Chapter Two
“Why me?” I ask as we drive through West Hollywood.
“I needed a tour guide to this century and there you were.”
“Great.” I’ve spent my entire life never being chosen for anything. Being average height, average weight, and bookish, I tend to blend. Neither the cool kids, nor the jocks wanted anything to do with me in school, and men like him have looked straight past me ever since. “That’s just great.”
“People have begged me for the gift I just gave you. Offered me riches beyond imagination. Yet all you do is whine.”
“Dude, you killed me. You actually killed me. Do you seriously expect me to thank you?”
“How long is it going to take for you to get past that?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But when I do, we’re going to have a long conversation about consent.”
He shakes his head.
“When I was dying…you said something about me reminding you of someone?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Maybe I imagined it. My memories of the attack and him turning me are shadowy at best.
There are plenty of people out tonight, and so much traffic. He must have been awake sometime in the last century because he knows how to drive. And he drives my ten-year-old Prius so I don’t accidentally break it. Like how I cracked the wood banister as we were heading out. All I did was put my hand on it and bang. I obviously don’t know my own strength. Or speed, for that matter. Every move I make now needs to be slow and steady and careful. Given my general lack of patience, this is no easy feat.
The vehicle’s keyless start and automatic transition were new to him. I also had to talk him through the various electronics. For a while, he just sat and stared at the dashboard in a daze. Guess there are a lot of lights and information. Now I stare out the passenger-side window in a similar state. I think I’m in shock. I know this is happening, but it doesn’t seem real. Like I am watching it all from a distance.
“Women such as yourself used to be more accommodating,” he says. “Less sharp-tongued.”
“Women such as myself?” I ask archly.
He doesn’t respond. But the word homely appears in a still and silent corner of my mind. And I absolutely bet it’s what he means. Asshole.
“How long were you in that room for?”
“A while.”
“Did we even have the right to vote the last time you were awake?”
“Yes. That happened in 1920,” he says. “You don’t wear a wedding ring. Are you a spinster or a widower?”
“Neither. I’m single. Spinster isn’t a term that’s used now.”
“No boyfriend?”
“No. And no girlfriend or partner either.”
“So you live with your family?”
I snort. “I have my own place. Thank you very much.”
He does the furrowed forehead thing. Like he is judging all of my life decisions. Again.
“You may not realize it, but there have been multiple studies done proving that single women living alone are one of the happiest subsets of people in the world.”
“Is that so? What does this button do?” He pushes something and music blares out of the stereo. A song by Halsey. “Is this if you want to torture someone at the same time as you’re driving?”
“No, it’s for enjoyment. Halsey’s great.”
We stop at a red light, and he examines the sports car beside us with interest—along with the handsome Asian man sitting behind the wheel. They exchange smiles, and I would really rather not be part of whatever he is doing. Hunting for sex or blood, or I don’t know what.
The air tastes different in the city. At that house it tasted of dust and stone inside, and sweet jasmine and the perfume from the climbing roses in the garden. But here there’s smog and a dash of salt spray from the distant Pacific Ocean. It has a definite aftertaste. As do the people nearby.
I turn away before I can fixate on the sight of all that blood rushing beneath their skin. Hunger will not control me. I am not an animal, no matter what he’s done to me. The light turns green and away we go.
“What are the rules for being a vampire?” I ask.
“Do as I say.”
As if.
It’s truly ridiculous how attractive he is, with his flawless skin, deep blue eyes, and glossy, thick hair. The driver’s-side window is down, and a breeze tousles his locks. He’s like something out of an ad for cologne or designer jeans. Though, I guess that helps them ensnare the next meal.
His gaze is constantly on the move. Taking in the people on the sidewalks, other vehicles on the road, and the buildings we’re passing. High-rises amaze him, and the digital advertising billboards fascinate him to no end. Along with a group of scantily clad people spilling out of a bar. And following close behind them is a woman who absolutely cannot be human.
“That woman,” I say in horror. “She had amber eyes, and her teeth…holy shit!”
“Sounds like a werewolf,” he says. “Such things have always been here. You’re no longer susceptible to the human unwillingness to see what’s in front of you. To excuse away the things that scare you. Don’t be so shocked. What you consider unnatural is really just the parts of our world you have yet to experience.”
