Nine
I didn’t tell Flora I was returning to the mansion, didn’t tell Dixon.
Maybe I should have, maybe I shouldn’t have gone alone, but I couldn’t get Mr. Sinclair’s words out of my head. Meet me there. Next weekend. You’ll know.
The top floor. Where the people in robes convened.
The anonymity I had felt my first time on the lawn increased tenfold when I was alone. I wasn’t alone ; there had to be thousands of people trampling down the plush grass, spilling liquor and holding on to each other, lest they float away. But without Flora at my elbow, without Dixon watching us, I felt like I had arrived without a dress, like I didn’t have anything covering me, shielding me.
It was thrilling .
No one there knew who I was. I was just some brunette flouncing around on her own.
My throat itched for some gin. The servers whirled through the crowd just as they had the first evening I had visited this house.
I made my way toward the massive front door, the foyer, and found the red ribbons from before had been taken down. This weekend, the decorations consisted of tinsel streamers hanging from wall sconces, shimmering under the scintillating chandelier. The servers wore gold-colored vests, and the lights had been dimmed, the sparkling highlights in the room even more eye-catching.
Many of the guests’ wardrobe matched the scenery. Perhaps whoever took advantage of the parties every weekend and knew what was coming next. Golden flappers, girls with shimmering kohl around their eyes, ruby lips, men with jackets both on and discarded, traces of gold along their cheeks and through their gelled hair.
I had missed the memo. My dress was a deep emerald, my shoes the same I always wore to these things. I had painted on my makeup more sharply, dragging out the winged kohl around my eyes, exaggerating the curve of the bow of my lips with my rouge.
But no one noticed. Everyone glimmered in the lamplight, and the crowd writhed, couples spinning and moving together, limbs tangled in dances that bordered on indecency.
My mother would faint, but I just wanted to feel what they were feeling.
Perhaps that was why the parties were so popular; why they had grown in attendance so quickly, despite the house’s owner being so enigmatic—on this lawn, in this repurposed cathedral, you could be anyone. Propriety didn’t dictate you.
You could dance how you wanted.
Do what you want.
It was heady, addictive.
I did not need to drink to feel the effects of the evening. I felt a lightheadedness, a giddiness, like the air itself was laced with relaxing poison, a tincture to cause the utmost euphoria in the guests.
A giggling woman passed me, her hand laced through another’s, and her eyes caught mine. Auburn hair, cut so short it curled around her ears and forehead, a golden band holding it at bay. Her blue eyes glistened. She smiled with lowered lids, her hand trailing along my shoulder, an invitation to follow, as the crowd ate her up. Her touch sent a tingling through me, down my arm.
I shivered and pushed through the crowd to the grand stairs.
When a server appeared from nowhere and offered a glass, I didn’t refuse, tipping my head back and downing it all at once. I turned to ask for more, but he was gone.
The stairs were so crowded I feared I wouldn’t be able to make it to the next level.
But those robed figures had gone to the second floor, and I knew they must be related to whatever Sinclair wanted me to see.
I shoved my way through people, the landing slightly less crowded, but from there, I wasn’t sure. The balcony we stood on, looking over the carousers below, opened up to another foyer-type room that split into two hallways. People scattered through the halls, more calm than the main event, couples leaning on the walls, facing each other and grinning.
Making a guess, I went down the one to the right. The walls were painted a deep, velvety red, with golden curtains as decoration, portraits of noblemen—though, who, I had no clue—gilded wall sconces with bright electric bulbs. The floor shone like a mirror, the marble veined through in subtle grays.
As I walked, it became quieter. I couldn’t hear the music from downstairs by the time I came to the end of the hall, which went off in both directions again. And one corridor showed another staircase, with only a person or two milling around, neither of them in those dark red robes. But they looked at me all the same, watching me with interested eyes.
I climbed that staircase, feeling their eyes on me the whole time. They were simple party-goers, not like the people lost in the throng downstairs. They were like that calm set that stayed away from the dancing, observing, mulling over something .
The third floor was so quiet, it was easy to forget the debauchery just below. The twining limbs, people wrapped around each other like a snake around a tree. The search for forbidden fruit was palpable; the veil that befell as soon as one stepped through that grand foyer door.
Did anyone ever venture down this way?
It was then I saw the slip of a robe around a corner, the same ruby-red hue of blood, the figure gone before I could even tell if they were man or woman. I hurried my steps, but grimaced at the clack of my heels.
Cursing low, I stopped and nearly pulled them off—but why should I sneak around ?
Had I not been invited?
I straightened, took a breath.
Have you ever wanted to be free, Helena?
It made me wonder, did I feel alive? Had I felt alive, ever, these last few years?
Well and truly free?
When I turned the corner, the figure was gone, but a set of large wooden doors confronted me. No one lingered in the hall.
I swore I heard a whisper. A suggestion of a voice, right at my ear.
The feeling of a skeletal finger down my spine.
I was not sure what about the doors made me pause, but I had the fleeting thought they were like the doors to Hell: as I neared, I saw the human figures—and the angels, the demons, that called to the ones upon the foyer’s ceiling—twisting and writhing, carved into the wood. The doors were a work of art, a sculpture in its own right.
