Chapter 2
Excerpt from Blood Feud
(book three, chapter nine)
by August Lirio
Callum grinned at Octavia, blood dripping from his fangs. He was soaked from the fight, his shirt gleaming crimson, a look of savage wildness in his eyes.
“Oh my god,” Octavia sputtered. “You liked that, didn’t you?”
“?’Course I did.” Callum slicked back his hair with bravado. “Spot of violence, adrenaline going, what’s not to like?”
“Aren’t you sick of fighting Felix after all this time?” Octavia pleaded. “Konstantin is long dead, what does it matter anymore which of you was his favorite? We’re all trapped on this stupid island—”
“And I’m making the most of it!” Callum shot back. “Look, you’ve spent years trying to find a way out of here, and where has it gotten you? Exact same place as me, innit? Except instead of wasting my time wishing I were somewhere else, I’m actually enjoying myself. And don’t tell me you aren’t capable of joy here. I saw the look on your face when you shoved your stiletto through that goon’s eye socket. You were happy, Vee. It was like old times.”
“Happy? Happy?!” Octavia’s laughter bordered on manic. “ Happy is lobster thermidor from room service at The Carlyle, with a cheese soufflé on the side and the bellhop’s neck for dessert. Happy is the opening gala for a new exhibit at the Leeum Museum, or sitting front row at McQueen in Paris, my pick of the gowns, bodies draped in sequins.”
“You can have lobster here! Or art or sequins or soufflés or whatever the bloody hell else you like,” Callum argued.
“It’s not the same!” Octavia snapped. “All our glamours here, they’re just memories made manifest, shadows of the lives we used to have. I miss travel and parties, meeting new people, tasting new blood. I miss living, Callum. We’ve been here for years already, and I don’t know how much longer…”
“How much longer what?” Callum stepped toward her. “What are you saying?”
Octavia closed her eyes. She felt like she was suffocating on this island, her brain slowly giving way to madness. She thought about how it would feel to leave this place. To step onto the crystal bridge that left the Isle, to feel the warmth of sunlight erupting across her skin.
Maybe she’d burst into flames like every other soul who’d been desperate or stupid enough to walk into the sun, charred into a pile of ash.
Then again, Octavia had always been different. She suffused everything she touched with her own particular brand of glamour. Maybe when she stepped onto the bridge, it would be like a glittering dance sequence in an Esther Williams movie, splashes of water and sparkles of light, a glorious sight to behold as she crossed over to Bar Between, the way station between worlds that could lead her back to New York.
But the beauty of her fantasy faded as she opened her eyes and focused back in on Callum, his brow lined with concern. She’d been with him since before they were born, and for more than a hundred years since their deaths. She couldn’t leave him now.
As much as she hated this island, she loved her brother more. She needed him as much as he needed her—and she knew that to be separated from him would be worse than splitting her own body in half.
“Vee?” he said softly, using the pet name he’d had for her since they were children in London, bratty orphans with naughty smirks and coal-smeared faces. “You won’t leave me, will you?”
“Never.” Octavia took his hands in hers. “I swear it.”
It took Tess nearly an hour to get back to Williamsburg after she left Joni’s party. She spent the train ride with her eyes glued to her copy of Blood Feud, getting lost in a scene she’d read a million times before, going through the words over and over until she settled into the world of the Isle, traveling along the characters’ emotions like grooved tracks. Ever since leaving Columbia, Tess found her life was easier if she didn’t think too much about her own feelings. Her emotions were too overwhelming, too painful and unwieldy. She tried to keep the volume turned down on her own life, to keep her daily existence muted and manageable.
But in Blood Feud, everything could be big without being scary. The ruthless violence, passionate sex, devastating betrayals—Tess could feel all of it, because none of it was happening to her. The deeper she let her mind sink into the world of Callum and Octavia, Felix and Isobel, the farther away she felt from Joni’s apartment. And from Rick.