None of this makes me happy. “So, what do you want at my work?”
“I haven’t decided yet. But it’s interesting that they had the house keys.” He runs his tongue over his fangs as he looks people over as we drive. “The style of clothing has certainly changed.”
“Your suit is dated. But people wear all sorts of things now. Dressing in vintage clothing is common enough.”
He nods.
“Have you ever even seen a TV?”
“Yes. I bought my first one at the 1939 World’s Fair.” He points toward the circular Capitol Records Building. “They’d only just started work on that the last time I saw it.”
“How old are you exactly?”
“Have I mentioned that your manners are appalling?”
“You attacked me, drank my blood, and turned me into a vampire. Do you really want to discuss manners?”
“Drinking blood is a matter of survival,” he says. “I won’t apologize for it. And I could have left you to rot. I still might.”
Here’s the thing. The idea of becoming a vampire is seductive, in theory. Movies make it look so good. Live forever and all that. But the actual process of being attacked and exsanguinated is traumatic as fuck. Not to mention all of the changes to your body. The demand that you leave your everyday life behind and embrace…whatever this is.
I press my hand to my chest, waiting to feel the beat of my heart. It doesn’t happen. I hold my breath and wait. And wait some more.
“You don’t need to breathe,” he says. “You’re just doing it out of habit.”
“How were we even invented? Who made the first vampire?”
“Invented?” He laughs. “You make us sound like Frankenstein’s monster. The truth is, no one knows for sure. Or no one I’ve ever met. I believe it’s some sort of magic, though the how and why of it are lost to time.”
“Magic is real?”
“Your heart no longer beats and yet you’re still walking around. What would you call it?”
He has a point. Not that I’m going to admit that. “You haven’t told me your name.”
“Lucas.”
“Lucas. Okay. I don’t sparkle in sunlight now, do I?”
“No. You burn to ash.” His dark brows draw together. “Sparkling. What an absurd idea. Why on earth would you think that?”
“No reason.” My stomach churns. Good to know that even the undead experience anxiety. “Take the next left and park anywhere.”
“We can’t shapeshift, and nor can we control animals,” he says in a truly testy voice. “I should have beat the shit out of Stoker when I had the chance. Same goes for Polidori and Le Fanu for breaking confidences and spinning such fantastical fallacies about our kind.”
“Wait a minute. Are you talking about Bram Stoker? The guy who wrote Dracula ? You actually knew him?”
“No,” he answers eventually. “He was a friend of…never mind.”
The Thorn Group owns an old, six-story building. Though what counts as old is debatable, given my current company. Imagine having beef with someone dating back centuries.
A security guard watches as I carefully swipe my card, and the glass doors slide open. He has white skin and military-short hair. And the bulk of his attention is on the man behind me in the vintage suit. The one who is staring at the sliding doors with an awestruck expression. Guess he hasn’t seen those before either.
It can’t really have only been a few hours ago that I walked out these doors. I wince at all of the bright lights. No wonder Lucas sticks to candles. It’s your standard lobby, with a security desk and couple of elevators at the back. There’s a couple of potted plants and a piece of modern art to give the space character. Keeping with tonight’s theme, the artwork largely consists of red splashes of paint.
A delicious scent hits me as soon as I step foot inside, and my mouth begins to water. I can smell the man’s blood, warm and fragrant. I can hear the way it whooshes through his veins and the steady beat of his heart. It calls to me like nothing I have ever known.
Lucas stands with his hand wrapped around the security guard’s neck. I didn’t even see him move. Then he stares into the man’s eyes and asks, “Who owns this place?”
“Miss Cole,” the security guard answers mechanically. He’s not even struggling. Lucas has put him under some sort of compulsion. “She’s working late tonight. Her office is on the top floor.”
“Thank you.” Lucas gestures me closer. “Come here, Skye. You need to feed.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“It wasn’t a question.”
“You don’t understand. Even if I could do that, there are security cameras watching us.”
“Security cameras?”
“Yes.” Then I remind myself he’s ancient. “Like motion picture film cameras. But smaller. And they’re pretty much everywhere when it comes to public spaces.”