The demons devoured, the angels wept, the humans smiled.
I ran my hand along the wood, feeling the bite of the demons’ teeth.
A soft sigh reached my ears, but I knew I didn’t imagine it. A moan. A panting sound, a chittering laugh. All behind the door.
Another moan, one made only in private moments, behind closed doors , sounded even closer, as though whomever felt such ecstasy was just on the other side of the wood. My heartbeat raced, sending a thrill through me that turned my fingertips like static. Like I was doing something wrong, hearing something I wasn’t privy to .
Another masculine grunt. A sharp inhale of breath and a low, drawn-out groan.
I pushed my weight against the heavy doors. Barely, just barely. Just enough to peek inside.
There was a mass of writhing bodies, all naked and starkly painted with blood. Men, clearly aroused, with sharp glinting teeth. Women with the same teeth, fingers caressing themselves and others. Red streaking down their breasts, their limbs. The ruby robes were discarded, and every figure within bore themselves, unashamed.
There was a couple on the floor closer to the door, facing away from me—but it was clear, the way she straddled his lap, legs on either sides of his, her back to his front, his strong fist curled into her hair, gripping and pulling, the flex of his muscles, her dainty hand reaching up to his skull, his face buried in her throat. I saw blood, staining like ink, travel down her shoulder.
I couldn’t stop the gasp that came from me. They were being murdered . No one could lose so much blood and survive.
The young woman of the couple in front of me sharply cried out and became languid in the man’s arms.
I felt it, the mix of pain and pleasure, the blurring of those lines, like I was there with her. Like I was her .
But I didn’t understand what I saw—what extreme pleasures I had just witnessed—and it frightened me. It warmed me, igniting a curiosity that went straight through me. But just as I turned to run, to shut the door and pretend I had not seen anything, my breathing stopped, because my eyes met a familiar pair.
Alexander Sinclair, set upon a couch with another man on one side and a woman on the other, his mouth stained with blood, trailing down his chin and his chest, holding a woman to his neck, his other hand pushing down the head of the man whose face was in his lap. His dilated pupils zeroed in on me, and I swore I saw the corner of his mouth quirk upward.
Heart pounding, I fled down the hall.
What the hell was going on in there?
And why had he told me to find that room?
I understood then what the look he gave me was. His peculiarity when I’d met him.
It was entirely predatory. He was a predator . Like a beast, staring down its prey, an innate sense of fear rippling through me.
I turned the corner and leant against the wall, my hand at my throat. I thought I could feel the piercing teeth already. The pinprick of pain, the rush of adrenaline.
And a tiny part of me, the curious part, wondered if it would hurt? Or would I cry out like that woman in ecstasy?
I had to leave.
I should not have come here .
A hand roughly grabbed my arm, causing a shriek to escape my lips.
It was a man I’d never met before, his hand on me, flashing me a saccharine smile. “Going somewhere?”
I wrenched myself out of his grasp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He leaned into me, cornering me against the wall and I winced, my muscles freezing. “You’re scared.” He cocked his head. “Why?”
“I just want to leave,” I said, forcing air into my lungs.
Was this man a predator, too ?
That innate sense told me yes .
“Oh, come on,” he grinned. “Why don’t we return to the party together?”
He forcibly linked my arms with his, pulling me back in the direction of whatever was going on in that room. I thought no doubt he could hear my heart in my chest, pounding against my ribs, like a bird wanting to fly away.
Digging my heels into the floor, I gritted my teeth and pulled at my arm. “I don’t know who you think you are—”
His lip curled as he smiled, brandishing a sharp tooth. A pointed canine, glinting razor-sharp and gleaming white against his blood-red lips.
I didn’t have the word for what he was. But he was no man.
That was the murder weapon. Those teeth—it was how they drew blood, how they killed . I knew it, like I knew I would die without air.
“Calm down.” He smiled. “We’re just going to go have some fun.”
Though his definition of fun already warred with mine. His strength was otherworldly, his grip on my arm like a vise. I couldn’t pull away from him, though I tried. The more I struggled, the harder he gripped me, digging his fingers into the flesh of my arm, hard enough to bruise.
“ Stop .” The strong voice, familiar in its intensity, echoed down the polished hall.
My captor halted immediately, like he could not resist the command. His eyes darkened, narrowing into a scowl as we turned. A rumble of frustration, animalistic and low, deep in his throat .
“What are you doing?” Sinclair asked. He wore his robe, swishing at his knees, tied loosely around his hips, as he approached us. He hadn’t bothered to clean himself up, the blood disappearing underneath the silk of the robe. It painted his chin, his cheeks, along his neck, where two deep circular points leaked blood.
“Just found another recruit to join us—”
Recruit?
“I think not,” Sinclair said, stopping before us. His glare was sharp like ice, and the man gripping my arm seemed to shrink. He didn’t let go, but his hold loosened just the slightest bit. I wrenched myself away, pulling myself free, and backed up until my back hit the wall again.
“Come, Miss Helena.” Sinclair held his hand out to me, his fingers stained red.
I shook my head, but the words stopped in my throat.