The loud rumbles and metallic screeches of the subway, the hum of people shuffling on and off the train, all of it felt like a rhythm that lulled Tess back into a calmer state of mind. The vampires in Blood Feud were trapped on an island, but Tess didn’t have to be. Once she found a new job, she’d be behind the desk of a cozy inn in the Cotswolds, thrilling guests with little tidbits about Agatha Christie mysteries set in the area; or perhaps she’d go to Paris, or Bali, or Big Sur. She could feel the tension in her shoulders unspool as she walked out of the subway and imagined the possibilities, traveling the world by night like Callum and Octavia, each new chapter bringing another glamorous adventure.
By the time Tess walked into The Georgia, she almost felt like herself again—until she saw Rick sitting at the lobby bar.
No, not Rick. Just some guy with blond hair—they didn’t even look alike.
“Shit,” Tess muttered, willing herself to keep it together.
Mika eyed her from behind the front desk. Mouthed, You okay?
Tess nodded apologetically, but before she could go talk to Mika, Taylor, the hotel’s afternoon manager, rushed over, looking like she’d just been through a very fancy war.
“Where have you been?” she rasped. “The fucking bee wedding finally got started three hours late—they’re gonna be here until three a.m. instead of midnight.”
“What?!” Tess yelped. “But the staff—all that overtime—”
“I know.” Taylor gave Tess a dark look. “But it was our fucking bees that caused the delay in the first place, so I couldn’t exactly say no, could I? They were already screaming about a lawsuit, but hopefully if we just get them absolutely plastered, they’ll forget about it.”
Taylor was the most competent and organized person Tess had ever met—if she was this frazzled, the wedding must really have been a disaster.
“You go home,” Tess told her. “I’ve got this.”
“I can’t! What if something goes wrong and they all start fighting again? They yelled so much,” Taylor whispered, looking near the point of tears.
“I’ll go down to the reception myself and make sure everything runs smoothly. Look!” Tess gave her silky dress a little swish. “I’m even dressed for a party.”
Tess thought Taylor might argue further, but instead she collapsed into a grateful hug. Tess promised it would all be fine and headed down to the wedding. She was a little bummed she wouldn’t have time to start looking for new jobs, but on the other hand, it was probably for the best to have a distraction tonight.
The hotel’s primary wedding venue was an indoor-outdoor space on the garden level. Smaller events could be held on the pool deck, but for a party of two hundred, it had to be the big, airy ballroom with whitewashed brick, rafters strung with lush vines and vintage fairy lights, and a wall of glass doors that opened out onto a cobblestone patio. By the time Tess walked in, the food and cake had all been cleared; drinking and dancing were the only items left on the agenda, and the guests were excelling at both.
Everything seemed to be going fine, with the possible exception of the best man, whose head was now mightily swollen from his many bee stings, and whose colossally drunken dance moves seemed likely to result in injury either for himself or someone else.
“Sorry you have to deal with that until three a.m. ,” Tess said to Patrick, the hotel’s dapper bartender.
“Oh pish, it’s no problem—the rave I’m going to later doesn’t start until four. You want to join?”
“My shift isn’t over till seven.” Tess laughed.
“Perfect! The party will just be getting good.” Patrick sighed wistfully. “Aren’t you grateful we’re not as boring as the so-and-sos waking up at dawn, getting ready for another day? We’re unbound by time!”
Tess told him she’d think about it, then continued making her rounds. As she scanned the room to make sure everyone seemed happy, her eyes fell on one guest who seemed woefully out of place. She was staggeringly beautiful, leaning against a wall, sipping a glass of champagne: at least six feet tall in heels, possibly of Eurasian descent, with wide eyes, apple cheeks, and glossy black hair that framed her face in chic layers of fringe, stopping bluntly just above her shoulders. She wore a strapless black cocktail dress that hugged her body with elegant drapes, accentuated by an oversized fabric flower at her hip made of shimmering white velvet, and barely-there strappy silver sandals that would have caused Tess to break an ankle in approximately seventeen seconds. Her makeup was minimal, just a cat eye and flushed cheek.
In New York, it wasn’t uncommon to see stunning women at any given restaurant or party; hell, in Soho, runway models roamed the streets in vaguely unsettling packs, looking like sculptures constructed with wire hangers. But there was something different about this woman. Even in the relative darkness of the room, her skin was so pale it almost glowed.