“What a horrifying development.” He frowns and gazes around the room. “Can the cameras be turned off?”
“Yes, sir.” The security guard nods. “Or the recording can be deleted. I’d be happy to do it for you.”
“I appreciate that. Come here, Skye. Don’t make me ask again.”
My whole body is shaking with need.
“If you don’t feed, you’ll die,” says Lucas. “That’s certainly a choice you could make. But you need to know it won’t happen straight away. Desiccation takes a while, even for a newborn. First the hunger will take control of you. We’re standing in the middle of a city. Can you imagine the carnage you would cause?”
“You’d let that happen?”
He just sighs. “The last thing I need is attention from the human press or authorities. Doing it now, with me here, is your best chance of not killing anyone. I’m stronger than you, I can overpower you if necessary. Or just compel you to behave.”
“Promise me you won’t let me kill anyone.”
After a moment, he nods. “Walk slowly over here.”
The elevator chimes and a beautiful Black woman in a suit rushes out. “Wait! Don’t hurt him. I have bags of donated blood.”
“You look just like your grandmother,” says Lucas with a smile.
“Mister Thorn. What a surprise.”
“Apparently not.”
He releases the security guard and takes a bag of blood from her. His nose wrinkles in distaste. “Donated blood, did you say?” He bites the end of the attached tube and sucks some down. “That’s disgusting. It’s cold and you can taste the plastic.”
I’ve met Helena Cole on numerous occasions. Christmas parties and such. She’s tall with natural hair, and her wardrobe is to die for. All of the best designers and shoes I would kill for. But all I can see and hear and smell right now is her blood. All I can focus on is how fast her heart is beating, and the vein raised just so in the side of her neck.
I don’t remember making the decision. I just know that I am going to drink her dry. The realization crosses her face, and out of her coat pocket, she pulls a gun. Smart of her. Though it doesn’t slow me down in the least. I am past the point of rational thought.
My body surges forward, hands reaching, ready to grab her—until I slam back into Lucas. One of his arms wraps around me, holding my arms against my body, and the tube on the bag of donated blood is pushed between my lips.
“Drink,” he orders.
And I gratefully do as told.
“When you asked my grandmother to see to your estate during your absence, she took the task to heart.” Helena Cole sits behind her large desk, the picture of composure. Though, she watches us both warily, and I doubt her gun has gone far. Which is honestly fair enough. “Not only overseeing your assets, but also investing a sizeable portion and growing it into what has now become The Thorn Group.”
“I always liked Shirley.” Lucas sits beside me with his legs crossed. He keeps casting the computer and landline phone curious glances. Any new technology seems to be of great interest to him. “I’m sorry to hear she passed.”
“Thank you. She remembered you fondly and often.”
I sit in the corner of the sofa with my third blood juice box. There’s a fridge hidden in Helena’s office with a handy supply for emergencies. While cold blood isn’t the best thing I have ever tasted, it satiates my hunger. And that’s the important thing. Now that I can think clearly, my behavior downstairs horrifies me. There was no me in the moment. No sign of morals or humanity. Only the hunger. That absolutely cannot happen again. “She worked for you?”
“When it suited her,” he says. “I left her with enough money to do as she liked. But it doesn’t surprise me that she built all this. She had a keen mind and a strong heart. She also got bored easily and was always searching for the next challenge.”
The word daughter appears in my mind, surrounded by that strange stillness again. But I keep it to myself. It might just be my imagination. Given recent events, however, it might be more like weird, psychic powers. Asking Lucas for answers hasn’t gone well so far, so I keep my mouth shut and listen.
A black-and-white photo hangs on the wall. Lucas and a little girl stand beside the piano in the house I was just at in The Hills. Judging by the style of clothing, it was probably taken sometime mid-last century. No wonder he considered Shirley family, if he knew her from when she was a child. Alongside that photo are a variety of framed degrees awarded to Helena.
“Managing director,” says Lucas, reading from the plaque on the desk. “Society has come a long way.”