“But—”
Sinclair turned and glared at my attacker. “You’re lucky I don’t have you flayed,” he hissed. “Now leave.”
His deference was clearly begrudging, but the man slunk down the hall, his hands in fists at his sides. I almost didn’t want him to leave, because then I’d be alone with Sinclair, who appeared as though he’d just stepped out of a murder scene.
They were murderers . And I had walked right up to them.
“Come,” he repeated.
My limbs wouldn’t move. I felt a lightness in my head, a buzz that I knew wasn’t from the drink I’d had. I couldn’t feel my fingers.
He sighed. “Really, Helena, there’s nothing to worry about.”
A laugh burst forth from my lips. “Nothing to worry about! ”
Taking a step closer, he raised his hands. “Relax.”
He didn’t seem to care he was covered in blood, and cared equally how I felt about it. It was all over him, all over his mouth .
They drank blood. They killed and then drank the blood .
“You’re beginning to sound a lot like the guy you just scared away.” A hysterical giggle stalled in my throat. “You want me to come with you ? In there?”
“No, we’ll talk elsewhere.”
Of course. So he could have me to himself, no witnesses.
I hadn’t told Flora where I was .
I recoiled when he took another step closer. It wasn’t lost on me, how he gazed at me predatorily, how his dilated pupils found a spot on my neck. My tongue turned to sandpaper, my stomach rolling.
“I won’t say anything.” I swallowed. “Just let me leave.”
“Christ, Helena, you’re not being kidnapped.” He scoffed and lowered his hand. “Just let me explain.”
“Explain what?” I realized I had gripped my skirt with fists, the beading digging into my palms. “That you wanted me to walk into a den of monsters?” So you could kill me?
He rolled his eyes, his exasperation only increasing at the same level of my hysteria. “We are not monsters,” he said. The muscular planes of his chest, his pale skin, were exposed to the air, unmarred and lined in blood that was beginning to flake off.
“Then what are you?”
“I’ll explain everything. Just, please, Helena.” His hair was messy and tousled, like one of his lovers had run their fingers through it so many times.
Be smart .
If I indulged him, perhaps I’d leave safe and sound.
When I got out of here, if I made it out alive, with all the blood in my body untouched, I had to tell Flora. Had to warn her never to return to this mansion.
My tongue was dry against my teeth, but I nodded.
Sinclair’s shoulders relaxed immediately. “I promise. Just let me talk and you’ll be on your way.”
He turned to retreat down the hall. Expecting me to follow. And maybe he just knew I would, because even though my heart raced, I couldn’t understand what I’d seen—what he’d been doing, why there was so much blood. I wanted to go home, to climb under my covers and shuck the evening off of me, to forget. To think it was all a bad dream, a nightmare.
Just like last time.
I’d wake up and everything I thought I’d seen would only be a dream. Like his face.
But this was real. I wasn’t hallucinating, wasn’t already asleep.
One glass of champagne wasn’t enough to dream this up.
I waited until there was some distance between us before I followed him down the hall. He was truly naked under that robe, his bare feet silent against the polished, unblemished marble. Heat flushed up my neck, across my face, as the adrenaline coursing through me died down and those gyrating bodies flashed in my mind again.
It was devious, sinful, like nothing I would ever think up.
Sinclair led me to a door and held it open for me, motioning me inside. I met his eyes—those amber eyes, flashing with restraint—as I passed him. He had said I wasn’t being forced to stay, that I’d be let go. But his eyes followed me, a smirk splaying on his lips, and I couldn’t calm my heart, because I knew what those teeth could do, how easily they could prick my flesh and drain me.
His stare felt perverse, wrong, inhuman .
A study of sorts appeared from the door, a library, with bookcases reaching the ceiling. The shelves were full, overflowing, but so many of the books hadn’t yet been cut. New novels, seemingly just arrived. The lighting was low. A fire crackled in a huge fireplace across from the door.
And a man stood, waiting.
I froze mid-step.
I hadn’t imagined him . The same man from my first time here, who had seen me across the crowd.
He was dressed impeccably, no robes, but rather a stylish suit. His dark red hair was combed neatly, not a hair out of place. In his hand, he held a glass filled with a red inky liquid that I suspected matched the dried blood on Sinclair’s face.
But his drink of choice was not what stopped me.
It was his face.
The face of a ghost.
All the air was sucked out of my lungs. I forgot all about the monster behind me.
Because the ghost smiled at me, dimpled cheeks sending my heart fluttering—not out of danger, but out of shock—and though his teeth were sharp and pointed like the monsters I’d seen, I couldn’t fathom that he was standing in front of me.
Alive.
The world tilted on its axis. “How…”
“Hello, my love.” He set down the glass and came to me .
I felt tears prick at my eyes.
“You’re not—You’re supposed—” It all burst forth from me.
I had to be losing it. This was a nightmare.
But when he touched me, it felt so real, so familiar I nearly sobbed.
“I’m here,” he said. “I’m back.”
My knees gave out, but he held me as though I weighed nothing.
Adam Vering, the only man I’d ever fully shared myself with, who’d held me all those years ago, who’d gone away and never came back, had returned, and I’d found him at the center of a den of monsters.