the panic and tension in his voice along my skin? I clench my eyes shut, try to fight off the disorientation. Fisting my hands into the edge of the couch, I shake my head in wordless dismissal. Everything feels like it’s registering from two distinct sources.
Jhez makes no attempt to touch me. She’s been here; she knows better. I take that back. She’s never been here, but she’s been somewhere close. “Take a guess,” she says. Her curt words are evidence of her own spent energy.
“Give me five minutes,” Garthelle murmurs, pushing to his feet. My body screams at the withdrawal of his touch. He moves away across the room, and I groan at the tension burgeoning in my chest. Clamping my tongue between my molars keeps the traitorous organ from screaming out for him to get his ass back over here. Now.
“Jhez, oh . . . fuck.” She strokes my hair, knowing from past experience the caress won’t unbalance me further. And she starts to hum a lullaby. A wordless tune our mother once crooned while tucking us into bed at night. Oh, to know such carefree moments again. Even briefly.
It’s never been like this, ever. Not this level of sensitivity, of awareness, of raw need. So much like an addiction, it terrifies me. I should have let him kill me. Encouraged it. I would have accepted that eagerly had I known this would happen. The nature of the pain is familiar, though. While it’s been some time since I’ve been careless enough to experience it, a Nightwalker doesn’t swiftly forget the discomfort of dangerously exhausted energy reserves. It’s the warning sign. Push yourself past it—which takes conscious effort—and death results.
I need Blue. Need an amp, just something to get me through the worst, until my body can recover. Assimilate the last of Garthelle’s chi. Because it’s still floating in me, separate and distinct, echoing every flux in the man.
“Don’t even think about it.” His tone firm, he growls the words so close I feel the brush of his lips. His breath is cool against the hype
rsensitive skin of my cheek.
“Avoiding death was the reason for this bargain, as I recall.” My sister’s voice sounds disembodied, distant.
“I’m acutely aware of that.” Garthelle sounds as though his final thread of patience is quickly fraying.
I feel as if I’m floating, as though the world is rotating. Never mind that vampires, so far as I know, refrain from expressing emotion for the same reason they enjoy inciting it in their victims—or hosts, if you will. Emotions create energy for them to feed on. When one doesn’t have their own ready supply of fuel, it’s draining. It shouldn’t exhaust him though. Not after the way he gorged himself on me.
“Where are you going?” Jhez’s voice is sharp, hostile. And at the same time, I can hear the thread of panic begging Garthelle to do something.
“Somewhere quiet. Your twin needs rest,” comes the dry, withering response. “I’ve plenty of room.”
“I don’t trust you.”
I try to reach out to her. The energy in my stomach hums with the desire to calm her fears, but my aura lacks the strength to obey.
With a disapproving hiss, Garthelle tightens his arm around my shoulders. Tension radiates from his chest, though why he’s so close to me, I can’t determine. He makes such a great effort to keep his distance. Never mind that he hates me. I can feel his other arm around my legs. Why is he carrying me?
Jhez sighs, the sound resigned. Accepting. “Very well, Le Gross. Have it your way. Is there a driver to take me home? I’ll return this afternoon. It’s what Black wants.” She pauses, and I imagine she’s tilting her head to study him. “My twin doesn’t trust you either. In case you hadn’t taken notice. Provide a reason.” Jhez’s lips brush against my hair and then she retreats and is gone.
“Brazen words, don’t you think?” Garthelle’s whisper, and his footsteps, echo mutedly in my ears as if I’m submerged in water. “Though not surprising. Both of you are rather forward and outspoken.”
A door latch clicks. Opening my eyes accomplishes nothing; my surroundings appear as indistinguishable blurs of colors. Despite that, I can still recognize a bed for what it is, and I hum a random sound of relief when Garthelle lowers me onto its soft, welcoming surface. Fingertips graze my cheek, brushing the hair from my face, and I shudder at the vivid surge of energy-memories that swell up in response.
I hear his voice but can’t respond as I sink into unconsciousness, into the darkness where the energy throbs to life to serenade me with sensations and emotions, singing along my nerve endings with such force that pain and pleasure blend together.
Consciousness returns with sudden clarity, like flipping a light switch.
I open my eyes, but make no attempt to move. Energy drain tenses the body, heightens sensitivity, and the hangover is akin to a full-bodied cross between a bruise and a cramp. Taking stock of my surroundings and searching my overworked brain for what happened is a more pressing need.
Despite my condition, there’s warmth enveloping me. It alleviates the worst of the pain. I shift my hips, wondering where the heat’s coming from.
Silk sheets, black. Heavy velvet curtains shroud the windows—black. Vague glow of illumination. Black-light. I tense and wonder if I’m still experiencing some sort of hallucination. Or am I somehow back in Garthelle’s flat?
“Relax.” The word is thick and husky with slumber. Memory floods back, triggered by the sound of that single word. I’m not certain, though, how ensuring my undisturbed rest involves throwing one’s arm around me and . . . spooning.
The energy in my veins hums at his proximity. With a sigh, I close my eyes and relax into the heat radiating from his form. Garthelle shifts, his arm tightening.
“That doesn’t happen often, does it.” His words, still slightly slurred with sleep, are a caress of warm air along the nape of my neck.
“I don’t usually push myself that hard.”
