Chapter Twelve
“It’s not safe,” Lavinia insisted. They’d moved their argument to the foyer, where Quintia leaned against the staircase banister, smirking. At least someone found this all amusing.
“I don’t care,” Michelle countered.
“I do,” Lavinia said.
Michelle took a deep breath to calm herself. “I appreciate that. But it’s my choice.”
“It isn’t.”
Michelle had had enough. She had been having this argument with Lavinia on and off for four days now, ever since Lavinia had shown her the photos of the warlock’s victims. She’d been lying low for over a week now, letting the vampires take care of her.
But it had been days—days of just hanging around their fancy house, eating their food, sleeping in their bed.
The scratch on her cheekbone had scabbed over, new skin itching underneath.
The initial terror of the attack had faded, and the fear had transmuted into anger.
How dare someone try to kill her. To try to end her life, and for what?
Because of some arcane supernatural reason, even though she hadn’t even known vampires and witches existed?
She’d had a couple of days to come to terms with all of this (and if she was honest with herself, she was sure there was more of that to follow), but she knew one thing for certain: she was absolutely sick of staying inside and feeling sorry for herself.
Her whole being was itching for action, to feel like she was dealing with the problem head-on.
She couldn’t hide forever, even though that was clearly what Lavinia wanted.
“How are you going to stop me?” Michelle challenged. “Are you going to lock me up, prevent me from leaving?”
Lavinia frowned. “Of course not.”
“Then I’m coming. It’s just an animal rescue, for God’s sake.”
“No.” God, the vampire was infuriating. How dare she stand there, cool as a cucumber, telling her what she could and couldn’t do? She might be gorgeous as hell, but that didn’t stop Michelle from wanting to punch her right now.
“Besides, I have been training with Quintia.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Michelle clenched her jaw. Lavinia faced her, the clear jade of her eyes as unmoving as stone.
“She’s not terrible,” Quintia piped up from behind them. “She’s weak, of course, but determined.” Michelle didn’t bother to turn around. This fight was with Lavinia, not her brash Sister.
Lavinia narrowed her eyes. “Show me.”
“Are you joking?” Michelle said, incredulous.
“No.” There was ice in her voice, a hardness that she had never used with Michelle before.
Her heartbeat pounding, Michelle dropped into the position Quintia had shown her, and jabbed with her right fist, aiming at Lavinia’s chest. Like Quintia, Lavinia easily deflected the blow, batting the momentum of it aside as easily as Michelle might a child’s punch.
Michelle stepped forward, not letting herself be discouraged.
She wasn’t helpless. Jab. She could stand up for herself.
Jab. She was capable, goddamn it, even if she wasn’t a supernatural creature blessed with ridiculous strength. Jab.
“What do you think that’s going to happen? Is an army of demons coming for me while we look at some abandoned dogs?” Michelle’s voice rose higher as she went through the series of stances Quintia had taught her.
Lavinia caught the last blow in her hand, cupping Michelle’s fist. Michelle was suddenly aware of how close she had gotten. It was hard to draw a full breath as she stared at Lavinia, their bodies almost touching.
A faint flush swept across Lavinia’s cheekbones. She wasn’t as unflappable as she appeared. “Anything could happen,” Lavinia insisted. “We don’t know who wants you dead.”
“Exactly. And if you don’t let me help, you might never find out.”
Lavinia recoiled as if she had been slapped. She dropped Michelle’s hand. “You don’t trust me to protect you.” Her voice was suddenly quiet, nothing like the immovable wall of will she’d presented so far.
“I do. But you don’t trust me.”
“What? Of course I do.”
Michelle pressed on, despite Lavinia’s apparent hurt.
If they were going to work together, they would have to be equals.
She might have needed saving, but Michelle was more than just a damsel, and Lavinia better damn well know it.
“You don’t. If you trusted me, you would respect me enough to make my own decisions.
It’s my life we’re talking about. I can’t just sit here. I just can’t.”
An awkward silence followed. Quintia let out a low whistle. Michelle wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. A fear gripped her heart. Had she pushed Lavinia too far? All she wanted was to be heard, rather than being bundled off to whatever location Lavinia thought was best for her.
