Chapter 21
Her evil plan had worked; he apparently wasn’t going to leave her imprisoned much longer. Which was such great news Layla almost didn’t mind flicking into consciousness like a light switch and nearly levitating off the bed in a single twitch.
If she could just stop losing her clothes, she’d call it a definite win.
The torn sweats were part of a sodden heap in the corner of the bathroom, along with the ruins of Max’s yesterday outfit plus a towel full of congealed grit and dried blood, topped with the shirt he’d sliced off her last night when the bathtub interaction really got going.
Thank God he didn’t seem ready for a rematch. Instead, he watched while she used the sole clean washcloth to scrub up in approved vampire-hunter fashion, and he even laid out the chifforobe’s very last supplies on the bed, which was now neatly made with hospital corners.
Apparently vampires, unlike human males, could do basic housekeeping.
He was just the same—sweater, trousers, boots.
But he’d cut down a T-shirt and the last pair of Carhartts for her, and torn the last T-shirt into strips to act as a belt.
The work pants were still ridiculously balloon-y, but her legs weren’t bare and he might not rip the tough fabric quite so easily.
It was a cheerful thought.
“So we’re going to make a break for it?” She was almost lost inside his last clean sweater, attempting to find the neck, floundering in what felt like acres of black wool. “Because this Father-guy—”
“Antinous.” His accent was a lot less janky now, but the name sounded super ancient anyway.
Max tugged at the sweater hem, held the shoulders so she could get her arms through, and perhaps there was a ghost of a smile lingering in his set, remote expression as she rolled the sleeves up and irritably shoved her hair back.
The deep, inalienable sense of physical health had intensified, if that were possible.
The only trouble was the lights glaring—had he turned them up while she slept?
And even if she wasn’t craving monster blood her mouth still felt weird, as if she’d just had a thorough cleaning by a not particularly gentle dentist. Still, she felt as if she had a reasonable handle on the last few days; so long as she kept thinking about the most immediate problem, she wouldn’t have to dwell on, for example, her prospective status as a biter.
Did other vampires adjust the same way? Could she somehow reverse the process? If, for example, Max met with an accident before she got a mouthful of human blood… the stories were conflicting, movies and folklore swilling around and the dark web forums full of argument on that score.
One problem at a time, Layla.
Her hair wasn’t hopelessly knotted, either, any tangles parting under mere finger-pressure.
Layla tipped her head back and decided on the tightest French braid she could manage, since they were going to be moving fast. No elastics, but she could make do with a strip of T-shirt or trouser hem.
“Antinous, yeah. Okay. What do you need me to do?”
It actually felt fucking wonderful to be planning an operation. Maybe Max, all two-thousand years of expertise, wanted a vampire-hunting partner?
A tiny worm of pride poked its head up in Layla’s chest, though there was plenty not-so-good to be had in recent events.
Such as, oh, ninety-nine percent of her crew being eradicated and this guy being directly responsible, as well as his habit of tearing her clothes off and the fact that she’d basically seduced him last night.
Maybe she was turning into a monster, a real Dracula hoochie. If that got her out of hock and with a clear shot at escape, though, it could be worth the price. Teaming up with hunters you didn’t personally like was part of the game.
The truly inescapable question returned, like a dedicated bill collector. What if you end up snacking on humans, though?
“I would ask…” Max trailed off.
When she turned, he was studying her, dark eyes narrowed and his mouth a thin line.
Ohfuck. Had she made a mistake right out of the gate? She stared back, fingers frozen, her throat suddenly dry with fear instead of yesterday’s terrible, consuming thirst, and even the sense of buzzing, energetic well-being couldn’t cover a jolt of dark red fear.
The steady ka-thump of his heartbeat didn’t alter. He could almost certainly hear her nervous, jumping pulse.
He took a step closer, then another. Layla stood, arms raised, stupidly holding a half-finished braid, and could not even begin to tell what he was going to do.
But he halted just at the edge of her personal space, gazing down at her.
What was it like to be so tall, so powerful?