Tess flushed with embarrassment when the woman looked over and caught her staring. Tess looked away quickly, but to her surprise, when she glanced back again, the woman was still gazing right at her. The woman gave a little wave, and in an exquisitely cringey moment, Tess actually glanced over her shoulder to see if she might be waving at someone else. The woman snickered and walked over to Tess, standing beside her at a little high-top bar table made of wrought iron and glass.
“I know the wedding started late, but arriving at eleven-thirty? Exceptionally New York of you.” She spoke in a crisp British accent, her voice rich and clear and dripping with money.
“I’m not a guest,” Tess clarified. “I work here at the hotel.”
“Do you?” the woman eyed her with interest.
“I’m the manager,” Tess stammered, unsure why she felt the need to explain herself. “Just here to make sure everything’s going smoothly.”
“Ah, a woman in charge.” Her lips curled deliciously, like she was savoring a secret. “In that case, I don’t suppose you could give yourself permission to join me for a dance? Since you are the boss and all?”
Tess opened her mouth and shut it, neither wanting to look like a vacant goldfish nor having the faintest idea what to say—she wasn’t exactly accustomed to being hit on at all, let alone by arguably the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen.
“I, um, sorry, I’m not even sure if you’re asking me to dance, in like, a romantic way, but I’m actually straight?” she sputtered, wondering if any person had ever embarrassed themselves more than she was in this moment.
“How completely dull.” The woman’s dark eyes glittered with amusement. “No matter. Let’s dance anyway so you can reassess.”
Without waiting for a response, she circled her fingers around Tess’s wrists and pulled her onto the dance floor. Her hands were shockingly cold, and Tess had to shut her mouth not to gasp in surprise. Sade’s “Smooth Operator” flowed through the room, and between the music, the liquor, and the throng of swaying bodies, the mood on the dance floor oozed sex.
The woman moved her body in time with the music, close to Tess but not touching her. Tess couldn’t remember the last time she’d been dancing—maybe Joni’s last birthday before she’d moved out, the one at a kitschy disco bar in the West Village? Back before Joni hated her, back when she used to light up at the sight of Tess instead of glaring at her with anger and hurt.
“What’s wrong?” the woman asked, peering at Tess.
“Oh, sorry, nothing. Um, I love your dress.”
“This? Miss Sohee, her work is divine. I’ve been gone so long, I have so much fashion to catch up on.”
“Gone?” Tess furrowed her brow. “Gone where?”
“The place you’ll be going. The place you’ve dreamed of,” she murmured. She moved closer to Tess, resting her arms on Tess’s shoulders. Tess felt confused, and claustrophobic—what was happening here?
“What does that mean?”
She leaned close enough to Tess to whisper in her ear. “The Isle.”
“What?” Tess tried to jerk back, but the woman pulled her closer. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”
“Come on, Tess.” She grinned. “You know who I am.”
“Wait—how do you know my name?” Tess was breathing harder now, but all around her, people just kept dancing, too caught up in their own moments to notice hers.
“Because I came here to find you.” The woman looked more serious now, her gaze intensely focused on Tess. “Because I need your help, Tess Rosenbloom. And because you’ve been dying to meet me.”
“I don’t even know who you are,” Tess protested, but her voice was weak as the pieces started to click together.
“Tess, look at me,” the woman ordered.
Tess did. The woman was a solid six inches taller, so Tess was more or less eye-level with her lips. Tess watched as the woman smiled widely, then went frozen with wonder and terror as the woman’s canines elongated into dagger-sharp fangs.
“What the fucking fuck,” Tess blurted, her voice barely above a whisper. Had she well and truly lost her mind, and this was just an exceptionally vivid hallucination? Was she a walking twist in an M. Night Shyamalan movie?
“See?” The woman leaned in. “You know who I am—and what. You’ve seen my photograph. You know what I can do. And you know my name.”
Tess looked at her, knowing the answer, but too shocked and confused to speak the words.
“Go on,” the woman prodded. “Say it.”
“You’re not…” Tess whispered. “I know you’re not…”
“Who, Tess?” She ran an ice-cold finger along Tess’s jaw.
Tess closed her eyes.
“You can’t be Octavia Yoo.”