Blood Bound

by R. J. Blain

  We would? “You’re going to control me in the ballroom if necessary, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely not. You’re my butterfly, and while you’re more like goo in my hands right now, you just need a chance to finish your metamorphosis. You’ll be fine. Your body is learning the steps now, and so is your mind. I saw your expression when you finally understood what I was trying to teach you with each step in the dance. Learning to dance is one part being able to read your partner and another part memorizing the feel of the dance with the music. As I am the host, I will ensure all of the songs that are played are songs we have practiced. I have an entire week to work with you. I think I shall enjoy my days more than usual, although I will sleep little. You will emerge from this week a changed woman.”

  “Changed how?” I demanded.

  “Well, you will be able to dance without humiliating yourself. I will not ruin the best surprise. I am merely giving you the key. It will be up to you to discover where the lock is and what is hiding behind it.”

  Emerick existed to vex me. I’d died, stumbled into hell, and the insufferable vampire couldn’t decide if he was some saint or Satan out to screw with me. Perhaps he understood I thrived on challenges and wanted me to flavor my undead existence with something other than dread and disdain for myself.

  It would take a lot more than a few secrets and attempts at annoying me for that. As it was, I still questioned how I’d survived.

  Before death and unlife, I would have chosen a permanent grave if given the option.

  Emerick danced me around his sitting room; we dodged the furniture, moving to the music as though it dictated our every breath. I found his ability to force me to move with poise and grace as fascinating as his fluid motions.

  “You should have been a dancer rather than a vampire. You’re obviously wasted as some evil lord of the night.”

  He chuckled, and the sound rumbled in his chest. “If humans were birds, dancing would be the plumage with which we convince ladies to choose us over another. This has been the nature of humans for centuries. Even now, humans dance for each other to find partners, although I find modern dancing leaves little to the imagination, lacking in both grace and dignity while being delightfully honest in intention.”

  “Why teach me how to dance?”

  “I’m teaching you the extent of my power over you because you’ve consumed so much of my blood—and also why you were wise to make certain your staked prey died after you drank them down. Had you removed the stakes before you’d finished drinking them down, you would have been a puppet in their hands. In time, you can learn how to do the same trick. In fact, I’m going to teach you how. You must increase in strength first, or you will be unable to break through my other defenses. There’s a trick to it.”

  Great. “So, you’re going to drink my blood too?” I’d listened enough to understand that if he drank my blood, all we’d be doing was increasing the chance we’d become blood bound. Treating him like dessert already put us—or put me—at a high risk of it.

  “While you handled being brought in the brood well, I will sip from you while you sleep. I will keep the amount I take a secret, and if you need a little extra in the morning to replenish what I’ve cruelly stolen, we simply won’t tell that pesky doctor.”

  “Except your security people now know.”

  “I’m sure they will be entertained at my deceptions until I reveal you at the ball, after which the world will know you are a jewel of our brood. It is my hope the ball brings trouble in the form of your maker. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as finishing a good night of dancing with bloodshed and revenge.”

  “This sounds like a disaster in the making to me.”

  “That is because you are wise for all you are young. Wisdom is knowing when something will lead to disaster. Cunning is understanding how to make use of wisdom for our benefit. I will be wise and cunning, and I will control as much of the inevitable disaster as possible.” Emerick spun me, captured me by my waist, and drew me close. “And it will infuriate your maker when he watches me dance with you, drawing you closer with each twirl. And by the time I’m finished with you, you will be the one dancing without any help from me at all, and you will be the one bringing yourself closer to me. With the types of modern dresses I’ve seen ladies wear, there will be very little in the way of clothes dividing us. It’ll be scandalous.”

  Having seen and worn my fair share of silk dresses meant to accent my every curve, Emerick underestimated how scandalous such a thing could become.

  We’d light fires on the dance floor, and I’d have to put on an act if I wished to remain aloof and neutral.

  Any woman would be affected by Emerick dancing while wearing one of his perfect suits, and I had no doubt he’d wear something far better than his classic suit.

  If he went for something in an older style, when men treated themselves like peacocks, I’d be a ball of raging hormones along with everyone else. For my peace of mind, he needed to resume his intolerably egotistical act. Why couldn’t I have found Ben or one of the other men attractive? Why him?

  Damned tempting suit, damned tempting man, damned tempting vampire.

  I broke all of my father’s rules in one fell swoop, which made my interest in Emerick all the more delicious. Add in his blood, could I really blame myself?

  He would test my patience, but I wouldn’t completely fall prey to him. I’d somehow scrape together enough strength to resist my interest in him. I’d even forget he’d watched me in the tub while I slept. The bubbles had done a good job of protecting the little modesty I cared about.

  He’d seen me covered head to toe in filth, and he’d found value in me even then.

  No, I wasn’t supposed to be justifying my interest in him, damn it.

  “That scandalous dress better cover everything important,” I warned. “I will burn the dress if it exposes too much cleavage or leg. Or anything else for that matter.”