She’d extracted a promise to not leave her locked up again, but really there was no recourse if he decided on take-backsies—or even just ‘forgot’, the way men always did when they didn’t care for an agreement.
“You are in full transition,” Max said, finally.
“Much stronger and swifter than a mortal, though those may still inadvertently damage you with fragmenting ammunition. I will clear any dogsbodies present as a matter of course, but accidents happen. Listen to your body, it will protect you so far as it can. As for the sanguinant…” His lip lifted; she watched, fascinated, as the full set of fangs appeared with a slight creak-crackle noise, then retreated before he continued as if he hadn’t just snarled like a wolf.
“As for them, once you are scented no bearer of the Blood will risk damaging you. Fledglings will be dizzied by your proximity and strike at those nearby in an attempt to weed out other claimants. The elders will drive the battle away from your vicinity if possible, always seeking to catch you. And there is a very high chance you will be caught.”
That’s a lot to take in. “Once I’m scented?”
“You are leman.” Flatly, maybe daring her to disagree. “The least hint of you will alter the battlefield completely; other fledglings will be made outright drunk by your presence.”
Which brought up the question of the two young biters her crew had dispatched. Even Ben had commented on how they’d both gone straight for Layla; for a single mad instant she considered telling Max about that, seeing what he’d say.
Thankfully, sanity hurried to reassert itself. If this guy found out she’d been party to vampire murder, it might convince him to change his mind, leave her imprisoned for another night.
Or for good. And that, as Suze would say, was no bueno at all.
“So…” Layla worked all the information around in her head, arriving at what she hoped were reasonable conclusions.
There were concerning bits, like once you are scented and you will be caught.
Still, she could figure out the details later.
Right now, she had to appear at least mildly useful, and thankfully she had a bit of experience in that department.
“So you need me to decoy? That’s great.”
Max settled on his heels briefly, as if physically pushed back by the notion. “Great?”
“Yeah. I mean, my main duties are research and logistics, but I’ve been the lookout before.
Decoy duty is like that—it’s how we got…
never mind.” A strange, almost crazed relief filled her chest; he must have been worried she wouldn’t understand the concept.
As heady as seducing a vampire was, the proof that he considered her capable of actual work was an additional shot in the arm of her self-esteem.
At the moment, she’d take anything. “So which direction do you want me to go?” I don’t even know where the hell we are.
She resumed braiding, her fingers suddenly working again.
“It does not matter.” Max’s expression had changed again, gazing down at her like she’d done something incredibly unexpected—or made an embarrassing bodily noise, it was a fifty-fifty bet.
“The important thing is to submit if you are caught. Do not struggle. You may be jolted during transit, but you will not be injured; do as you are told. Survive, and I will arrive to collect you apace. Do you understand?”
Do as you’re told was pretty clear. Still, Layla didn’t like the sound. “Collect me?”
“Of course.” The snarl returned, though his teeth thankfully didn’t change this time.
Red pinpricks glittered in the center of his pupils for a brief, heartstopping moment.
“It is a terrible thing I ask of you, Leila. You will see a great deal of savagery this night, but understand this: I will find you. All you must do is survive until dawn.”
“Dawn.” Her internal clock was all fuckered up; she swallowed hard. Seeing his eyes light up like that was pretty horrible. Would her own do the same, on some distant day? “Sure. What time is it now?”
“It is just past dusk. Now, listen. You are for all intents and purposes a fledgling. When the sun rises, you will sleep—if we are separated and you are by some chance not held by an enemy, you must find a place well away from daylight to do so. Anaphylactic shock and combustion are unpleasant, and I will not have you thus harmed. Understood?”
His tone was oddly familiar, like Shawn giving orders to his crew or Dan laying out an operation. “Ten-four.” Her braid was finished; she had to move in order to get a strip of material from the pile on the unmade bed. “I need something to tie this with.”
Max was silent as she tied her hair, maybe doubting her comprehension. She was used to that from male creatures, even if he clearly expected her to hold her own on decoy duty. Now she wondered if he’d been watching their team, judging performance, and selected her?