Lavinia’s shoulders dropped, deflated. Michelle had won, but the victory didn’t taste as sweet as she’d expected.
“I only mean to keep you safe,” Lavinia said softly.
There was an undercurrent to her words that hadn’t been there before.
A vulnerability. It felt private, precious.
It felt like a declaration, but of what, Michelle wasn’t sure.
Lavinia lifted her hand, moved as if to touch her—Michelle desperately wanted her touch, found herself aching towards the gesture—but the vampire lowered her hand again, the ache unfulfilled.
“Right,” Quintia’s gruff voice tore through the moment. “We’re going then?” She strode over, wrapped her arms around their shoulders and steered them towards the front door.
“You’re coming?” Lavinia asked.
“Can’t leave you two lovebirds alone. Might miss something good. Besides, I do agree that it’s not particularly safe.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Lavinia said, accusatory. Quintia bundled them out of the house. The late afternoon sunlight dappled the path leading to the car. Some leaves had drifted to the ground, crunching underfoot.
“Didn’t seem like my conversation to have,” Quintia said briskly. “If the human wants to gamble with her life just because she can’t bear to be parted from you, who am I to stop her?” Upon hearing those words, Michelle frowned at Quintia, but the short-haired vampire didn’t take any notice.
Lavinia only grunted in response. Michelle tried to read her mood.
What was going through her mind right now?
She wished they could talk more, in private.
It felt like there was something left unsaid between them, causing them to stay in a holding pattern until it could be resolved.
But with Quintia here, that would have to wait.
* * *
The animal rescue’s main building sat on a small fenced-in grassy plot in North London.
It was a pretty cheerless place—all twentieth-century concrete, function over form.
An apologetically small sign on the fence read “Finchley Animal Rescue” over the silhouette of a leaping dog, the same logo Michelle had seen on the victim’s sweatshirt.
It had been difficult to suppress the horror within her when she saw what the demons could do.
They’d torn the man apart, rended his flesh.
She’d seen plenty of bad injuries, some of them fatal, in the emergency department.
Like many nurses, she’d learned to keep her mind on the task, rather than getting caught up in the display of suffering.
Still, the photos had been the stuff of nightmares.
Lavinia hadn’t been wrong to want to protect her from that.
Hopefully, the visit to the rescue wouldn’t be eventful.
Quintia had told Michelle on the way there with a certain amount of glee that demons only roamed after nightfall, so the tenebris wouldn’t be able to make an appearance.
But then again, who knew what else a warlock could conjure up?
As it stood, Michelle was very glad she had two vampires flanking her.
Quintia’s levity had dissipated as they’d reached their destination.
Both vampire women effortlessly slid into what Michelle thought of as their warrior mindset.
It was easy to forget within the comforts of their own home that they were predators, but out here…
Gone was Quintia’s smirk, replaced with a coiled watchfulness.
Gone was the softness in Lavinia. She looked more like she’d done on the night they’d first met: imposing, intractable.
They wore no visible weapons, but Michelle was sure they carried some.
Not that they even needed them, particularly.
They were stronger and faster than any human she’d ever met.
And here she was, at her own insistence, to play detective trying to find her would-be murderer. This was all a terrible idea, but there was no going back now. Michelle squared her shoulders and pushed open the door into the rescue.
A lone receptionist sat behind a wood-panelled desk.
The bright fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Michelle approached her.
From the corner of her eyes, she saw Quintia wandering towards the couple of shelving units filled with dog toys and rabbit food.
Trying to steady her nerves, Michelle greeted the receptionist, an elderly woman in a dark green jumper, her peppered grey hair pulled back into a full ponytail.
“I’m here to have a look at your dogs,” Michelle said, putting her sweaty hands into the pockets of her coat to hide their shaking.
Mrs. Frost had done an excellent job at washing out Lavinia’s blood.
She pushed that thought from her mind, feeling like the blood would somehow still stand out against the fabric for the receptionist to see. “We’re hoping to adopt one.”