  “It will be modest enough—just sleek. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll have healthy curves. I have spent a great deal of time, effort, and money convincing the brides my brood has acquired that they are treasures even when we men cannot count their ribs. Personally, I find ribs rather unappealing. A healthy woman has meat on her bones.”

  Right. Emerick counted his years in hundreds, and a long time ago, a plump woman appealed more than modern stick-figure women. Food meant wealth, wealth meant power, and women who could eat a great deal held wealth and power. I found modern society couldn’t figure out we needed to be somewhere between the past and the present.

  It’d been so long since I’d been anywhere near healthy, I forgot what it meant to be something other than tired, bone-thin, and unnaturally pale.

  As Emerick controlled the rest of my body, I could only scowl. “Just how much meat on my bones do you think I should have?”

  “I think you would be ideal at a size five or six. You do not have a size right now. You have an endless chain of zeroes. You need room for your muscle, and you need enough softness to trick foolish men into thinking you’re weaker than you are. Then you will teach them you’re no dainty princess. Do you not believe you are deserving of some indulgence? A smaller size would leave you starving yourself again, which I will not have in my house.”

  “And do you dictate the sizes of all your brood’s women?”

  “I give educated suggestions and ensure they are offered everything they require to make that happen with room for some indulgence. I do bar my vampires from gluttony, however. An unhealthy brood is a weak brood. But generally, we have trouble gaining weight as it is, so you will find it difficult to become unhealthy unless you adopt a lifestyle of true laze. Unless pregnant, in which case, you get to indulge in a lifestyle of moderate laze, as that is a woman’s right as the sufferer of such discomforts.”

  “You sound rather modern for someone so ancient.”

  “It’s mandatory brood masters make the attempt to meld with modern times.
It makes things easier. It makes the broods more attractive for those potentially interested in being made into one of us, too. Albeit, my brood has more rescues than anything.”

  “Like Ben.”

  “Ben’s turning was more dramatic than I prefer, and he lost a lot gaining his unlife. Ten years ago, I would not have suggested a bride for him, as he still grieved the loss of his wife. But now? He is a changed man, and he is more ready for companionship. I would not have him watch a young, human wife slowly age and be lost to death. And he would not risk a young woman as you were risked.” Emerick spun me again, twirled me back into him, and dipped me until only his arm kept me from falling to the floor. “Before I gift you with your maker so you may toy with him however you please then cut off his head, drain him dry, and stake him to his final grave, I intend to thank him for his part in what you have become. I would not have risked such a treasure. Modern women, stubborn, proud, and cunning, are all treasures, mind you, but for you to have done as you have? You’re a true jewel.”

  “I don’t toy with my prey, Lowrance. I will quickly finish him off so he doesn’t have a chance to surprise me.”

  “That is a wise hunting strategy. He will be yours to do with as you please, although I recommend you drag your prey out of the ballroom before you drain him dry, stake him, and cut off his head. You’d scare the guests.” Emerick pulled me up with far more grace than my position should have allowed and spun me away from him.

  His control over me vanished, and with an awkward squawk, I crashed to the floor.

  The bastard laughed. “You were supposed to continue the steps.”

  Color me unsurprised. “You, sir, are a certified asshole.”

  “Ah, but your expression was a thing of beauty. So offended I’d tricked you into falling. This is an important lesson you must learn, my little butterfly. Should another vampire force you to drink his blood, you must be ready to regain control of your body. You must learn how to fight my influences. Now, we try again. We will dance, and you must learn how to reclaim what is rightfully yours.”

  Comprehension struck me, and I stared at the brood’s master with wide eyes. Was he really trying to teach me how to overcome his control over my body? Any sane man in a position of power would want to maintain control rather than free a desirable, like me, from his influences.

  I’d learned that lesson early on.

  “You’re confused. Ask your question.”

  “You want me to figure out how to counter your control over me?”

  “In part. Of course, being able to take control of you could have its benefits, especially if I see a threat you do not, but you need to learn how to react when I no longer control your body. Vampires are ambush predators. By default, we do not fight fairly, nor should we. We are not the only preternatural predators, and there are some fights we can only win through cunning. You’ll learn how to identify those threats when your lessons with Ben begin.”

  I already struggled enough with being a predator as it was; I hadn’t really considered the possibility there were bigger, meaner predators out there. “What sort of other predators?”

  “Weres are a good one. It depends on their base species. Werewolves are common, and honestly, they’re all bark and little bite. You can make a werewolf happy with a promise to rub their belly while offering them a steak. A werecobra, on the other hand, would rather just eat you.”

  “Werewhat?”

  “Werecobras. They’re preternaturals who transform into man-sized cobras who happen to enjoy eating other preternaturals. They bite their prey, wait for them to die most of the time, and swallow them whole. The nastier ones start with the feet because they like their not-quite-dead prey to put up a fight at mealtime.”

  Horror such a thing could exist rendered me speechless, and I gaped at Emerick.

  “It’s true. There are pictures. While my brood typically hunts money, we’re known to start a hunt for beings like that; they’re a danger to everyone. They often bring in a good bounty. Ah, that reminds me. I’ve your pay, and I put it in a bank account drawn in your name.” The brood’s master crossed the sitting room, stepping over me on his way to one of the side tables. He retrieved a white envelope from a stack of papers, returned to me, and offered it with a smirk.

