Chapter 7 – Cassini #2
Before I descend, I find Tegan in the main workshop, organizing her tattoo inks into neat rows with more force than necessary.
“Well, well,” she says without looking up. “Look who decided to show up for work.”
“That bad?”
“People are mad as hell. Angel’s got half the nest searching for you.” She lowers her voice to a whisper, and her eyes dart around the shop, checking for nosy ears. “What the fuck were you thinking, attacking Cyrus like that?”
“He was threatening a customer.”
“Sure. I’m sure that was it.” Tegan laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Since when do you protect random humans instead of your own? Cyrus is a drunken idiot, sure, but he’s harmless enough. You didn’t need to do all that.”
“He was screaming the place down looking for you—did you know that? He wanted to drink you dry. I was trying to protect you, too.”
She rolls her eyes. “He’s always looking for me, Cass. That motherfucker follows me around like a lovesick puppy, begging for ‘just a taste,’ crying about how he loves me.” She shakes her head. “I can handle Cyrus and his little crush. You didn’t need to make trouble for yourself.”
“He’s being dramatic. It wasn’t that bad. Just a little shove and a punch, and I’m not sorry I did it. He needed to be put in his place eventually.”
She stares at me for a long moment. “What’s gotten into you? You know you’re an outsider here. People have started talking shit about you.”
The word hits harder than it should. “I need you to cover my shifts for a few days.”
She sucks in a deep breath. “Cassini, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I have something I need to take care of.”
“Hiding from them is only going to make it worse, you know. You need to apologize, and make it sincere. Tell them you’re ready to finally take the oath. Or better still, get the fuck out of here and go someplace else. Somewhere far away.”
“Not a chance.” I head toward the door. “Can you cover the shifts or not?”
“Yeah, I’ll call a few people and get someone to fill in. But Cass?” Her tone is pleading. “Please be more careful. I don’t want to have to hire a replacement artist because you acted like a stupid fuck and got dusted.”
The words are harsh, but her eyes betray her. She’s concerned about me, and I get a rush of gratitude. I don’t believe in friends, but if I did, Tegan would be a good one to have. Loyal, pragmatic, capable. Unfailingly human despite being surrounded by death.
I leave her there and make my way deeper into the tunnels, toward the blood storage. The corridors get darker the further down you go, lit by elaborate gold lamps that line the stone walls.
The blood storage is a converted wine cellar, lined with refrigeration units that hum constantly.
One of the only perks of the Hollow is the steady stream of unlimited blood that replenishes daily.
A reward for pledging loyalty to the city’s most dangerous man.
I’m pulling out bags of different blood types—O-negative Nicaraguan vegetarian, A-positive Vietnamese carnivore, trying to find something that might satisfy the burning in my throat—when heavy footsteps thud behind me.
“Look who showed up.”
I don’t turn around. I already know the voice.
Angel. One of Lazaro’s most loyal enforcers.
“Just getting dinner,” I say, closing the fridge and turning to face him.
He’s dressed like a sicario at Sunday Mass.
Meticulously tailored charcoal shirt tucked into Italian wool pants.
His feet clad in polished leather shoes with twenty-four-carat gold buckles carved into intricate skulls.
His mid-length jet-black hair slicked back with expensive pomade, not a strand out of place despite the humidity of the hot Texas night.
A good, handsome Mexican boy whose only hint of danger lies in three tiny teardrop tattoos beneath his right eye.
He’d be like any other vamp were it not for the tactical vest beneath his pristine shirt that gives his high status away, the subtle bulk of Kevlar designed to stop stakes and silver bullets.
A custom leather holster is tucked under his left arm, loaded with silver spray canisters and a silver-tipped wooden stake carved from blessed oak.
When I try to leave, his wide mouth curves into a predatory smile, revealing fangs filed to needle points. Everything about him is curated, immaculate, and absolutely lethal.
“Didn’t eat when you were out?” he asks, stepping closer. “It’s funny. I thought you didn’t feed on live humans.” He feigns innocent curiosity, tapping his mouth with his finger like he’s trying to puzzle it out. “But I guess you must have changed your mind. It’s been days since I’ve seen you.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, I heard.” He reaches out and touches my face.
He holds up his finger to the light, and a bead of moisture glimmers on the tip.
He flicks out a serpentine tongue and licks it.
“You taste like shit. I guess you’re starving after all.
What’s been keeping you from us? Come on now, carnalito.
Why didn’t you just come home to your nest? Are we so terrible?”
“Like I told you, I was busy.”
“Very busy, by the looks of things.” He inspects me, brushing the dirt layer from my lapel. “You’ve gone to ground recently. How old-school of you. Why not just come home and make things right?”
I ignore him and push past toward the exit, eager to be alone so I can rip into the pouch of blood and quench the thirst that burns and rages in my body. “I wanted to wait until things cooled down. They got too heated, sure, but Cyrus attacked first.”
“That’s not how Cyrus tells it.” Angel checks under his nails, then studies me slowly, like a predator sizing up prey. “He says you went crazy, threw him around for no reason. Says you were defending some little human piece like she meant something to you.”
I keep my expression neutral, though every instinct is telling me to fight, but I don’t like my chances. Not this weakened, not this hungry. “Cyrus drinks too much and talks a lot of shit.”
“He does. But this time, he’s out for blood. He ran straight to Papa. Lazaro’s very interested in hearing your side of the story.”
My blood goes cold. Lazaro. The head of the Sixth Clan, and not someone I want asking questions about my activities right now.
“He’s in Dallas,” he snarls. “Back tomorrow. So you’d better get your ass here and be ready to explain why you attacked someone in this nest.”
“Oh? What’s he doing in Dallas?” I ask, weighing the blood bag in my hand, like this is a normal conversation.
Angel snarls. “None of your fucking business. You only get that info when you stop with this half-measures shit and take the oath.” He steps closer, close enough that I can smell the hot metallic blood on his breath.
“And you’d better have a damn good explanation for the other night, because if you don’t…
Well, we all know how Lazaro deals with disloyal vampires. ”
Under other circumstances, I could kill Angel—weapons, stake-proof vest and all. But I’m deteriorating more by the day, and I’m hungry. I can’t afford to let my temper get the best of me, not when I’m so close to getting out.
“Fine,” I say through a jaw clenched so tight I’m afraid my teeth will shatter. “I’ll be here.”