“With regards to some things. But there’s always more progress to be made. My grandmother wrote the rules for dealing with you and your property,” says Helena in a no-nonsense tone of voice. “Inspections of your house have been carried out periodically over the past seventy years while you’ve been asleep. Any necessary maintenance was carried out only during daylight hours. You were never meant to be disturbed. What went wrong?”
Two sets of eyes turn to me expectantly. Awkward. “Everything was fine until I went into the basement.”
“You entered the basement?”
“Yes.”
Her lips thin in displeasure. “Jen didn’t instruct you to stay out of that part of the house?”
“No. She didn’t. The job was also given to me late in the afternoon. There was nothing mentioned about not being there at night.”
“I see,” says Helena, her hands clasped on the desk. With the way her eyes instantly hardened, I doubt my boss will have a job for long. “Mister Thorn’s decisions are, of course, his own, but I apologize for the part The Thorn Group played in this. You were a member of our staff and…well.”
The smirk returns to Lucas’s face. “I think Helena is trying to apologize to you for me making you a vampire.”
Before I can say anything, she withdraws an envelope from a drawer and announces, “I often wondered what I would do if this night ever came. Hand over your money and sever the connection, or carry on protecting you and your interests, as my grandmother wanted.”
Lucas watches and waits with preternatural stillness.
“Complicating my decision-making on this was that my grandmother warned me of your kind’s powers of compulsion. Meaning that if we were ever to meet, there would be a possibility that I would be henceforth robbed of my freewill.” She takes a deep breath. “My grandmother believed you never used such an ability on her, and it’s my hope and expectation that you will grant me the same respect.”
“Of course,” says Lucas.
Helena turns to me.
“We can really do that?”
“Yes,” answers Lucas. “But it’s no simple thing. It takes time to master the technique.”
“Huh. I won’t use it on you,” I tell her.
Helena nods. “Lucas, she said you saved her from one of your own kind. That none of us would be here if you hadn’t intervened. Therefore, I have to believe there is some good in you, despite what you’ve done to this woman.”
“You are, of course, free to believe what you like, Miss Cole.”
“She made me promise on her deathbed. There she lay with her family gathered around, and yet some of her last thoughts were of you.”
Lucas says nothing.
“The Thorn Group has done a lot of good over the years. My grandmother insisted that a portion of your money be used to help people. Nothing she could do, however, would even begin to compensate for the deaths you left in your wake. But my grandmother also said, it’s better the devil you know. And she knew things. She continued to talk to others of your kind once you were gone. It drove my mother wild that she put herself in danger like that. I am going to keep my word and trust that my grandmother knew what she was doing. For now.”
Helena holds up a black credit card. “You can access your funds with this. Let me know what else you require. The head of our legal department is also a family member and is aware of your unique situation. He should be able to assist with anything that may arise.”
“Anything?” asks Lucas, cocking his head.
“Within reason,” says Helena in a flat and unfriendly tone. “We won’t help you bury any bodies.”
“I’d appreciate it if the house could be seen to.”
“It’ll be taken care of,” says Helena. “Items my grandmother believed would be of use or interest to you have also been collected over the years. They’ll be delivered tomorrow.”
He nods.
“I must insist that there be no further mishaps involving my staff. And know that they will only visit the house during daylight hours.”
“Understood.”
“Skye, you will, of course, be compensated, since this happened to you while carrying out Thorn Group business.”
I nod.
“Was that everything you required for now?”
“Yes,” says Lucas. “Thank you.”
“Please remember to compel the security guard into forgetfulness on your way out. It would be for the best if he never remembers you being here.” Helena sits back in her chair. “Good night, Mister Thorn.”
In the elevator heading down to the lobby, Lucas turns to me and says, “There aren’t people who operate the elevator anymore?”
“No. You just press the button you need. It’s pretty straightforward.”
He nods. “I thought that meeting went quite well.”
“She hates you.”
“There seems to be a lot of that tonight.”
“I mean, she really hates you, and she was not hiding it,” I say. “I half expected you to throw a hissy fit.”
He raises his eyebrows. “A hissy fit?”
“Yes. It means—”
“I can guess what it means.” Another thing he does exceedingly well: sneering. “I do not throw hissy fits.”
“Whatever you say.” I inspect my nails. Even they seem stronger and brighter. “Can I really not go home?”