Garthelle grunts. It’s beyond my comprehension how he managed to lay here in bed with me for however long without feeling the urge to feed on me. Perhaps the fact that he fed recently was enough? Or maybe it just isn’t a temptation since I don’t have much to offer him. But those aspects alone wouldn’t stay any other vampire. Or, to be more precise—I wouldn’t trust them to show any restraint.
The silence draws out, a peaceful, serene creature basking in the hazy warmth of inexplicable gratification.
So of course I shatter it. “Why am I in your bed? I could have slept this off elsewhere, Monsieur. It—”
The moist caress of his lips on my shoulder silences me, sucking the air from my lungs.
“I did promise your sister I’d keep you safe. Given the wealth of guests here—and your condition—I thought it best to bring you here.” He pauses, as if giving his next words extra consideration. “I tried sleeping elsewhere.” Shifting his arm, he grazes fingertips against the center of my chest. “I found your presence too great a temptation.”
I laugh at his word choice, dismissing it as an attempt to allay my fears. Because the most frightening aspect of this situation I’ve awakened into is that he sounds sincere. Not that he didn’t the other evening, with his hand fisted in my hair. I feel like a rabid wolf has crawled into my sleeping bag or something.
“How long does it usually take for you to recuperate?”
I shift my head against the pillow, inhaling his distinctive scent that clings to the silk. Sandalwood, dragon’s blood. Trying to distract myself. This isn’t something I discuss with anyone except my sister. Especially when his reasons for even asking are sketchy at best.
“I had no intention of doing anything but resting for two weeks after you fed from me.” An honest admission that doesn’t reveal the truth. If it makes him feel guilty, I won’t care. His demands and ultimatums have destroyed my plans for respite, a vacation away from the teeming metro of the Blue District slums.
His fingers still against my skin. I glance down at his hand, noticing the subtle similarities in our coloring. And the disparities. My body borders on early stages of translucency, while Garthelle’s is simply pale, flushed with the healthy glow of his aura.
“I didn’t know.” The vampire’s tone hints at a rather feeble apology.
“You didn’t ask, either. I thought that surely, with a private harem of Nightwalkers at your beck and call, you would’ve acquired a basic familiarity with how these things work.”
The bed shifts at my back, the close heat of his body retreating as Garthelle props up on an elbow. I look over my shoulder, meeting his narrowed yellow gaze.
“You don’t know half of what you think you do.” His whisper is harsh, and I immediately regret my judgmental tone. Why should I? Aside from the vibration of energy pulsing from him that sends the residue in my veins throbbing in response. In a completely uncomfortable way. Oh yes. Vampire. Dangerous. Can kill you without touching you.
Gaia save me, I need coffee if I have to deal with vampires this early in the morning. I chafe a hand over my face and massage the bridge of my nose. Garthelle turns away abruptly, throwing the bed sheets off his legs to sit on the edge. With his back to me, shoulders hunched, forehead cradled in his hands, elbows settled on his silk-clad knees.
The sinuous line of his back is a jagged yet symmetrically beautiful mountain range of bone beneath taut flesh. He’s right. As experienced as I am at walking the boulevard, I have no knowledge at all of their culture, society, stigmas, or way of life. I am as ignorant as the day I pawned a portion of chi off to my first john. It’s easy to lay the blame for it in his lap, fault him for submersing me so thoroughly in a world I have, as he so aptly observed, no knowledge of whatsoever. Thus far I’ve existed only on the fringes. And he has plunged me into the heart of it, baptizing me with pain and suffering.
Garthelle lowers his hands, dangling them limply between his knees, and turns to look at me over his shoulder. The tense lines in his features convey a wealth of emotions I have no capacity to translate, but his yellow eyes are soft as he st
udies me.
In a flurried invasion, the vampire’s butler hustles into the adjoining room. Accompanying his arrival is a fanfare of raised voices and tense alarm from the hallway.
“What is it?” Garthelle’s brusque tone makes me turn away, closing my eyes.
“Your presence is required, Monsieur.” The man pauses. “It seems one of the guests has a slight problem needing your attention.” Even I can see the butler’s wording is deliberately mild.
“Give me a moment.” I wonder if the man picks up on Garthelle’s strained patience as easily as I do. The door clicks shut and the bed shifts slightly as he stands. “Up. Dress yourself. You’re coming with me.”
Sitting up in small increments, I watch the vampire slide into a simple shirt of white silk and rest my forearms on my raised knees. He glances at me, his expression blank, before straightening the drape of the silk with practiced motions.
“I’m not certain I understand.” I key my voice low, not wanting to irritate him further. Because deference is the greater part of valor, or some such. Or is that discretion? Big difference, shame I can’t recall. Mother used to spout such drivel. At the moment, however, I’m acutely aware of the precarious situation in which I exist. I divert my eyes to the bedcovers, pulling at their slick material with nervous fingers when Garthelle grabs for the black slacks draped on his dressing table.
“You are my eyes and ears. I expect you’ll hear or see details I’m likely to overlook.” His tone is firm, flat. Makes the back of my scalp twinge to hear it, as if I can still feel his fist knotted in my hair. The matter is not open to discussion.
This is ridiculous. Yet I toss back the bedcovers and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, then pull my clothes on. I’m wary of inciting an argument, of resisting the demands of the man who owns me now. Sensitive to my limitations, I stay seated on the edge of the bed until standing is necessary to tug the slacks up over my hips. My legs feel like insubstantial rubber weakened by prolonged exposure to sunlight.
Blacker than Black Page 7
