Chapter 6
6
Palmer
S omething gave that night between Gatlin and me. For the next week, I clutched it to me, hoarding his goodwill like a dragon protecting the jewel of her collection.
For six days, he’s wandered through our home, haunting the library and lying on the chaise in the sunroom, watching the frost melt in the sun. Sometimes I found him asleep in some nook I had forgotten about, a window seat in the parlor, a chair on the third floor with his sketchbook open to a rough drawing of Prue kissing Juni on the cheek. I never moved it and always pretended I didn’t see him. Perhaps that’s why he grew comfortable enough to sneak into my office and sketch me.
I wonder how I was portrayed.
I am a fool, I thought, sending my regrets for dinner that evening from my bedroom.
I was starving, hunger carving out my insides, scraping me hollow. I knew I had to feed; I was a Boo Hag—we always had to feed. The story I told Gatlin was true; we were ravenous. Maybe we were supposed to have died in the Old Place. Races go extinct. Perhaps we were cursed for coming to Earth and this was our punishment for evading death and surviving.
I hadn’t wanted to feed. I didn't want him to look at me like he had before our dinnertime sharing. I don’t want to be the monster.
I let loose a frustrated growl. I’m too old to be such an idiot. If I keep this up, I’ll become a waif like my ancestors. I marched over to my closet, threw open the door, and walked to the section where I kept my club attire. Tossing off the gold Abaya, I pulled out black leather pants, a black leather spaghetti-strapped crop top, a black lace-covered push-up bra, and a matching black lace thong. I dressed in a whirlwind, pulling on black leather boots with more buckles on them than necessary. Continuing with that theme, I found a black choker with a silver, diamond-studded buckle. Touching the ring on my middle finger that held my glamour, I envisioned the makeup I wanted: a fierce smoky eye and bold red-lined lip.
I checked myself in the mirror. The makeup was as I envisioned it, my abs and toned shoulders on display. The glamour was fashioned in a way that I could look however I wanted, so I chose to be as close to how I looked without it as possible. I was proud of my ability to be as toned as I was. The secret was consensual exchange, lifeforce for pleasure. It could be as simple as a kiss or as complex as a multimillion-dollar deal. Whatever the exchange was, it had to please the other party in some way, and they had to happily, willingly give me their lifeforce.
This was more complex than what my ancestors had to do in the Old Place, but it worked. It kept the hunger in check, even if it couldn’t completely vanquish it. No one would ever say that Palmer Duvall razed towns to sate her hunger.
I went to the doors that led out to my balcony, my hand gripping the handle with the intent to throw the doors wide and glide down to the lawn, then sneak over to the garage and drive myself to Club Nyx. I would dance. Dancing was the easiest form of exchange. It would curb this hollow feeling, and Gatlin wouldn’t have to see, wouldn’t have to feel––
A knock at my door had me cursing. I strode across the room, opening the door to find Prudence with a plate from dinner.
“Gatlin was worried,” she said, holding out the plate of BBQ ribs, corn on the cob, collard greens, and baked beans.
“I don’t need that,” I sighed, taking the plate from my friend.
“No, you don’t. You need to feed,” she scolded, taking the plate back from me and gliding into my room.
I threw up my hands. “Yes, which is why I was about––”
“To pop out the window like a thief in the night?” She tsked.
Frustration and guilt simmered under my skin. “It’s his first week, Pru. He doesn’t need to be used like that––”
“Used! He agreed to be your partner in all things. He literally signed up for this.” She rolled her eyes.
“I should have never purchased that TV,” I sighed. “It's a bad influence.”
“No, you can thank my wife for expanding my horizons. Now, stop distracting from the issue. He is supposed to do this, so why won’t you let him?”
“The contract was written so he didn’t have to be my only source of nourishment. I’m exercising that clause. Please thank him for the plate,” I said, done with this conversation, done with explaining myself, done with this feeling.
I crossed the room, pulling down the handle and leaping out over the balcony.
I quietly made it to the garage only to have Isaac meet me at the entrance, pulling on his driving coat.
“You don’t need to––” I began.
“It’s my job, ma’am,” he interrupted.
I sighed, more than a little tired of not being able to finish a sentence. I followed him to my black SUV, letting him open the door for me as I slid into the back.