“When I was first turned, I was a lot like you. I missed my home and wanted to see my family. I thought I could control myself, control the hunger. There was a village nearby, so I tested myself. No one was left alive come dawn.”
He gets all up in my face, backing me into the corner of the elevator, flashing his fangs. It’s more than a little scary. When he speaks again, the words are laced with a European accent.
“What do you say, Skye, still want to go home?”
“No.”
“No,” he agrees. “I didn’t think so.”
“If you hadn’t been there earlier, I would have killed her.”
“Is that your way of saying thank you?”
“Of course, if you hadn’t turned me, none of this would have happened in the first place.”
He clicks his tongue impatiently.
When the elevator doors slide open, it is to a scene of slaughter. Blood is smeared across the gray marble floor of the lobby and halfway up the wall. The security guard’s throat is torn open, his sightless eyes are staring at the ceiling.
A scream catches in my throat, and I slap my hands over my mouth to hold it inside.
Standing over the body, licking his fingers clean, is a young man with olive skin and long brown hair. Handsome, of course. And exceedingly tall and built. He is basically a murderous, bloodsucking lump of muscle.
“Christos,” says Lucas. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“You were followed. We had someone watching your house.”
“For seventy years?”
The stranger’s smile is purely predatory. “He wants to see you.”
“Does he?” Lucas steps out of the elevator. “What a mess. Was killing him absolutely necessary?”
“I was hungry.” Christos shrugs. “Who’s the girl? Is she a newborn? Did you make her?”
“None of your concern.”
His gaze narrows on me in a way that creeps me right the fuck out. The word death appears in my mind as I follow Lucas into the lobby. If this is a psychic gift compliments of the change, it could be more helpful. Because there’s a whole lot of death happening around me. The poor security guard. And still, it’s all I can do not to drop to the floor and start licking up his blood. Such a heady scent. It’s delicious. My hands start shaking, and holding myself back is not easy. Thank fuck I filled up on the blood bags upstairs.
“Was that all you were asked to tell me?” asks Lucas. “That he wishes me to pay him a visit?”
A scowl twists Christos’s face, and his huge hands curl into fists. “It’s an order, not an invitation.”
Lucas nods and smiles.
“Look at you. You look like shit.” The other vampire laughs mockingly. “My how the mighty have fallen.”
Despite my heightened senses, I can barely track Lucas when he moves. He is little more than a blur. But suddenly he’s standing beside the other vampire, his hand stained red, and in it there’s a…oh fucking hell. It’s his heart.
Christos folds to the floor, his chest a bloody ruin. He didn’t have time to react to the attack. Lucas was just that damn fast. The male’s remains lie there for no more than a moment before his body turns into a pile of ash.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, stunned.
Lucas pulls a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and proceeds to wipe the ash from his hand. No other trace of the vampire remains. I’m not sure what shocked me more. The quick and brutal murder, or the pile of ash that’s all that remains of his body. Both, probably.
And with the way information is flooding my mind, it is hard to know what to freak out about first. Me wanting to lick blood off the floor. Lucas displaying superpowers. Or the way my whole life has hit the wall and gone splat. He’s already threatened to make me deader. Will he rip my heart out, too, if I displease him?
“You killed him,” I say, just making conversation. “Tore out his heart.”
Lucas tucks the handkerchief away. “Yes.”
“I, um, I think I’m going to be sick.”
His expression turns pained. “Vampires do not get nausea, Skye. We certainly do not vomit. Would you please show some decorum?”
My gaze is drawn back to the blood, and the dead body of the security guard, and the piles of ash that was Christos…and oh man. “Why did you kill him? Was it because of the guard?”
“Partly because he followed me here and killed the security guard. The guard was an employee of Thorn Group, and therefore, should be considered under my protection. And such reckless killing cannot be encouraged. But mostly because he was disrespectful.”
“He was so much bigger than you, but you just…”
“Yes.” His mouth skews with amusement. “Strength isn’t always about size.”
I frown as I consider his words. “Helena is not going to be happy.”
“There’s little I can do about that right now. This is one body The Thorn Group is going to have to bury. Because we have somewhere we need to be.”