  Damn it, I wanted to wipe the smug expression off his face. Accepting the envelope, I opened it and removed several sheets of paper, which proved to be an invoice for the bounties, including a list of dates I’d completed the kill, the method of death, and the value of each of my victims.

  One of the miscreants had been worth over a million dollars, and I sucked in a breath. “Who is this Carnegie fellow? Why was he worth so much?”

  His picture annoyed me. I remembered the bastard; he’d been one of my favorite kills, although he’d tasted the worst. He’d tasted so bad I’d wanted to throw up after draining him of all of his blood. It’d taken me over two weeks to get the evidence I needed to prove he enjoyed killing children, and by the time I’d gotten my hands on him, I’d been desperate from thirst in addition to infuriated over his choice of victims.

  “If you think he was worth a lot, wait till you get to the next page. Of your kills, Carnegie surprised me the most. He was over three hundred years old at his time of death, which made him one of your more dangerous prey, but it took you less than fifteen minutes to take him out and drain him. The crime-scene evidence had him killed off by an equally old vampire with a grudge. A male, mind you.”

  I shrugged. “He had a pattern. I followed the pattern, showed up early, and ambushed him. All it takes is a stake.”

  “From a very, very old tree. Nobody knew where you’d gotten the stake from, which is why the presumption he’d been killed off by an old vampire. Where did you get that particular stake? I’ve claimed it from evidence as the kill was registered as yours, by the way.”

  Emerick had my stake? My eyes widened. “You have it? My stake? You really have it?”

  “I see you are fond of that particular stake.”

  I huffed. “I’m fond of all of my stakes, thank you. I carved them myself.”

  I’d also tried to kill myself with it several times with no success. I’d thought the damned thing had hated me, but it’d loved piercing that bastard through his cold heart. We’d gotten along quite well that night, and I credited the stake with the ease of his death.

  With a low chuckle, Emerick went into his bedroom and returned a few moments later with a cloth-wrapped bundle, which he handed to me. “All of the stakes from your kills are there; once a kill has been verified as legal through a bounty, the stakes are given back to the hunter, as good stakes are valuable tools. Of course, before realizing you were the killer, I had the stakes examined and certified, so each one is tagged with its approximate age and value.”

  I sat up, set aside the envelope and papers, rested the bundle on my lap, and rolled it open. My collection of stakes, some barely the length of my hand while the longest spanned a full two feet, gleamed in the rooms light, the wood as polished as I’d been able to make it with my simplistic tools. Dumpster diving for sandpaper hadn’t been one of my favorite things to do in the world, but there were a surprising number of home renovation companies in New York City with a tendency to toss unwanted packages rather than attempt to resell them at discount.

  I’d stolen those, using them to put the finishing touches on my crude carving job. It still amazed me my pocketknife had survived the abuse.

  The stake responsible for Carnegie’s death had neither been here nor there, middle of the road in everything from color to length. Its tip had been my best, sharp enough to piece through skin without much resistance. I held it, stroking my fingers down its length. As it had from the night I’d climbed high into its tree, the wood warmed at my touch.

  It reminded me of the sunlight I missed, of the warmth of summer, of everything I’d lost when I’d awoken in my grave and dug my way to cursed freedom.

  I’d cried that night while carving
it, wishing it could put an end to me unlike the others. It hadn’t listened to me, but I didn’t mind as it’d gone on to do more important work.

  Carnegie had deserved his death at my hands.

  According to the tag, the wood was over five hundred years old, although its exact age remained unknown. The appraiser had labeled its potency with an infinity symbol. “What does the potency mean?”

  “Potency is the age of vampire the stake can slay. When an infinity symbol is used, it indicates the stake has a high chance of working on any vampire regardless of age. As such, the stake is classified as priceless. I had it registered as your property, but unfortunately, you were also registered as the crafter.”

  “Unfortunately? Why is that unfortunately?” I held the stake close to my chest. “I did good work on this stake!”

  “Your work was too good on all of those stakes, Pepper.”

  My work was what? Scowling, I regarded the rest of my stakes. “Excuse me?”

  “The work is too good, especially for your age.”

  “Like hell the work is too good!”

  He sat beside me and gestured to the stake I clutched to my chest. “Every brood on Earth will want you carving stakes for them now, Pepper. The crafting is superb, the potency borders on being ridiculous, and the stakes, one and all, are very, very opinionated on who may handle them. A bounty hunter attempted to claim that one as his wrongly, and it dusted him for his crimes.”

  I frowned. “Dusted? What do you mean?”

  “It reduced him to a pile of dust. After that display, they were handled with a great deal of care. That has led to many questions. Primarily, there have been inquiries on how you managed to instill them with so much life.”

  I could answer one of several ways, but the truth would end the conversation sooner and perhaps prevent the subject from coming up again. “I carved them hoping they would kill me, but none of them would. Then I used them on the miscreants, so I’d have to carve another one. I just figured vampires couldn’t stake themselves.”